Chapter 13
The morning dawned wet and misty as the sun rose, painting hazy streaks between the lush green Cornish hills.
It must have been about thirty minutes since she left Henry in the forest. She touched her lips, still tingling with the memory of his day’s growth of bristles. She smiled. The look on his face was enough to sustain her for the remainder of her days at Asheford Hall. Not that she minded if the relationship developed into anything more, because what girl wouldn’t refuse a casual tumble in the rose garden with a gentleman? But who was she kidding? Even though she was sure that he had subtly flirted, the man was more traditional than a Christmas cake. He sure as hell wouldn’t be caught dead tumbling in the rose garden with a woman, not to mention a woman he could never openly court … or marry.
Things were different in this world. Casual relationships weren’t a thing. It wasn’t like the twenty-first century where she could meet up for sex and have the next potential suitor waiting in her dating app. She couldn’t exactly dine and dash. Or in her case, kiss and run. Time travel or not, she had promised herself to swap this habit for one that involved healthier, long-term and meaningful relationships. The question was, how far was she willing to go to create that habit with someone who would soon be non-existent?
God, look at you.
She was sitting in the back of a carriage, missing out on the scenery because her mind was too preoccupied with wanting to flirt with Henry Asheford. No. She couldn’t do that, not again. He deserved better than a temporary fling. Before her mind could wander back to the events of the morning, she forced herself to look out the window and focus on her mission. Today she would finally be Miss Jane Edwards.
The scenery looked the same as in her time.
Or as close to the same as possible. Despite the lack of modernity, the hills of St. Austell were the same deep greens, with the same stone fences, dotted sheep and blooming wildflowers.
Her shoulders relaxed. See? It isn’t as scary as you thought.
A gun blasted close to the carriage.
She covered her ears and flinched against the padded leather seat.
Another shot rang out. The carriage reeled forward. There was a shout.
Holy mother of God. She clutched at the side.
As the carriage reached an insane speed, Eva bounced violently with every bump. There was a loud snap of wood. She was briefly suspended in the air before her head smacked the metal window frame, and she fell hard against the seat.
Everything came to an abrupt stop.
“Miss Edwards, oh God, Miss Edwards!” came William’s frantic voice.
She jerked her head up.
The carriage was oddly slanted.
“Miss Edwards, can you hear me?” William shouted as he struggled to open the door. With a scraping sound, the door flew open and in popped William’s head. His eyes widened at the sight of her. “Are you all right? God help me, the master will have my head.”
Not understanding what had happened, she slowly looked around. “Am I crazy or did the carriage lose its back wheels?”
“They snapped off, miss.” He crawled inside. “The horses got spooked by the sound of a hunter’s gunfire. Oh goodness, Miss Edwards.” His expression grew more frantic. “You are bleeding.”
A stream of blood dripped down her blue dress.
Her stomach heaved.
“Do you have a first aid kit?” she heard herself say.
“A what, miss? Let me help you out.”
William helped her out of the carriage and onto her shaking feet by the side of the dirt road.
Her head buzzed like a swarm of angry wasps. She brushed a finger against the cut on her forehead. There was a thick layer of crimson blood on her fingers.
“Do you have a bandage?” she said.
“No.”
She grimaced. Go figure. With a trembling hand, she tugged at the hem of her underskirt but struggled to rip the material.
“Mr. Clare, would you do me the favour of ripping my skirt, please?” she said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“My skirt.” She raised her voice. “Rip it. Now.” The steady stream of blood dripping down her forehead was beginning to worry her. And all over the new dress Henry bought you.
William squeezed his lips together and did as she asked. With a rapid tear, he removed a strip from the hem of her underskirt and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she muttered.
She pressed the material against her wound.
On the narrow road, the carriage lay with its back end planted a few inches into the dirt. The rear axle lay a few metres behind and the horses were nowhere to be seen.
“Where are the horses?” she said.
“I had to cut them loose.”
“What? Why?”
“They would have rattled you more,” he urged. “Are you in pain? Miss Edwards, your injury looks severe.”
“I’m fine.”
William frowned.
She could feel the cloth grow heavy with blood. Okay, maybe I’m not fine.
“William— May I call you that?”
He nodded.
“How bad does my injury look?”
“May I speak frankly, miss?”
“I think we’re past the point of formality, William. Give it to me straight and don’t spare the details for my sake.”
“There is a large gash along the ridge of your hairline, and it is bleeding like a swollen stream after a long day of rain.”
“Goddammit,” she seethed.
His green eyes widened. “Miss Edwards, I must take you to a doctor.”
“You will do no such thing,” she said. No, please, no Victorian-era doctors. “How far is Asheford Hall from here?”
“About an hour’s walk.”
She inspected the road and winced. “Do you think you can find the horses?”
“I would need to search for them.”
“Okay, do that,” she said. “I’ll gather my things and come join you.”
William nodded and hurried down the road.
She removed the cloth and examined it. The once-crisp white material was soaked with blood. Worse yet, her entire jacket was covered in red splotches. Great, just great. With a growl, she threw the cloth to the floor, ripped a long piece of material from her underskirt and firmly wrapped it around her head.
How did her morning go from kissing Henry Asheford on the cheek to getting into a carriage accident? She was gripped with the urge to shout and laugh at the same time.
“No,” she muttered to herself. “You will not lose your shit out here in the middle of nowhere in the nineteenth century.”
Heart pounding, she went to the lopsided carriage to retrieve her suitcase. The damned thing lay wedged beneath the bench.
She pulled with all her might. “Will you stop being a stubborn son of a bitch and come out already!”
The case popped out, she fell back against the open carriage door and came face-to-face with a man on a chestnut horse.
“Och, what on earth have I stumbled upon here?” he said with a wide grin.
His sharp emerald eyes met hers, then traversed her injury. Amidst his immaculately trimmed tawny-brown beard, his smile dropped to a frown.
“Do you find humour in my misfortune, sir?” she snapped.
“Aye, I found humour in seeing the most enticing bahookie poke out the coach swearing like a wee drunken sailor,” he said in a thick Scottish accent. “Although I see now it was wrong to laugh.”
He slid down from his horse and approached her. “Ye’ll be needing a doctor there, lass.”
“So I’m told.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are ye alone?”
“Elias McKenzie!” William shouted from a distance. “Do I spot a familiar old, burly Scot?”
“Will!” Elias replied. “Auld? That’s no way to speak to yer elders, lad. How are ye? Has Henry been keepin’ ye busy wi’ his wee beasties?”
Eva went rigid at the mention of Henry.
“You know he has, sir.”
“What’s happened here, Will?” Elias said, glancing at Eva.
“The horses got spooked at the sound of a hunter’s gunshot and ran amuck. I had to cut them loose and I’m afraid they’re hiding in the forest,” William said. “I reckon it’ll take me a few hours to find them.”
“Is this lassie yer passenger?”
“This is Miss Edwards, a guest of Miss Asheford.”
Elias raised his brows. “Aye, is that so? What a coincidence, Miss Edwards. It seems we are to both be guests o’ the Ashefords.”
“I would suggest that you escort Miss Edwards to the village doctor,” William said.
“I’m perfectly well, Mr. Clare,” Eva interjected. “I do not mind walking to Asheford Hall.”
“Walking?” Elias snorted. “But yer wound is bleedin’.”
“I know.”
“Tell me, Miss Edwards, have ye hit yer heid hard?”
“Hard enough to bleed.”
Elias laughed.
She narrowed her eyes. “You continue to find humour in my misfortune, Mr. McKenzie. I suggest we stop wasting time and get on our way.”
“Aye, exactly. If ye would please, Miss Edwards.” Elias gestured to his horse.
“Please, what?” she said.
“Get on my horse.”
“Absolutely not,” she huffed. “I meant get on our way to Asheford Hall. I can walk perfectly fine.”
“The village is a ten-minute ride from here, compared to the half-hour ride to Asheford Hall. While William searches for the horses, we can tend to yer wound wi’ the doctor.”
“Thank you, Mr. McKenzie, but I must respectfully decline given that we are strangers.”
“All is well, Miss Edwards,” William said. “Mr. Asheford trusts Mr. McKenzie as he would his own brother.”
Eva’s gaze bounced between Elias and William. Trusts him like his own brother? Sweat gathered in the small of her back. The adrenaline from the accident was wearing off and her forehead was burning as if a hot knife was sliding across her skin. Beads of blood continued to drip down the side of her face. Damn this all to hell. She had no choice.
“Mr. Clare, if you would be so kind as to retrieve a pair of shoes from the compartment below the carriage?” Eva requested.
Elias’s emerald eyes glanced at her feet. A gleam of interest flashed in them.
Stay calm. He has no reason to suspect that she was hiking through the muddy forested hills of the Asheford estate, kissing Henry Asheford’s cheek. His supposed brother.
William handed her the shoes. “Here you go, Miss Edwards.”
“Thank you.”
As she changed her shoes, she snuck glances at Elias. He seemed trustworthy. At least his outfit painted him as a guy with moral standing.
He wore a toffee-coloured tweed jacket with large brass buttons, a waistcoat over a white, collared shirt with a moss-green necktie and a pair of matching pants. The look was completed with trimmed brown hair, a full beard and a large, dark-green, tartan blanket draped across the back of his horse.
She heard her own breath flowing in and out of her lungs as she shoved her dirty shoes into her suitcase. Once done, she straightened and looked at Elias. Well, here goes nothing. The second stupid thing you’ve done this month. Without a word, she walked up to the horse. She had never ridden one before. Jesus, how do I get on top of this monster?
“Allow me to help ye, Miss Edwards,” Elias’s voice came from behind.
As he drew near, she smelled sandalwood and leather, and felt his hand upon her elbow, urging her to hold onto the saddle’s horn. Somehow, she knew to hook her left foot into the stirrup. Next thing she knew, his hands were upon her waist, helping her up until she plopped onto the saddle.
The horse stirred.
A shot of adrenaline burst down to her toes. She clutched the saddle’s horn. Holy hell. I’m going to die falling off a horse.
When Elias continued to stare up in silence, she shot him a look.
“Is there something wrong, sir?” she said.
“Ye can bring yer leg over. I’ve steadied the horse,” he said as he held onto the reins with one fist, while the other held onto the back of the saddle.
“What?”
“To sit side-saddle.”
She looked down at herself. She was sitting astride the saddle with her skirts bunched up around her calves. Oh true, women did not ride a horse like this in this century.Dammit, dammit, dammit…
Panic seeped in.
She did not know how to manoeuvre herself sideways without losing balance and stared dumbly at the saddle as if it would give her the answer. After a few awkward seconds, she decided to go for it.Pursing her lips, she made the brief attempt to lift her right leg.
The horse moved again.
She gripped hard onto the saddle’s horn. Nope, nope, nope. If she made the attempt now, she would absolutely die falling off a horse in the middle of nowhere in the nineteenth century and those words would be etched on her gravestone for teens that wore Supreme hoodies and drank Unicorn Frappuccinos from Starbucks to laugh at centuries later.
There was a chuckle.
“Alright, lass, never mind the side-saddle for now.” Elias hiked himself up to sit in the saddle behind her. “William, if we are not back before ye find the horses, head straight to Asheford Hall to inform Henry about the situation. Dinnae forget to tell him that Miss Edwards is in good hands with Elias McKenzie.”
Heat shot through her.
Wait a second…
“I shall, sir,” William said.
Elias’s arms came around her waist and took hold of the reins. The movement pressed their bodies closer together. A clicking noise escaped Elias’s lips.
“Wait, please,” Eva shrieked as the horse was spurred into a gallop. “William, my suitcase!”
***
“I cannae place yer accent. Where d’ye come from?”
Great.
Here she was on a horse with a stranger who wanted to know who she was. Worse yet, she had to play the role of Jane Edwards. A lady whose modesty had the power to make Mother Teresa cry tears of jealousy.
“Sir, forgive me, I believe I am in too great a state of shock to speak,” she said, faking a tremor in her voice. That should do it. A gentleman couldn’t ignore a poor, weak lady’s state out of fear she should faint … or something.
“They say that distraction steals the pain away.” His rugged Scottish accent rolled into her ear.
They also say not to accept a ride from a stranger and yet here she was.
“Speaking of my birthplace will not distract me enough from my horrid accident, sir,” she said.
“Somewhere in North America, I reckon,” he continued.
“Are you well-travelled, sir?”
“Ye could say so.”
She had to be careful with this one.
“How much further to the village?” she said, to change the subject.
“Several minutes,” he said. “D’ye want me to ride quicker?”
“I am bleeding from my head, sir. That would be wise.”
He laughed. “Fine, hold onto the horn and dinnae let go.”
Regret was not a strong enough word to describe how she felt. A shot of fear sprang to her heart as the horse picked up speed. She shut her eyes and held onto the horn for dear life.
It was only when the horse came to a slow trot did she open them. They were heading for a weathered stone building with a cast-iron sign promoting a doctor’s services. They came to a stop. Elias swung down from the saddle and offered his hand.
Her hips were frozen in place.
“Miss Edwards, take my hand,” he said.
“I can’t move,” she said in a small voice.
He laughed.
Tears pricked the back of her eyes. “It’s not funny. I’ve never ridden a horse before, and my head is still bleeding.” She rubbed fresh droplets of blood on her dress. “Can this day get any worse?”
“I suppose we could barrel headfirst int’a tree on the way back,” he muttered.
“Or I could break my neck trying to get off your horse.”
“And I could break my back trying to catch ye.”
She flashed him a look.
“Come now, if we both die tryin’ to get ye off the horse then we can catch up in heaven for a dram or two o’ whisky.” He smiled. “Although I’d have to have a word with God first.”
She snorted. Elias McKenzie was a funny man.
“Grab onto the saddle and swing yer left leg over. I will be here to make sure ye dinnae break yer neck.”
With trembling limbs, she did as he said. On the long way down, his hands grabbed hold of her waist and she clumsily dropped to the floor.
She looked up at him. “Th-thank you.”
He smiled. “See? No broken necks or spines.” His emerald eyes alighted on her injury. “Although the same could not be said for yer poor skull. Come now, let’s go see the doctor.”
Not trusting her legs to carry her to the door, she was grateful for Elias’s offer of his arm. She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and walked toward the doctor’s red door.
A bell chimed when they stepped into the dark, cramped foyer. The faded wallpaper was covered in framed photographs and old medical tools from another century. Or so she hoped.
Elias removed his hand, walked down the hall, and looked into each room. He returned and peered up the narrow staircase. “The doctor must be upstairs.” A devious smile crept onto his face. “Shall we play dramatics to get his attention?”
She gawked at him. Dramatics?
He banged his fist on the wall. “Help! Help! My wifie has gotten int’an accident. Och, good doctor, will ye no’ help?”
Her eyes widened. Did he say ‘wife’?
“Yes, yes, what the devil is it?” a man’s booming voice came from upstairs.
“My wife! Her heid, please come quick, doctor!”
A short, stout man appeared at the top of the staircase. “Good God, what is the emergency so early? Her head, you say?” he exclaimed, and his bushy moustache wiggled like a buckling caterpillar on his upper lip.
Elias looked at her and nodded with a mischievous smile. It was her cue to act.
“Oh, good doctor.” She swayed forward and laid a hand across her forehead. “I have had the most terrible accident. I am in need of your medical talents, lest I faint upon your doorstep.”
The staircase groaned and heaved with every step the doctor took.
“Good heavens, come with me at once.” The doctor grabbed her wrist and dragged her down the hall. “Your husband shall wait outside.”
Um, what?
Fear gripped her and she gaped back at Elias. Before she could call out to him, she was pushed into a room and the door slammed behind her.
“Sit upon the bed,” the doctor ordered.
Reluctantly, she did.
The room was small, cramped and depressingly dark due to the only window being stained with a thick layer of grime. On the dark wooden shelves, there were a couple dozen glass vials filled with unidentifiable objects. It smelled like dust, charred wood and the lingering stench of chemicals.
The doctor placed a tiny pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose. As he unwrapped the bandage from her head, the scent of onions wafted into her nose.
Her eyes watered and she looked away.
“I will need to suture the wound,” he said.
Her heart nearly stopped beating. “I’m sure the injury is not that drastic. Surely, you can disinfect and bandage it instead.”
“The wound is too deep,” he muttered. “Rest assured, miss, you are in good hands.”
She didn’t care if she was in good hands or not. Everything in this damned place looked unsanitary. I should walk out right now.
“Take this and the pain will go away.” He pushed a spoon before her.
She observed the reddish-brown liquid. “What is it?”
“Laudanum.”
An uneasy prickle ran down her spine. She had heard about this drug. It was one of those highly addictive opium-and-alcohol tinctures of the nineteenth century. There was no way in hell she was taking that.
“No, thank you, sir.”
“I urge you to take the medicine, miss.” He frowned. “The suturing will not be a pleasant experience.”
“I can manage well without it, sir,” she said sternly, hoping her voice didn’t give away her creeping anxiety. “I have done it once before.”
A lie. She had stitches once when she cut her forearm on a jagged piece of plastic trying to fix a dishwasher. But there had been a hospital and anaesthetics and clean, sterile tools…
“Very well,” he muttered. “But I expect not a cry or a word of complaint from you.”
She had the urge to stick out her tongue. Who the hell did this guy think he was? She would cry and complain if she wanted.
He went to a table and opened a case of tools. The metal shone in the dim light, exposing spots of rust. He picked up a needle and began threading a string through it. With a firm nod, he returned and pulled up a chair before her.
Panic surged through her.
“Tilt your head back,” he commanded.
“You didn’t wash your hands,” she stammered. “Or sterilize the needle.”
His expression hardened. “Must you always have something to say?”
“I do not mean to offend you, sir, but it would please me if you could wash and sterilize your hands and tools before tending to my wound.”
“Do you doubt my intellectual ability as a doctor?”
A shudder ran through her. “No, sir, I would never. I’m sure you’re an excellent doctor.”
“Then stop professing such uneducated nonsense and allow me to do my job.”
He grabbed onto her head.
She jerked away. “It isn’t nonsense! Handwashing reduces the risk of infection.”
“Dear God, I have never had such a disagreeable woman in my office before. ‘Handwashing reduces the risk of infection’,” he grumbled. “Do not be a fool!”
At his sudden, rash temper, she jumped from the bed and ran out of the room. Through the front door, she saw Elias petting the ridge of his horse’s nose. She went to him.
“Please, take me to Asheford Hall now,” she begged, suppressing the urge to cry.
Elias’s eyes widened. “Christ, what happened?”
“Never mind that, sir. I want to go.”
“Does he refuse ye?”
Shame shot through her. She looked at the ground. “He is angry with me because I asked him to wash his hands.”
There was a muted pause that forced her to look at Elias. She caught a flash of curiosity in his furrowed expression before he recovered his words.
“A perfectly reasonable demand,” he said.
“He claimed I insulted his intellectual abilities.”
“Och, the auld bastard. Come with me, Miss Edwards.” He offered his arm. “Yer Scots husband will set him straight.”
They returned to the doctor. After a few nasty words from Elias and an exchange of coins, the doctor reluctantly tended to Eva’s wounds. It was awkward to command the doctor around. Even more awkward when Elias stood watch under the pretense of being her husband. She wondered what they thought of her demand to hand-wash, disinfect the wound with alcohol and sterilize the needle with fire. She hated to draw attention to herself this way. But she refused to die from a preventable infection.
The stitching was painful, like getting repeatedly stung by wasps. Throughout the procedure, she kept still and repeatedly sang Blackbirdby The Beatles in her head. A happy-ish song for a disturbing occasion.
After it was done, she walked out of the office feeling like she’d taken the laudanum. Her head was buzzing and her legs felt like noodles; she was high on stress and adrenaline. Hell, she even ignored the doctor’s comment to Elias about learning to control his wife. There was no way she could ride a horse now. She would probably faint like some stupid damsel in distress after all.
No. She refused. She would just keep walking until she felt better…
“Miss Edwards?” Elias said.
“Forgive me, sir, but I must walk,” she said, strutting past Elias who waited by his horse.
She could feel his eyes on her but she didn’t care. According to him, they were husband and wife. Maybe she could drop the Jane Edwards act now. Would he care if she sang? God, she really needed to hear music. A tear trickled down her face, or was it blood again? She looked down at her dress. It was a Jackson Pollock painting of red and blue. Her beautiful dress that Henry had bought for her.
At the end of the empty street, a flash of grey darted from the tree line. The rider was fast approaching on horseback. The subtle glint of the clouded sun brought out the auburn in his hair and there was no mistaking those stark blue eyes, even from that distance.
It was Henry.
She spun around, afraid he would see her dress.
He was upon her in a flash of wind.
Could she run? Oh, God, she had to curtsy to him now, didn’t she? Had she curtsied to Elias McKenzie? She was failing hard as Jane Edwards. Henry would be mad.
“Miss Edwards.” Henry’s tone was abrupt. “William informed us of the news. Miss Edwards?”
A firm hand was on her shoulder.
She reluctantly turned. “Sir—”
His startled blue eyes fell upon her ruined dress and his expression grew grim.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
His jaw tightened as his hand squeezed her shoulder. Then his gaze slid behind her. “Ah.” He forced a smile. “Elias, how good it is to see you! Although I was not expecting your arrival for a few more days.”
“Aye, and ye too, auld friend.” Elias approached. “Thought I would surprise ye a few days earlier.”
“A thoughtful gesture.” The two men embraced. “It has been too long.”
“Too long indeed.”
“I thank you for tending to Miss Edwards’s needs.” Henry looked at Eva. “My sister should soon arrive by carriage to accompany you to Asheford Hall. Are you well, Miss Edwards? You are rather pale.”
“I will be well soon enough, sir,” she said quietly.
Unable to handle Henry’s keen gaze, she looked down at herself and felt another wave of shame. She swallowed the rising bile. She had thought her heart would burst with happiness upon seeing Henry again, but she felt nothing.