Once Upon a Remembrance Page 5

  "Come along." Maize led the way through the large entryway and up the magnificent staircase Isabeau recalled from her arrival at Hawk’s Den.

  Isabeau stopped on the steps a moment, holding the wooden rail as she stared at the foyer below.

  "What is it, miss?"

  Isabeau frowned. "The foyer below looks different. Some of the tapestries look new or different."

  "Hawk is bringing the house back to life, little by little."

  "I'm sorry." Isabeau hastened up the stairs. "Things just are out of place. So why would Belva think she's responsible for me being here?"

  Maize shrugged. "When she's like this it is hard to know what she means." They reached the top landing, and Maize indicated a small stairway at the end of the hall. "The servants are presently using the front stairs while the back stairway is under repair. I'll show you that tomorrow but do not use it until the repairs are complete."

  She didn't correct the woman's impression that she was a servant. "Have you seen my friend Leif?"

  "Except for yourself, there have been no strangers to this house."

  "Do you have any other means of transportation besides horse and carriage?" she asked.

  A slight frown creased the older woman's brow but she replied readily enough. "What else would one need?"

  Isabeau began to breathe faster, feeling a tight band around her chest. Everything and everyone she knew had disappeared. Her thoughts turned to her own mother. She was beginning to understand so much more.

  The hallway looked different also, of course. Rather barren from what Isabeau remembered, although the beautiful wood paneling was still remarkable with its scrollwork and upright wood columns. The rugs were rather faded and threadbare.

  "You said Belva hasn't been this sick in months?"

  "Anxiety. Poor dear suffers terribly. A few months back Hawk was attacked. He lay unconscious for several days, so still you would have thought him dead. It set all of us with worry, but Belva went into a tizzy." Maize shook her head and turned right at the top of the stairs. "She stayed in her room mixing potions and consulting that devil board."

  "Potions -- like spells?" Isabeau swallowed quickly. "What is a devil board?"

  The older woman pulled her shawl closer and shivered. "It is the spirits. Belva talks to them. She says they talk back."

  "What about Hawk being attacked? Did they find out who was responsible?"

  "They think it was bandits after the money in his purse. They waylaid him on his way from his offices in town. They were not caught."

  "Is that how he got amnesia? He mentioned something about it."

  Walking down the hallway, Maize stopped outside the door to the same room Mrs. Cummins had initially given to Isabeau upon her arrival. All these freaky coincidences were adding up.

  "This is the same room --" She turned to look at Maize. "Do you know of a Mrs. Cummins?"

  "I know of no Mrs. Cummins."

  Isabeau pressed a hand to her forehead. "No Leif, no car, no Mrs. Cummins. Everything in the house looks different."

  Holding the lantern high, Maize looked at her sternly. "None here would seek to harm or trick you. At times Belva seems out of her mind, at other times she is uncannily correct. Is it true you have come to save Hawk?"

  Caught off guard, Isabeau drew back a step. "I'm not trying to save anyone. I don’t even know how to save myself."

  The older woman nodded sagely, obviously having come to a decision. "You will have an easier time if you set your mind to it -- helping us find out who's trying to harm him. If Belva is right, that's why you are here. And maybe this time she is right."

  Isabeau's uneasiness increased. "I don't want to be here. I want to be back in my own home."

  "I warn you, it is a terrible thing that befalls Hawk, like a curse upon his family. The accidents." The woman kept her voice low and leaned in closer to Isabeau as if she did not want to be overheard. "Do not trust anyone."

  "No trouble there. At this moment I don’t even trust my own judgment. What are you talking about? Saving Hawk? How can I save anyone? I seemed to have just landed in the middle of this. And what about the accidents?" she demanded. "Do you mean the one today at the shipyard? Surely that's all it was, an accident. . ." Isabeau let her voice trail off, remembering Hawk asking her if she were in on a plot of murder.

  "Lord save us. Another attempt? You were brought here for a purpose, Isabeau. Belva, God bless her troubled soul, told me she saw it. She has The Eye, she does. She knows things, that's what drives her over the edge at times."

  "You must tell me," Isabeau said tersely, inwardly becoming a believer that anything was possible.

  "She saw Hawk's death. The woman loves him like a son, but he's the last of the Morgan's -- the last legitimate one, anyway." Maize looked Isabeau straight in the eye. "Hawk must not die. He must marry Miss Amelia. If he dies, all that is good in the Morgan name dies with him."

  Isabeau followed the older woman into the room. "I need some straight answers. Everyone talks in damned riddles. Who is Amelia?"

  "The woman Hawk is to marry, but he has put her off with his lack of memory. You were sent for to help Hawk. It's not for me to question the means by which you arrived."

  "What do you mean ‘sent for’? This is getting weirder by the minute. You're saying I can somehow prevent his death?"

  "That is your purpose in being here. Belva saw it."

  "It seems impossible." But Isabeau knew it was not.

  "And yet here you are." Maize studied her closely.

  Isabeau knew time travel was possible, but it wasn't something she could admit out loud to this woman. "I have no knowledge of how I really got here."

  Maize turned from her, signaling the discussion was at an end. "I have been gone from Belva long enough. I must tend to that poor soul if she is still unsettled." She hurried around the room, lighting several oil lamps. "Hawk's suite of rooms is down the hall from yours. It is highly unusual for you to be placed in this room, but with the renovations ongoing, it is unavoidable."

  Isabeau felt adrift, reality out of her control. "Wait --"

  "Isabeau, it matters not if you believe. It is so. If you are to be helpful, you must keep the circumstances of your arrival concealed. You will find the water closet through that door," she indicated one off to the left. "I will gather a clean change of clothing for you." She stepped back, looked Isabeau up and down. "Belva may have something suitable that will fit you."

  "If all this is true, it appears I have no choice," Isabeau stated flatly.

  The woman gave her a pitying look before she exited the chamber and softly closed the door.

  Isabeau drew the bolt and sagged against the door. What a lunatic household! How could she be instrumental in saving anyone's life? And who the hell was Miss Amelia, the woman Hawk would marry when he regained his memory?

  Crazy, she might really be in 1894. Somehow she had been thrust back more than a hundred years in time.

  Isabeau looked around the room. It was the same one that Mrs. Cummins had shown her upon her arrival at Hawk's Den, but what a contrast!

  There was presently nothing decorative about the room. Although the wall furnishings were faded and light in color, the room was sparsely furnished with a small bed and bureau in one corner, the walls were faded and lackluster plaster.

  The only thing of interest right now was the wood enclosed tub occupying the bathroom. The thought of a hot bath was enticing. She turned the faucets on, allowing the tub to fill.

  Isabeau shook her blonde hair out, finding it snarled and sticky, no doubt from the salt air while out to sea. Carrying the lamp Maize had left, she looked into the bureau mirror in shocked fascination. Her only recognizable feature was her eyes, now a stormy greenish blue. Her face and neck were streaked with a blackish substance. She looked exactly the image she had at first been taken for . . . a dirty street urchin.

  Hysterical laughter moved through her. Even her mother wouldn't recognize her. She stop
ped laughing. She was on her own. The reality of her situation began to sink in.

  Walking over to the window, Isabeau looked through the fine gauze curtain to gaze at the grounds below. A silhouette of a man was suddenly revealed as a cloud moved from the face of the moon. Isabeau watched him walk across the lawn with long, unfaltering strides. Hawk Morgan. Awareness churned her stomach. He was quite an attractive man, no matter the century.

  She stepped away from the window and began to remove her soiled clothing, but was startled by a knock on her door.

  "Who is it?"

  No reply. Grimacing in distaste, she quickly pulled the soiled clothes in front of her, drew back the bolt and opened the door a crack.

  She peered down the shadowy hallway, but didn't see anyone. On the floor beside her door lay a pile of clean clothes, lengths of towel and a square cut bar of soap. Quickly, she grabbed them, closed and re-bolted the door.

  Moments later, she tested the tub water, found it wonderfully warm and blissfully sank into the small tub, letting her eyes drift closed as the warmth seeped through her. The tub was too small for her to stretch out fully, but the hot water was heavenly.

  Feeling much better, Isabeau took her time washing, actually enjoying the rosemary scent of the translucent orange bar of soap. She rubbed her finger over the word 'Pears.' She scrubbed her face and hands vigorously and soon the water showed her efforts working. As it cooled, she stepped from the tub, drying her skin and her hair with the coarse toweling strips.

  She pulled on a clean pair of white knickers-like undergarments and a plain, light blue dress that reached to just below her ankles. She actually liked the style, and reminded herself to thank Belva, if possible, when she saw her.

  She washed her own lace panties in fresh water, draping them to dry over the wash basin.

  Returning to the bedroom, she opened the bureau drawers but found them empty. On the top of the bureau was a comb and small hand mirror which she put to good use.

  She ran her hand through her still damp hair knowing it would take time to dry, especially without the modern convenience of a hair dryer. She mulled over Maize's words. How had she been pulled back in time? The shock was beginning to wear off but maybe fear would set in next.

  She paced the wooden floor, bare except for a small rug, rubbing her arms briskly. Mechanically, she scooped up her discarded clothes, rolling them up and stashing them in the corner by the door.

  Isabeau moved over to the bed and sat down, unmindful of the somewhat unyielding mattress. She pulled the wool coverlet over her shoulders, warding off a slight chill.

  As she stared at a wide, jagged crack on the opposite wall, she desperately needed to know for sure what was happening. She lay back on the bed, pushing her damp hair to the side. She felt exhausted, her eyes wide open.

  Her mother Elise had told her many times the story of how she had grown up in another time. Isabeau had known the story as long as she could remember and had never questioned it. Her mother had come forward into the future, leaving behind the man she loved, Isabeau's father Darien, and everything she knew. For Isabeau it had always felt like a tale out of a book, one she believed but felt no real lasting connection with. Now she began to understand. Her mother had been alone in the modern world, only fifteen when she discovered she was pregnant. Sadly, her mother Elise had never known the reason her old nurse Mandine had sent her from her own time.

  Isabeau chewed her lip, pressing her fingers to her burning eye lids. Her mother had been in the present almost twenty-four years. She had never been able to return to her time or the man she loved.

  She turned her face into the fine linen of the pillow, tucking her hand under her cheek. She had never met her father and she was afraid he didn't even know she existed. She bit back any feeling of sadness. It was a story from long ago and far away. She no longer pined for the father she had never met. She felt worse for her mother, not yet forty, attractive, alone her entire life and loving a man she might never see again.

  Isabeau wondered if she too would be stuck in a different time. What if she could never return? The fear was real, and she hoped it would not be the truth in her case. But what would she do if it was?

  #

  Isabeau bolted upright. Gazing at the room, she was unprepared for the sight of barren surroundings in the morning light. It was cold but there was no kindling or wood in the fireplace. She would have to see about getting wood to warm the room because of course there was no thermostat or central heating.

  With a groan she dropped back to the mattress. The blanket scratched her cheek, so she turned, lying on her back, staring glumly at ceiling cracks no longer concealed by a kind lamplight.

  Rising from the bed, she walked over to the window, trying to straighten out the dress she had unintentionally slept in all night. It was sadly wrinkled. Her hair was curling in some places, flattened in others. She pushed a hand through the curls, attempting smooth it out so it didn't stick up oddly. There was no other course but to wet it and start over; either that, or tie her hair up.

  The sun shone on the gardens below, and now with daylight she could see the gorgeous gardens, trees, shrubs, flowering bushes and garden paths throughout, incredibly beautiful and leading to the river beyond. When she originally arrived at Hawk's Den with Leif, it had been raining so hard she had not even seen the gardens or the river.

  The day appeared to hold enormous promise. On that thought, she threw open the windows, inhaling the scent of dew laden grass, hearing the singing and chirping of the birds outside her window.

  Running her palms over her face and still attempting to finger comb her wildly curling hair, Isabeau went still, recalling the previous day's events.

  Malry. Belva, Hawk's deeply disturbed aunt.

  Hawk Morgan.

  Closing the window, she moved to the bureau, picking up the hand mirror. Idly, she smoothed down the hair sticking up at the back of her head. Her shoulder length hair curled wildly about her face. She knew that without mousse and a hair dryer, there was nothing to be done with it but let it have its way. She pushed several blonde locks off her forehead, studying her slightly tilted eyes and generous mouth. She had her mother's straight, short nose, but her mom always said the rest of her face was purely her father. The father she loved dearly but whom she had never and probably would never meet.

  She felt strange, looking at her face in the mirror. It felt almost as if it were not her face, but a mask. She wished she had her mother to talk to, to ask for advice. Her mom would be able to help her understand what was going on. She and her mother had always been very close.

  Isabeau heard voices outside. Moving to stand beside the window once again she looked down into the yard below. She saw Hawk first, followed by his aunt, with Maize in the rear, a basket of cut red roses hanging from her arm. They stopped beside a small, irregularly shaped pool flanked by masses of gloriously flowering shrubs.

  Belva's small frame was dwarfed by Hawk’s. Isabeau thought the older woman appeared calmer this morning. Her pale grey shirtwaist and matching skirt looked quite fashionable with rows of ruffled material along the skirt hemline. Even her hair was pulled back neatly into a bun on the top of her head. Isabeau touched her own hair. She would have to borrow some pins or combs. Perhaps she could twist her hair and pin it in place.

  The trio followed a stone path leading away from the house, leaving Isabeau to wonder at the ill fate which seemed to have befallen Hawk's aunt. And then of course there was the attack on Hawk that caused him to have amnesia and the near fatal incident at the docks. How long could he survive a killer's determination?

  As if sensing her presence, Hawk suddenly lifted his head and stared directly at her window. A frisson of warmth tingled its way down her neck and back, causing her head to shake slightly with the intensity of it.

  Breathing deeply, Isabeau lifted a hand, watched him incline his head, then turn and follow the others down the path. After a moment, the lawns below were empty, the
only evidence of anyone having been there the darker footsteps on the dew-kissed grass.

  Seizing the opportunity, Isabeau quickly washed up, then hastened to her door. Catching her toe on the bare wood floor, she retrieved her own shoes beside the door. Putting them on her bare feet, she drew back the bolt and slipped quietly into the hallway. Maize had said Hawk's room was down the hall from hers. Would there be anything in there that would give her any clues? She didn't know, but it was worth a look around.

  Isabeau tried several doors, but the rooms appeared unused until she came to the last one down the hall. She stood a moment in the aperture, uneasy that she was intruding where she had no business. Her brain, always on the rational side, stepped in to justify her actions. She needed to check all possibilities to find a way back to her own time.

  Almost as sparsely furnished as her own room, Hawk's room was comfortable and very masculine. The focal point, without question, was the bed. It was huge, of some dark wood, the posts carved with great detail, testimony to an opulent, bygone era. Certainly, the rest of the house gave no hint of similar luxury -- yet he was the master of the house, his room would reflect something more than the other rooms she reasoned. Realizing the bed looked familiar, Isabeau thought it might be the same one she'd seen in her room when she and Leif came to Hawk's Den. The mixing of the past and present was getting more confusing.

  Isabeau walked over to a large armoire constructed of a dark, burnished wood. She opened one door and looked through it, pushing aside the jackets, shirts and trousers that had been neatly arranged inside. Closing the door, she made her way around the room and stopped before a small bureau. She quickly opened drawers, rifling through the contents, looking for a clue, yet not knowing what she was looking for. She moved to the bedside stand, then tensed when she thought she heard a footstep.

  Silence.

  With shaking fingers, Isabeau pulled open the small drawer. Inside lay a smooth, leather-bound book, enclosed by a slim gold mesh band with a square green stone. It looked like an emerald, but rougher. Gingerly, she touched it; the stone felt warm to her touch, and for a brief second it seemed to have a bright glow.

  A door creaked open. "Can I help you find something?" Hawk asked her.