Roses in Moonlight

chapter 25





Samantha paced in the bedroom she’d been given, partly because she was nervous and partly because she simply couldn’t sit down. The next time she traveled through time to help rescue an ancestor upon whom her very existence depended, she was going to see if she could do so in a place where the clothes were more comfortable.

She had no idea how long Derrick had already been gone, but it seemed like at least an hour had passed since he’d trotted off toward the Tower, Oliver and Peter in tow. At least he had money, thanks to Granny Mary’s ability to clean clocks at the gaming table, and he had two shadows at his heels, ones she certainly wouldn’t have tangled with. She’d already had a lesson from Oliver in self-defense; she suspected he’d only shown her the mild stuff.

She jumped half a foot at the knock on the door. She’d already been attended by two different maids, but sent them on their way while pleading a headache. She walked across the wooden floor, then opened the door carefully. The relief that rushed through her at seeing her grandmother’s sister there was almost more than she could take.

Mary came in and shut the door behind her. “You look like you could use a drink.”

“I don’t drink.”

“Neither do I, generally, so I called for some tea. At least that way the water’s boiled. I’m not even sure I trust the wine.”

Samantha waited while tea was set up, then listened to her aunt dismiss the servants with what she could only assume, having grown up with her father, was a first-rate local accent. Mary arranged herself at the table, then looked up.

“Come sit, girlie, if you can.”

“I think I could be the tea table with this shelf I’m wearing around my hips,” Samantha muttered. “Who thought up this ridiculous-looking getup anyway?”

“Oh, I imagine you could give a fairly decent lecture on that, couldn’t you?” Mary asked, her eyes twinkling. “Make good use of that stool, sweetie, and let’s take our minds off things for a bit. That Derrick Cameron is one good-looking kid.”

Samantha had to agree, but she was too busy trying to sit to say as much. She got herself arranged, managed to get something down her parched throat without wearing it down the front of her dress, then looked at her great-aunt.

“Does anyone else in the family know you do this?”

Mary leaned back against the wall and propped her feet up on a stool she dragged over with the toe of her shoe. “Helen, of course, but she’s been on several jaunts with me to oversee the births of Jennifer’s children.”

Samantha looked at her in surprise. “My cousin Jennifer?”

“Who married Nicholas, Earl of Wyckham, in . . . well, sometime in the early thirteenth century. Can’t quite bring the exact date to mind at present.”

Samantha felt her mouth fall open. “So, that’s where you’ve been going? I thought you were volunteering with the Peace Corps!”

Mary smiled. “Not yet. Perhaps when I’m older and don’t have the energy for this any longer.”

Samantha suppressed the urge to snort. Mary MacLeod McKinnon was every day of seventy-five. Heaven help them all if she ever decided time traveling wasn’t enough excitement for her.

“Derrick’s very handsome,” Mary noted. “But then again, he is a Cameron. Good genes.”

Samantha knew her great-aunt was trying to distract her, which she appreciated. She found herself torn between blushing and feeling quite ill. There was actually no reason to blush because there was nothing between her and him, but there was every reason to feel very nervous because he was off taking the tour of the Tower of London.

“We’re not a couple,” she managed.

“Uh-huh,” Mary said. “That’s not what it looked like to me. So, how did you manage to run into him? And you can relax, Sam. He’ll be fine. Jamie says he’s extremely bright and sly as a fox. He’ll manage to get himself in and out of the Tower on a tour without giving anything away. He’s dressed appropriately and he’s very handsome. The only thing I would worry about is every female in the area hitting on him, but since you’re not a couple, that’s not a worry. Now, details.”

Samantha tried to take a deep breath, but there was no hope of that thanks to her corset. She supposed she could breathe later, maybe when they’d gotten back to their proper place in time.

“Gavin found me a job over here for the summer—”

“As well he should have,” Mary said with a snort. “Useless ass.”

Samantha had to smile. There was a reason Mary was one of her favorite people.

“He did manage to get me over here to England, so I can’t say too many bad things about him. He got me a house-sitting gig with a couple in Newcastle.”

“And?”

“Well, it turns out the people I was house-sitting for are textile thieves,” Samantha admitted. “They wanted me to deliver something for them in London, which I agreed to because I had no idea what they were up to. Inside that package, though, was a piece of Elizabethan lace that they had stolen from a client of Derrick’s.”

“How much of that did he know?”

“Most of it, actually. He followed me from Newcastle to London, rescued me from Elizabethan England, then we sort of came to an understanding about the fact that I wasn’t a thief.”

“And you’re here to rescue Richard Drummond from the Tower,” Mary said.

“Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”

Mary laughed a little. “I do, actually. He’s insufferable in person, but a very fine actor. I’m not sure how he got mixed up in anything worthy of being tossed in jail, but I suppose your Derrick will figure that out.”

Samantha studied her great-aunt. “You don’t know?”

Mary started to speak, then sighed. “I know he’s been accused of stealing gems, but that’s only because someone mentioned it at supper last night. Jamie texted me a couple of days ago at home and told me what Derrick thought was going on. Once we nailed down a few details, I hopped on a plane to London, then snuck back here to wait for you.”

“But, Granny,” Samantha said weakly, “the jet lag . . .”

“One of the benefits of being old,” Mary said with a smile. “Don’t need much sleep. So, here we are, happily trying to sit in on these crazy Elizabethan fashions, waiting for your boyfriend to get back from his casing of the Tower of London.”

“He isn’t my boyfriend,” Samantha protested.

“Well, cupcake, he’d obviously like to be.” She nodded. “I have two good eyes and years of experience looking at this kind of thing.” She made herself a bit more comfortable. “I’m assuming you have come along not just to keep him company.”

Samantha tried to swallow, then had to have help by means of some more tea. “Well, the thing is, the jewels the Richard Drummond of the current day is accused of stealing somehow got slipped into my bag the last time Derrick and I were here retrieving some lace that I had left hiding in the past. He’s not happy about it, but I came along partly to act as bait. We figure whoever planted them on me might try to get them back if they knew I was here.”

Mary looked for the first time slightly unsettled. “There’s some danger involved in that, Sam, I don’t mind telling you so. People get away with all kinds of things here if they know the right higher-ups.”

“I’m going to try to stay out of the way of those types.” She took as deep a breath as her corset would allow. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything about anyone missing some gems, have you?”

“I can certainly ask around,” Mary said. “I wish I’d known sooner, but Jamie didn’t say anything.”

“I don’t think there was anything to know,” Samantha said with a shrug. “It makes you wonder, though, doesn’t it, who would have that many jewels swiped from him and not want to publicize it so he could get them back.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Mary said thoughtfully. “Richard’s stonewalling them in the Tower, or so I hear, so no joy there. Maybe the owners are just trying to do a little sleuthing in private. Or perhaps Mauntell knows something.”

“Is it possible to find out?”

Mary pushed her stool aside and got to her feet with more energy than Samantha had at the moment. “I’ll go ask a few questions.”

“But can you really trust anyone here?”

“You underestimate the power of my biscuits and gravy.”

Samantha would have smiled, but she was just too nervous to. “What if Lord Mauntell’s involved?”

“How many gems?”

“Forty-eight.”

“How much does Derrick think they’re worth in modern pounds?”

“About fifty million pounds.”

That Mary didn’t look shocked left Samantha feeling slightly shocked.

“Granny, that’s a lot of money.”

“Honey, that’s because they’re antiques. People always pay more for old stuff. But back here, they’re just ordinary rocks. I’m not saying they aren’t valuable, but they’re going to be worth a fraction of that right now.”

“Do people have that much money?”

Mary laughed a little. “Arundel’s rumored to owe about a half a million smackers to dozens of tradespeople.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean he has it in the bank,” Samantha pointed out.

“The poor saps who made his clothes certainly don’t,” Mary agreed. She shook her head. “But for a minor lord, losing that many gems could indeed be quite a hit to his treasury. I’ll go do some careful snooping.” She started toward the door, then paused and looked over her shoulder. “There’s a masquerade tonight, you know, followed by supper. Dancing as well. Who knows who we’ll find there?”

Samantha could hardly bear to think about it. She promised her great-aunt she would try to rest, then watched Mary leave. She picked up her tea, then almost dropped the cup when the door opened suddenly.

She closed her eyes briefly. It was just Derrick. Unpierced, unshackled, unarrested. Perhaps that was good enough for the afternoon.

She tried to get up, but her dress was just too formidable. Derrick laughed a little and walked over to pull her up to her feet. She put her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

“Remind me to bring you to Elizabethan England more often,” he said cheerfully.

She pushed away from him and tried to scowl. She was sure that was ruined by how hard she was shaking.

“Well?”

He reached for her hands and chafed them. “You’re cold.”

“I’m terrified.”

He saw her seated back on her stool, then sat down across the little tea table from her and helped himself to something to drink. “It was, if you can believe it, almost the same as touring the Tower in our day. Gawkers, purists, and sellers of goods outside the gates. We didn’t see anything interesting, but I will tell you that the yobs in this town are everywhere.”

She smiled a little. “Then Romeo and Juliet wasn’t just fiction?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve never seen so many teens and twentysomethings with nothing better to do than roam in packs and vex innocent nursemaids.”

“Did you brawl?” she asked casually.

“It was only good sense that kept me from it,” he said dryly. He drained his tea, then smiled. “How about a nap?”

“You go ahead,” she said with a snort. “The picnic table I’m wearing and I will just sit here and keep from getting wrinkled.”

He laughed a little. “I have to admit some of the fashions of the day leave me baffled, but there it is. Isn’t that thing detachable?”

“Not a chance,” she said with a sigh.

“Not to worry, then. I’ll stay awake with you.”

She pursed her lips. “Of course you won’t. Go lie down. I’ll just go lean against the wall and see if I can fall asleep without breaking my neck in the process.”

“If I could, I would text Emily to have flannel pajamas waiting for you when we get home,” he said with a smile. “Let me get you settled as comfortably as possible, then if you don’t mind, I might close my eyes for a couple of minutes.”

She didn’t mind and she was happy to have help getting herself reasonably close to the tapestry-lined wall where she could at least lean her head back without too much trouble. She had a kiss on her hand for her trouble, then watched Derrick walk comfortably across the floor and with equal ease throw himself onto the bed. He was asleep within sixty seconds. She knew, because she had counted.

If only their mystery could be solved as quickly.

• • •

It had to have been pushing at least ten when she found herself standing next to Derrick, torn between admiring and wanting to go throw up.

Well, maybe stood next to was an inaccurate representation of where she was. She stood as close to Derrick as possible, but what was possible with her enormous skirts wasn’t much.

“This is fun,” she murmured. “What’s next?”

“I’m afraid that would be supper,” he said, looking almost as green as she felt.

“Hey, you’re supposed to be good at this.”

“I am accustomed to this,” he corrected. “Good is still up for debate. I think, though, if we can get through supper, we’ll manage to get to dance together.”

“That does sound like fun,” she said brightly.

He shot her a brief smile. “I think so. I also think if we can hang on that long with this crowd, I’ll slip out sometime after the moon has set and do what needs to be done.” He nodded at the small purse dangling from her wrist. “There are things in there to get you through till the morning.”

“Chocolate?”

“I should think you would be hoping for pharmaceutical aids, but yes, just chocolate. Something sharp. Another thing or two.” He looked at her seriously. “Stay here and wait for me.”

“Because of the fabric of time?”

“That, too, though that doesn’t seem to stop your aunt Mary.” He shook his head. “Why Jamie hasn’t unfriended her for her illicit activities, I don’t know.”

“I think they go to plays together when they’re here at the same time. She knows Shakespeare personally. I think she actually has seats.” She shivered. “I’m not even sure I can talk about this.”

“I don’t think Granny wants you to,” he murmured. “Here she comes with a purpose.”

Samantha couldn’t deny that. Granny Mary’s eyes were alight with something. Samantha had already heard about her great-aunt having acted in the Scottish play during her first trip to Elizabeth’s time. She could hardly wait to see what other tidbits the woman intended to favor them with at present. Mary stopped in front of them, then leaned in close.

“Bingo.”

“Bingo?” Samantha whispered. Heavens, not another thing she’d introduced to Elizabethan England that shouldn’t have been there. “Are you playing it?”

“No, I have a lead in the case.” She looked at Derrick. “Get to know Walter Cooke. Lord Walter Cooke, rather. Minor baron. Not particularly wealthy, but he’s on edge about something and his son is a putz.” She smiled. “There you go, lad. Run with it.”

Derrick opened his mouth—no doubt to thank her—then shut his mouth abruptly. Samantha understood. The man coming to a stop in front of them looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him. Perhaps he reminded her of someone she’d seen in a magazine, or on TV, or . . . or in a photograph.

He looked remarkably like Edmund Cooke, actually.

Sir Thomas appeared as if by magic and introduced them to Lord Walter Cooke. Mary shot her a knowing look that Samantha had no trouble interpreting. Derrick apparently needed nothing but his nose for old things to launch him into a friendly dialogue with the man in front of them. Samantha just nodded and pretended that she spoke only minimal English. It was just as well. She might have blurted out something unhelpful otherwise.

Her very powers of tongue biting were taxed to the limit when Lord Walter’s son stumbled over to them as if he’d seen a ghost. She didn’t like to judge anyone too quickly, but she could safely say that that one gave her the creeps. He was short, greasy, and smarmy. Only good breeding—and, it had to be said, an intense desire to get back to her own time alive—kept her from punching him when he bent to kiss the back of her hand and slobbered on it instead. Derrick removed her hand from Junior’s and tucked it under his arm, then proceeded to make polite conversation with father and son.

The younger Cooke, Francis, apparently didn’t have much patience for the rigors of polite society because he turned away from Derrick in the middle of a sentence and looked at her in astonishment. “You seem so familiar,” he said.

She looked at him blankly, because that’s what she was supposed to do. Derrick assured him that wasn’t possible because there wasn’t a woman in London who was half as lovely as his wife.

Samantha watched Francis Cooke watch her while he was listening to Derrick and had the overwhelming urge to run go take a shower. He just seemed as if he were trying to tell her . . . something. She wasn’t used to getting hit on, so—

She felt her heart stop.

Well, it didn’t stop, actually, but it definitely paused. He was looking at her as if he had lost her and he was absolutely thrilled to have found her again.

“Of course,” he said, turning to look at Derrick closely, “it isn’t as if one would want to keep one’s lady wife anywhere near Blackfriars or even the Globe, n’est-ce pas?”

Samantha put her hand over her ribs partly because she felt as if he’d just punched her and partly because that’s where the second set of gems, the ones that had been planted on her in Elizabethan England, were currently residing, secured to her skin with athletic tape. She was a duct-tape kind of gal, never leaving home without at least a yard of it folded up in her purse. She’d saved more than one actor’s trousers with that useful means of securing a seam. She supposed Derrick had stock in whatever company produced athletic tape in the UK. She also supposed she was babbling inside her head. It helped drown out the thought she was having that was so far-fetched, she could hardly think it.

It wasn’t possible that Francis Cooke had planted those gems on her, was it?

Dinner was announced. She walked through the gallery with Derrick, losing the younger Cooke in the process. She sat where indicated, considered supper, then wondered if there might be antibiotics in her purse, just in case. She had no idea what she was going to find on her plate, but she didn’t hold out much hope that it would be safe to eat, much less tasty.

She realized a handful of hours after that, that dinner was perhaps the least interesting of all the things she was going to have to worry about that night. When she and Derrick went back to their room, servants followed, apparently fully expecting that they would be sleeping in the same bed. She supposed they were only lucky that Lord Walter and Sir Thomas weren’t joining them.

“Oh, these are strange and wondrous fasteners,” the maid breathed.

“French,” Samantha said with a shrug, hoping that said everything that needed to be said.

She had to admit, though, that she was grateful Granny Mary had provided her with a heavy robe. It might have been summer, but it was cold. Or perhaps that was her nerves again, rearing their ugly heads. Whatever the case, she was happy to go stand by the fire and watch Derrick dismiss the maid, telling her he could see to his lady’s needs for the rest of the night.

He shut the door, then leaned back against it. He was minus his boots and doublet, which left him standing there in a tunic, shorts, and hose. He smiled.

“Long day.”

“Very.”

He pushed away from the door and came to take her hand. He saw her seated in front of the fire, then sat on the stool that had been her only option earlier in the day.

“Jewels?”

“I’m still wearing them.”

He rested his elbows on his knees, then reached out and took her hands. He simply ran his thumbs over the backs of them for several minutes in silence. She would have thought he had fallen asleep if it hadn’t been for that endless motion. He finally looked up at her.

“What did you think of Francis?”

“He has beady eyes and he drooled on the back of my hand.”

“It was all I could do not to flatten him, believe me.”

“My hero,” she said with a smile.

He smiled wearily, then rubbed one of his hands over his face. “I think I need a couple of hours.”

“I’ll wait up.”

He shook his head. “Nay, lass, you won’t.” He rose. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Ah—”

“Trust me.”

Well, she couldn’t say that she didn’t, which meant she supposed she did. She watched him bank the fire as if he’d done it several times before—probably in different centuries—then gulped when he took her by the hand and pulled her across the room. He pulled back the covers, frowned, then remade the bed.

“We’ll try on top instead,” he said.

“Bedbugs?”

“Actually, no, but I like to be able to make a quick getaway when necessary.”

He took the bolster and laid it down the center of the bed, then left her standing where she was and went around the other side. He stretched out, then looked up at her.

“Well?”

She smiled a little, then lay down on the other side. She propped her head up on her fist and peeked over at him.

“Have an alarm?”

“No, but I have a good idea.”

“I can’t wait to hear it.”

He laughed a little, leaned up on an elbow, then leaned over and kissed her. He pulled back, started to speak, then shook his head and kissed her again. He kissed her for quite a while, truth be told.

“You’ll never get to sleep if I don’t stop,” he announced at one point.

She laughed a little. “Project much, Lord Derrick?”

“In this case, probably,” he admitted with a brief laugh. He kissed her once more, then looked at his watch. “If we go to sleep now, we’ll have a lovely two hours before I need to go.”

She reached for his hand and held it, hard. “Please be careful.”

He leaned forward and kissed her softly. “I have many reasons to want to be, not the least of which is right here in front of me.”

She could only look at him, mute, because she had absolutely no idea how to respond. She couldn’t say anything, because she would have said too much. All she could do was close her eyes and nod.

• • •

She woke to darkness. Derrick’s hand wasn’t around hers any longer and she couldn’t hear anyone breathing but herself. She would have fumbled for the bedside lamp but she realized immediately that there was no bedside lamp. She got up, noted for posterity’s sake that even wooden floors could be very cold in the middle of the night, then made her way over to the fire. She brought it back to life, then lit a candle in the fire and set it on the table.

Her little reticule was sitting there, but she was fairly sure that wasn’t where she’d left it. She frowned thoughtfully, then worked it open and peered inside it.

There was indeed chocolate—a Kit Kat, as it happened—wrapped in paper that went right into the fire the moment she’d finished her breakfast. There was a pocketknife, a very small syringe fully loaded with something that was identified as knockout drug for thug, and a piece of paper. She left the knife and needle inside, then pulled out the piece of paper and unfolded it. She looked first at the title.

All the Things I Like About Samantha Drummond.

She would have smiled, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to. Derrick Cameron, the man she was perilously close to being inordinately fond of was quite probably at the moment floating down the river toward the Tower of London where he intended to break in and rescue her ancestor.

Potentially for no other reason than it meant her life.

She took a deep breath and began to read.