Belmary House Book Two (14 page)

“I’m aware of your situation,” he said, not bothering to ease into it.

As alert and aware as she was, he knew he had to throw her off balance, shake some confusion back into her to make her more malleable.

“My situation?” she asked, blanching.

He almost laughed, knowing she was thinking of her dalliance with one of the researchers, Donovan or some such, and was worried she was in trouble for it.

“Have I done something wrong?”

“Of course not,” he answered, pushing a candy bowl someone always kept filled toward her. “I know you came here quite by accident.”

She shook her head, then took a piece, twisting the wrapper in her fingers. “Mr. Wodge, I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. Do you mean Belmary House? I did used to work for the Fieldings Museum before this, but I assure you I want to be here.”

“No, no, Miss Saito, I don’t mean professionally. You’re doing a wonderful job. I mean the fact that you’re here from the future.”

He smiled, a real one, when she nearly fell off the chair.

***

Emma couldn’t have heard him correctly. Had she phased out again? Was she sitting at her own desk imagining this? She crinkled the plastic wrapped mint in her hand and tried to remember the last thing she was certain was real. Dexter. He’d left her office a few minutes before, then Mr. Wodge had called her in to speak with him. She remembered getting up and hurrying over. She was pretty sure this was real.

“I’m sorry, sir?” she squeaked.

“Don’t worry, you haven’t gone mad.” Her boss paused and looked down at his desk, an odd smile on his face. “I know about the house and its curse. I know about that cowardly fiend Lord Ashford abandoning you here.”

She reached down below the level of his sight and viciously pinched her calf. It hurt and she flinched, sitting upright again. So, this wasn’t a dream, and the man who owned the house knew everything. Before she could fully grasp what that meant, she felt a hot tear sliding down her cheek. Damn it.

Mr. Wodge hurried around and offered her a handkerchief, showily embroidered with his initials. She couldn’t possibly blow her nose on such a thing and waved it away, reaching instead for the tissues on the desk. The tears kept coming no matter how she inwardly berated herself to stop. It was as if everything that was going along so smoothly screeched to a halt and reversed itself. She didn’t know for the life of her what to make of it.

“I suspected it for a while,” he said soothingly, crouching on his bandy legs beside her.

She noticed he was dressed in pale blue tuxedo pants with a dark blue velvet stripe, a Save the Whales t-shirt, and a plaid jacket that was probably Vivienne Westwood or some other expensive designer. He had three gold watches on one wrist, all on top of the jacket sleeve, and shiny white headphones dangling around his neck. It was one of his most normal outfits.

“Rest assured I would have approached you sooner,” he continued, patting her wrist. “But I had to be certain. One can’t blurt such things out without certainty, as you yourself must know.”

She laughed. It was true. She stopped, realizing he’d mentioned Ashford earlier, and not in a flattering way.

“Do you know Lord Ashford?” she asked. “Did you come through the portal too? When are you from?” She pressed her lips together to stop the raging river of questions that flooded out of her.

“I have never met Lord Ashford in person, no. But I am well acquainted with his contemptible ways.”

“What do you mean, contemptible? Have you been waiting long to be rescued? Surely he’ll come back for us?”

She tried not to feel bitter about how long she’d been waiting. More than a year and a half without her daughter. They must have given her up for dead long ago. It was too terrible to think of her mother going to bed each night not knowing what had befallen her. Would Dahlia ever wonder if she’d abandoned her on purpose? A faint buzzing sound started in her ears and she wanted to throw up.

“The number of lives that cursed man has ruined—”

She looked up, interrupting him, forgetting he was her employer, and only needing answers.

“Wait, you say he’s the one with the curse? It’s not on the house?”

“Have you ever heard the saying heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned?” he asked.

She blinked, already confused by the turn the morning had taken and now he was quoting old plays?

“Erm, and hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?” she pulled from the recesses of her mind.

He clapped his hands. “Oh, jolly good, Miss Saito. I knew I could count on you. Yes, a woman scorned can really muck things up for a great many people.”

“Did Lord Ashford scorn someone especially vindictive?”

Emma pressed the heels of her hands to her temples at the return of her headache. It had been so nice to be without it.

“One of his ancestors had the bad taste to cheat on his wife, who happened to be a powerful Scottish witch. She cursed the portal that resides in this house.”

“But what does that have to do with Lord Ashford?”

“He’s a descendent of both bloodlines. Blood is very important when it comes to magic, especially spells that involve time travel. They all need blood, you know.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t know,” she said, feeling stupid.

“Well, they’re a secretive lot, it’s certainly not your fault.”

She hugged her arms around her chest and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to clear the buzzing noise from her head. After holding a deep breath for as long as she could, she let it out and opened her eyes. She was still there, and Mr. Wodge still crouched beside her chair, patiently waiting.

“I’m sure you’ve found out how dangerous it is to be in your own timeline?” he asked. She nodded tiredly and he continued. “I don’t think you have much time left. Unfortunately you’re not the only one Ashford’s left to rot, so I know what comes next.”

“Did he leave me to rot?” she asked, her voice disappearing on the last word.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. The least of his flaws is he’s unreliable. The amount of cruelty he’s inflicted on people is without scope, however. It’s rather like entertainment to him, to watch people flounder in the times they end up. Has he been back since you’ve landed here? Perhaps to check in, but of course he wouldn’t be able to get you back?”

She nodded slowly. He had sent the messages to her. Perhaps he’d lied about not being able to stay for long, lied about there being no openings to her time. Had he been toying with her all along? Watching her slowly go off the deep end while Dahlia went without a mother? It didn’t seem possible, but the only thing she knew for sure was she was still here. Still waiting.

“It operates on a schedule.” Even to her own ears it sounded like a pathetic excuse.

Mr. Wodge tsked and confirmed her fears. “The man’s descended from powerful witches. He tap dances through time the same as you pop out for groceries. I’m sorry, my dear. I try to help as many of his victims as I can, but you’re difficult to find, and it’s often too late even when I do.”

Was she a victim of Lord Ashford? She wondered how he could be so certain that Ashford wasn’t coming back, but he definitely seemed certain. She wanted to believe the portal would open up again and she could get back to her proper time, but why hadn’t it happened yet?

What did she really know about Ashford? She’d met him one time for only a few minutes. She struggled to remember. Hadn’t he been a bit pompous, maybe even rude and impatient? She’d been so happy to know she hadn’t gone insane, she believed everything he said, waiting like an idiot. And now she learned he might never come back. Her trembling hands curled into fists as a powerful anger replaced her disappointment. All she had left was her unsavory plan B.

 “I know how sick you’re getting,” Mr. Wodge said, handing her the tissue box from the desk. “That’s not going to get better. Also, I’ve seen other people try to do what you’re thinking of doing. It doesn’t work.”

Her eyes jerked to his, fearful that he suspected she’d had such thoughts as actually taking over her old life, getting rid of her old self. He didn’t seem horrified, or even judgemental. He seemed sorry for her.

“It doesn’t?’ she asked, curious for details until he made a face that told her she really didn’t want to know what became of those people.

“It doesn’t,” he repeated firmly.

“But I have to do something if I can’t get back,” she said. “I have a child.” She held her hands to her ears, the buzzing sound almost unbearable.

“That’s why I want to help you.”

Her eyes and throat burned, and she grasped at the lifeline he seemed to throw her. “How can you help me?”

“I can get you back.”

The way he said it cast no doubt that he told the truth. She believed him without hesitation and put her face in her hands, shaking with the release of her pent up anxiety.

“All I ask is a small amount of your time in return. I want to end this once and for all, and Ashford is the closest blood descendant of the one who cursed the house. It will remain as long as his line remains, as he is also directly related to the one who was cursed. As long as his blood flows in someone’s veins, that ancient witch will continue to exact her revenge.”

“Oh my God,” Emma said, understanding what he was getting at, even through the pain and the persistent, concentration shattering buzz.

Mr. Wodge didn’t seem to hear it, or he wasn’t affected if he did. The buoyant morning with Dexter and his grandmother seemed another lifetime ago, and she was back to barely clinging to a thread.

“I agonize night and day over the ones I can’t save,” he said, taking her hand. “I don’t want it to be too late for you. I have the ability to get you back to the moment you left. No one will have noticed you were gone if that’s what you want.”

Salty tears stung her eyes. That was exactly what she wanted. Thoughts of Dexter’s sweet face kept pushing through the jumble of information she’d just been given, but she shoved them away. She couldn’t have everything, and the most important thing was getting home to Dahlia.

“What do I have to do?” she asked.

“Give me a few more weeks. If Ashford does return, he’s too cowardly to face me, but he’ll find you. Just alert me when that happens, that’s all I ask.”

“What if he doesn’t show up? You’ll still get me home? My baby won’t know I was gone?”

“Of course, Miss Saito. Unlike Lord Ashford, I always keep my promises.”

When Emma looked at him, he had a beatific smile on his homely face, his bulging eyes gleaming. She could hardly put her thoughts together, but understood that she had a guarantee to get home. Even better, she could stay with Dexter a little longer, guilt-free, as it didn’t matter now. Mr. Wodge could get her back, to the very moment she left. All this would be nothing more than a dream when she returned.

He took her hand and calmly dismissed her, telling her to take the rest of the day off since she looked so unwell. She drove to her flat in a daze, hardly recalling what he’d told her, still not certain what she’d agreed to, but knowing that she was going home. She only wanted some hot tea, and Dexter. If he could make her headache disappear, maybe he could rid her of this new buzzing noise as well.

She fell into bed after calling him to come over as soon as he finished work, eager to tell him what she’d learned from Mr. Wodge. As she drifted off to sleep, however, it seemed less and less important that he know, and when the doorbell woke her a few hours later, she decided not to tell him after all.

It took longer than they planned to leave the estate for Castle on Hill. Ashford was being a mule and wouldn’t discuss sitting down to eat properly. He’d looked disappointed that she wanted to take the time to bring something, and she’d wanted to reach up and tug his ears, but instead pressed a kiss to his lips.

“It’ll take two minutes,” she said, rushing toward the dining room before he could mutter his dissent. “It’s better than listening to me complain for two hours, isn’t it?” she called over her shoulder, feeling like she’d won a prize when he begrudgingly smiled.

“Oh good, you’re finally up,” Serena said, fully dressed and eating a scone. “I had my maid return with my valise early this morning, so I’m ready to go.”

Tilly glanced out the window. It was barely daybreak, had she sent her maid back to her house in the middle of the night? Ashford was going to have a conniption.

“You’re crazy if you think he’ll let you go,” Tilly said. “You’d probably be fine, but what if something went wrong?”

It wasn’t as if they could phone an ambulance, and from what Tilly could recall from coworkers who had children, the first trimester of a pregnancy could be tricky. In these times, if something went sideways, it wouldn’t just be the baby, but Serena who could lose her life.

It would be better if she could convince Serena herself so Ashford wouldn’t turn purple, so she started throwing out any scary medical sounding words she could think of while piling food into a basket. Serena didn’t seem scared, or even impressed by the big words, so Tilly tried to tell her she wouldn’t be any help anyway.

“It’s my child who’s in danger,” she said. “Surely they couldn’t look at me and refuse to help after knowing that?”