The Wayfarer: A Time Travel Romance (The Wayfarer Series Book 1)

by Jennifer L. Hayes

  For now I would settle for a pint at the pub. The White Hart was a welcome sight. I didn’t even care that a few eyebrows were raised by my order. Wine or spirits were the usual preference of a woman, I was told by the barman.

  Thick smoke filled the air, diffusing the bright sunlight as it reached long rays through the windows. Sweet smells from men’s pipes mingled with the delicious aromas of cooking meat. The low-beamed ceiling was exactly how I’d remembered it but the bar itself had yet to experience its twenty-first-century makeover.

  A wall divided the place into sections. One was reserved for drinking only, while the other half was more of a dining room where couples enjoyed some old-fashioned pub fare and ale. A staircase off to the far side near the door led to a second story with rooms to rent. Small booths along one wall gave way to sturdy-looking wood tables and chairs. Lord Henry walked over to our table holding two pints of amber ale. What a déjà vu, I thought, once again feeling a stab at the thought of Ben.

  “My father returns tomorrow from London. Perhaps he can send some letters to his acquaintances to see if anyone may have knowledge of your family.” He looked at me with concern. “I am sorry, Miss Emma, I’d hoped that something here might stir your memory. Perhaps tomorrow I should take you into Oxwich, as you may have come through there by train or coach. Someone is bound to have crossed your path.” He ran his hand through his thick dark hair.

  Sitting across from Lord Henry, I was close enough to notice just how handsome he was. When he turned his gaze on me, I felt the effect of his piercing blue eyes. It left me frozen and speechless. How could anyone even concentrate in his presence?

  Despite the length of his sideburns, which he kept neatly trimmed, he was clean-shaven. Although with his complexion, by midday he’d be battling an afternoon shadow. I wondered if he was oblivious to his good looks.

  “Thanks for everything you’ve done,” I said, taking another sip of my beer and tearing my eyes away from him, hoping that a cold drink might calm the heat in my cheeks. The taste was more bitter than I was used to, but much better than the whiskey. “I don’t want to put you out too much.”

  “Not at all, Miss Emma. I imagine we’ll have you home by tomorrow’s eve.”

  A strained smile crossed my lips. I couldn’t depend on Lord Henry’s hospitality forever but I had nowhere else to go.

  A large middle-aged woman, possibly the owner’s wife, brought over two plates of food. One was a dark-looking stew of some sort and the other looked to be a small roast chicken with potatoes and carrots. Placing them on the table, she looked at Lord Henry. “Please let me know if I can bring you anything else, milord.” She bowed and curtsied.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Greasly.” He nodded politely while adjusting a clean white linen across his lap.

  Where did I know that name from? It was an unusual name and not a particularly nice one.

  “Is the earl returned then from his summer in London?” She gave a not-so-subtle look in my direction, perhaps trying to figure out who I was.

  “Not presently, I’m afraid, but he is to return by tomorrow’s eve.” Lord Henry gave a tight smile and was just about to go back to his beer.

  “My Sarah has just returned herself from London,” she said, gesturing toward a chubby blonde girl of about twenty-five who was folding napkins over in the corner of the bar. “It has done her a world of good and we’re hoping that soon she may have an offer of marriage. She is beautiful, do you not think?”

  This woman reminded me of Mrs. Bennet from Pride and Prejudice. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to avoid laughing out loud.

  “Very, Mrs. Greasly, and I’ve no doubt she will make a most agreeable partner to some lucky chap.” He cleared his throat and gestured towards me. “This is Miss Emma. She’ll be staying at Dormer House for a while. Please give Richard my kind regards,” he said, this time more dismissively.

  Of course! A sick feeling engulfed me as I put the pieces together. Her husband was the pub owner Richard Greasly, the one who had found—or should I say would find—Lord Henry’s body after his accident. With a feeling of utter doom, I looked at Lord Henry, who was completely unaware of his own impending demise. He’d already turned his attention to the food.

  Satisfied and with the smallest of curtsies to me, Mrs. Greasly went on her way.

  “I took the liberty of ordering some food,” he said, already rearranging the plates. “Stew or pheasant?” He looked up at me.

  My stomach was growling and the beer had left me a little weak in the knees. However, right now I could hardly think of eating. For a split second, I actually considered telling him what I knew: that he would die very soon, in a horrible way, only steps from this pub. That’s ridiculous. How did you even start that conversation? No, he would definitely think I was nuts. I’d have to figure something else out.

  “Miss Emma? Are you all right?”

  Nothing is all right, I wanted to blurt out.

  “Yes, fine,” I lied instead. “Stew, please, although I don’t think I’ve ever tried pheasant.” The smell of food left me mildly rejuvenated.

  “It has something of the flavor of both poultry and venison.” He waited for me to start eating before picking up his silverware.

  I hadn’t realized how ravenous I actually was until my first bite. It was without a doubt the most delicious stew I’d ever tasted. The meat fell apart in my mouth.

  “Do people always try to pawn off their daughters on you like that?” I asked, still amazed at Mrs. Greasly’s boldness.

  Lord Henry almost choked on his pheasant. “Pawn off?” He laughed. “What on earth do you mean?”

  “You know, to get rid of,” I said, and he laughed out loud.

  “I know what it means, I’ve just never heard it used in such a way.” He recovered and was readjusting the napkin on his lap.

  “Oh!”

  “I would be lying if I were to say that it has never happened, but Mrs. Greasly is known for trying to ‘pawn off’, as you say, her daughters on any unmarried man who walks through that door, no matter his position.”

  “Poor girls. I couldn’t imagine having a mother like that.” I felt a small tug at my heart. Maybe having a mother like that was better than having no mother at all.

  Sarah Greasly was just finishing folding a mountain of napkins and looked our way. She smiled weakly, as if we knew her shame.

  “Well, not poor, really.” Lord Henry was still continuing the conversation. “For the three other daughters her tactics have worked and they are advantageously wed to wealthy tradesmen. Clearly Mrs. Greasly is on to something.” We both laughed. “Not everyone is lucky enough to have a mother so devoted to their children’s happiness.”

  “Do you not have a good relationship with your mother?” I was used to cutting to the chase, but realized too late that I might be prying. Lord Henry seemed taken back by my question. A flicker of sadness—or was it longing?—crossed his expression.

  “My mother died when I was very young, but I am told that she was very beautiful. The only other mother I’ve known is my father’s second wife, who’s never cared much for me, nor I for her.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” I wondered how she’d died. Had he lost her quickly, as I had lost my own mother, with no time to prepare himself for the blow? “Do you look like her? I mean your mother?”

  “So I’m told.” He looked pensive. Clearly he did not intend to elaborate. “Would you like to try some pheasant?”

  Before he could carve off a piece, I took a bite right off his plate as I’d done so many times out of habit with Ben. He looked momentarily mortified, as did all the other pub patrons, but he smiled and asked if he could try the stew. Soon we were eating off each other’s plates. He completely ignored the stares we were getting throughout our meal, but I couldn’t help but feel a bit self-conscious. In the future I would probably need to address my table manners if I was to blend in and not attract too much negative attention.

  We retur
ned to the house side by side on horseback. The whole time he gave me the rundown of the area, who lived nearby and a few fun bits of gossip. It felt already like we were old friends. He was different outside the walls of his home, where there was such formality. Here he was just like any other man of his age trying to find his place in the world, so oblivious to the fate that awaited him.

  The knowledge of what was to come weighed heavily on my heart. For the first time my own problems paled by comparison.

  Chapter 9

  A Birth

  By the time we reached Dormer House the sun was low on the horizon. No one came out to greet us, so we brought the horses into the stable and untacked. There was an apple left on a hay bale, so I scooped it up and gave half to Angus. The other half I fed to Dexter, who almost swallowed my fingers along with it.

  A horse grunted in the stall next door and I stuck my head in to check on the mare. She was lying down looking uncomfortable. Her back legs seemed stiff and she kept looking towards her belly anxiously.

  “Lord Henry?” I called after him.

  He came out of the tack room holding my jacket. “What is it?” He brushed the bits of straw from my jacket before handing it to me.

  “This mare, she looks like she may have colic.” Having dealt with this before with one of my own horses, I knew how serious it could be even in my time. It was a gastrointestinal condition that was the leading cause of premature death in horses. Often it meant a trip to the veterinary hospital and surgery.

  “Oh?” He looked at the mare in question with concern. Entering her stall, he spoke softly to keep her calm. “I don’t think that’s her problem.” He looked amused. “I think Betsy is in foal.”

  “She’s having her baby now? Should we get some help?” My heart started to beat a little faster. Excitement burst through me. In all my years around horses I’d never been in the right place at the right time to be part of this.

  “No, there isn’t time. I can see one hoof and maybe a muzzle already sticking out.” He gestured to the far side of the stable while taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. “Would you pass me some fresh linens from the tack room and one of those knives the grooms keep with the tools over in that grooming box by the corner?”

  “Yes, of course.” Excited at the prospect of witnessing my first live birth, I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my body, making my limbs feel numb and awkward. I laid the items next to the stall door and hovered just behind Lord Henry’s right shoulder.

  “What do we do now?” I asked, eager to help in the process.

  “Nothing really, it won’t be long now,” he said. “Is this the first time you’ve seen this?”

  “Yes, in person that is. I’ve seen it on YouTube before but never…” He looked confused. I realized my slip. “I mean in books… you know, drawings… it’s like a book series kind of thing. It’s an American thing.” He nodded and I continued more carefully. “I’ve always wanted to see it for myself.”

  “You Tube? Is that some kind of medical journal?” he asked, looking genuinely interested. “I’m not familiar with it.”

  “Um, something like that, I suppose you could say. There are probably… lots of medical references… there.” Nerves. I willed myself to stop talking. “Oh, look!” Happy to redirect his attention, I pointed towards the mare, who had just managed to get the foal’s entire head out but seemed to be straining.

  A look of trepidation crossed his face.

  “It looks like the foal’s shoulder may be caught. I see only one hoof not two.” He bent down towards the mare’s tail, reached his hands inside and felt around. “I can scarcely feel the foal’s leg. It’s a little twisted but my hand is too big to right it…” His eyes locked on to mine with genuine concern. The mare grunted and shifted her body to help with the discomfort.

  “Should I try?” I was already walking over to join him next to the mare.

  She watched me anxiously. Her breathing was quick and strained. The poor thing was in a lot of pain and I was sure the two of us poking and prodding wasn’t helping. Lord Henry moved over to give me space. I rolled the sleeve of my blouse all the way up my arm. Just as I started sliding my hand inside Betsy, I felt his hand on my arm guiding me to the foal’s shoulder.

  As horrific as this was, I didn’t feel the least bit squeamish. It was the close proximity to Lord Henry that I found the most unnerving. Over the musty smell of sweat, there was a touch of lavender from his freshly laundered shirt, which mingled nicely with a hint of alcohol from our afternoon beer. Ever since dating Ben I had never been this close to another man. My belly stirred and the hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention. My inner temperature spiked considerably.

  “Do you feel it?” he whispered.

  Guilt flooded all my senses and snapped me back to the job at hand.

  There is definitely something wrong with me.

  “Yes, I think, but what should I do?”

  “Reach down towards the knee and gently tug it upwards.”

  It was slippery, making it hard to get a firm hold, but I tugged and felt a small pop.

  “Shit!” I blurted before I could stop myself. “My God, I think I broke its leg.” I was horrified that I’d damaged the tiny foal for life. Tears welled up in my eyes.

  “Nonsense, it’s fine. If you felt a pop, that was the joint going back in.” His voice was calm and slightly amused. “They are incredibly flexible at this age, I assure you.”

  I gave another small tug and the leg moved towards me. The mare grunted again, straining her body to push the foal out. With one more giant heave the baby came flooding out, still in its sac.

  Warm liquid poured onto my skirt and I reached for the linens that Lord Henry was already handing me.

  Leaning across me, he carefully cut the sac near the foal’s face with the knife and pulled the tissue back, helping to free the tiny creature. Half in my lap, the baby looked up with glossy eyes, no doubt exhausted from its journey. Tears streamed down my face. What a powerful feeling to hold life or death in my own hands and see life prevail. I felt proud of myself for delivering a foal.

  “Well done, Miss Emma,” Lord Henry said, chuckling.

  He noticed my face and became more serious. His hand was in mine without warning, giving me a tingling feeling that shot straight up my arm as he helped me to my feet. With his other hand he passed me a handkerchief from his pocket which I used to wipe my face. Overcome with emotion, I could barely do more than smile until I became aware of how wet and filthy I’d become.

  “Miss Barnsby is going to have a cow.” I hadn’t meant to say it out loud. I looked to Lord Henry apologetically but he was unable to move, he was laughing so hard.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a lady speak as you do.” It was his turn to wipe away the tears now.

  “So I’ve been told,” I said, and raised my hands in surrender. “How did you know what to do?” Suddenly, I saw Lord Henry in a whole new light. How could a man in his position know how to mend arms and deliver foals? I had always pictured lords and ladies of these grand homes to be much too important to get their hands dirty.

  “I’ve always had an interest in the ways things work, so I’ve spent a great deal of time figuring it out.” He was trying to be humble. I could see my sudden interest in his abilities made him uncomfortable. Shy even. A contrast to his usual confident demeanor. Did he not feel worthy of praise? Or was he simply not used to getting any?

  Betsy was bonding with her baby, licking the rest of the sac from its furry coat. We stepped out of her stall and left them to it. Crisis averted, we started to head up the path towards the house silently, both of us digesting what we had just participated in.

  It was only when we got close to the house that I noticed that something was different. There was far more activity than earlier in the day. Servants I didn’t recognize were rushing about bringing trunks and luggage from a black carriage. The two-horse team nibbled on hay from a net attache
d to their bridles, oblivious to the chaos around them. The carriage driver, a small weasel-like man, watched us with squinty eyes as we approached. From what Lord Henry had explained, they usually took the train in to Oxwich and had their driver pick them up there. I wondered whether this was the same man who had driven the carriage that had apparently struck me.

  Lord Henry put his coat back on and tried to smooth his hair, which had not seemed the least bit out of place. He looked down to me, his expression withdrawn and crisp. Amazed by the transformation that had taken place in seconds right before my eyes, I watched him carefully. He was no longer the same man I’d just spent the afternoon with. This man was now in character.

  “Are you ready to meet the Earl of Pembrooke?” Lord Henry said without even a hint of a smile.

  This sounded ominous. Do I have a choice? A hot bath first didn’t seem to be an option. The lump was back in my throat, making it hard to speak. How could anyone who had raised such a son be all that bad?

  Just as we came up the few stairs I felt a small tug on my hair and realized that Lord Henry had removed a stray piece of straw that had been tangled in the mess.

  Chapter 10

  The Earl

  Phoebus, the butler, opened the door. His usual stoic expression registered a certain amount of shock as he took in our appearances—mostly mine, I was sure. Just as quickly, he recovered and bowed towards Lord Henry.

  “Lord Henry, your father is in the library at the moment,” he said, giving me a sideways glance.

  “Thank you, Phoebus,” Lord Henry said as he breezed straight past the man. “Let McCleary know Betsy’s had her foal.” Phoebus nodded like he’d been given instructions for a meat roast. How could anyone not be moved or the least bit excited by the news?