Mr. Grant’s lantern swung with the motion of his stride, making Henry feel like he was on the pitching deck of a ship, his balance never quite as steady as he would have liked.
Three pine caskets were lined side by side, giving the empty space some form of order.
Which one was it? That was his first thought.
Which one held Emma?
“Sorry, my lord, I didn’t expect there to be more than one,” Mr. Grant said, holding a sturdy metal bar in one hand. “I’ll just start with the first.”
He walked quickly to the first box and lifted the lid with his tool.
“Not this one,” he said under his breath. He moved swiftly to the next, hardly securing the lid of the first.
“No, not this one either.” His embarrassment was apparent through his stiff smile.
Henry looked to the third box and almost wished he could leave. Maybe not knowing for sure was better than having absolute certainty. There would be no turning back.
Mr. Grant was far too eager to have the matter resolved. Not to mention the hefty sum he’d been promised.
Henry braced himself for the inevitable, his teeth clenched in morbid anticipation.
The lid popped off with some ease and Mr. Grant stepped back, giving Henry the space around the coffin.
With a hesitant step, which was easily attributed to his injuries, Henry neared the wooden box, watching the shaft of light from his lantern as it slowly stretched out towards the lifeless body.
He held his breath for the last two paces.
The first thing he saw was the golden hair, a tangled mess peppered with twigs and leaves. She’d been outdoors for a time before discovery.
It was the nose that immediately gave it away. Slightly upturned, not at all like Emma’s.
Naturally, he’d memorized every inch of her. If he had to, he could sketch her flawlessly, every curve and every freckle.
It was not her!
Relief overwhelmed him. Had he not been in present company he would have cried out with glee.
It was not his Emma.
A smile tugged at his lips and he fought the urge to allow its growth. His nerves felt on end. His body shivered slightly from the anxiety.
It was not his love.
“I thank you, Mr. Grant. I’ll see you well paid for your time,” was all he could manage before walking briskly from the watch house.
As soon as he crossed the threshold to the outdoors he doubled at the waist and retched the entire contents of his stomach.
Chapter 14
The Journal
“Dearest Miss Redford, would you mind terribly grabbing my shawl,” Isobel commanded from her comfortable bench in the garden.
Eileen didn’t mind at all. In fact, she was relieved to have the few minutes away from Isobel. She found Isobel’s manner so grating. For two full days she’d waited on the girl hand and foot. Had she not been suspicious that Isobel knew something of her daughter Emma, she would have quit and looked for other employment.
After all, it wouldn’t be forever, just long enough to survive before she could get back.
However, now she knew she couldn’t go back. At least not yet.
First she needed to know what Isobel knew.
But how?
The girl appeared far more clever than anyone gave her credit for. What was she playing at?
Was she a friend to Emma or a foe?
Something inside Eileen screamed the latter.
On the outside, Isobel seemed amiable and content, but when Eileen caught her unguarded, in those moments when she thought no one was observing, she gave quite a different impression.
Dangerous even.
“Of course, Lady Isobel, I’d be happy to be of service,” Eileen replied.
When she reached Isobel’s bedchamber, the maid was in the middle of cleaning, or should she say browsing.
The maids, she was sure, took a certain amount of entertainment perusing the wardrobe and personal items of their charge. Perhaps imagining themselves in a different life.
Who could blame them?
Eileen certainly didn’t judge. In fact, had it not been incredibly inappropriate, she would have encouraged it.
They are no better than you, she wanted to tell them.
But that was not how things were in this time. Born into service, one rarely ever left it.
So, finding the maid looking at the journal on Lady Isobel’s night table, she almost felt the urge to double back, but the poor young girl saw her as she walked in. The journal dropped to the ground with a thud.
She stammered, “So sorry, miss, I was only—”
“Cleaning,” Eileen finished for her. “No harm done. I’ve only come to fetch something for Lady Isobel. Would you mind giving me a moment?”
Relieved that the matter would go no further, the maid was quick to oblige and scurried out of the room.
Wasting no time, Eileen went straight for the journal. Perhaps Lady Isobel had written something in it regarding her daughter.
Its leather-bound jacket was worn and scratched. She flipped through the pages with impressive speed.
There was something odd about the journal. The handwriting was not regular, precisely slanted and pleasing to the eye as was most nineteenth-century writing.
Instead the cursive was bulbous and disproportionate. Sketches of cats littered the margins. It was a mess.
It reminded her distinctly of her sister’s hand. In fact, there was little room for doubt at all.
All along, she’d thought that Lady Isobel’s connection had been to her daughter, but was Isobel instead linked to her sister?
Any moment Eileen would be out of time. Any moment she could be discovered.
What to do?
“Eileen?” The voice of Mrs. Trebor sent a wave of fright through her body.
She was out of time. She scanned the room for Lady Isobel’s shawl.
“Yes, Mrs. Trebor,” she answered, hoping to delay one more moment.
The door creaked open just as Eileen placed the journal back on the night table.
“There you are, dear,” Mrs. Trebor said, breezing into the room. “I was thinking that Lady Isobel could use a diversion. She’s looking a little grim, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes, Mrs. Trebor, please tell me what you have in mind.” Eileen couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever get another chance to see that journal. She cursed herself for not being more daring and stuffing it into her dress.
How had Lady Isobel come to possess such a thing?
Instead of answering questions it only served to give her more.
She needed to get her hands on it again.
“A dinner party,” Mrs. Trebor said with confidence.
“Lovely, Mrs. Trebor, I’d be happy to help.”
The dreadful girl needed a spanking, not a party, Eileen lamented.
Chapter 15
The Earl’s Request
Henry sat in the study by the fire with a glass of wine.
One month had passed now without a word from Emma.
Had she gone back to the future?
The thought was like a vice around his heart. Perhaps she was safer then.
Did she think of him as he thought of her, every second of every day? Did she also long to feel his touch?
In his mind’s eye he pictured her soiled after delivering the foal, tears welling in her eyes. There was not the faintest glimmer of disgust from the dirt and grime, only pure enjoyment.
Any gentlewoman he’d ever met could scarcely tolerate even the creasing of her fine clothes, let alone such a vulgar sight as the birth of a creature.
Emma was not like anyone he’d ever met. Emma was his soul, his heart and his passion.
She had to come back to him. He would die in waiting for her.
What was this future world she came from? It was difficult for Henry to create a mental picture of what that would be.
Carriages without horses driving themselves d
own busy streets. He imagined that it would be a disastrous sight but one he relished to see.
Tomorrow he would leave for London. He needed a change of scenery. Keeping busy was now the only thing that could ease his constant anguish.
Country life certainly didn’t offer much in the way of distraction. Especially with his leg not yet completely healed. Riding was achieved with great difficulty. Even walking through the gardens was a laborious task as he leaned heavily on a cane.
Henry took another long sip of his wine, the subtle taste of blackcurrants gliding down his throat.
The letter from John Snow sat on the table next to him. It had been what Emma had said about cholera and John Snow’s research that had led him to make some inquiries. He wanted to help.
Mr. Snow was eager to have all hands on deck and certainly the son of an earl was a welcome addition, perhaps one that might carry some influence in the House of Lords.
Henry didn’t mind using his father’s connections for this purpose if it allowed him to feel useful again.
If he carried on this path of despair it wouldn’t be long before he’d find himself lost to the opium dens just to ease some of his suffering. He’d already had to cut down on his use of laudanum as he was finding himself forming a habit.
Now, he accepted the pain in his leg as a penance for failing Miss Clayton.
Despite his reservations in leaving, he believed it would do him some good. He’d arranged for his favorite footman, a young man named Peter, to be his eyes and ears here at Farthington Manor. Should Miss Emma return, Peter had very detailed instructions. Henry felt he could trust the lad. That was something.
He heard footsteps and wondered if the servants were doing final checks before they retired. It was already eleven and supper was long over.
“You’re still awake?” The gruff voice of his father startled him.
“I am.” He understood the question to be rhetorical but felt inclined to answer just the same. He and his father had exchanged few words these last few weeks. “Would you care for a glass?”
“Perhaps I could allow myself just one.” The strain of the month was evident. Since the fire he’d lost some of his fight.
Henry stood and poured a glass for his father. Henry handed it to him as he settled back in to his own chair.
Both men sat quietly for a moment, staring at the hypnotic flames. It was impossible not to reflect on its destructive nature.
“Son.” The earl broke the silence. “There are matters I wish to discuss.”
He paused for a sip of his wine.
“I know you think me a heartless man, but I want you to know that is simply not true. I am a man with great feeling. What you feel for this woman, I have no doubt to your own knowledge is love, but let me also tell you that I too have felt like that about a woman. I know the turbulent nature of the heart and how it rarely leads a man to a place of knowledge but often instead to his own disgrace. My love for your mother almost ruined me. When she left this world I was broken and with little will to carry on. But I did, because I had obligations. I had you. I know your stepmother has fallen short on many counts in your esteem, but she did help me to get through a most difficult time. While the feelings I had for her were never of the same nature as with your mother, from it grew a friendship and support that I now value greatly.”
Henry tore his gaze from the fire and saw the sadness in his father’s eyes. A look of vulnerability he’d never before witnessed.
Were they to talk about feelings? It seemed a bit vulgar. He’d thought the man impervious to such emotions.
“In time,” the earl continued, “you too will be able to form an attachment that resembles something like esteem.”
“Father, I do not wish to hold someone in good esteem, I want to have more.”
“I understand that at this moment it is difficult to fathom such a relationship, but Henry, we do not have the luxury to hold out for love. You have a responsibility to your family, your servants and your future tenants who depend on your good choices for their own survival.”
Henry ran his fingers through his hair. He knew that the words his father spoke were the truth but he didn’t want to hear it. He would not give up hope or falter in his promises to Miss Clayton.
“Our situation is even more dire now that we’ve lost Dormer House. If we’re to rebuild, then you must marry soon.”
“I am truly sorry, Father, but there is nothing to be done, my mind is quite made up. I will not turn my back on her.”
“Perhaps you’ve not understood me, son, you don’t have the luxury of choice.” His father’s voice edged more on command.
“Strip me of my title if you must, but I will not marry.”
“I’ll do more than that, son, I’ll ensure that if your beloved Miss Clayton returns she will hang for her offenses.”
The violent words hung between them. A dangerous threat to be sure.
He wouldn’t dare.
“How dare you make such a threat against an innocent woman and against me.”
“There is only one way you can protect her—”
“I will prove her innocence to you. You will see,” Henry interrupted.
“It will be impossible to prove, son, and with my connections I’m afraid you will lose. However, if you agree to put your romantic notions aside, turn her away and marry, I will drop the entire case from this day forward. She will be allowed to remain with her reputation and character intact. Only separate from you.”
Henry cursed. He knew that he had been outwitted. Now he found himself in an impossible position: give up Miss Clayton so that she might go free, her character unblemished, or condemn her to prison.
Be without her.
“But she is innocent!”
“None of us are innocent. We are all guilty of something, as you will come to realize. Don’t be so foolish.”
Henry stood abruptly and launched his wine glass into the fire, a small act of violence, his temper finally unleashed.
“You have made threats against Miss Clayton and in doing so against me. I will never forgive you. If it pleases you to see me suffer, then know this. I will do your bidding only because I love her more than life itself. I know if Mother were witness to the man you’ve become she would shudder in her cold grave and consider herself lucky to have had such a fate instead of remaining at your side.” He could not rein in his anger. “I go along with your plan not because I care for your wellbeing or for myself but because Miss Clayton deserves it. There will not be a moment of rest until I am able to bring the truth to light.” Tears of rage and anguish fell from Henry’s eyes indiscriminately.
He’d never felt such hostility as he did in this moment.
If he were a man of war, his blood rage would be unforgiving and merciless.
“Now, I bid you good night, sir. I shall not be in your company willingly again. From this day forth our interaction will be strictly business in nature.”
Henry turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. He wouldn’t go straight to bed, he was far too lit to lie still. Sleep would not come to him, of that he was certain.
Instead, he stormed out the front entrance and headed for the stables.
Chapter 16
A Journey
Other than the usual dampness, there had yet to be another storm of any significance. One month had passed since I’d returned and I had yet to feel even a stirring in my core.
I’d started to wonder if I’d be doomed to roam the twenty-first century forever, becoming some weird bird lady who talked gibberish to herself on the bus.
Every moment of every day I thought of Henry and how it would go when I finally saw him. Would he be thrilled about the baby? Nervous maybe at the prospect of being a father?
It was a terrifying thought, being a parent. April had been such a trooper to go with me for my first scan.
“Ah, Em, what’s that wand thing? Do they just wave it around your belly and say abracadabra… a baby?�
�
I loved how blunt she could be.
The room they put us in looked a little weathered. Unattended cracks in the ceiling. Paint chipping from the walls and exposed pipes that rattled from time to time. Welcome to a World War Two hospital.
“No, I don’t think they wave it.” I gave her a raised eyebrow.
“Oooh… they…” Her hand protected her own crotch as if she’d be forced to have the same examination. “Are you sure they’ll be cool if I hang out here with you?”
“Of course, I want you here.” I hesitated. “Are you cool with this?”
“Sure, I have lady parts too, it’s fine.” She smiled. “I guess I’m really racking up the BFF points, right?”
“That goes without saying.”
In fact, I didn’t think I could have managed any of this without her. She had truly been my pillar, as promised.
A knock at the door preceded the doctor’s arrival. He was an older gentleman somewhere in his fifties. Round silver-framed glasses told me that he was not a man who cared much for changing fashions. He preferred to stick with styles until they came back in.
“Good day, ladies, so let’s have a look at this baby of yours,” he said and got straight down to business.
His comment left little doubt that he believed us to be a lesbian couple embarking on a new family together.
April gave me a crooked smile.
“As it is still early days, I’ll be doing an internal ultrasound. It’s the only way we may pick up a heartbeat.”
“All right,” I said through jittery teeth and giving April a shy smile. Sorry, I mouthed to her.
This really was asking a lot. It was going to be rather intrusive.
“Okay, spread your legs just a little and take a deep breath,” he said with one hand on my abdomen, the other sporting the wand.
Okay, not too bad.
April fixed her gaze on the empty screen in anticipation of something appearing.
It was the sound that I heard before I even saw the image. That low baritone double-beat that sounded less like a heartbeat and more like a tiny drum.
That was the very moment it felt real. That the tiny life inside me was no longer a fiction or an abstract idea.
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