Chapter 28
After five days of quiet repose, Eva and Henry sat at the dining table eating a breakfast of porridge. Since Henry was feeling better, she was relieved of nursing duties, which gave her an unusual amount of free time. She caught up on sleep, took long walks around the garden, and thought about when to have that talk with Henry.
Throughout the last few days, he was often lost in quiet contemplation. He was either outside, staring at the scenery from the bench or reading a book by the living-room fire. Some evenings, she would hear his voice echoing through the front hall as he conversed with Elias in the parlour, exchanging stories of their youth and laughing. Sometimes, it would grow quiet, and Elias would say soft words of encouragement. Other times, he was alone in his bedroom.
They did not spend much time together. Their daily conversations started and ended with polite pleasantries. This would have bothered her if it were not for the lingering glances. Many lingering glances, filled with suppressed tension. These moments left her breathless with nerves and looking forward to the next moment she could catch his eye.
On one hand, the distance was a good thing. The past two weeks had been such a whirlwind of heavy emotions, she was happy to just be. And she was even happier to see Henry having the quiet rest he needed. There was no pressure to speak about difficult things or bring up unfinished business.
On the other hand, she was acutely aware that, with each passing day, her courage to bring up problems waned. How could she put it into words that would not hurt him? Would a full confession of her assault lead him back to his need to escape? His mind was fragile; he may return to his addiction. Maybe he didn’t need to know. Maybe, just maybe, she could overcome her troubles alone, without Henry ever knowing the full story.
She looked up from her half-eaten bowl of porridge.
Henry had just finished his second bowl and was devouring an apple. In his free hand, he held a newspaper. His dark locks were parted to the side, one lone curl falling across his forehead. He wore a crisp white shirt and a grey waistcoat.
He looked like the Henry she remembered from Asheford Hall. With a beard. Dark with hints of red, the beard gave him a whole different vibe. No longer a clean-cut gentleman, he was rougher around the edges. Like a rogue. Or a fighter. Or a man who infiltrated criminal gangs for the sake of justice.
It was downright sexy.
A warmth filled her with jealousy, frustration and desire. Mostly, desire. Apparently, her body had decided she still wanted him. She had almost jumped his bones that morning when he held her firmly in his arms. And he would have let her because he wanted the same thing. She had seen the hardness in his pants. Just thinking of it gave her the urge to crawl over the table, reel him in by the collar and kiss his perfect, soft lips…
His eyes snapped up to her face. Above the edge of his newspaper was that sea-blue gaze she loved and feared.
She dropped her spoon.
Swallowing hard, she looked at her bowl. More frustration swelled within her. She wanted to be intimate with Henry, but part of her was afraid to try. She knew the fear was irrational, that it stemmed from her kidnapping and the nightmare that followed. She desperately hoped it would resolve on its own, and soon.
“Henry, a letter has arrived for ye,” Elias said, walking into the dining room.
“When?” Henry said.
“Two days ago.” Elias handed the envelope to Henry. “Weather issues at the English Channel apparently delayed the mail service.”
Henry promptly set his newspaper and apple down. He tore open the envelope and plucked out the letter.
Eva watched him read it.
A slew of emotions crossed his face. Hope faded to concern. His knuckles blanched as he gripped the paper.
“What is it?” Eva said.
“It’s from Lottie in France,” Henry said.
Her heart leapt into her throat. “How did she know you were here?”
“On the ship to Scotland, I wrote to her, saying to send her reply to a hotel in Edinburgh with her location. Elias was kind enough to check for correspondence today.”
“Her location? Isn’t she at school?”
Henry looked up. “She was, but I was certain that Father would use her as a method of extortion again. I instructed her to go into hiding with William.”
Eva blinked.
“I am on the run, remember?” he added.
“Right,” she nodded meekly. “What does she say?”
Henry looked back at the letter. “She has reached the written address in the north of France and awaits my arrival.” He paused, his face setting into hard lines. “She claims to have found the time-travelling device in the depths of your borrowed trunk. She is quite besides herself with horror at the discovery and hopes that I have found you.”
The room went still as Lottie’s words sank in.
Henry set the letter down and slumped back in his chair. “You have certainly been found.”
“And so has the device,” Eva added.
“Indeed,” he said, his voice hard and tense.
The inside of her chest was cold. There was still a chance to return to her world. And that meant travelling to France with Henry to fetch the device. Her stomach somersaulted.
“Eva?” Henry said.
Pulled from her thoughts, she looked at him. “Yes?”
“I must leave for France. Tonight.”
“Tonight?” Elias said, placing his hands on the table.
“But don’t you need more time to recover, or at the very least to prepare?” Eva stammered. She could not understand how they would get there. “I mean, it’s not like we can fly there. We have to take a train … or multiple trains … or a boat, or multiple boats. It takes time—”
“Eva…”
“At least a week, right? Or more? How much time does it take for us to go to France from Scotland … How much time do we have?”
Henry’s face fell. “Do you want to go home?”
“Home,” she repeated.
“Back to your time.”
She heard his question but could not answer. There were too many unresolved problems with him. Not to mention the Randall family, whom she had to see one last time.
“I can take you there,” Henry said. “We can go to France together; you can see Lottie once more. When you are ready to leave, we can say goodbye, as it should have been from the start.”
A whimper left her lips. No. No! What about us? There was still so much to talk about, to heal from…
“If that is what you want—”
“No,” she said. Then, because a one-word answer was not enough, she promptly stood. “No.”
Henry narrowed his eyes. “No, you don’t want to come to France, or no, you don’t wish to return to your home?”
“I—” Her mouth opened and closed. “I need to properly thank the Randalls first.”
Henry raised a brow. “The Randalls?”
“The family she was with,” Elias said.
“The family? When you were lost, or…? I do not understand,” Henry said.
Obviously, he would not understand, because she hadn’t told him anything about the Randalls. She would have to do it now.
She tensed. Out with it.
“They saved me,” she said, a little too loudly. “Their son found me in the valley near their farm. I was taken to their home and cared for. Richard Randall, a doctor, fixed this.”
She held out her palm.
The faint scar from her index finger to the fleshy part of her thumb was pink and slightly bulbous.
Henry hurried round the table, took her hand and studied her palm. “Did your kidnappers do this?”
“It was partly my fault. Remember I told you how I smashed my way through the carriage window? I used one of the glass shards to cut the rope around my wrists.”
“And this Richard Randall mended your hand?”
“He did,” she said. “Although, it still troubles me. My index finger is stiff, and sometimes the scar burns when touched. Most of all, I’m worried I can’t … that I can’t—”
“Play the piano,” he said solemnly.
She nodded, biting her lip.
He ran a finger over the scar. Brows lowering, a dark expression crossed his face.
She pulled her hand away.
“Did you have more injuries?” Henry said with sudden fierceness.
An alarming prickle spread down her back. “Yes, but that isn’t the point. I only wanted to say that I need to thank the Randall family properly before we go to France.”
He shot her a poignant look. “I wish to know the whole truth.”
She dropped her head. The strangest urge to argue gripped her. Had she not asked Henry to do the same? He had told his story, and here she was, in the middle of telling hers but wanting to run away. Why?
Because you’re a hypocrite.
Unless, every bit of the story she revealed brought her closer to what she was most afraid of. The awfulness of not remembering what may have happened throughout her kidnapping. The disgust she felt for associating Henry with the act. God only knew how that would crush him. She wasn’t a hypocrite; she was protecting him.
“Eva?” Henry said, placing his hands upon her shoulders. His voice was gentle again. “No more hiding. It’s all right.”
“I twisted my ankles and couldn’t walk for six weeks,” she forced out.
“How?”
She shrugged. “I was lost on the moors. Anything could have happened.”
She dared not look at him. The silence which followed her confession was enough to know he was staring right through her.
“The Randall family did everything for me. I need to at least properly thank them and say goodbye.”
Henry exhaled, and she looked up into his disheartened blue eyes. Nausea roiled in her belly.
“Right,” he said quietly. “It would seem a long overdue thank-you is required. I must meet this family and repay them without delay, but we leave tonight.”
“Okay,” she said.
“If you would excuse me,” he muttered.
“Henry?”
He hurried from the room.
She stared at the empty doorway, wondering if she had pushed him too far.
“Leave him be. He must learn how to deal with his emotions,” Elias said.
Her shoulders slumped. He was right.
“I suppose it’s time to part ways,” Elias said.
She turned to look at him.
Sweet Elias McKenzie. He had taken her on an adventure of a lifetime and, in doing so, had helped her dig deep for the will to laugh again. And what about love? Hadn’t he helped her with that, too? Tears welled in her eyes. God, she hoped she hadn’t hurt him too much with her callous behaviour.
A frown marked his face. He strode to her and wrapped his arms round her.
“Dinnae cry,” he whispered.
“I hope you don’t hate me.”
“What for?”
“Because of what happened between us,” she said, her voice muffled against his large chest. “Because of how I treated you.”
“Och, lass. Like I said before, I kenned it would come to this. I take it ye did too.”
“Not really. I didn’t know what to think. I was just—”
“Seeking a wee thrill?”
“Elias…”
“Said in good humour.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He held his finger below her chin and lifted her gaze to his. “Yer a wee flichterin’ dealan-dè that cannot be caged. Henry understands yer need for freedom; I only understand captivity. It’s why I stopped myself from lovin’ ye, Eva.”
Her lips twisted.
“Stop yer cryin’. We had a grand time, did we not?”
She nodded.
“Ye taught us foolish men that women can be strong, brave and independent. And, above all, that they can beat us at drinkin’ contests.”
She let out a laugh. “Admit it; you let me win.”
He gave a crooked smile.
“If things were different…” she began, her heart lurching.
His expression fell. “Hush with that thought. Ye were never mine to love. That man is somewhere in this house, broodin’ about.”
Eva shut her eyes, but that did little to stop the tears.
Elias cupped her face and kissed her forehead. “Stop cryin’, Eva. The time has come for ye to shoot through life like the blazin’ star that ye are.”
***
The most exciting adventures start with a ride beneath the starry midnight sky. That was something Eva needed to remind herself because, as she watched the carriage roll into the courtyard, she was hard-pressed to feel any sort of excitement.
She embraced Elias for the twentieth time before dragging herself into the darkened husk of the carriage. Bringing her suitcase onto her lap, she settled her head against the side and willed herself to stop crying. The tears poured out of her, unbidden.
Henry entered. He took a seat across from her and shut the door.
The carriage jerked forward.
A vision of Elias’s silhouette flashed by the window. He waved. The familiar crooked grin marked his face.
Her lips tightened. A pathetic whimper left her mouth, and she buried her face into the tartan woolen mountain sitting on her bag. At least her flat cap partly hid her tears.
“Is there a funeral I am not aware of?” Henry said.
She shot him a hard look.
Shadows fell across his face, accentuating the harshness of his gaunt cheekbones. In this dim light, he looked menacing. She half expected his eyes to begin glowing a haunting blue.
A panic came over her.
Henry isn’t the devil from your nightmare. You’re tired and emotional.
“It isn’t too late to change your mind,” he added.
“Why would I change my mind?”
He continued to look at her, eyes hard and mouth pulled tight. Why was he in such a bad mood again? Chalking it up to the irritation of a recovering addict, she pulled the tartan shawl over her shoulders and decided to focus on their journey. That night, they would stay in Edinburgh. The following day, they would leave for the Randall farm, where she would finally repay Phoebe and Rich for their kindness from the money she had saved.
They arrived at the hotel within forty-five minutes. It was a run-down building squished between a bakery and a butcher’s shop. They picked up the key from the reception desk and entered the empty corridor. A few sputtering gas lamps upon the walls lit their way to Room 22 on the second floor.
Eva followed Henry into the room and took in the torn, yellowing wallpaper, dark stains on the carpeted floor and single tiny square window, looking onto an alley of garbage. The place looked more like a crack den than a rented hotel room.
“I guess it beats a Holiday Inn,” she muttered, dropping her bag onto the bed.
“We have to keep a low profile,” he said, lighting a candle on the bedside table. “It is only for the night.”
Eva fixed her gaze on the only bed in the room. The queen-sized mattress seemed to have been stuffed with hay and wrapped in a bedspread covered in fist-sized holes and not washed in months. How romantic.
“I need to mail a letter to Lottie,” he said.
“All right,” she said, reaching for her bag. “Give me a few minutes to change into something warmer—”
“I’d much rather you stayed.”
She looked up at him. Once more, his curt way of speaking concerned her. “Don’t like my Oliver Twist disguise? I can put on skirts if you’d prefer.”
“It isn’t that. The less you are seen with me, the better. I don’t want to risk it, even if you are dressed like a stable boy.”
“No one will know who I am. I’ve perfected the art of cross-dressing.”
“That is debatable.”
“How so?” She crossed her arms, challenging him. “At least in this outfit, I was not arrested.”
His brows lowered. “But in another outfit, you were?”
“Nearly.”
Glowering, he approached. “What were you up to these last few months that needed you to run around in men’s clothing?”
She lifted her chin. “Nothing of importance. Simply catching moths to prove the theory of evolution.”
“Hmm. And was all that work worth your near arrest for public indecency?”
“Without a doubt.”
“Because…”
“Because the theory of evolution has been proven true, but no one in this lifetime will ever know,” she said, her voice falling low. “Except for Elias.”
He grumbled. It was a low vibration in his throat. “Did Elias also save you from getting arrested?”
“He did,” she said, fanning the flames. “Elias, my knight in shining armour, saved me, a dumb woman with a small brain who isn’t allowed to stand up for her rights in this century.”
His eyes were on her lips at once.
There was a promise in that look. I am going to kiss you and make you mine again.
“You are an intelligent woman with questionable behaviour who has yet to perfect the art of cross-dressing.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “A stable boy would not have long luscious locks peeking out from his flat cap, nor would he wear pearl earrings.”
She froze. She forgot she had put those on that morning to keep her pierced holes open.
“And, Eva?”
“Yes?”
He brought his mouth close to her ear. “You are not exactly flat-chested. As a supporter of women’s rights, I do not mind you posing as a stable boy, but perhaps a binding is required.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Henry Asheford,” she exhaled.
He flashed a teasing smile.
“I shan’t be more than ten minutes,” he said, leaving her side to peer out the small window. “Since we only have one key, I will keep it here. Lock the door and open it after hearing five consecutive knocks.”
“Why five?”
He shrugged. “It’s just a number.”
“Do you think you’re being followed?”
“One can never be too careful.”
“But you’re unrecognizable.”
He lowered the curtain. “Just because I have a beard and lost a few stone, that does not mean I am unrecognizable. These men are cunning criminals. It takes ten days to make the journey across the Atlantic. The city may be crawling with Angelo’s men … or worse, my father’s.”
He opened his suitcase on the bed and dug out an envelope. As he did, a small metal object flew out. It bounced a few times on the carpet before landing at Eva’s feet.
She picked it up.
It was a golden ring.
Her throat tightened. Was this his wedding ring? She held out her palm and did not dare look at him.
“You dropped something,” she said.
He took it without a word, pocketed it within his jacket and shut his suitcase. Letter in hand, he proceeded to the door.
“Remember, five knocks,” he said.
Once the door shut behind him, she rushed to it and locked it. His footsteps faded away down the corridor.
What the hell was that about?
Somehow she’d forgotten he was a married man. Married to the same Davenport wench that had her kidnapped, no less. What she wouldn’t do to get her hands around that scrawny neck.
A more horrific question came to mind. Had they been intimate? She didn’t know how things worked in this time or what was expected of a newly married couple. She remembered something about the importance of consummation. It had something to do with religion. To prove the bride’s virginity. Who knew? And in all honesty, she shouldn’t even be questioning this because Henry had broken up with her and married another woman.
With a sigh, she sat on the edge of the bed. What would she do for the next ten minutes? She peered at her bag. The corner of her phone peeked out from the depths of the inner pocket. She dug it out, unlocked it and began swiping through her photos.
It must have been at least eight months since she last looked at them. They captured moments before her dad’s death, of a long-ago joy when her life had been simple and boring. She thought of home. Would she want to return?
A photo of her posing with a strawberry cheesecake at a Parisian café popped up. She wore a pair of shades, a loose-fitting blouse and jean shorts.
She had to admit that, yes, she missed that freedom.
Several minutes later, five gentle knocks sounded at the door. Eva placed her phone onto the bed and unlocked the door.
“I’ve brought you something,” Henry said, holding out a dark-green tin.
The round tin bore an illustration of women having a picnic. Yellow script read The Edinburgh Brand. Shortbread Biscuits.
She looked up at Henry who was peering at her phone. A picture of her in a light-blue summer dress posing in front of the Eiffel Tower flashed brightly on the screen.
“Am I so emotional that you had to buy me sugar?” she said, turning off her phone and tucking it back into her bag.
“It is but a simple gesture of kindness. Try not to read too much into it.”
She blinked slowly. Snappy little Henry. When had he ever been this ill-humoured? She couldn’t recall a time back at Asheford Hall, apart from when he thought she was flirting with Elias…
Her brows rose and her mouth flattened. Well, if he could be jealous, so could she. In fact, she wasn’t the one who was married.
“Thank you,” she said, placing the tin into her bag. “It’s getting late. Maybe it’s best that we sleep.”
“All right,” he said curtly.
While she wrapped herself in the tartan shawl, from the corner of her eye, she watched him bend forward to unlace his boots. Once done, he straightened and stared daggers at the bed. Then, his eyes flicked to the floor.
A fierce emotion surged through Eva. “Don’t you dare,” she said.
“Pardon?”
“You’re considering giving me the bed and sleeping on the floor.”
His expression was troubled. Bingo.
“We’re adults,” she muttered. Adults who are perfectly capable of sleeping in the same bed without making it weird. “The ground is disgusting, and the bed is big enough for both of us.”
“Very well,” he said.
She was the first to lie on the uneven mattress. Tartan shawl wrapped tight around her clothed body, she ensured no inch of skin touched the stained blanket beneath.
Henry dimmed the gas lamp and extinguished the candles. A thick darkness enveloped the room.
Her nerves electrified.
When the bed dipped to her left, her heart sped up in an uncomfortable way. They were in bed together. Mere inches apart. Unlike the time she crawled into his bed while he was sick, this was different, fraught with jealousy and tension.
She buried her face in her tartan blanket. Thoughts swarmed in her head. She had questions. Lots of them. And right now, they all led back to his marriage.
Go to sleep, Eva.
His pocket watch ticking away on the bedside table dug into her brain. Tick, tick, tick. A casual reminder of time passing. It was a sound that always seemed so prevalent when they were together.
A lot of time passed between you two. Aren’t you curious what he got up to with his wife?
She squeezed her lips shut. The urge to ask was on the tip of her tongue.
Don’t you dare.
But she would dare. She was about to make this situation even more awkward, because if she didn’t ask, it would eat at her all night.
“Did you have sex with her?” Eva spat out. It wasn’t exactly eloquent, but she was too tired to mask her emotions.
“No,” he said quickly.
Too quick. Why did he answer so quickly? She waited for more of an explanation, but he remained silent. Somehow, that was worse than his one-word answer. She didn’t want to accuse him of lying; she wanted to trust him.
She stared at the shadows on the ceiling. Swirling, dancing, gyrating, the shadows moved quickly and with purpose, mirroring her chaotic thoughts. Well, the cat’s out of the bag now. She might as well push on.
“But you’ve been married for a couple of months,” she added.
“We never consummated the marriage. That isn’t to say she didn’t try multiple times.”
Eva frowned as visions of Fanny trying to seduce him floated into her mind. A jealous flame flared in her chest.
“Sounds like she forced herself upon you,” she said.
“She did.”
That selfish, conniving woman.
“And you rejected her, every time?” she pressed on.
He rolled onto his back. “Every time. Do you honestly wish to speak of this now?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice came out a trembling whisper. “I guess I was curious after seeing the ring.”
“I never wore the ring nor will I hold onto it, if that is your concern.”
“But you still carry it.”
“Like you do his tartan blanket.”
The statement rendered her mute.
“It was a gift,” she said.
“Ah, a gift,” he muttered, “because wrapping you in his family colours could not allude to anything other than a gift between friends.”
She propped herself up on an elbow to look at his face.
He stubbornly continued to stare at the ceiling.
“Do you think we … we…” That we were together? Although it wasn’t far from the truth, she and Elias had never been in an official relationship.
“You both appeared quite intimate,” he said.
“And that irritates you?”
His mouth flattened.
His irritated jealousy was not warranted. He had married and run off to New York.
A gust of heat exploded inside her. “You begged him to care for me, to marry me. Do you remember that, or were you too messed up on opium?”
“Messed up as I was, I never once insinuated that he care for you with his cock.”
With a groan, she rolled onto her side. “Isn’t that what marriage is supposed to be about?”
“Did he become your number nine?”
“Number nine?”
“The number of men you have slept with,” he said coldly.
Her teeth ground together. “No, he did not.”
“Did he try?”
She exhaled. “We kissed, okay? But that was it. We never pursued it further; it was only one kiss.”
And if you should know, I moaned your name.
A deafening silence followed.
“You broke up with me, Henry. I was a single woman and could have pursued half the village if I wanted to.”
“All right.”
“All right?”
“Yes, just all right,” he grunted. “It is abundantly clear that neither of us are ready to speak of this yet. It’s best to accept that for the time being, and get some rest.”
“Fine.”
She felt him roll away to his side. Sure, she was livid, but she was also sad. Her chest ached as if it had been cracked in two. She had the instinctive urge to roll over, touch his shoulder and whisper I’m sorry. But would she? No. Like he said, it was best to accept that they were not ready for any talk of love.