Chapter 17 #2
She smiled, handed him back Theo’s tweed sport coat, then ran upstairs to put on something less foofy.
She ventured into her parents’ bedroom to hang her mother’s dress back up only to find the two previously investigated trunks standing guard near the window.
She hadn’t seen any medieval costumes cluttering up the insides of the armoire, but to be honest, she hadn’t wanted to look and risk being unsettled by things she sincerely hoped to never see again.
Then again, watching her father spar with Sam that afternoon had been a little adorable, and she had to give Sam full chivalry points for pretending to have very little clue what to do with what she’d determined for herself was a dull-edged sword.
Then again, he was a polite, wonderful guy who seemed hard-wired to act in a way that did credit to his parents.
She was starting to very seriously envy the woman who would eventually find herself the beneficiary of all that chivalry.
She set that thought aside as something to sigh over later, then grabbed her backpack out of the second bedroom, double-checked the window, and made her way down to the kitchen.
She wasn’t entirely certain where she was going to be sleeping, but she suspected Francine wouldn’t mind some company for one last night.
She stopped abruptly at the sight of Sam leaning back against the counter with a brochure in his hands.
“What is it?”
He held out the brochure. “What do you think of this?”
She set her backpack on the counter where it had first made itself comfortable eons ago, then took the brochure and unfolded it.
She didn’t drop it, but she came close. She examined it, utterly unsurprised by not only the map of the venue, but the list of events, illustrated as they were with glossy photos of knights, ladies, and many, many swords. She looked at Sam.
“Have you ever been to a medieval fair?”
He choked. She walked over to whack him on the back until he caught his breath, which didn’t happen quickly. He finally held up his hand.
“Ah,” he wheezed, “not recently.”
She got him a glass of water, then picked the offending leaflet up again. “They wouldn’t have gone to look at this tonight, would they? It doesn’t even start till next week.”
“But an evening stroll through the fields?” Sam mused. “Very romantic, that.”
“It’s pitch black outside.”
He nodded slowly, then frowned a bit. “Did you notice if they’d rented a car?”
“I was too busy trying to keep tabs on you to look,” she said faintly, “though I’m sure they would have.”
He set his glass in the sink, then turned and leaned back against it. “Perhaps they’ve just gone for a drive. They might have found a charming little pub to stop at whilst out on their adventures. They weren’t expecting us back this early, were they?”
“They weren’t.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m sure you’re right. And it isn’t as if they don’t speak the language, though my mother’s Latin is excellent and they’re both fluent in French.”
“I’m sure the former helps her with identifying esoteric plants to resurrect.”
She smiled and felt herself relax just a bit. “It does.”
He reached over and tucked a strand of hair back into the messy bun her mother had done up for her to go with the dress. “Do they have friends in the area they could perhaps have gone to visit?”
“I don’t know—wait, something just occurred to me.” She looked up at him in surprise. “Theo wouldn’t have just gone home without telling you, would he? To your parents’ house, I mean.”
Sam looked a little winded. “Ah—”
“Where do they live?”
“A handful of hours north of here.”
She took a step back. “I’m sorry, that’s none of my business.”
He caught her and pulled her over to stand next to him. He leaned back against the sink again. “That wasn’t an unreasonable idea,” he said carefully. “I just hadn’t considered it.”
She wanted to ask him why he couldn’t just call either Theo or his parents—or both—but that seemed far too nosey, even for her. She shifted so she could look at him, but he didn’t seem inclined to let go of her hand and she certainly wasn’t going to pull it away.
“I didn’t mean to bring it up,” she said quietly.
“Why not?”
“Because you seem a little sad when you talk about them.”
“Ye gads, woman, feelings,” he said faintly. “What next?”
She shot him a look, but he only smiled.
“I see my family regularly, but I can’t always be home underfoot, can I? The idea was an excellent one, though. I’ll talk to them soon if Theo isn’t back on his own.”
“I guess he’s an adult, too,” she admitted.
“You give him more credit than he deserves,” Sam said with a snort, “but in theory, aye, he is.” He squeezed her hand, then nodded toward the front door.
“Supper, then let’s make an early night of it.
I’ve no idea what torments await us on the morrow, but I suspect we’d best be well rested for them. ”
“Do you think Francine would let me stay with her one last night?” She paused. “I’m not sure I want to be here alone.”
“And I absolutely don’t want to leave you here alone,” he said seriously, “so you’ll either stay with her or take my chamber. But food first. Everything else will look better after that.”
She took a deep breath, then nodded and followed him out of the kitchen.
Half an hour later, she found herself sitting in the usual spot at their usual pub and wondering if Zachary Smith would have been disappointed by the lack of paranormal activity at their table. No ghosts, but also no parents, though she really hadn’t expected to find either there.
That said, she was fairly certain she’d caught sight of Lord Wrestling standing in the back of the great room, frowning thoughtfully as he surveyed the environs.
Cosplay or something more esoteric? She hardly knew how to decide, though she wouldn’t have blamed the man for wanting to ascertain the state of things.
It had likely been a hot minute since he’d been in England, so maybe he was trying to decide if things had changed any over the past four hundred years or not.
For herself, she was trying to decide when her life had gone from a fake murder-mystery dinner to having dinner with men who seemed to be honest-to-goodness cloak-and-dagger spies.
Oliver and Jackson had joined them at some point on their way back to the center of the village, which hadn’t been surprising.
Having their little quartet become a party of five on their way into the pub had been, though she was probably overthinking things.
The new addition was someone named Derrick who Oliver called boss and Jackson seemed to know equally well.
They all seemed to know Sam, which maybe made the connections more reasonable and less unusual after all.
All of which left her sitting next to Sam on a bench in a cozy little corner of the pub, wondering if anyone would think it strange if she pulled out her notebook and sketched out an organizational chart to keep things straight.
She watched their companions decamp for the bar to order dinner, then leaned closer to Sam.
“Is he safe?” she murmured. “That Derrick Cameron guy?”
“Of course,” Sam said, looking slightly surprised.
“He isn’t related to you, is he?”
Sam squinted at the ceiling for a moment or two, then shook his head.
“If he is, I don’t want to think about how.
He’s exists in the rarified air at the top of the Cameron empire in London, which makes him eminently respectable and trustworthy.
What he likely wouldn’t tell you is that he’s also an actor, though he’s leagues above yours truly in status in Stratford. ”
“I can’t believe that,” she said, reaching for her non-existent sword to defend his honor. “Francine says your Benedict was fabulous. She didn’t mention a word about him.”
Sam smiled. “We’ll see if we can’t catch one of his rehearsals soon, then you can be the judge—ah, here are our benefactors. Did you choose well, lads, or should I go order something edible for my lady and myself?”
Harriet listened to them exchange the good-natured sort of banter she was accustomed to hearing between her brothers, though the current abuse was being run through a British filter with some salty Scottishisms apparently being thrown in for seasoning.
She started to do her usual thing of allowing her siblings to take center stage while she huddled in the wings, but the four men she was sitting with were having none of that.
“She’s a writer,” Sam was saying, “but don’t bother her with questions about her stories. She’ll tell you about them when it suits her.”
“Then what else do you do, Mistress Harriet?” Jackson asked politely.
“Are we going to see your infamous lists?” Oliver asked. “I’m fond of a good list myself.”
“Why in the world are you keeping company with that feeble lad there?”
She focused on Derrick who had drawled that last question with an amused smile thrown Sam’s way before he turned back to her.
“He is pretty, I’ll give you that,” he added, “but hopeless when it comes to convincing the fairer sex to have supper out with him.”
“Very true,” Jackson agreed. “We’ve watched him attempt it.” He shuddered. “Embarrassing.”
Harriet smiled at them both. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
That was discussed, Sam was thoroughly roasted, and she decided the time was ripe to pull out her notebook and get down to business. She flipped to an entirely new page, then wrote down the names of the men facing her before she started with the newest member of the club.
“I’m going to want a few details,” she said briskly.
Derrick smiled. “It is a bit complicated, lass.”
Harriet looked at him sternly. That Scottish burr was not going to earn him any distraction points, so she sent him a look that clearly said she wasn’t at all through with him.
He smiled and raised his glass to her, so apparently the message had been received.
She nodded in return, then changed course to begin where she was most comfortable.