“Thank you.”
She drew back inside and quickly closed the door again. She still felt as if half of her hadn’t quite made it back from Marchwood, but as she paused to compose herself properly, she began to feel right again.
She looked at the note tucked into the roses. It was brief and loving.
Can’t wait for the weekend and your return. All my love. Richard.
Her return? New York and Richard Vansomeren seemed part of a different world, a world that didn’t matter to her now. Dane mattered. Only Dane. Whatever Rosalind told Richard was of no consequence, because the real Kathryn Vansomeren intended to stay here in England until there was nothing left to stay for, and she couldn’t let him go on thinking they were reconciled. She had to call him and set the record straight!
It was the middle of the night in Chicago, but right now she felt it was something urgent, so Richard would have to take the call. But as she put the roses down and went to the phone, suddenly it rang. The moment was so weird that she paused with her hand over the receiver, but then she picked it up.
“Yes?”
“Mrs. Vansomeren?” inquired a female British voice.
“Speaking.”
“This is the international operator. I have your Chicago call.”
“My call?”
“Yes. The system’s down at the moment, so calls have to be put through manually. Just one moment, and I’ll connect you.”
Before Kathryn could say anything more, there were some bleeping sounds on the line, and suddenly she heard Richard. “Kathryn? Is that you?”
She couldn’t speak. From wanting to have things out with him, suddenly her tongue seemed to be tied in knots.
“Kathryn? Are you there?”
“Er, yes. Hi, there, Richard.”
“Hi. I gather you tried to call me a short while ago. Don’t think the worst, I wasn’t out on the town, it’s just so hot I couldn’t sleep. I know it’s the middle of the night, but I felt so sticky and darned uncomfortable I decided to take a shower. That’s when you must have called. Did you get the roses?”
There was a new lightness in his voice, a happiness that almost seemed to reach across the miles. He sounded like he had when they first met, as if all the intervening time hadn’t happened.
“Did you get the roses?” he asked again.
“Yes, they’re lovely.”
“I know you like yellow best.”
“I didn’t think you remembered.” The moment of truth was slipping inexorably away. She couldn’t bring him down, it would be too cruel. But surely it was more cruel to let him go on thinking everything was fine? Oh, God, she just didn’t know what to do!
He didn’t pick up anything over the line. “Well, I’ve used my patented Brand Philips pooper-scooper to good effect, and there’s no trace of his mess now. Not here in Chicago, anyway. Jeez, that guy makes such elementary mistakes I can’t believe he’s managed to get where he is. The sooner he retires, the better.”
“I couldn’t agree more. You’ve got more talent in your little finger than he’s got in his whole body.”
“Say it again, it’s good for my self-esteem.”
She couldn’t help smiling, for it was great to be able to speak to him like this again. No atmosphere, no constant gibing, just lighthearted good humor. “Okay, you’ve got more talent in your little finger than he’s got in his whole body.”
“Gee, I love it when you talk dirty. I hope you’re going to do that when we’re together.”
“Of course.” That wasn’t what she was supposed to say! She should be telling him how it really was, not letting him go on thinking it was A-OK again!
“Have you arranged your flight yet?” he asked.
“I’m working on it now.”
“I’ll be back in New York later today, so when you know what flight you’re on, just leave a message at home. I’ll be sure to meet you at the airport.”
“Okay.”
“Honey, I love you so much.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “And I love you, Richard.” She did, but not in the way he wanted.
“See you soon.”
“Yes, see you soon.”
There was a click and the line went dead. Slowly she replaced the receiver. “Nice one, Kathryn,” she murmured.
Nice one, indeed. Not only hadn’t she done what she should, but she’d aided and abetted Rosalind in whatever she was playing at!
Chapter Nineteen
Kathryn was nervous as she changed into a fresh shirt to go to the docks. It was half past eleven, and according to Jack it should only take her about five minutes to get there, so she had plenty of time before Alice’s midday deadline. She was just dragging a brush through her hair when the phone rang again.
Hesitantly, she picked it up. “Yes?”
“Mrs. Vansomeren?” said another English voice. Male this time.
“Speaking.”
“This is Mike Devenish at Waverley Travel. It’s about your New York inquiry.”
“Yes?” Rosalind had been busy.
“Well, I’ve managed to get you a seat on the flight you wanted. It leaves at nine, and the ticket will be waiting at Heathrow.”
Kathryn’s mind raced. What flight? When? “Er, nine, did you say?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t quite recall what I asked for now. Which day are we talking about?”
She could feel the surprise at the other end. “Why, tomorrow morning, of course. You were most specific.”
“Oh, yes, I remember now.” She felt foolish, but there hadn’t been any other way of finding out. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Devenish.”
“That’s quite all right. Have a good flight.” He rang off.
Kathryn replaced the receiver and then glanced at the roses. Rosalind was clearly making every arrangement to leave. But why bother? Why go to all these lengths when she knew that in the end she had to return to her own time in the past?
It didn’t make sense, but now wasn’t the moment to think about it too much, not when there was something much more important to be getting on with. Grabbing her shoulder bag, she left for the docks.
As she walked, she glanced through one of the leaflets Jack had given her. Gloucester Docks were being promoted as a great day out, providing leisure trips, museums, restaurants, pubs, hotels, a mall, and the occasional extra attraction of the tall ships of yesteryear. Jack had told her there was a small fleet of them in the basin now, and Kathryn caught sight of the masts as she hurried along the sidewalk above the Severn.
The river tide was high and the water muddy as it slid silently past the city, and on the far bank cattle and sheep grazed on the rich flood meadows. Directly ahead she could see the lock and its adjacent keeper’s cottage, and beyond them the uniform red-brick Victorian warehouses around the dock basin. It was a scene plucked from the 19
th
century, its authenticity increased by the spars and rigging of the tall ships.
Crowds of people were enjoying the sunny weather and occasion. Apart from all the attractions of which she already knew, there was a fairground, with carousels and a big wheel, and a Scottish pipe band was playing in honor of one of the vessels, a clipper named the
Pride of Edinburgh
. Various small craft glided across the shining water, passing to and fro between the assembled sailing ships, and every quayside mooring was occupied by motor launches or colorful canal narrow boats. Pleasure trips could be enjoyed at a reasonable price, and there was a restaurant in an old ship that had been converted for the purpose. People sat at tables on the deck, shaded from the late-morning sun by an elegant awning, and there were more people outside the adjacent quayside pub. A traveling company of entertainers, acrobats, mimes, and jugglers drew gasps and applause from onlookers, and children squealed with laughter at a Punch and Judy show.
Flags and bunting fluttered in the light breeze as the town crier’s bell rang out for him to announce other forthcoming events. For a moment Kathryn’s steps faltered. The town crier? Had she returned to 1815? But as she looked at the man in his bright red coat, three-cornered hat, and yellow wig, she realized he was very much from the modern day.
Following Alice’s instructions, she made her way to the lock that connected the dock basin and the river. The warehouse to her left had been modernized and converted into the headquarters of the local council, while to her right, across the lock, another was now an antiques center. She could see the tall ships more clearly now. One or two were genuine old vessels, but others were replicas, among which numbered Columbus’s
Santa Maria
, Drake’s
Golden Hind
, Captain Cook’s
Endeavor
, and Darwin’s
Beagle.
All teemed with visitors.
Two private launches were in the lock waiting for the water to reach river level so they could sail upstream toward the next town of Tewkesbury. Even now, very few dared to attempt the dangerous downstream navigation toward the estuary, for the Severn tides were still as unpredictable and savage as they’d always been.
A small crowd had gathered to watch the launches’ progress, and Kathryn glanced at her watch as she joined them. It was almost midday. Her heart began to quicken expectantly as she willed the seconds away. But her excitement this time was tempered with unease, for she knew that what lay ahead today had nothing to do with pleasure. She couldn’t do anything but participate in events that were beyond her control, but soon Alice would explain everything. What would that explanation entail? What could the “audacious plan” be? Where Alice was concerned, though, it had to be said that anything was probably possible!
The water in the lock matched that in the river, and the heavy wooden gates were slowly opened to allow the launches out. Kathryn leaned on a rail to watch, but as she did the launches suddenly seemed to meld into one and increase rapidly in size. Rigging and masts soared above her, and pennants streamed in the air as a schooner was hauled stern-first into the lock ready for the water level to be lowered all over again to that of the river. A brass band was playing sea chanties, and she was still caught up in a crowd of people, but now they were all dressed in early nineteenth century fashions. It was 1815 again, and practically the whole of Gloucester had turned out to see the
Lady Marchwood
leave for the Baltic.
Startled, she stepped back involuntarily, right into the path of one of the sailors hauling the ropes. She gasped, and he apologized. “Beggin’ your pardon, my lady,” he said, still straining forward with the rope over his shoulder.
“It...it was my fault,” she replied, getting quickly out of his way and then glancing around. All the trappings of the modern city had vanished again, even the warehouses and lock-keeper’s cottage, which were Victorian and therefore built well after 1815. The dock basin was just an open expanse of water edged by a few ramshackle buildings that were clearly only temporary, and some of the embankment was just earth. The unfinished canal being built to bypass the dangerous tidal estuary led away from the south of the basin into natural countryside, and there was a small timber yard between her and the road that skirted the line of the old city walls. Then Regency Gloucester rose against the skyline, a city barely touched by the industrial revolution that was soon to transform everything.
The
Lady Marchwood
was pristine and elegant, with white decks and gleaming paintwork on her graceful bows and hull, and the press of onlookers on the side of the lock was really quite alarming as everyone jostled for the best position to watch her maiden departure. There was a decorated dais nearby, from where local dignitaries could observe everything in comfort. She and Dane had been with them a moment or so ago, but now she was on her own on the cobbled quay. She didn’t know where Thomas was. But so far all was well between Dane and her, that much she knew. Where was he now? She glanced around again, but still couldn’t see him. Her attention was drawn to the small point of land between the lock and the river, where the lock-keeper’s cottage would stand in future. It was bare now, except for a few willowy bushes, but the Waterloo cannons had been brought from Marchwood to fire a salute when the schooner set sail. Was Dane among the men standing there in readiness? If he was, she couldn’t see him.
The captain cupped his hands to his mouth to shout instructions to the sailors scrambling up the rigging. More crew dashed barefoot along the spotless decks as the vessel was halted for the lock gates behind her to be closed and the water level lowered.
Kathryn watched for a moment, but then a lady and gentleman passed nearby, and she was conscious of the lady’s eyes sweeping enviously over her clothes. It was a pleasant feeling to know a real Regency lady of fashion thought she looked good. Kathryn couldn’t help a little vanity. This time she wore yellow and white, a tight-waisted daffodil silk pelisse over a striped muslin gown, and her hair was hidden beneath a yellow bonnet from the back of which fluttered a gauzy white scarf.
Suddenly she noticed Jeremiah Pendle, his great bulk laced into a mauve coat and white breeches. He was approaching a thin, nervous man of about thirty, with thick lips and a long nose. The second man wasn’t rich or poor—a person of business, she thought, glancing at his clothes. Whoever he was, she didn’t know him, which meant Rosalind didn’t know him either. But Jeremiah Pendle certainly did.
Something urged her to go closer as well. Not too close, for if Pendle should look in her direction, he’d know her straightaway. As she approached, Pendle put a plump hand on the man’s shoulder, who didn’t know he was there and whirled about. There was no mistaking his intense dismay. In spite of the occasion and the crowds, Kathryn clearly heard the men’s brief exchange.
Jeremiah smiled unpleasantly. “So, Mr. Talbot, I’ve run you to ground at last.”
“Run me to ground? I... I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Pendle.”
“Don’t attempt to take me for a fool, Talbot. You haven’t been paying up, and I’m calling in your debts.”
“No! Please! Business has been slack of late, but it’s beginning to improve. I can pay what I owe within a week.”
“I’m afraid that’s not good enough. I’ve been patient with you, Talbot, but I’m still waiting for that last payment. I don’t intend to wait any longer. If the money isn’t with me by this time tomorrow, you can say good-bye to your business. Is that clear? And don’t think to evade me again, for I mean to send my, er, errand boys, if you take my meaning.”