Anne Barbour (31 page)

“This is very sudden,” said the young woman, her tone severe.

“I know. I had planned to stick around for a year or so, but— events have transpired that will allow me—no, make it imperative that I leave as soon as possible.” She made an ineffectual effort to brush away the tears that streamed down her cheeks. “You see, this was all a mistake. It has been made very clear that I do not belong here.”

“Humph.” The young woman’s spectacles glittered as they slid in another precipitous journey down her nose. “It seems as though it’s you that’s making the mistake.” She sighed. “However, you have not been here long enough for the window to close—although it will be a close thing—and it is not our policy to keep people in another timeline who truly do not wish to stay.”

“Then tell me how to get back,” Amanda whispered, her lips suddenly dry.

“You must meet me at midnight at the Grosvenor Chapel.”

Amanda’s eyes widened. “Tonight?”

“Yes, it must be soon.” The nursemaid smiled. “Oddly, it is true what they say about midnight being the witching hour—although that’s something of a misnomer.”

“But the church will be closed, and—”

“Not to me.”

“Oh. Very well. Yes, tonight. I will be there.”

The young woman rose from the bench. “Harold!” she called. “Arabella! Come along!” The two youngsters left their playfellows without dispute and ran to her side. As Amanda watched, the little group disappeared within a matter of moments into the shrubbery of the little park.

Amanda sat motionless for a long time, feeling the warmth of the June sun and listening to the humming of bees and the twittering of birds. She ought to feel satisfied, she mused distantly. She had accomplished her goal. She had provided Ash with the wherewithal to put Ashindon Park back on a firm footing, thus giving him the opportunity to marry Lianne. Instead, she had never known such desolation in her life.

She had known that leaving Ash would be painful, but leaving without even the consolation that they had grown to be friends was almost unbearable. She reviewed their confrontation earlier in the dowager’s Blue Saloon. She should be angry. She knew it had been his pride talking, but the things he had said were unforgivable. How could he have insulted her so?

Well, she did not have to seek far for the answer to that. She had only imagined the affection that seemed to be growing between them. She had even, she admitted with a pang, begun to wonder if Grandmama were right and that Ash truly did not love Lianne. Amanda uttered a bitter laugh. The little scene by the French doors had certainly put paid to that idea. She was trying very hard to be happy for Ash, but the tears kept welling in her eyes.

“Miss! Oh, miss, there you are!”

Amanda looked up, startled to observe Hutchings bearing down on her. The maid’s cheeks were flushed and her meager bosom heaved breathlessly.

“Wherever did you go, miss? I was waiting ever so long for you belowstairs.” She gestured vaguely toward the dowager’s house. “That persnickety butler told me you had left. Without me! I ran home, but you wasn’t—weren’t there, so I came back this way. I was just lucky I saw you sitting here. Why, what’s happened, miss? You’re white as a ghost.”

With a great effort, Amanda McGovern tucked the remnants of her anguish behind Amanda Bridge’s smiling facade.

“I’m sorry, Hutchings. I merely ...” But the effort of explaining was too much, and Amanda left the sentence hanging. “I am going home now,” she said simply.

She left Grosvenor Square and with Hutchings chattering away at her side made her way back to Upper Brook Street.

* * * *

The hours that followed took an eternity to pass. Amanda considered writing Ash a note explaining her abrupt departure, but gave it up after several abortive attempts. In all probability he would never read the note. When Serena arrived home, Amanda was able to feign a sick headache with very little difficulty.

“Are you sure you will be all right here by yourself?” asked her mother anxiously, having come to Amanda’s room to commiserate with her daughter. “I will stay home with you, if you wish, but this is the first time we have been invited to the Wiltshams’, and your papa wishes to put in an appearance.”

Amanda, picking listlessly at the tray just brought to her by Hutchings, smiled faintly. “No, you go on. I wouldn’t want Papa to forgo this opportunity to show that he is now an accepted member of the to
n.
”

Serena’s lips twitched, and she said a little uncomfortably, “I suppose it is silly for all of this to mean so much to him, but... I am happy for him.” Kissing Amanda on the forehead, she drifted from the room.

Gazing after her, Amanda was surprised at the pang of regret she felt that she would never see Serena Bridge again. The older woman had begun to make progress, Amanda felt, in releasing herself from Jeremiah’s domination. Hopefully, she would continue in her own liberation.

Amanda rose and, placing the tray on a nearby table, paced the carpet in a measured tread and listened to the tick of the clock.

The house was dark and quiet when at last, garbed in a sober muslin round gown and cloak, she tiptoed into the corridor and down the stairs. Quietly, she let herself out of the house and was hurrying along the sidewalk when she was brought up short by a voice calling from behind her.

“Miss! Oh, miss, it
is
you! Wherever are you going?”

“Hutchings!” gasped Amanda. Good Lord, she had sent her maid off to bed hours ago. What the devil was she doing out and about at this hour? A glance at the figure who appeared behind her from the steps leading down from the sidewalk, that of the second footman, if she was not mistaken, answered her question.

“Good evening, Hutchings,” she said in what she hoped was a tone of regal dismissal. “I have come out to, er, take the air. My headache, you know.”

“But surely not alone, miss.”

“Yes, alone. You may go back to—whatever you were doing.”

“But, where are you going?” asked Hutchings in appalled accents.

“To Gr—never mind, Hutchings. I wish to be alone.”

The little maid began whimpering. “Oh, no—you’re going to Grosvenor Chapel, aren’t you? And at this hour! Surely you’re not—Oh, dear heaven, I saw you talking to that wretched Mr. Satterleigh earlier. You—you’re planning another elopement aren’t you?” At this, she began shrieking in earnest, her apron flung over her head.

“Hutchings!
Will
you shut up?” Amanda frantically clutched at the young woman’s arm. “I am
not
eloping.” She continued in a softer tone as the maid’s sobs subsided. “Now, please leave me alone. If you don’t,” she added in minatory accents, “you will find yourself dismissed without a character in the morning.”

“Oh, miss, you wouldn’t!”

“Try me,” Amanda replied tersely, and with this she walked away, leaving Hutchings moaning into her apron.

She arrived at the chapel with minutes to spare. At midnight. the evening’s activities in Mayfair were just getting under way, and the streets were crowded with elegant carriages carrying passengers to the various social functions that were taking place that night in the equally elegant town houses of the area. Unnoticed, Amanda crouched on the steps of the building, hidden in the shadow of its columns.

Promptly on the stroke of midnight, a figure approached, bearing a lantern and a watchman’s rattle. “ ‘Evenin’, miss,’ ” he said jovially. “Fine night tonight.”

“Yes,” said Amanda, drawing in her skirts. Then she took a closer look. Sure enough, the man wore spectacles and his cheeks protruded round and hard from beneath them. Amanda leaped to her feet. “You have come!” she exclaimed.

The man lifted bushy eyebrows in mild surprise. “Toljer I would, didn’t I then?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied, abashed. “But—who are you, anyway? Are you the same person in disguise, or many people— or what?”

“Yes,” the man responded, rummaging in a capacious pocket.

“Yes, what? Which?”

“Both. One and many.” He shook his head irritably. “Don’t mean t’be teedjis, but you wouldn’t understand if I explained it.” He drew a key from his pocket. “Are you coming, then?”

Amanda moved to his side and he opened one of the chapel doors. Once inside, he led her to the seat where she had emerged into that sunny April morning two months earlier. Settling his bulk beside her, he turned and took her hand.

“Now,” he began, “you must know that when you leave this time you can’t never return. Amanda Bridge will die this night, and this time there won’t be no one to resurrect her.”

Amanda drew in a long breath and nodded.

“You’ll be sent back to the moment you suffered that last, terrible headache, only this time it won’t kill you. You’d best get to a doctor, though, missy, because the next time you’ll die—and it will be permanent. At any rate, when you awake in 1996, everything else will be the same as before.”

Thus, reflected Amanda sourly, she would be her old self, plain of face and flawed of form—as well as slightly warped of outlook. If it were not for the impossibility of remaining in the same plane of time with Ash, she would gladly put up with London’s pollution and all the other ills, social, moral, and physical, of this time period, for the chance to live the rest of her life in the whole body she had been given. She shook herself. No, it would be too painful to exist here in such close proximity to him. Besides, having determined to break off their betrothal, what better way to accomplish the matter than by Amanda Bridge’s death?

Dear God, she simply could not think about this anymore. The weight of her grief pressed on her like a stone. Lifting her head, she said in a clear voice, “I understand everything you have told me. I am ready now.”

The watchman, his expression troubled, replied, “Very well, then. Hold both of my hands tightly, and close your eyes.”

Amanda glanced around, listening to the dark silence that seemed to fill not only the little church, but her soul as well. Blinking away the tears that blinded her, she closed her eyes.

* * * *

One of the first guests to arrive that evening at Wiltsham House was the Earl of Ashindon. Barely pausing to greet his host and hostess, he prowled one chamber after another, searching for Amanda. It was not for another two hours that he finally spotted the feathers of Serena’s elaborate headdress bobbing above the crowd.

“What do you mean, she isn’t here?” he snapped at her reply to his question.

“The poor child is at home with a headache. A very bad one, I’m afraid. I left her just getting ready for bed. I’m sure, though,” she added brightly, “that she will be better in the morning. Perhaps you could call then, my lord.”

Ash uttered a choked reply and swung away from her. A few moments later, he stood on the sidewalk in front of Wiltsham House, his fists clenched. How was he going to contain himself until tomorrow morning, for God’s sake? Everything in him screamed for him to go to Amanda, to apologize for the wrong he had done her and to tell her of his love for her. Setting off for the Bridge house right now to wake her from a sound sleep was probably insane, and she would probably have him thrown out of the house. Attempt to have him thrown out of the house, he amended, his fists clenched.

Clambering into his curricle and directing his tiger to hang on, he clattered off in the direction of Upper Brook Street. He had covered less than half the distance when he was obliged to jerk back on the reins in order to avoid running over a small figure just crossing Davies Street. To his astonishment, when the frightened young woman looked up, to be caught in the light of a street lamp, he recognized Amanda’s maid.

“Lord Ashindon!” she cried, lifting her arms in distress. “Oh, thank God. I was just coming to find you, my lord!”

“What is it, Hutchings?” he exclaimed, bringing his vehicle to a halt. “What has happened?” He lifted the young woman into the curricle.

“It’s Miss Bridge, my lord. She’s gone off again, and I don’t know what to do. I can’t tell her mama or papa or—”

“Yes, yes,” said Ash impatiently. “Now, stop crying. There’s a good girl. Tell me what’s toward.”

“I just told you, my lord. Miss Bridge has gone off, and I’m afraid she’s eloping with that wretched Cosmo Satterleigh. I saw them talking today and—” She broke off, burying her face in her apron.

“What makes you think she’s eloping?” asked Ash through clenched teeth.

“Why, what else would she be doing?” responded Hutchings. “Him and her was talking earlier—just outside your grandma’s house. She’s on her way to Grosvenor Chapel this very minute to meet him.”

Good God, thought Ash. This could not be happening. He would have been willing to wager all he owned that Amanda was no longer in Satterleigh’s avaricious thrall. “Did she tell you that’s what she was going to do?”

“N-no. In fact, she said she hadn’t any intention of eloping with him, but—what else would she be doing in Grosvenor Chapel?” asked Hutchings again. “At this time of night,” she added severely.

Grosvenor Chapel. Something stirred in Ash’s brain. Something alarming and unpleasant. He thought back to the morning he had found her there, lying still as death. Yes, she had gone there on that occasion to elope with Satterleigh, but she had said it was also the scene of her transference from the twentieth to the nineteenth century. He was chilled, suddenly, to the marrow of his bones. Amanda had mentioned returning to her own time. Was that what she was doing right now?

Dear God, please—No. He couldn’t lose her! Not like this. Not when he hadn’t even told her that he loved her.

He urged his horses to a speed such as he had never used in the city before, and within minutes he pulled up before Grosvenor Chapel. He leaped from the curricle and with a gesture restrained Hutchings and his tiger from leaving the vehicle. “No, you wait here,” he said tersely.

The church door swung open at his touch, and once within he was directed immediately to the spot where a lantern glowed fitfully. Yes, there she was! But who was that with her? By God, if—But, no, the figure who crouched in the pew beside her was much too bulky to be Cosmo Satterleigh. To his astonishment, when he reached Amanda he saw that her companion was—a Charlie, for God’s sake!