His Beautiful Wench (27 page)

It wasn’t me. I didn’t kill him!

She glanced down at the gouges in the sill and remembered how she had felt when making them.

I didn’t make them. She did. I’m me, she’s her. God, I need this crazy shit to stop! What the hell’s wrong with me?

With a deep sigh, she left the empty attic and entered the bathroom, intent on having a bath to wash away the grimy feel on her body and set herself up for a day of finally getting her new home in order. Jessica’s room sprang to mind and she turned in the doorway to look across at a landing and a row of doors that was no longer there.

What happened after Amelia killed herself? Did Helena manage to get away with John and her family? And did the authorities believe the lord had killed himself?
She rolled her eyes and moved to the tub, chastising herself for acting as though the dream had really happened. But every moment of it had been so real, and although she knew it sounded implausible, she
believed
it had happened. How could it not have? Did the past remain in this house? Had the people there called out to her, luring her here so she could understand the past and her part in it?

But that would mean Amelia and Emmett are still searching for one another. Look at the number of years that have passed! And if I’m Amelia, where’s my bloody Emmett?

Placing the handkerchief on the sink ledge, bath plug secure, she turned on the taps and watched the water for a while, then stripped off the wench dress, vowing to burn it later.

“It all started when I found this thing,” she muttered, dropping it to the floor. “And now it can bloody well end. There’s no Emmett waiting for me. No man out there to treat me like he treated Amelia.”

Helena’s voice whispered, “
But there is. He’s been searching, searching…”

It’s all in my mind. I’ve finally gone crazy…
But I don’t believe that. Not really.
Stepping to the sink, she squirted toothpaste on her brush, ready to clean her teeth. She looked up at her reflection. A blood splatter stretched from cheek to cheek.

“Oh Christ—”

Legs wobbly, she gripped the edge of the sink and closed her eyes.
Did I hurt someone while I slept? Did I sleepwalk or even hurt myself?
Sickened, she quickly brushed her teeth then shut off the taps, climbing into the bath and dousing her face with water. Soap lather on her palms, she scrubbed her cheeks, wincing at the pinkish bubbles as she lowered her hands into the water. Dread unfurled in her stomach and she washed her hair and body, getting out of the bath as though any minute the police would arrive to arrest her. Dried and dressed, she rushed downstairs and checked the living room and kitchen. At the doorway to the laundry room, she paused in thought.

Is the basement still here?

She studied the floor covered in linoleum then went to the right-hand corner and hunkered down. Reaching out, she slid her fingernails between the skirting board and floor covering until the corner of linoleum lifted. With both hands, she gripped and pulled, wrenching it back. It came up easily and she kneeled, rolling the flooring toward her and shuffling back as the boards beneath were revealed. In a crouch, she scooted to the other side of the roll and continued to expose the original wood. A section of the trapdoor peeked out and Amelia rolled faster. She stood, heart beating violently, gaze on the door. She thought of the dream, how the rug had covered this door in the past, and wondered why the previous owners had covered it with linoleum. A whole room lay down there. Why hadn’t anyone wanted to use it, even for storage?

Stooping, she hooked her finger under a tarnished ring resting in a circular insert and heaved the door up. It creaked and the stench of an airless room gusted in her face. She peered into the square of blackness below, making out a couple of steps before darkness obscured the remainder of the flight.

“Candles. Where did I pack my candles? Or my flashlight?”

She stared at the ceiling and tried to recall and when it came to her, she went into the kitchen and rummaged through a carton. Her flashlight lay in the bottom and she grabbed it, returning to the laundry room.

Do I really want to go down?
She toed the first step.
What if they’re rotten?

Decision made that she’d explore the basement, she switched on the flashlight and shone the beam onto the steps. They all appeared secure, not a hint of damp or woodworm, and they looked exactly as they had in the dream. She hiked in a deep breath and gingerly took one step at a time, testing each one before moving to the next. Safely at the bottom, she panned the beam to where the bed was.

It was still there, sheets, quilt and pillows exactly as she had left them.

How the…?

“Damn it, woman.
You
didn’t leave them like this!” She turned, the light picking out the sideboard, the two barrels. “Oh Lord! This is crazy!”

The room appeared untouched by the passage of time and, on a whim, she walked to the largest barrel and dipped her hand inside. Cold water met her fingertips. Startled, she withdrew her hand and stepped back, her feet heavy and her heart thrumming.
How come the water is still there? It isn’t possible!
She couldn’t get up the stairs quickly enough and scrambled out of the hatch on hands and knees. Standing, she switched off the flashlight and went into the kitchen, tossing it back into the box.

“Now this is just stupid.” She filled the kettle and flicked the switch for it to boil. “Coffee. I just need coffee.”

While the water heated, she paced the kitchen, hand to her brow as she coached herself to forget the dream, forget the man she had loved while asleep. Forget the man she had killed. The face of every dream participant flicked through her mind and with them brief flashes of the scenes they had played in. The kettle switch snapped and she busied herself making coffee, trying to focus on the state of her house and how a good day’s work would see it put to rights. Coffee in hand, she sipped and looked out the window.

Hmm. If there were extra bedrooms here years ago, why could I look out this window in my dream? Wouldn’t there have been another room on the ground floor too? Unless…

She frowned and turned, leaned her butt on the edge of the sink and gazed around the room. “The kitchen was bigger back then.” Squeezing her eyes closed, she shook her head then opened them again. An odd tickle rippled up her spine and she faced the back door.

Wood slats took the place of glass.

Her legs almost gave out and she put her cup on the table and steadied herself by gripping a chairback. She lowered her head and breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. The panic receded and she wondered if she needed to visit the doctor. Normal people didn’t see things from dreams. Normal people didn’t act as if their dreams were real. Normal people didn’t believe the damn things!

Her house phone chirped and she whirled around, stupidly afraid of who would be on the other end if she answered. She walked into the living room, spying her phone on the sofa. Matilda’s number showed on the display and she answered.

“Amelia? Hey, listen, I have something to tell you, but I’m so worried you’ll think I’m nuts.”

And you’ll think I’m nuts if I told you what’s been going on here.

“What’s wrong?”

Matilda’s shaky breaths filtered down the line. “I’ve been having weird dreams.”

Oh my God.
“How weird are they?”

“Like, from the past.” Matilda paused, then, “And this is where it sounds nuts. I’ve seen someone from my dream.”

Jesus Christ. What the hell is going on here?
“Um, okay. And who is it?”

An unsteady laugh sounded, as though Matilda was embarrassed and stressed. “Someone you killed in my dream. Someone I, um, disposed of. Christ, I swear to you I’m not insane. This is freaking me out. He’s, uh, he’s outside my shop now.”

“Shit. Okay. Right.” Amelia’s knees weakened, but she forced herself to remain strong. At least she wasn’t the only one this was happening to. At least she wasn’t mental. “What’s he doing? What does he look like?”

“He’s on the other side of the street, staring inside. He’s… God, he looks just like he did in my dream, except he’s wearing modern clothes. His hair, it’s shoulder-length and curly, looks like he has mousse or gel in it. And his beard and mustache! Jesus, they’re so old-fashioned!”

Amelia’s stomach cramped and she placed a hand over her racing heart.
Graham. It’s got to be Graham! But he’s dead!
She held her breath, mind spinning. When was this going to end? Surely with the dream Amelia dying this stupid crap would stop?

“Amelia? You still there?”

Matilda’s worried voice startled Amelia out of her thoughts. “Yes, I’m… Do you want me to come down to the shop?”

“Would you? I feel so stupid but—”

“You’re not. Trust me. I know exactly how you feel. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Lock the shop door. That man is nasty.”

“How the hell do you know? Have you—”

“Just know he’s not someone you want in your shop. I’ll explain when I get there.”

Amelia cut the call and rushed around for her shoes and jacket. She found her keys on the kitchen counter behind a small cardboard box and snatched them up. With a glance at the boarded-up back door, she shuddered and rushed out of the kitchen and into the living room. She swung open the front door, stepped outside and slammed it closed, running out of the garden and round the side of the cottage to her car. She paused, wondering if it would be quicker to go through the forest. Parking would take precious time—if she could even find a vacant spot—and if Graham
was
the man outside Matilda’s shop…

Shit!

She ran across the clifftop toward the trees, thoughts of Graham and what the modern-day version of him wanted. Did it mean Amelia would have another dream soon or be transported back in time, even though she was dead in the past?
No! God, please don’t let me go back there!
She picked up speed. Entering the forest, she stared all around as she ran, freaked that one of Bates’ or Graham’s men would waylay her before she could reach town. She sped up as she navigated the declining terrain and she almost toppled forward. She forced herself to slow and jumped over an exposed tree root, spying the edge of the forest that bordered the road below. With her breaths loud and her pulse thrumming in her ears, she almost didn’t hear the snap of twigs and faint footfalls behind her. Amelia held off a screech and dared to look back. A shadowy form followed her, transparent yet solid at the same time. Her heart pumped harder, faster, and she turned to face forward again. Fear pervaded her body and hilarity at the absurdity of her situation unfurled in her chest. Laughter threatened to bubble out of her, but she held it in. If she laughed now, she wouldn’t stop, and whoever pursued would catch up and—

She ousted the thoughts away, striving to reach the road without falling. Once there, she glanced left and right, then sped across the road and down the alley, risking a look over her shoulder again. The shadow had gone. Relief seemed to hollow out her legs and she struggled to run with them so weak. Once in town, she headed for Matilda’s shop, out of breath and scanning the area for anyone who looked like Graham. She couldn’t see him so knocked on the shop door and waited for Matilda to unlock it.

The redhead rushed to slip back the bolts and swing open the door. She ushered Amelia inside and closed the door, leaning her back against the glass.

“He went a few minutes after I called you.” Matilda tucked loose strands of hair behind her ears and brushed imaginary specks from her black top. “Come out back. I’ve made coffee. I keep thinking I’m off my head, but I swear to you I saw him.” She smiled nervously and glanced out into the street, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. Facing Amelia again, she walked past and led the way to the rear of the shop.

Amelia followed, her chest and legs sore from running, and blew out slowly to try to control her rapid breaths. Hot and sweaty, she rounded the counter and stepped through the doorway into a small room. Matilda busied herself pouring coffee at a white sideboard housing a sink and Amelia sat in a wooden rocker, leaving the more comfortable, padded chair for her friend.

“Would it help if I told you I’ve been having weird dreams too?” Amelia stared at Matilda’s profile and fiddled with her hands in her lap.

Matilda turned, eyes wide, her mouth an O. “You have?” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and a tic flickered beside her mouth. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

“I wish I was. The past couple of days have been so damn weird. I’ve fallen asleep at all times of the day and dreamed about myself in the past. And I’m talking way back into the past here.”

Matilda put the coffeepot back onto the percolator base and then gripped the edge of the sideboard. “Shit.” She squeezed her eyes closed. “I’m scared. This isn’t
normal
.”

Amelia sighed and laced her fingers. “Here, let me make the coffee. You sit down and tell me about the dream. What you saw.” She stood and guided her friend to the chair, pressing her shoulders until Matilda sat. “And don’t worry about sounding crazy. I understand. Really. Just get it all out.”