The Forgotten Story

by Michelle E Lowe

  There was no chance to hide anything from the police who burst through the door. As uniformed men stormed the place, Filip Faix leaned on the bar and enjoyed the entertainment while he drank his cocktail. He grabbed his forbidden bottle of Benton’s Old Fashioned and left the speakeasy.

  Eventually, Pierce would return to his own era with only tiny fragments of where he had been. Until then, he just needed to stop his blasted bellyaching.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The Story of the Priest

  A thump on his noggin got Pierce stirring. Hugh stared at him.

  “My frog,” the boy said.

  Pierce had no idea what to make of that other than a frog had escaped the lad and jumped on him.

  With a smack of his dry lips, he muttered, “Frog?”

  Hugh pointed. “My frog.”

  He dreaded what he was about to find as he looked over. He jerked a little when he caught sight of the frog’s arse peeking up from between the backrest of the armchair and his shoulder.

  “Bloody . . . er . . . kittens,” he recanted, withholding his profanity.

  Pierce reached over and felt cold tin instead of cold skin. He pulled the toy out.

  It was a realistically painted plaything, but at least it wasn’t real. The legs were constructed of springs that, when pushed down upon a surface, would cause the toy to pop up. Another of Indigo’s works of art.

  He handed it over. “Here you are, lad.”

  The boy snatched it from him and joined his sister in their play area on the floor. Pierce yawned and stretched his sore limbs. It proved to be a challenge. He had fallen asleep scrunched up in the armchair and had stayed in the same position the entire night. His muscles and joints were painfully stiff.

  “Good morning,” said Eilidh, walking over to him. “Here is some coffee. I’m sure you need it.”

  When he peered into her eyes, he saw it still wasn’t Eilidh.

  He didn’t particularly care for coffee. He found it too bitter for his liking, but when a shot of pain nailed him in the head, he decided to make amends with the blasted stuff.

  He accepted the mug. “Cheers.”

  “I added milk and sugar to it,” Orenda explained as he took his first sip.

  He had to admit it wasn’t bad.

  Hugh went over to her. “You’re not Mommy.”

  Pierce nearly choked on his second sip. As he worked to tame his wild coughing, Orenda kneeled in front of the boy.

  “No. I am not. Your mother is with me, sleeping. Mr. Landcross and I are on a very important mission. We request your silence if we are to succeed. Can we trust you to keep our secret?”

  Hugh stared at her before looking over at his infant sister as though to ask her opinion. She only sat, suckling on a toy.

  The lad looked back over to her. “We want to know if Mommy will return.”

  “Of course, darling. I only need to borrow her for a little while.”

  Pierce thought how this was the strangest first-thing-in-the-morning conversation he had ever heard.

  Hugh lowered his eyes to the bouncy frog toy he held in both hands and then raised his chin up to her. “My sister and me will keep yours and Mr. Landcross’s secret so long as you return our mommy.”

  “I swear, my sweet. She’ll be yours again soon enough.”

  He was quiet for a few moments. “All right.”

  With that, he went to play with his sister.

  Orenda rose to her full height and looked over at Pierce. “You ought to leave soon.”

  Pierce’s head was pounding to the point that he wanted to rip it off and kick it away. He tore his body off the chair, washed up, and drank more delicious coffee. By the time everyone was ready to go, he was twitching from the caffeine.

  “Let’s push on, eh?” he said shortly after breakfast.

  Archie and Clover had found a luggage trunk large enough to fit him. Archie hitched up the horse to their carriage and brought it to the front. Pierce had packed his things, including his hat, into his rucksack. He handed it off to Archie, who put it into the coach.

  Before Pierce stepped into the trunk, Orenda gently grasped him by the arm. “Whatever it takes,” she softly reminded him.

  He didn’t fancy being used as bait, yet he also understood that Freya would not stop. He decided that his best shot was to follow through with what Orenda had advised him to do. He felt he really didn’t have a choice in the matter, anyway.

  “Aye. Whatever it takes.”

  He focused his attention on the open trunk and sighed. It had all sounded good at the time, but now that he was facing it, the idea of going into the box made him shudder.

  He unholstered his gun and held it as he stepped in, lying down in the fetal position.

  Before lowering the lid, Archie advised, “Take a breath.”

  Pierce breathed in deeply and the lid closed. His only source of light came through the tiny keyhole located near his hands. The chest offered just enough room for him to fit. Were he as tall as his brother, Joaquin, he would never have been able to cram himself in.

  The lock clicked, trapping him inside.

  “Are you ready, Kolt?” Archie asked the lad.

  “Ja.”

  They grabbed the handles on either side and hoisted it up. Pierce’s head hit the wall when they adjusted their hold. He refrained from saying a word, for no protection shield lay beyond the threshold of the house, as Orenda explained.

  The hinges creaked and he took in another nervous breath before they walked out. He was sure the soldiers were already eyeing them.

  “Ready to lift?” Archie asked shortly after he and Kolt stopped.

  “Ja. On three.”

  This was a scary moment. Lifting him up onto the roof of the tall carriage without letting on that there was a full-grown man inside would be tricky. Pierce envisioned being dropped and the lid popping open, rolling him out of the trunk and right to the guards’ feet.

  Archie and Kolt counted to three and, with a strenuous yet manageable grunt, they lifted.

  “That looks heavy,” noted an unfamiliar voice. A guard, he reckoned.

  “Aye,” Archie agreed. “The lady has packed several gowns.”

  “Indeed,” Kolt said, helping to push the trunk across the roof. “My mother never knows what she wants to wear, which causes her to overpack.”

  “Is that so?” the soldier asked, sounding suspicious. “Those must be some mighty heavy clothes to cause a pair of able-bodied men like yourselves to sweat and fall short of breath.”

  Pierce’s thumb slowly pulled the pistol hammer back. He expected a request to search the trunk.

  “My ears are burning,” Frederica joined in. “Is someone talking about me?”

  “Is this your trunk, ma’am?” the nosy guard asked.

  “It is,” she admitted while she stepped toward them, the gravel on the lane crunching under her boots. “Why?”

  “Ma’am, I shall only ask you this once,” the guard said. “Is there more than clothing in there?”

  “Yes,” she answered directly. “I have books.”

  “Books?”

  “Ja. I tend to get bored during my travels, you understand.”

  “Forgive my asking, ma’am, but how many novels do you have in there?”

  A gut-wrenching pause caused Pierce to tremble.

  “I confess it is the entire series of The Adventures of Pierce Landcross,” Frederica said at length. “I’m in the middle of reading them. They’re very good. Have you read them, sir?”

  “No, ma’am, I haven’t. You are aware we are searching for Landcross, and that anybody caught assisting him will be penalized severely?”

  Pierce envisioned the soldiers surrounding the coach. Frederica was a talented actress, but these guards were being very intimidating. He didn’t hold an abundance of hope that she, or anyone else, would be able to keep up their act much longer.

  The wailing of a child sounded from within the house moments before Ore
nda called out, “Archie, after you take Mrs. Katz and her son to the railway station, bring Dr. Tyler here to look at Jeneal.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Archie demanded.

  “She’s running another fever. I believe her pneumonia has returned.”

  Orenda sounded very concerned—on the brink of tears, even. The baby’s crying increased. Pierce feared Orenda had done something to the child in order to create this distraction.

  There was the sound of footsteps walking away.

  “She does feel hot, and she’s sweating,” Archie noted, sounding worried, as well.

  “Please, would you hurry?” Orenda pleaded.

  “Aye,” he complied. “Mrs. Katz, please take your seat while I tie down your belongings.”

  “Mrs. Katz!” called Clover. “May I join you so as to ask more questions on the way to the station?”

  “Of course, my dear,” Frederica granted.

  The coach rocked slightly as the doors were opened and the passengers seated. It moved again as Archie tied rope over the luggage.

  “Forgive us, officers,” Archie apologized, “we really must be going.”

  Even though Pierce could not see a damn thing, he reckoned the child must appear frightful. The soldier merely yielded. “Of course. Go fetch your physician.”

  In moments, the carriage was in motion.

  The ride to the barn proved excruciating with every passing second. Aside from worrying that the soldiers would stop them or were secretly tailing them, the air had become increasingly thin inside the box. The confined space allowed him no room to move about, making his muscles and joints ache. It irritated him to the brink of madness.

  At last, Clover instructed her brother to turn onto an overgrown road. After a slow and bumpy ride that lasted many minutes, they stopped.

  “Do you think we were followed?” Clover asked as Archie untied the rope.

  “I suppose we’ll find out momentarily.”

  At this point, Pierce couldn’t give a toss, and so yelled out, “Get me the bloody hell out of this box!”

  After the ropes were untied and the trunk unlocked, Pierce pushed up the lid, sucking in the brilliance of fresh, cool air as he sat up. He must have looked dreadful, for everyone stared at him strangely.

  “Are you all right?” asked Archie.

  “I . . . I’m fine.”

  Pierce climbed out with his pistol in hand and leaped off the coach. He placed his hand over his beating chest and leaned against the carriage while taking in more needy breaths.

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I’m never doing that again.”

  He surveyed his new surroundings. They were inside a small, shabby barn with no doors at the front or back, leaving the place wide open at both ends. Twisted, thorny vines had pushed their way between the boards. The roots of a tree had broken through the rotten flooring, pushing parts of it up. In the rafters above were dozens of old bird nests and spider webs dense enough to catch rodents.

  “When did you find this place?” Archie asked Clover.

  “Some time ago, while I was out riding. I come here to write when it’s warm enough. I wrote some of your books here, Pierce.”

  “Grand,” he said with a deep sigh, holstering his gun. “Right. You lot ought to push on. Get to the station and then fetch a physician for your baby, Arch.”

  “Jeneal is fine,” Archie stated. “She’s teething, which can make her break out into a fever at times.”

  “Ah,” Pierce said, recalling the hell of teething with his own children. “Best bring in a physician anyway to avoid raising suspicion.”

  “Are you going to travel to London on foot?” Clover wondered aloud.

  Pierce shrugged. “London ain’t far. A couple of nights walking and I’ll reach the city by Friday.” He addressed Federica. “Darling, shall I see you there?”

  She offered him her infamous smile and took him by the hands. “Of course.”

  He sighed with relief, for she was the only one who could save him.

  The heartwarming moment ended when her sights turned to something outside. His initial thought was that it was the soldiers.

  A young boy, dressed in rags, stood at the opening by the rear exit, staring at them.

  He turned sideways, cuffed his hands over his mouth, and called out, “They’re here! Over here!”

  Once again, Pierce’s thoughts fell to guards, and that the little tosser was hollering to them. After the lad ran off, Pierce darted after him. “Oi! Hold up!”

  He ran out of the barn and into the small, overgrown field beyond. He stopped short. A group of people stood before him. They were also dressed in rags and other old clothing and wore bandanas, feathers in their hats, and bells tied around their ankles and wrists. Some held walking sticks. Many seemed foreign, and a couple of them smoked from long clay pipes. Most of the women wore colorful skirts with brightly dyed bandanas wrapped around their heads. The diverse group had a great deal of mischief in their eyes.

  “Gypsies,” Pierce whispered with a grin.

  Pierce didn’t need to ask. He surmised this lot was sent by Orenda to help him. A young girl with dark eyes and dark skin, no older than ten or so, stepped forward. Her long hair was in several small braids tied with a bandana weaved from colorful yarn. Her dress was a patchwork of different types of cloth, and her brown, scuffed boots had black lacing. One boot was untied.

  When she reached him, she pulled on his coat collar, indicating she wanted him to kneel. He did so without question. She wasn’t as tall as Clover was when she was that age. The years of living on the road, eating whenever food was available, may have contributed to her lack of growth. Her eyes held wisdom in them that exceeded her years. Pierce had noticed this sort of thing before with Sees Beyond.

  “You are the one we were sent to collect,” the girl informed him.

  “I reckon so.”

  A man, possibly her father, said something to her in Romanian. She responded and then turned to face the clan. “This is the man I saw in my dreams,” she proclaimed. “We must bring him to London.”

  Shortly after the girl, Diana Gabor, made her announcement, Pierce was seen by the eldest of the clan, an old Russian woman named Lada Yenin. Apparently, she was once a Ruska Roma, living as a servant singing in a chorus as a young woman. Eventually, after losing her husband, she migrated to England with her infant son and joined up with this other troupe. Or, so she explained when Pierce asked.

  She had a wrinkled face, liver spots, and grey skin under dark eyes. She wore a headscarf and a brown, ratty-looking dress that appeared to have been tailored two centuries ago.

  Lada lifted a copy of Clover’s book, showing Pierce the daguerreotypes of him on a page.

  “Fuckin’ hell,” he groaned.

  She nodded and lowered the novel. “It is you, then, da?”

  “Da, eto tak,” he admitted.

  She seemed impressed that he knew Russian.

  “Can you get me to London?” he asked in English.

  Lada narrowed her eyes. Pierce wondered what she was thinking.

  “We can,” she finally answered. “But to do so successfully, we must disguise you.”

  “Pierce,” called Frederica nearby.

  He noticed her tapping at her pocket watch.

  “Oi. Right.” He held up a finger to Lada. “Excuse me a moment.”

  He jogged over to Frederica and Archie. “Sorry, love. Don’t let me keep you from catching your train. See you in a couple of days.”

  “You promise?” she pressed.

  “Aye. Ich verspreche.”

  Pierce bid everyone goodbye, and as Archie drove the carriage to the main road, Pierce followed Lada to her Burton wagon to change. She found him baggy black britches, a long vest with missing buttons, and a grey linen shirt. Since his dapper coat was old and common, he decided to keep it. Lada used her tobacco ash to lighten his hair color, making it appear grey. She tied it up high at the back and wrapped a banda
na around his head. She then used stage makeup to age him, as well as to cover every scar on his neck and torso that had been publicly described.

  “You speak fluent Russian?” Lada asked as she dabbed makeup over the brand mark on his chest.

  “Aye. My wife taught me.”

  “Good. You are then Ruslan Yenin, my brother.”

  She eyed Taisia’s wedding band on his pinkie. She took his hand and lifted it up to get a closer look at it.

  “Is this your wife’s ring?”

  He nodded.

  She let go of him. “Keep your head about you and you may see her again.”

  Once she was done with him, he barely recognized himself. She had whitened his complexion and put dark shadows around his eyes to make them appear more sunken. She had instructed him to hike up his eyebrows so he produced wrinkles across his forehead and increased the lines around his mouth and nose. She also applied a long, fake beard and mustache to his face.

  “Huh,” observed Lada, standing beside him in front of the mirror. “I have worked with makeup nearly my entire life, and I believe this is my best ever.”

  “Not bad.” Pierce looked closer at his aged face.

  After he left the wagon, he found Clover and Kolt outside, waiting for him.

  “Pierce?” Clover guessed. “Is that you?”

  “What are you both still doing here?” he demanded.

  “We’re coming with you,” Clover admitted. “We’ve already discussed it with Archie and Mrs. Katz.”

  Pierce was certain it had been more of an argument than a discussion.

  “Ja,” Kolt joined in. “I’m meeting my mother at the hotel in London.”

  He preferred to not have them tagging along in case things went awry, but he didn’t have it in him to protest.

  “If you travel with us,” Lada said to Clover and Kolt, “you cannot dress like that. Come. We find you something to wear.”

  * * *

  The Gypsies traveled on, covering more ground than Pierce believed possible. He had forgotten how fast a tribe of wanderers could move in a day. With the evening looming, they set up camp in a wide-open plain far from any road. After they built a bonfire and started preparing supper, Pierce sat on a tree stump, resting his chin upon his hands, which were folded over the head of a cane that Lada had also provided him.