Not caring that they all thought she was out of her mind, she ground up a piece of wood coal she dug from Mr. Macrae’s stove, then carefully dusted for prints. She wracked her brain on how to lift them in the absence of any kind of tape, trying both glycerin and sealing wax, finally able to lift a test print to her satisfaction before going on to take the ones that were all over the crime scene.
“It’s been forever since I actually collected them,” she admitted. “I usually just look at them. This is really quite fun.”
She’d wished she could share more about her real life with her new friends, but she was afraid to give away too much. She almost mused about how she originally wanted to be a cop, but wasn’t sure they would understand what she meant, since law enforcement in this time was so different. Certainly a woman wouldn’t hold such a position. And she had ultimately failed anyway, one of her biggest regrets.
She made Mr. Macrae press his fingertips and thumb into an ink soaked pad and leave her a set to rule him out, then tried to convince them to go and get a set off the suspect. He was a known troublemaker, a bully and drunk to boot, and they had been trying to find a reason to drum him out of the village for years. Even though Tilly explained that if he didn’t have anything to hide he should willingly allow himself to be fingerprinted, no one would go and ask him. Serena finally stepped up, suggesting she and Tilly take him a jar of jam, exchanging it with a different flavor after he’d already touched the first jar.
It was the most fun she’d had in ages, watching Mr. Macrae and the other villagers’ surprise when she showed them how the whorls and lines of the perp’s prints matched with what was left on the display case glass. It took several demonstrations using various villager’s fingers to convince them that everyone had unique fingerprints, but they finally sent for the constable, who caught the daft criminal as he rode to Edinburgh to try and sell the stolen goods.
It might have gone to her head just a little, because now here she was telling them the rules to the great game of basketball, that she completely made up on her own. She felt a bit ashamed but she wanted some exercise more vigorous than walking, and the preparations kept her from missing Ashford or worrying about getting home, something she couldn’t help but do when she sat quietly with her embroidery.
When she’d seen the large square of flat ground at the side of the barn, she’d hopefully explained her plan. Serena had found a suitable basket, carefully cutting out the bottom, and the lad who worked with the saddles set to making the ball out of scraps of leather. It was heavy and barely bounced, but everyone’s excitement made her not care at all, and she demonstrated dribbling and shooting.
She’d always loved the game, playing all through high school, basically terrible at it beyond the absolute basics. She laughed when her shot hit the side of the basket, rattled it alarmingly, and failed to go through.
“It’s supposed to go through,” she said, embarrassed. “We can all just learn as we go.”
They divided up into teams: her, Kostya, and two grooms on one side, Serena and a kitchen maid, the portly parson and his teen son on the other. She felt that Serena might have got the worst of the lot, and was about to suggest trading one of the grooms for Hester, the shy kitchen lass, when Serena rushed past her in a blonde blur of pastel skirts, whisking the ball out of her hands and flying toward the basket, masterfully thumping the awkward ball along as she went. Everyone’s jaws dropped as she flung herself upward, releasing the ball into the basket as easily as if it was on a table in front of her. The ball rolled away, hitting Tilly in the foot as she stood staring in awe at Serena’s amazing shot.
“Is this the Serena McPherson I’ve known all these years?” Kostya asked incredulously after she landed. Her face was aglow with the accomplishment.
“That’s Serena McFearsome to you,” Tilly shouted gleefully, running over to them, holding up her hands.
Serena laughed. “Oh, I do like that.”
“Look, you guys,” Tilly said, waggling her hands in the air. With a groan, she reached and grabbed Serena’s hand and held it up, slapping her palm. She nodded over at Kostya to join them. “When you do something awesome like that dunk right there, you high five your teammates like this.” Kostya held up both his hands and Serena and Tilly each slapped one. She then demonstrated the fist bump, which Kostya said he liked even better.
“Do whichever you like,” Tilly said. She passed the ball back to Serena, who took another shot. Amazingly the ball whooshed right through the basket. “I think you’re what we call a natural.”
“Kostya, did you hear that? I’m a natural.” Serena dribbled the ball down the makeshift court, the thumping of the ball interspersed with her happy laughter.
Tilly turned to Kostya to tell him to go after her and get the ball back, but had to pause at the look on his face as his eyes followed Serena’s graceful form. It was as if he was in his own little world, where nothing existed except her.
She felt a stab of envy, wishing someone would look at her like that. She wanted Ashford to hurry up and get back, lonely even with her new friends. It quickly went away when Robbie the groom threw the ball to her and she had to concentrate on keeping her dignity as the supposed inventor of the game.
Chapter 20
Ashford tiredly kicked his horse to a final trot, glad to be home at last. The days he’d been induced into passing with Jeremy and his sister were well spent, but he fairly crackled with impatience to get to the bottom of what he’d learned. It wasn’t enough to send off inquiries to a contact in France. He longed to ride hellbent straight to the coast and book the soonest passage.
Only the thought of Matilda’s face made him turn the horse toward home. Matilda. He missed her far more than the time he’d been gone warranted. Really, he didn’t understand why he missed at all, but the thought of seeing her again relaxed away the tension that ate at him from the moment Jeremy revealed what he’d seen. Of course, it only gave rise to new tension concerning her well-being.
He hoped Serena hadn’t eaten her alive with her sharp and sometimes cruel humor, or that Kostya hadn’t completely forgotten her in his single-minded efforts of running the place. Matilda had seemed different right before he left, almost fragile, and he hoped she hadn’t succumbed to the strain of being out of her element.
He meant to go straight to the village graveyard but he couldn’t make himself, not sure what he hoped to find there anyway. He purposely hadn’t sent a messenger ahead to announce his arrival, hating the hullabaloo and fuss everyone always made whenever he came home. He rounded the back of the house and quickly dismounted, pulling his horse around so he wouldn’t be seen by anyone.
No one rushed from the stable to take his horse and he tied it to a hitching post, then went to look for someone, tamping down his irritation. A ridiculous welcoming party was one thing, but he at least expected someone to take his horse. A commotion of laughter caught his attention from outside and he stomped over to give the hands a stern reprimand for shirking.
What he saw made him stop short and conceal himself behind a large shrub. His sight had never failed him before, but he paused and rubbed his eyes in case the long journey and stress was making him see things. It appeared to him that several of the servants were playing some sort of game with his staid brother-in-law, the parson and his lad, and Serena, who he hadn’t seen run since they were children.
Now she tore back and forth, chasing after a large, malformed ball and laughing her head off. In the middle of it all was Matilda, shouting orders and positively glowing. Ashford felt a tearing feeling in his chest and pressed his hand against his waistcoat to still it.
Kostya seemed the most out of his element, clearly not wanting to grab the women too roughly, and seeming glad enough to let them swish past him in their flurry of giggles. He had been through so much, really too much for one man to be able to carry on. And yet he had, and had seemed grateful to do it, only wanting to be where he felt safe from his vile relatives, and where
his beloved daughter had spent her living years. Ashford realized with a pang of shame that he’d forgotten his niece’s birthday, and knew with self-disgust that he would probably forget the anniversary of her death as well when the time came.
As Ashford watched Kostya look happy for the first time in more than a year he decided he couldn’t tell him what he’d learned. He needed proof first, rather than build a house of false hope that might end up crushing him if it all collapsed. The only smiles he’d seen on Kostya’s face lately had been thin and perfunctory, and he couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen him so carefree as he was now, trying and failing to get the ball from Serena.
And Serena. He hadn’t expected his bratty oldest friend to give Matilda anything other than a hard time, believing as she must that Matilda was his mistress, but now they were linking arms and slapping their hands together in a downright friendly way.
Here he’d been worrying about her relentlessly and it didn’t appear that she’d even noticed he was gone. His Matilda had to have been the one responsible for getting this bizarre mix of people together and initiating the odd game. He swallowed hard and pressed against his chest some more. Had he just thought of her as his? That would never do. She would leave, one way or another.
Whether her people in the future changed the fate of the house, or he found Camilla, Matilda would have to leave. She didn’t belong here, even though the heavy pain in his heart and what he saw in front of him told him otherwise. She had to go back, so he needed to get himself under control.
That was his specialty, pushing aside his feelings for the sake of his responsibilities, so he was confident he could do it. But for just a moment longer he wanted to watch her, so happy amongst the people he most cared about. As if she truly did belong.
***
After an hour of running and tossing and tripping over one another, they decided to end the game on a tie. As soon as they were done congratulating each other, Tilly froze to hear a familiar throat clearing. She spun around to see Ashford standing off to the side, arms crossed, looking amused.
“What’s all this?” he asked.
She forgot all sense of decorum at seeing him, realizing she’d missed him even more than she’d admitted to herself, and ran to greet him. He smiled and she stopped short of flinging her arms around him at the sight of it, remembering at the last second who was around, and what year she was in. Instead she gripped his forearms and couldn’t stop beaming, taking in every inch of his face.
His normally furrowed brows were relaxed and his eyes crinkled with his curious smile. He slid out of her grip and squeezed both her hands, his own eyes roaming her face. Could he have missed her as well? She almost laughed at her nonsensical hope.
“You’re all sweaty,” he said, as if mesmerized. She ran her hand over her hair, which was plastered to her forehead, and tried to fluff it up. “Give up, Matilda, you’re hopelessly bedraggled. I like it, though.” He smiled again and she felt like she’d just won the lottery.
Kostya and Serena gathered around, the parson bowed and welcomed him home, and the servants dispersed back to their jobs.
“You should have sent word,” Kostya admonished, looking at him hard.
Ashford shook his head slightly and Kostya’s smile froze. “I don’t like you to put yourself out as if I’m some honored guest.” Before Kostya could reply, he turned to Serena. “Whatever were you doing out there? You were running like I’ve never seen before.”
She blushed, and Tilly noticed her skin was barely dewy and her hair was still mostly in its pins. She plucked at her damp bodice and thought longingly of running shorts and sports bras. Anything stretchy for that matter.
“It’s remarkable good fun,” Serena said. Her eyes were bright as she stared at Ashford still holding Tilly’s hands. Her voice turned brittle, though she kept a smile on her face. “It’s called basketball. Tilly made it up for our amusement and exercise.”
“Did she?” Ashford raised an eyebrow at her and she shrugged.
She was relieved when he dropped her hands, but then he linked arms with her and led her toward the house, offering his other arm to Serena. Kostya followed with a grim look, which made Tilly wonder what exactly he was concerned about. She was glad to see Ashford, but his presence had completely sucked the good humor that was left from their game.
“She caught a thief in the village as well,” Serena continued. “That awful Dilly Baird.”
“Not by myself,” Tilly said hurriedly, when Ashford gave her a horrified look.
“Have you ever heard of fingerprinting, Julian? It’s something they do now in America,” Kostya piped up from behind them.
“I might have heard of it,” he answered, pulling her closer to his side. Was she in trouble, or was he being affectionate? Either way it scared the tar out of her. “And here I was worried you wouldn’t fit in,” he leaned down to murmur in her ear.
“Wait until you see the handkerchief I made for you,” she said.
He laughed and stopped in his tracks, causing Serena to falter in her steps. “You didn’t.” He shook his head, clearly amazed. “Did you really?”
“A whole set of them, actually. You were gone so long.” She pretended to pout at him and he continued to laugh.
“Not even as long as I thought. And you survived quite well. I begin to wonder what we did without you.”
Serena dropped Ashford’s arm. “I’ll just run ahead and tell the servants you’re back.”
She looked wildly at Kostya, who stepped forward. Tilly thought it was an excuse to get away from them, and a poor one at that, since Hester would have let everyone know by now. Her guilt was erased by the desire to find out what Ashford learned.
“Yes. I’ll come with you,” Kostya said after only a slight hesitation.
As soon as they were out of sight around the garden bend, Tilly gave Ashford a hug, meaning to just fling her arms around his shoulders and jump away before he could set her on fire with his offended glare. She really had missed him. She was shocked when his hands came around to rest lightly against her back. When she leaned away from him, he pressed her closer, sliding his hands lower. Her heart thudded against her clammy gown. Mercy, did she stink?
“I’m glad you got along well while I was gone,” he said.
He moved his hands to her sides and set her away from him. The embrace lasted about four seconds, but she felt as if she’d been put through a blender she was so mixed up, and she could still feel where his hands had been.
“Did you find out anything helpful?” she asked.
She smoothed her skirts and started toward the house again. He was most likely so surprised she hadn’t caused the entire village to come after her with pitchforks, he’d hugged her out of relief. If she showed how much she wanted more, she’d be at a severe disadvantage.
“Ah, well, I found out something, but I need to verify it. I’ve sent a message to a contact of mine in France. Now we must wait to hear back from her. I’m waiting on word from Belmary House to see if there’s been activity from the portal, as well.”
“That’s a lot of waiting,” she said, trying to count the days since she’d been gone and compare them to what she thought Dex’s deadline was.
Hopefully he’d throw his body in front of the bulldozers if it came to it. She looked down to hide her emotions. She hadn’t thought about going home in days, so busy helping out with whatever Kostya let her and being an accomplished lady of leisure with Serena.
“I actually have two important pieces of information,” she said, feeling shy all of a sudden. “There’s going to be a dance at the house. In your honor, of course.”
“Of course.” He grimaced. “I’ll have to endure it, I suppose.”
“Yes, because I’m actually really looking forward to it, since the one in London wasn’t so fun.” His eyes widened and she was sorry for bringing it up, so quickly offered the rest of her news. “The next thing is actually more like gossip, though, so maybe you wo
n’t want to hear it.”
“Nonsense. I want to hear it even more. Hurry and tell me.” He pulled her closer, wrapping his fingers around her hand that rested on his sleeve.
She grinned up at him, delighted at his eagerness to hear her dirt. “Okay. I think Serena and Kostya are falling for each other.”
His face froze into a look of dread, as if she’d told him a vengeful ghost haunted the well and not that his friends were possibly finding love.
“Ridiculous,” he said. “On what do you base your findings?”
She would have laughed at him if he hadn’t looked so frightened. “They spend a lot of time together, just them, and Serena’s always finding ways to work him into conversations, which is a dead giveaway when you have a crush on someone.”
“A crush? What kind of foolishness is that? You have to be wrong. They can’t possibly— he sputtered to a stop and took a breath. “Really, they’re very close, but you’ve got it wrong.”
“Whatever you say, Captain Grumpypants,” she grumbled.
He hadn’t let go of her hand, but why was he reacting so adversely to thinking Serena might like someone? She hadn’t felt the shameful pangs of jealousy since she and Serena became closer friends, but now they were back in force.
His brow returned to its furrowed state, but he sighed and laughed once more. “I believe you may have lied to me, Matilda,” he said, looking past her at his land.
“What? When did I?”
“I recall you saying something about being shy and reserved, but you caught a criminal, made friends with one of the snobbiest women I know, got the parson to play an undignified game with several of my servants, and are making up mad stories like a seasoned village granny.”
Belmary House Book One Page 18