Who Rescued Who

by Victoria Schade

  Her palms sweated as she screenshotted the image a half-dozen times and saved the original on three different platforms under a code name. Elizabeth hadn’t felt this positive in weeks. She finally had a plan. Or at least half of a plan. She shimmied her shoulders and danced in her chair to vent the adrenaline coursing through her, but stopped when she realized that people might think she’d been snorting something.

  If Whitney walked in the door now, Elizabeth would have a hard time keeping the secret from her. She scanned the room, looking for Whitney’s can’t-miss combination of supermodel height and striking features, but there was no sign of her.

  Elizabeth needed a moment to hit the reset button, to do something that would calm her down. She hadn’t checked her junk email account since the phone call from the scammer with a familiar accent. Had “Uncle Rowan” followed through? Her father had been a man of few words despite making his living teaching people to find the beauty in them, and though he rarely talked about his life in Britain, she at least knew of the town where he was raised and her grandparents’ names. He certainly would have mentioned a brother.

  She logged in, searched for his name, and was surprised to discover a genuine email address with the subject line Fargrove Property.

  She’d expected a slick overview of the land, written like a brochure for a high-end cruise, but the email merely listed the property’s borders and included a line with the dimensions of a stone structure on it. Please review the attached, it said, followed by Yours very truly, Uncle Rowan.

  Opening an attachment from an unknown source was a mistake that could shut down a network. Even the temps that passed through Duchess knew to delete messages with potentially unsafe attachments. Opening it was too stupid to even consider.

  Elizabeth hovered her mouse over the X to click out of it, but her fingers started moving like they were on a Ouija board, controlled by a ghost that was determined to digitally murder her. She clicked the first attachment and held her breath as a Word document loaded. The document had a series of photos, probably the only way they knew how to send them. The first was of a vast undulating field, dotted with sheep and capped by a sky so blue and perfectly cloud-dappled that it looked like Maxfield Parrish had painted it. The second was of a heavily wooded area with a small stone structure in the distance. Inserted in the middle of the photos was a scan of an ancient-looking document filled with property law legalese that she couldn’t translate.

  She kept scrolling down and stopped in shock at an image of a cheerful-looking older couple with their arms around each other.

  Elizabeth pulled her fingers away as if they’d been scorched by the keyboard. The man, smiling at her from beneath a tweed cap, had her father’s eyes. Granted, they were squinting in the bright sun, but there was no mistaking the shape and glint of green. His nose was a match too, and Elizabeth unconsciously touched the turned-up tip of the nose she’d inherited. Clearly her father’s bloodlines were stronger than her mother’s, as evidenced by the genetic patterns she was witnessing for the first time.

  Her suspicious streak was inexplicably dormant. Perhaps her instincts were dulled by the trauma of her very public firing. Perhaps she wanted to believe that she had an additional inheritance from her father now that she had no income, and that the land was a peace offering from him from beyond the grave.

  Or perhaps it was impossible to ignore the fact that the couple she was looking at, he of the jolly smile and kind eyes and she of the soft sweater and long white braid, weren’t hucksters looking to cheat her but long-lost family members who were very likely telling the truth.

  chapter four

  Did you have a good flight?” the old man asked for the third time.

  “It was good, yes, thank you,” Elizabeth answered as brightly as she could manage given that she was exhausted and her phone wasn’t working properly. After over twelve hours of spotty connectivity she felt disconnected from the world.

  She’d sent out a few vague emails to underground tech websites about possibly publishing the incriminating photo of Cecelia, without mentioning specifics, and was eager to check for responses. Plus she had three photos from the trip that she needed to post—one with a moody filter of her looking out the window at a plane on the tarmac with an angle that camouflaged her double chin, a close-up of a glass of Prosecco (#bubblelife), and one of her Vuitton luggage near a Heathrow sign to prove that she was doing something amazing.

  The decision to go to Fargrove had been a sudden one. She thought she could wrap up the property details in a day or so, take care of the box issue quickly as well, then use her remaining time in the UK to do a little touring. The trip would be a palate-cleansing sorbet between the end of Duchess and the beginning of the next phase of her career, whatever that was. The fact that her Airbnb’ed apartment more than covered the cost of her flight and hotels made her feel less guilty about traveling while unemployed, and the prospect of selling off her father’s property made the trip seem like a business transaction.

  “You’ve arrived just in time for an absolutely lovely week of spring weather.”

  “Is that so?” Elizabeth hoped the old man would do the heavy conversational lifting during the drive to Fargrove, since she had no idea what to say to him. Rowan and Trudy couldn’t pick her up from the airport because of a meeting they said was impossible to rearrange, so they sent a thousand apologies and the chatty elderly man with a plaid flat cap and fuzzy gray eyebrows who kept peering at her in the rearview mirror instead. Rowan had first called him their gardener when he explained that he would be picking her up, then referred to him as their friend. Elizabeth guessed William Burke was both. He’d politely insisted she sit in the back seat, said it was more comfortable, and she instinctively liked him even if she was at a loss for what to talk to him about.

  Elizabeth had hoped for some sort of magical response to being in her parents’ home country—a wave of psychic recognition, or a sense of belonging—but all she felt was overtired and nervous. As she sped toward Fargrove it dawned on her that she had chosen her vacation poorly. Why wasn’t she on a tropical beach with a drink in her hand?

  “These clouds are going to clear up. Just a few more moments, then it’ll be sun evermore.”

  Elizabeth looked up at the muddy sky and sure enough a few rays began to pierce the darkness. The sun made short work of the remaining clouds, as if heeding his words.

  “Brilliant,” the man said quietly with a nod. He looked at Elizabeth in the rearview mirror for the millionth time. “Are you hungry? Trudy and Rowan will be waiting for you with a feast. They were disappointed to miss you at the airport, but Rowan is a busy man these days.”

  “I hope they didn’t go out of their way, I’m not a big eater.” Her stomach rumbled as she said the words, but she was unwilling to gain an ounce during her ten days away. “I’ll have a cup of tea, but then I need to get to my hotel.”

  Elizabeth’s itinerary was planned to the hour. She’d briefly visit with Rowan and Trudy over dinner, then spend her first night at the Coach and Horses in the nearby village, get up the next day to discuss the property, which could take all day if lawyers were to be involved, spend a final night in Fargrove, then depart the following morning for her actual vacation.

  “Hotel?” The old man chuckled. “This is Fargrove, dear, not London. It’s an inn. Comfortable, clean, a fine place to lay your head. But why won’t you stay with your aunt and uncle?”

  It still jarred her to hear the words. She’d grown so used to the idea that her family consisted only of her parents that she still couldn’t come to terms with the fact that there were other Barneses in the world. She had always assumed that there were distant second cousins littered across England, but her parents’ lack of interest in connecting with home-country relatives was enough to keep Elizabeth from asking about them.

  Rowan had seemed to sense her unease when they spoke again after his in
itial call, and had Trudy email an old photo of himself with her father, gently proving that he was who he said he was. The young man standing knee-deep in a stream next to her father was rakishly handsome, with thick dark hair, a model’s jawline, and a smile that made him look like he’d just cracked a dirty joke. Her father looked vibrant and happy, so much so that she had difficulty squaring the dispassionate man she knew with the joyful man in the photo. The brothers had their arms wrapped around each other in the photo, and the intimacy of the pose confused Elizabeth. Their smiles were broad and genuine. Why hadn’t her father told her about this brother he was once so close to?

  “I didn’t want to put them out by staying with them. It’s easier to stay at the inn.”

  “Put them out, you say? You’re about to get an education in hospitality. Just wait.” He nodded again. “Just wait.”

  The landscape shifted as they drove on, and the desolate view was replaced by rolling green fields bordered by tidy rock walls. The sun saturated the colors, and the impossibly bright emerald of the fields perfectly complemented the bluebonnet sky. Soon the scene outside her window started to resemble the photo Trudy had sent, sheep included, and she relaxed for the first time since she touched down.

  It was real. Elizabeth closed her eyes and fell asleep.

  She awoke to the sound of the wheels coming to a stop on crushed rock. Through her sleepy haze she saw a jumble of well-tended flowers, a fairy-tale house beyond the curved driveway, and a black-and-white dog eyeing the car in a predatory crouch. She had barely taken in her surroundings when William Burke jumped out of the car and opened her door with surprising agility. Elizabeth tried to compose herself, raking her fingers through her hair and smoothing her gray cashmere wrap as she got out of the car. Her heart thudded when she spotted Rowan and Trudy Barnes standing a few steps away.

  Rowan took two steps toward her and his eyes filled with tears. He was tall and thin, with posture so straight that it took years off him. His close-cropped white hair was tidy, as if he had gotten a fresh haircut just in time for her visit. In his face she saw her father, if her father had been capable of wide, genuine smiles and the crinkly eyes that go with them. The combination of familiar and foreign caught her off guard.

  “Elizabeth Afton Barnes.” He paused and smiled at her despite the tears welling. “Welcome home.”

  This stranger was her family, there was no denying it. Everything from the way he looked to the way he moved seemed familiar, and it knocked Elizabeth off balance. Having never met relatives, she wasn’t sure how to act, so she deferred to her go-to greeting, the one that worked with everyone from janitor to investor.

  “It’s such a pleasure to see you!” Elizabeth quickly wiped off her sweaty palm beneath her wrap and offered it to Rowan as he strode to her. He swatted her hand away and pulled her close, enveloping her in a hug that lifted her onto her toes. She couldn’t remember the last hug she’d received, but she knew that it probably only included the edge of a shoulder blade and spaghetti arms. Getting hugged by Rowan Barnes felt like she was being schooled in the art by a human teddy bear.

  The black-and-white dog ran circles around them, barking insistently as they embraced. Elizabeth wasn’t sure what to think about the barky editorial given that her primary exposure to dogs was Cecelia’s dog Winston, who was more wheezing, mole-covered lump than canine. The barking sounded serious, like the dog was seconds away from attacking her, but no one else seemed to care about the spiraling canine threat level.

  Rowan beamed at her, ignoring the noise. “Look at you. You are the best of your father, with a little of your beautiful mum Felicity thrown in to sweeten it up. And there’s the Barnes nose!” He touched his own nose and winked at her. “Trudy, isn’t she lovely?”

  Trudy stood at his elbow, dwarfed by him. Her close-set brown eyes sparkled as she took Elizabeth in. She was pillowy, not overweight exactly, but not as fit-looking as Rowan. She wore a long-sleeve pink sweater with a wide, messy knit, perfect for the cool air as the sun started to set. Her white hair was in a braid that fell on her shoulder, tied off with a collection of multicolored yarn. She took Elizabeth’s hands in hers and squeezed them, as if she could sense that another hug might overwhelm her. “We are thrilled to have you here, and Major is as well despite the commentary.” She turned to the dog dervishing around them and gave a long low whistle. He stopped barking and plopped down as if someone had swept his legs from under him.

  Trudy looked at Elizabeth like she was searching for something in her face. “You must be famished and exhausted. We have supper prepared. William, will you be joining us?”

  The old man stood knee-deep in a climbing rosebush near a stone wall, rooting through it with a keen eye and a small pair of pruning shears. “What? Oh, no, I’m afraid I can’t join this evening.” He was distracted by the work. “I’ve missed some canes. I’ll finish here, then be on my way.”

  “Right. Keep at it, then. Thank you!” Trudy waved, but he was too engrossed in the work to notice.

  She laced her arm through Elizabeth’s and began to walk her to the house, with Rowan trailing behind them with her luggage and Major once again complaining about her presence. Elizabeth was finally able to take it all in as they approached the large white house. They followed a tidy crushed-stone path that branched off in various directions, all edged by a razor-cut hedge and an artist’s palette of lush flowers. The house had mullioned windows and an oversized arched doorway in the center. The undulating shingled roof sat low on the structure like a too-big hat and had three dormer windows and a chimney at either end. Elizabeth could see a collection of stone buildings farther down the drive. The property looked like it had sprung from Middle-earth, and she could already envision how she was going to frame it in a post. She might even include the dog, if it ever stopped barking at her.

  “We’ll take you to your father’s spot after we eat. You look like you could use a good meal, and tonight we’re having salmon en croute.”

  “I hope you didn’t go to any trouble, I don’t have much of an appetite,” she lied.

  “That’s what you say, but wait until you have a taste of Trudy’s puff pastry,” Rowan replied.

  “I still need to check in at the Coach and Horses Inn. Is it far from here? And what time is it now? I don’t want to lose my reservation.” Elizabeth was nervous and felt herself babbling about details, trying to gain some control of this unfamiliar situation. She cringed inwardly, though. Did she seem rude?

  “It’s just a hop down the road, don’t you worry. I’ll drive you there after we eat,” Rowan said comfortingly.

  Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder at him as they walked to the house and noticed that Rowan was holding her oversized leather carry-on to his chest with one hand while pulling her suitcase with the other. She thought of the box she’d put in the bag as she was walking out the door, almost as an afterthought, even though it was half the reason she was where she was.

  The brothers were finally reunited.

  chapter five

  Elizabeth awoke in a panic. She sat up quickly and looked around the dark room, trying to get her bearings. There were embers glowing in a massive fireplace a few feet away from her. A low beamed ceiling above her. A large rustic table in front of her. An exposed stone wall across the way. A nubby moss-colored wool blanket across her body. She was in a beautiful kitchen, on a cushioned window seat beneath a bay window.

  Still at Rowan and Trudy’s. But why?

  She heard a low rumble by the fireplace and squinted toward the sound. It was Major, lying in a plaid dog bed, making strange rumbly-whiny lip-smacking sounds at her. He was staring at her, and his body looked as if he was ready to pounce if she moved too quickly. Elizabeth started to get up, and the noises intensified. She pulled her feet back up on the window seat and eyed the doorway, wondering if she should make a break for the bathroom. Could her two legs beat his four? Major’s ey
es remained fixed on her and his tail thumped the side of the bed, filling the room with his impatient rhythm. The dog had made it clear that he didn’t like her during their meal, to the point where Trudy had to put him outside with apologies for what she called his chatty behavior.

  She craned her neck to try to find her purse in the dark room and was happy to see it at the far end of the bench. She pulled out her phone—slowly, so as not to incite Major again—and tapped through her various accounts. Still nothing. Elizabeth already had a dozen brand-enhancing images to post, even a few of Major from a distance since dogs were good for social media engagement. She’d walked around the driveway while Trudy set the table for supper, trying to find a spot that might allow her to connect, but the Fargrove Barneses were in the deadest dead zone.

  She thought back to the evening before, trying to make sense of why she was still there instead of at the inn. She remembered eating a full portion of pastry-wrapped salmon along with asparagus and a shocking helping of crispy oven-roasted potatoes. And the drinks. First, a glass of champagne to celebrate her safe arrival, then two glasses of white wine with dinner poured by Rowan’s heavy hand, topped off with a larger-than-normal glass of port for dessert. The last thing she remembered was thinking that she’d just close her eyes on the comfortable bench for a second, while Trudy and Rowan busied themselves at the sink with the dishes.

  The drinks had helped to calm her nerves and allowed her to chat like a brand ambassador at a product launch. They’d kept the subject matter light at first, talking about Major’s unusual behavior, her flight, the weather, and if she’d packed appropriate clothes for the trip, until the wine began to take hold.