Timekeeper (25 page)

Michele returned home, lost in thought about all she’d learned at the Time Society. She felt older somehow, as if the day’s discoveries had aged her. The idea that half of her belonged in this present day and the other half in 1904 was chilling and made her feel like some kind of freak experiment. How was she going to explain
this
one to Philip? At a certain point, wasn’t he going to want a normal relationship—with someone who had just one Timeline and didn’t bring a bunch of supernatural elements to the table?

“You’re home!” she heard Dorothy call out with relief from the open door of the drawing room.

“Hi,” Michele responded, joining her grandparents.

“Any luck with Elizabeth?” Walter asked. She could tell he was still skeptical.

“Yeah, actually. We discovered that I have a special time-travel power … one that could be really helpful,” Michele shared. “And I think it’s time I take one last journey before Rebecca reaches her full power tomorrow.”

“Where’s that?” Walter asked worriedly.

“I have to see my dad.”

Before climbing into the passageway to make the switch to her alternate Time, Michele’s cell phone beeped with a text. A smile lit up her face as she saw Philip’s name on the screen. She clicked to open the message.

She’s going to be at the Brooklyn Bridge tomorrow at 11 p.m.
, it read.
We need to meet her there. That’s when we’re supposed to finish this
.

Michele’s eyes widened as she read the words.

How do you know?
she typed back.

Philip—the old me—sent me a message. If you can believe that
.

Michele’s breath caught in her throat.
I believe it
.

Slipping her phone into her pocket, her hands shaking with anticipation, she pushed the glass-enclosed bookcase until it swung to the side. As she jumped into the passageway, she whispered like an incantation, “Take me to my father—to my other Timeline.”

“East side, west side, all around the town

The tots sang ‘ring-around-rosie,’ ‘London Bridge is falling down
.…’ ”

Michele’s head snapped up at the sound of a child’s singing coming from the library. For a moment she faltered, wondering if she’d once again inadvertently returned to her father and Rebecca’s childhood. But then she peeked through a crack in the bookcase and saw four-year-old Frances “Frankie” Windsor singing to her doll, while an eleven-year-old Violet Windsor and a sour-faced tutor hunkered over a French book.

“Quiet, Frances!” Michele heard the tutor admonish, then return to Violet.
“Répétez, s’il vous plaît: Je m’appelle Violet.”

Michele hurried to the end of the tunnel, hoisting herself above the ground and onto the grass. She made her way through the back lawn toward the front of the house, breathing in the fresh turn-of-the-century air.
Please let my dad be here
, she silently prayed as she slipped through the front doors and into the Grand Hall.
Please
.

A young maid descended the staircase holding a tray filled with discarded plates and silverware, while a footman pushed a tea cart toward the drawing room. Invisible to them both, Michele followed the footman, brimming with hopeful anticipation. But the drawing room was occupied by only the lady of the house, Henrietta Windsor, and a female guest. Michele crept out of the room, suddenly thinking of the servants’ quarters.
He might be visiting Rupert!

Michele realized with consternation that she had never been to the servants’ area and had no clue how to get there. She
tore through the first floor, her heart hammering in her chest as she searched for stairs leading below. In the dining room, she finally found what she was looking for: a gilded door at the back of the room that blended in with the rest of the walls but swung open to reveal a butler’s pantry. It was the size of a modest kitchen and was filled with floor-to-ceiling glass cabinets that held all the Windsor china and dinnerware. A second swinging door in the butler’s pantry led to the belowstairs section of the house.

He has to be there
, Michele thought eagerly, taking the steps two at a time. She wound up in a large, dim room with a long table and chairs in the center. It looked like a staff dining or recreation room—but it was empty. She heard a cacophony of voices coming from the next room, and she quickly rounded the corner, finding herself in a vast kitchen, where a matronly cook was barking orders at a team of kitchen and scullery maids. Still Irving Henry was nowhere in sight.

Suddenly, the cook and maids stood to attention, looking through Michele at someone just behind her. She whirled around to see who it was, and her heart sank. The man behind her was clearly the butler—his black-tie uniform and the staff’s deferential demeanor toward him made that evident—but he wasn’t old enough to be Rupert, the butler Irving had known.

The cook gave him a respectful nod. “Do we have the final tally for dinner yet, Martin?”

“Yes, we do. The table will be set for six tonight,” Martin announced. “Mr. Henry is staying to dinner.”

Michele’s heart nearly stopped

“It’s a good thing I’m making his favorite stew,” the cook
said fondly. “I didn’t know Mr. Henry was back or I’d have prepared a plate of fresh shortbread for his tea.”

“He only just arrived, and the footman is serving him tea on the lawn now,” Martin told her. “But I’m sure the shortbread would be welcome tomorrow if he stays the night—”

Michele didn’t wait a second longer. She bolted through the servants’ hall and up the stairs, past the butler’s pantry and into the dining room; then she dashed through the Grand Hall and outside to the back lawn, feeling her heart almost burst out of her chest when she saw the man in the distance, sitting in a wicker chair, his eyes closed as he tilted his face to the sky.

She drew closer, holding her breath. Irving Henry opened his eyes at the sound of her approach. He stared at Michele and she gazed back at him, soaking in every detail of finally looking upon her father—in person. Irving Henry had aged, but he was still handsome. In his face, Michele could see a lingering shadow of the boy her mother had loved.

When he broke the silence, his voice was incredulous, hopeful, and familiar.

“Marion?”

Michele struggled to speak. “N-no. I’m not Marion.”

Irving peered closer at her. His eyes filled with disbelief as he saw his face reflected in hers.

“The Vanishing Girl,” he murmured. “The Vanishing Girl from the park.” He sat up straighter.

“You
remember
,” Michele breathed, looking at him in amazement. “I can’t believe you remember that day.”

Irving’s face tensed and Michele could almost see him remembering
his companion from that day; she could practically feel him wondering if she was there because of Rebecca.

“Who are you really?”

And Michele said the words she had imagined saying all her life.

“My name is Michele Windsor. I’m your daughter.”

Irving gasped. He stared at her in astonishment, uncertainty momentarily flickering in his eyes—but then, as he looked into her face that so resembled his own, conviction took hold.

“I … I have a daughter?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Michele shakily lifted her necklace, showing him the key. Irving dropped to his knees at the sight, tears glistening in his eyes.

“I don’t understand. How could I have never known about you?” he asked, looking at her as if afraid she might disappear.

“My mom didn’t know she was pregnant until—until you left.”

“My daughter—you’re my daughter,” he echoed dazedly.

Irving let out a sob. Slowly he stood, and then he had his arms around her, hugging her as tears spilled from her eyes onto his sleeve.

“Dad,” Michele cried, “I finally found you!”

Irving’s body shook as he spoke. “Leaving Marion was the worst mistake I ever made. I thought it would only be temporary, that I was protecting her. I thought the key would lead her back to me. But I was wrong, and my biggest regret is the time I lost with her—and now, with you.” He looked at her intently.

“Where is she?
How
is she? I’ve waited so long—I would give anything to see her again.”

Michele couldn’t speak. As she looked away, Irving shook his head frantically, fighting off comprehending such a terrible truth.

“No—no, it can’t be,” he whispered. “Not Marion.”

“It was a car accident.” Michele’s throat was thick with tears. “Two months ago. That’s why I had to move here. That’s why I have your key. It was in her safe—she never realized what it was.”

Irving looked at her desperately, his eyes seeming to beg her to tell him it wasn’t true, that Marion was still alive.

“I never stopped loving her,” he said after a long pause. “From the moment I returned to my Time, I knew I might not see her again. But all the years that passed didn’t change a thing. I’ve thought of Marion every minute, I’ve missed her every day. I became a lawyer for the Windsor family just so that I could feel closer to her. I only left to protect her, to give her a better future. I suppose it never occurred to me … that I would fail.”

“You were protecting her from Rebecca, weren’t you?” Michele asked.

Irving looked at her sharply, his forehead creasing with worry. “What do you know about Rebecca?”

“I read the journals that you left for my mom. But it’s more than that.” Michele took a deep breath. “Rebecca is out there in the future, in my Time, and she wants me dead. The new president of the Time Society told me that Rebecca murdered
Millicent August in 1910 and stole her key. That’s how she’s been able to time travel and Age Shift into my time.”

Irving’s face paled. He seized Michele’s hand. “Stay here in 1904 with me,” he pleaded. “I can shield you from her; she won’t even know you yet. Please, don’t go back if she’s after you. Let me protect you, the way I meant to protect Marion.”

“I can’t stay,” Michele told him regretfully. “She’s threatening my grandparents and my friends; I can’t leave them while she’s out there. And tomorrow, we might have a chance to finally end this. We’re meeting her on the Brooklyn Bridge. I’ll have help with me—don’t worry.”

“I can’t stand knowing you’re in danger. It’s all my fault.” Irving looked at her desperately. “Please—there has to be something I can do.”

Michele remembered Ida’s words, but she hesitated to repeat them. She had only just met her father; she couldn’t bear to have him risk his life for her.

“I have nothing left,” Irving said quietly. “I lost Marion, and now that I’ve found you—I couldn’t bear losing you too. If there’s even the slightest chance of my being able to help, I
must
do so.”

Michele blinked back a fresh wave of tears.

“The new president of the Time Society, Ida Pearl, told me that Millicent had this theory.… She believed that an Age Shifting Timekeeper would have to—to die in multiple Timelines besides their own in order to be gone for good.” She shivered. “I have no idea how it would work, and I can’t even imagine being responsible for someone’s death.”

Irving’s face filled with determination.

“You could never be responsible. This is all Rebecca’s doing. We
have
to do whatever we can to end this, to protect you. I knew Millicent, and I would trust in any theory she had.” He thought quickly. “I could trick Rebecca into meeting me on the Brooklyn Bridge the same day as you—only in our time. If I can defeat her in my time and you succeed in yours, then if Millicent’s theory is correct … this could be the end of Rebecca.”

“I got a … a tip that she would be there on November 23, in my time, at eleven p.m.” Michele looked up at her father, overwhelmed with emotion. “I wish you didn’t have to see Rebecca again. I’m afraid of what that will be like for you.”

“There’s no need to worry. I’m glad to do anything I can to protect you.” As Irving looked at her, it seemed to Michele that he could see into her thoughts. “Is there something else bothering you?” he asked gently.