Chapter 13
Alastair floated home, barely aware of his surroundings. His heart warred over the joy at seeing Evelyn again and the cruel reality of Keats’ future. His euphoria faded at the realization that unless Jacynda had dramatically improved during the day, there was little he could do to help her.
Mrs. Butler was drying the last of the new dishes and placing them in the Welsh dresser. “She doesn’t say much,” his housekeeper observed when he’d asked about their guest’s welfare. “Just does whatever you ask her. Not at all like she used to be. Simple, if you get my meaning.”
“Yes, I do.” Alastair knelt next to Jacynda’s chair. She studied him in return.
“Good afternoon, Jacynda.” A nod in response. She did look better. Her hair was clean and clothes fresh, though he could still see the bruises on her neck. “Did you have a good day?” Another nod.
“Fred,” she said, pointing to the stuffed animal in her arms.
“That’s his name is it?”
She nodded. “I saw some sheep today.”
“You like sheep?” he asked, reminded of similar conversations he’d had with his sister when she was a young child.
“I think so. They’re wooly. They smell.” She wrinkled her face in thought and then shook her head like a stray memory had wandered through her mind and then promptly got lost again.
Mrs. Butler was watching the exchange closely. “Are you sure you still want me to go out tonight?”
Alastair rose. “Most certainly. You and Davy deserve some time off after all the work on this house. I’m sure he’ll enjoy the lecture about the Antarctic. He seemed quite interested when I mentioned the penguins.”
“It’s just that the house isn’t—”
“It’s so much better than when I first stepped inside. You have done wonders. You can’t work day and night, or your health will give way again. Go out and have a good evening.”
“What about her?” Mrs. Butler asked, looking toward Jacynda.
“We’ll be fine. I am hoping to hear back from a specialist in brain diseases. I sent him a letter this morning. Perhaps he can find a way to help her.”
“That would be a godsend. Well then,” she said, putting down the last dish, “I’d best be going. I’m to meet Davy at the lecture hall.”
Alastair beamed, pleased at how matters had fallen out. “Enjoy yourself, Mrs. Butler. Have a late supper if you wish. You can afford it now.”
She shook her head in wonder. “I can’t quite accept that yet.”
“You will, in time.”
At his request, Jacynda dutifully followed Alastair and then snuggled on the couch. He covered her lap with a blanket. In the distance, he heard the kitchen door close as Mrs. Butler hurried off to meet her son.
The parlour was even tidier tonight. Mrs. Butler had put the maid-of-all-work on her knees, scrubbing the floor for all she was worth. Even the rugs looked as if they’d been given a good beating.
“Another quiet evening,” Alastair mused. He could get used to this if his companion were more like her old self. They’d grown closer during all the events of the last few weeks. They’d shared their secrets and found a common bond. They might have shared this house together as husband and wife.
But not now.
There was a playful giggle from his companion. Jacynda was playing hide-and-seek under the blanket with the stuffed animal. If she was a child, it would have been amusing. Instead, it broke his heart.
He recalled his encounter with Evelyn, how unsure he’d felt around her. It’d never been that way, but he sensed she’d changed since the summer. There was an edge to her now, a tenuous self-assurance. He’d seen only a glimmer of that during their engagement, but now it seemed stronger. He wondered where it would lead.
Weary of brooding, he opened up the evening’s paper and read the account of Keats’ indictment while his companion stared into the fire. What was she thinking? Did she realize how much of her memory she’d lost?
“Would you like me to read to you?” he asked.
She nodded eagerly and he set about relating various short articles to her. The first was about the preparations for Bonfire Night.
“Have you ever seen fireworks?” Alastair asked. Jacynda shrugged. “Then we shall have to ensure you do.”
A knock on his front door, hard and heavy.
“Sounds like a copper,” he grumbled, rising.
Only one was a police officer—Inspector Hulme—and the other a nattily dressed man with piercing eyes and mutton-chop sideburns.
“Doctor,” Hulme said curtly. “I understand that Miss Lassiter is here.”
“She is,” Alastair responded just as curtly, not inclined to be polite.
“We need to speak to her.”
“And you are?” Alastair asked, eyeing the other man warily.
“Wilfred Arnett, Crown Prosecutor,” was the tart reply. “I am in charge of the case against Detective-Sergeant Keats.”
“I see. Come in, gentlemen.”
Jacynda was still staring at the fire. When she looked up at the men, her eyes went wide.
“Do be cautious, she is not of sound mind at present,” Alastair warned.
“Wescomb said something to that effect,” Hulme replied. He moved forward only a few paces and then stopped as she physically shrank from him.
“Miss Lassiter, I need to ask you a few questions about Sergeant Keats.”
“Who?” she asked, eyes darting from him to the other man in bewilderment.
“Keats. You know him.”
She shook her head.
“Now see here, Miss Lassiter—”
She skittered off the couch and ran to Alastair’s side, hiding behind him like a toddler would when confronted by a big dog.
Arnett stepped forward, frowning. “What’s this, then?”
“Miss Lassiter was assaulted,” Alastair informed them. “She sustained a head injury and lost her memory. She has no idea who Keats is, or I, for that matter. All your questions are a waste of time and will only frighten her further.”
Arnett looked down at her. “What are those marks on her neck?”
“Someone tried to strangle her.”
“Who?” Hulme demanded. Jacynda did not answer. “If this is a trick, I shall file charges,” the inspector threatened.
“It is not,” Alastair replied hotly. “Have your own physician examine her. He will concur.”
Arnett sighed. “No need. She was a better witness for the defence in any event. Let’s go, Hulme.”
Then they were gone.
“Well, that went better than I thought it would,” Alastair remarked, closing the door and bolting it.
He found Jacynda back on the couch, clutching the ferret tightly to her chest. She jumped when he re-entered the room.
“They’re gone.”
“Not nice.”
She has that spot on.
He knelt in front of her, taking her hands, his depression deepening. What if she never regained her full faculties? What if her people did not come for her? How would he care for her?
Jacynda pulled her hand free and tugged playfully on his pocket watch chain. He unclipped it and handed it to her. A pleased expression settled on her face as she began a deliberate winding pattern with the stem. He remembered the sequence from when she communicated with the future. She repeated it over and over, peering at the watch face, as if expecting something to happen.
“Not right,” she said, giving the watch a sharp shake, as if it were malfunctioning.
I wonder…
Alastair hurried up the stairs, two at a time, and then extracted her own watch from the bureau drawer where he’d hidden it. As he clattered back down, caution rose. Maybe he shouldn’t let her touch it. What if she accidentally sent herself somewhere unpleasant?
He sat on the couch and watched her repeated efforts, then copied the winding pattern. Nothing happened.
I was a fool to think otherwise.
He dropped the watch in amazement as a red glow appeared above it. When Jacynda’s hand reached out to touch the dial, he pulled it back.
“Best not. I don’t want you disappearing on me.”
She glared at his interference. It was the first sign of anger he’d seen in her. When she pointed at his lap, he issued a gasp. The watch had generated an illumined grid of letters. It reminded him of the keys on the typewriters the clerks used. He stared at the image above the pattern of letters. It hung in the air without any visible means.
“Incredible.”
He gingerly moved the contraption, placing it on the seat of a wooden chair and then drawing the chair closer. There was a slight noise and a word appeared in the air without any prompting.
Password?
Of course, they would want some security for this remarkable technology. A wild notion leapt into his head—perhaps he could communicate with Jacynda’s contemporaries and they could tell him how to treat her.
This time when she reached toward the watch, he didn’t stop her. She didn’t attempt to touch it, but instead pressed one of the illuminated keys. An F appeared in the air.
“Go on,” he urged. “Don’t think about it, just put in the letters.”
She looked down at the stuffed animal and frowned. She tapped the stuffed animal’s head and gave him a distressed look.
“Fred?” Alastair prompted. A shake of her head. “Weasel?” Another shake. “Ah, ferret?” he tried. A quick nod.
Her finger typed an E, then an R. The letters appeared one by one. Then she stopped, bewildered.
“Ferret has two r’s,” he informed her. That just confused her. “Let me.” He tapped on the red square and an R appeared in the air.
“How remarkable,” he murmured. He typed an E, followed by a T. “Now what?”
She cuddled the stuffed creature closer, rocking back and forth in agitation. Alastair resisted the need to swear openly. They were so close.
“Fred,” she said.
Not knowing what else he could do, he typed in the word. Nothing.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do.”
The words tore through him. He was supposed to help her, but he was powerless, an infant in the face of such advanced science. It was agonizing. He had long worshipped technology; now he only felt the need to curse it.
Alastair peered at the board, trying to sort through the keys and what they might mean. When he’d been in the bank setting up his account, he’d watched a clerk using a typewriter. It had fascinated him. When the fellow reached the end of a page, he pressed a lever that returned the carriage to the other side of the paper. What if this device required something similar to send the message into the future?
With a nervous wince, he pressed the key with a reverse arrow, praying it didn’t make the watch disappear.
Another odd noise.
“Is that good?” he asked.
The air screen typed Logged On.
More letters, typed rapidly now. Cyn? Where have you been?
“Ah… ah….oh my God, it worked!” Hands shaking, he began to type, praying that whoever it was wouldn’t grow tired of waiting for him to reply and shut down the connection.
jacynda very ill need help
Nothing happened.
Cyn?
Alastair remembered the strange key and pressed it.
Who are you?
montrose
A long pause. As each second ticked off, Alastair’s panic rose tenfold.
“Come on, talk to me!” he pleaded.
Dr. Montrose?
yes. “This is good. They remember me.”
Jacynda leaned against him, staring at the words in the air.
“Pretty,” she said, waving her hand through the letters.
“They’ll help you,” he offered, trying to sound reassuring.
She gave a firm nod that bolstered his spirits.
Send her here.
It was what he’d feared from the moment he’d seen the strange mark.
promise to treat her, he typed.
You have our word.
They’d given their word before, and it had been like gold. He had little choice but to comply.
He did as the typed instructions required, closing the connection, securing the watch to her wrist and then placing it in her hand. She looked at him inquisitively. The trust in her eyes was like a bayonet to his heart. What if he were sending her into the arms of her enemies?
There was no other option. “You’re going home,” he informed her solemnly.
“Home?” she repeated, looking puzzled.
“Your friends will help make you better.”
He threw her possessions into the Gladstone at a furious pace, snapped it shut and set it on her lap. Right before he closed the watch cover to trigger the transfer, he brushed her cheek with a kiss. Her innocent smile made tears bloom in his eyes.
“Even if…” he nearly choked on the words, “even if you never remember me, I will always care for you.” He snapped the watch cover closed and staggered away a few paces, fists knotted.
She studied him with a sober expression, as if she knew how much this hurt.
The halo effect was brilliant, nearly blinding him. He saw her mouth open in astonishment, and then she was gone. He knelt, touching the floor where she’d been. Nothing of her remained.
Yet Keats thinks this is just nonsense.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the stuffed ferret. It had fallen on its side, misplaced in the rush. He scooped it up, tucking it under his chin and letting his tears fall with abandon.