Belmary House Book One (5 page)

Not a ghost, a real person, probably the person responsible for the missing actress, probably a serial murderer. She twisted her arm to jerk free of his grasp, but the air around her turned frigid and she felt a burst of pain behind her eyes.

“You’ll be home soon,” the non-ghost serial killer said.

Full of terror at all the sinister things that might mean, she opened her mouth and screamed.

The man tossed her away from him, his face echoing the fear she felt. Tilly’s legs hit the bed and she sat down on it, something about that not seeming quite right, but too many things were wrong at the moment for her to register why. She instantly popped back up and launched herself away from him, still screaming the house down.

“I beg you to be quiet,” he said, advancing toward her with his hands outstretched. “I don’t know what time it is and you’ll bring the servants.”

He had to be the strangest killer in the world, worrying about the time. Did he have a schedule for when he chopped her into bits? She would be damned if she helped him stick to it, and while raising her voice a notch, she lifted her skirts and gave him a solid low kick to the back of his knees, nearly sending him to the floor.

“Good,” she said, taking another breath. She wanted all the servants. Possibly neighbors, too.

He closed his eyes and dropped his head back as if beseeching the heavens for guidance, then sank onto the bed. Immediately she clamped her lips closed and whirled around, really taking in her surroundings.

The room was fully furnished. A stately bed, a different wardrobe and dresser, thick rug, lamps and tables, pictures on the walls. Had she been knocked unconscious? Was she in a different place altogether? Feeling dizzy, she clutched at her bodice, gearing up for a fresh scream.

“Miss Saito, please.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked at her with near despair.

Once again she clamped her mouth shut, only a squeak escaping. Wait a second, he knew about Emma? Was she his original target? Nothing made sense. Her head spun and she slid down the wall to sit on the floor.

“What did you call me? Where are we? Who are you?”

He stood up, clearly alarmed, and she also jumped to her feet, not wanting to be at a disadvantage. He looked like he might be ill, but she stayed on her guard.

“Miss Saito,” he repeated desperately. “Miss Emma Saito?”

“That’s not me.”

“No, no, no.” He grabbed her arm again, jerking her back into the corner. She was too stunned to resist, and a moment later he dropped her wrist and stalked away, swearing.

It was all too much and she felt tears coming, but blinked them back. “What’s going on?” she asked pitifully.

The bedroom door flew open and a portly man with a lion’s mane of salt and pepper hair, his face like a gnarled walnut, entered the room. He was dressed like a fancy old-time butler, but all she could think of was that he looked like a novelty garden gnome, displeased with the intruders.

“Ah, Lord Ashford,” he said with a slight bow. “And Miss Saito, I presume?” He turned to her with a furrowed brow. “What was all the ruckus?”

It was Tilly’s turn to sink onto the bed, completely befuddled, still scared, and now just hoping she’d wake up. She looked at her abductor, who glared back at her for a moment before his expression softened a little. Had the gnome just called him Lord Ashford? She took in the rich furnishings, their clothes, the man’s frustration. She began to do the math of her situation and wasn’t liking the sum she came up with.

“Duncan, you can’t know how happy I am to see you. This, unfortunately, is not Miss Saito,” Lord Ashford said. “Hence the ruckus.”

“Goodness, not again,” the man called Duncan sighed.

“This has happened before?” she asked incredulously. “What exactly is this?”

Ashford scrubbed his hands over his face. “One time,” he said, directing his ire at Duncan. “If you’re not going to help, you can leave at once.”

Tilly jumped up and stood beside Duncan. His wizened face cracked into what she thought might be a smile and he patted her shoulder. He seemed infinitely less dangerous than Ashford so far and if anyone left, she didn’t want it to be him.

“I’m not supposed to be here?” she asked. The awful prickle started again at the back of her eyes. “And where is here?”

“You’re still in Belmary House,” Ashford said.

“In 1814,” Duncan supplied helpfully, taking her arm.

It was a good thing too, because stars sparkled in her peripheral vision and she couldn’t feel her extremities. Only her rage kept her on her feet.

“1814? The year? You took me back in time?”

She leaned over and grabbed her knees, laughing to keep from crying. It wasn’t possible. Digging her fingernails into her thighs didn’t wake her up, so she looked up at Ashford and Duncan. They were still there. She was still there. Her anger grew when Ashford showed no remorse whatsoever, only that cold glare on his handsome jerk face.

“So you were supposed to take Emma, but grabbed me instead?” She saw Duncan press his lips together and roll his eyes. “And wait, you’ve screwed up like this before?”

“One time,” he bellowed. “I only saw Miss Saito once and it was more than a year ago.”

Duncan snorted at that poor excuse but was quickly silenced with an impressive death glare. “Do you two look quite similar?” he asked, voice dripping with false innocence.

Tilly laughed mirthlessly. “I’m at least five inches taller, my hair’s lighter, not to mention she’s
Japanese
.” She thought Ashford might start whistling he was so full of steam.

He flapped his hands, then his shoulders slumped. For a moment he looked vulnerable and she bizarrely wanted to comfort him. For about one second.

“Dark hair, medium height, pretty. That was all I could recall of Miss Saito, and you fit that description perfectly. And look how you’re dressed. I thought you were prepared to go.”

She blushed at the unintended compliment before realizing he’d essentially blamed her for this mess because she’d gone on the damn Jane Austen walking tour and had on a beautiful period gown. Once again she wavered on her feet. Her period dress was probably right in style now.

“Astounding. Talk about blaming the victim. Am I stuck here?”

Ashford took out a tattered notebook and flipped through it. His already angry face turned absolutely bleak at whatever he read in it. “Oh, poor Miss Saito.” He sat down again. “It’s going to be a while until I can get her back.”

He dared to frown at her as if it was her fault Emma couldn’t get back to wherever or whenever she needed to be. And while Tilly felt bad about it, that was a problem for another time. Right now she wanted answers about her own situation.

“I beg your pardon, miss, but allow me to introduce ourselves,” Duncan spoke up, shaking his head at his employer as if he was a wayward child. “Albert Duncan, at your service. And your host, Lord Ashford.” He bowed and waited expectantly until she stuttered out her name.

“Er, Matilda Jacobs. You can call me Tilly. I’m American.”

She immediately felt stupid, but Duncan at least seemed interested. Ashford waved, not looking up from his book.

“How charming. From America, you say?” Duncan turned to Ashford. “Shall I prepare a room, Lord Ashford?”

“A room?” Tilly piped up, wringing her hands.

A room? For whatever reason, she hurried back to the corner, hoping what happened before would happen again. But maybe Lord Ashford was the one who made it happen. She pounded on the wall, then looked at him with desperation, willing everything back to normal.

“It’s closed,” he said, still looking down at his book. He fluttered a finger at Duncan, who nodded and motioned for her to follow him.

“What do you mean, it’s closed?” she demanded. “Can’t you open it?”

Ashford raked his fingers through his hair and turned a page, his scowl growing darker as he continued to ignore her. Duncan came and took her by the arm.

“It operates on a schedule,” he explained.

“Yes, about that, Duncan,” Ashford said. “I have some things to discuss with you about that. I’ll need to speak to Adkins about it as well.”

“Certainly. Perhaps while you’re preparing for the Chadwick ball?”

That got Ashford to look up from his infernal notebook, the scowl melting into disbelief. “Surely I missed that? I’ve been in time travel purgatory for weeks.”

“Sorry, but you’ve only been gone three days. I take it your trip went awry somehow? I mean, other than Miss Jacobs here? Were you able to get the young school teacher back?”

Ashford groaned. “Yes, barely, and yes things went awry somehow, so I most definitely won’t be attending the Chadwick ball.”

Duncan looked meaningfully at Ashford. “Jeremy is back in town, has been leaving messages for you. He should be there tonight.”

This made him close the notebook altogether, and stand up. Tilly huffed, feeling invisible and getting angrier by the minute, a welcome relief from the fear of a moment before.

“Jeremy’s back from France? Well, in that case, I shall certainly go.” He glanced her way as if only just remembering her existence.

“Yes, hello.” She waved.

“Get her something to wear, Duncan,” he said, making to leave the room.

Her eye twitched and she looked down at her gown. “What’s wrong with this dress?”

He strode forward and tapped the top button, his finger brushing close to her skin. “What’s this material?”

She rolled the button between her fingers. It looked like mother of pearl but she suspected it was plastic due to the seam she felt along its side.

“We don’t have that yet,” he said, before she could answer, then flounced the pretty lace at her sleeves. “And this is machine made, mass produced, not yet common in this time, and the fabric is most certainly synthetic—”

“Okay, I get it,” she said, feeling hurt. “It’s just a costume. But why do I even need a different dress? Can’t I go back? My cousin will be out of his mind.” His eyes softened a bit before he looked away, exhaling long and hard. “What?” Her heart hammered against her plastic buttoned bodice. “Am I stuck here?”

“A bit, yes.”

“A bit? What does that mean? How long am I stuck here?”

He sighed again, unable to meet her eyes. “Three months.”

Emma Saito was pissed as hell. It was the first and foremost thing she felt and she clung to it for dear life, afraid she would spiral into despair if she let it go. But she had to explain to Dexter what was going on before he completely lost it. So, she couldn’t lose it just yet, and she certainly couldn’t have the police coming. She wordlessly followed him as he searched each room, repeatedly trying his cousin’s phone, which of course she wasn’t going to answer.

“Dexter, stop,” she finally said, surprised her voice came out sounding normal.

How was she still standing, let alone traipsing along behind him? With every empty room and every passing minute, her hope dwindled. It was too late now, far too late. She wasn’t going home. The idiot American had gone upstairs and Ashford must have taken her by mistake.

As much as she tried to feel compassion for the girl, who had to be frightened out of her wits, her blood boiled at her lost chance. Yes, she had to cling to that. Anger was so much easier to deal with than heartbreak.

“She’s not here,” he said. “She wouldn’t have just left without telling me, and she’d answer her phone if she could. I should call the police, right?”

She grabbed his phone out of his hand, surprising him. “Listen to me,” she said, taking his shoulders and giving him a shake. “We’re not going to call the police. Your cousin’s gone, but they won’t be able to get her back.”

Oh, that wasn’t right. He now looked completely terrified, so much so that he began to back away from her. She almost laughed, but it died in her chest, far from making a sound. She covered her face with her hands.

“Let’s sit down somewhere. This is a bit of a sit down sort of thing.”

“Bloody hell, Miss Saito, I’m not going to sit down. What’s going on? Where’s Tilly?”

Now the laugh did come out, but rough, not at all a happy sound. “She’s very likely still in this house,” she said. “Just not in this time. Your cousin has gone to another time.”

He slid to the floor. Well, she did try to get him to sit first. He looked up at her with his big brown eyes, blinking rapidly. He didn’t believe her, and she was so tired she almost left him sitting there, not wanting to be in the house anymore. But he was a good researcher, a good kid. She flinched inwardly at thinking him a kid, when he was probably only a couple years younger than her. And really, chronologically, in this time she’d been stuck in for over a year, she was only eighteen.

At any rate, he deserved a full explanation. He’d need it to keep from having the police swarming the place. The last thing they needed was more bad press for Belmary House. She’d expected to be safely home well before its demolition date, but now this. What would happen now, if she couldn’t get back before the house was leveled? No, she couldn’t think of that right now.

“Are you all right?” she asked, nudging him with her toe.