Chapter 18
Eighteen
Sam stood at the door of the chamber he absolutely hadn’t thought to inhabit for more than a pair of days and made certain it looked lived in but not overrun.
He had left Theo clothes packed in a bag on the off chance his brother managed to drag himself to their little corner of the Cotswolds later that morning.
He had also refrained from penning a little missive telling him how painfully he would expire when next they met.
Truly, there was no brother to equal him anywhere.
He eased himself out into the passageway, pulling the door closed quietly behind himself. He jumped a little at the sight of a very suspicious faery leaning against the wall directly opposite his chamber with her arms folded over her chest.
Damn, caught.
He suspected her guarded expression would quickly become substantially less guarded if he followed his first instinct which was to wave then do a runner.
He did take the extra step of glancing to either side to see if that might be a possibility only to find Mistress Francine Collins blocking at least one escape route.
He recalculated quickly and settled for bafflement.
“’Tis so early” he said, stopping short of scratching his head. “Why aren’t you two still asleep?”
“Because I had a feeling you would be off investigating things that I might find interesting,” Harriet said. “Miss Collins is here to help me corral you.”
He dragged his hand through his hair, then sighed and turned to make Mistress Collins a brief bow.
“Harriet and I need to nip out and have a look at her parents’ cottage to make certain they’re safe and sound, then we’ll return and I’ll do whatever it is you think I can for as long as you need me to.”
“And then?” Francine said quietly.
“And then I’m going to go find my brother,” Sam said. “I’ll leave him alive long enough to do this little scribble-fest you’ve arranged for him next week, then we’ll see.”
Francine smiled slightly. “You’re more alike than I’ve given you credit for being.”
Sam took her hand, bowed over it, then looked at her seriously. “I,” he said quietly, “am much better looking.”
She laughed and pulled her hand away. “Begone, you little rotter, and be about your business. Take care of our girl and be back here this afternoon.”
“Of course,” Sam agreed. He watched her walk away, then looked at Harriet. “I was just heading out to check on your parents. I wouldn’t have disappeared.”
“I figured as much,” she said seriously, “but I didn’t want you to get in another sword fight with my dad. He beat you up pretty badly the last time.”
He smiled at her tone, then made her a slight bow. “I appreciate the championing.” He nodded to his right. “Let’s take the back stairs and see if we can’t escape without being hunted. I’ll hide behind you when we get to your parents’ house.”
Which, a quarter hour later, he found himself doing. He stood in the middle of the great room of the Brewster’s temporary hall and practiced a pleasant and non-committal expression where Harriet couldn’t see him.
Her parents were quite obviously not at home. He found that a bit alarming, but they were, after all, adults. Perhaps they had engaged in an act of spontaneity and taken a room in an inn. It had definitely been done before.
He peered over Harriet’s shoulder to find her examining the brochure that proclaimed the glories of medieval times and where they might be found locally. On that, at least, he suspected he would have no trouble remaining discreetly silent.
“I know the real thing doesn’t start until Wednesday,” she said slowly, “but they could have gone early to look over the venue.” She turned and looked up at him. “Couldn’t they? Perhaps with their costumes on?”
“There’s one way to tell,” he said carefully.
“I don’t think I can look in their trunks.”
“I’ll do it.”
“I’ll stay—”
“And leave me to face the horrors on my own?” he asked with shiver. “Absolutely not. Come with me and keep me safe.”
She rolled her eyes, but smiled just the same as he took her hand and pulled her up the stairs with him.
He paused just inside her parents’ bedchamber, hoping he wouldn’t be interrupting anything, only to find it empty. He ignored his unease because there were still things to be investigated before panicking. He glanced at Harriet, had a nod in response, then marched directly into the fray.
A search of two armoires and two trunks revealed little save that her parents’ medieval attire was nowhere to be found. He looked at Harriet who was standing just inside the doorway.
“Did you notice if that carry-all with the swords was still downstairs?”
“I purposely didn’t look.”
He walked over and turned her around. “Off we go then, gel. Might as well have all the clues we can find.”
Ten minutes and a fruitless search later, Sam stood again in the great room, this time examining the map in his hands. He wasn’t one to leap to wild conclusions, but he to admit something felt a bit off. He looked up as Harriet walked into the room.
“What would you say to a little drive?” he asked. “We might find a decent spot for breakfast along the way.”
She looked at the map in his hands, then at him. “Are we going there?”
“I thought we could,” he said, trying to sound as casual as possible. “I promise to cover your eyes if I see them dressed in anything but current-day clothes.”
She didn’t look reassured. “Maybe they’re just sitting next to a cozy fire in a pub near the venue and their costumes are still in their car. It’s pretty nasty out there today, isn’t it?”
Sam had many thoughts on just how nasty English weather could be in May during several different centuries, though he couldn’t deny that it definitely looked like rain in the current one.
“Do you want to drive by Stratford first?” she added.
“No need,” he said with a smile. “The crew had gone off to find supper last night and I imagine the weather will keep them indoors today.”
He supposed he didn’t need to add that Oliver, who had been hard at his usual labors of snooping, had observed two people watching him on his way in and out of his rented theater the night before, but descriptions hadn’t helped him any.
He’d done his own bit of snooping in Callum’s office and found nothing useful save a very tattered copy of Oliver Twist lying open on Callum’s desk.
He was beginning to think someone might be pestering him for the sheer sport of it.
He handed Harriet the map. “Let’s see to your business today and leave Stratford to sorting itself for a bit longer. Do you need anything else for the trip?”
“Nope, I have it all here.” She patted her backpack. “Notebook, a pen, and snacks.”
“Chocolate ones?”
“Is there any other kind?”
She was absolutely his kind of gel.
He locked up behind them, then got them both to his little runabout without incident. He tucked her in, shut the door, then realized Oliver was loitering casually ten feet away. He shook his head over Oliver’s ability to be a ghost, then walked over and leaned against the wall next to him.
“We think they’ve perhaps gone early to visit the site of an upcoming medieval faire,” he said in a low voice. He shot Oliver a look. “Don’t say it.”
“I didn’t think I needed to.”
Sam contented himself with muttering a curse under his breath, then he looked at a man he was very grateful to find on his side of the field.
“We’re fairly sure they rented a car,” he said carefully.
“We’ll look for it. It’s Harold and Petunia, yes?”
Sam nodded. “I don’t know more than that, sorry.”
“Derrick could find them with less, so no worries.”
“I’m not sure if I should be relieved or alarmed.”
Oliver smiled briefly. “Don’t try to decide. And we’ll be close today, if it’s all the same to you.”
Sam shivered on principle alone, nodded his thanks, then walked back to his car and crawled inside. He looked at Harriet to find she was studying him thoughtfully. He would have preferred to have found it flattering instead of unnerving, but things were what they were.
“We’ll nip in and out of the first bakery we see,” he promised, “then go do a discreet bit of spying. Wouldn’t want to disturb them if they’ve gone off—”
Harriet held up her hand. “Please.”
He smiled, then invited Harriet to fuss with the radio.
He refused to mentally do the maths on how long it would have taken them to get to the venue either on foot or horseback, then put his car in gear and got them on their way.
He was grateful for aid in tracking down Harriet’s parents, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know anything else about Derrick Cameron’s research methods. His suspicions were unsettling enough.
In fact, there were several odd things going on with that whole Cameron empire, beginning with Robert Cameron himself.
He hadn’t dared dig too deeply there partly because they were Scots and he was no fool, but mostly because Cameron Hall was just up the meadow from James MacLeod and his well-loved Claymore.
The saints only knew how often names of time-traveling miscreants were exchanged over the border.
That said, he’d been the happy beneficiary of not only Robert Cameron’s Midas touch with all things monetary but Derrick’s timely dropping of names that had proved to be very useful in his transition to the current day.
He only hoped he wouldn’t need any of their aid in finding out what had happened to Harriet’s parents.
Or his brother.
Two hours and a decent breakfast later, he pulled into a car park, turned his car off, and sat back to study the view.
Medieval faires were a good business in England for obvious reasons and the current locale was definitely fit for that purpose.
He’d been tempted, early on in his Future life, to pop by one and see what he could do to better the authenticity quotient, but thankfully good sense—mostly Theo’s—had prevailed and he’d turned his attentions to other things.