Beyond Time (Highland Secret Series) (15 page)

“She’s in trouble.”

“What sort of trouble?”

“I don’t know.”

A knot of fear tightened in her stomach as she replayed the dying moments of her dream to him.

“Jenny was screaming; a desperate terrified cry for help. I tried to get to her but I couldn’t.”

“Where was she?”

“I don’t know... but it felt like... I was in water and... the closer I got to her, the thicker the water became until I couldn’t pull myself through the water anymore... And I woke up.”

“It was only a dream, Grace.”

“No, it was more than a dream. Jenny needs me and I don’t know how to help her.”

In desperation she sprung out of bed and grabbed her cell phone. She flicked madly through her the address book looking for Jenny’s number.

“I know what to do,” she said, suddenly staring at the cell. “I need the portrait.”

He came to stand in front of her, his arms moving to encircle her waist. She slipped from his embrace and ran to the fireplace. She turned to him, her eyes pleading.

“I can’t reach it.”

In one stride he was beside her, his arms stretched toward the portrait.

“Grace, sit down and we will talk about this,” he said, handing the frame to her.

She shook her head frantically, taking the frame from him.

“No, there’s no time,” she replied, dropping to the floor. “Robert, pass me the backpack, please?”

He did as she asked and then slid to the floor beside her. He watched her as she ripped the bag open and scrambled through its contents.

“What are you looking for?”

“The pens, Robert, I’m looking for my bloody ballpoint pens. Have you got a desk?”

“I have. Why?”

“Cut the legs off it. Now,” she screamed.

“What?”

“You heard me, get the damn legs off it.”

“Grace, this is enough. Stop.”

“I can’t, Robert, there isn’t much time. It might be too late already.”

“Alright, I’ll cut the legs off the desk but you are going to tell me what is going on first.”

Blind with panic she grabbed a pen but he caught her hand and held it steady.

“Grace, tell me what you are doing.”

“Just let me go, please,” she said, struggling to extract her hand from his.

He shook his head seriously. “Not until you tell me what you are doing. Now give me the pen and start at the beginning.”

Her hand trembled as she released the pen.

“Thank you,” he said, setting the pen on the floor beside him. “Now tell me what you were going to write and to whom?”

“A letter, Robert, I need to write a letter to myself.”

“And how is this going to help Jenny?”

“Well it won’t directly help her but it will lead to something that will help her,” she said, falling over her words as she raced to finish the explanation.

“I’m not following you, Grace. Start at the beginning, please.”

With much reluctance she told him about the letter she had found on the back of the portrait in her hotel room and how his desk had come to belong to Kate because she had fallen in love with the idea that Robert had commissioned the making of the desk specifically for her.

“If you don’t make that desk appear to have been made for me then Kate will not buy it and the future will be altered. I was meant to come here. I see that now but I also know that we must not change what should happen in my time. You must write a note with the exact measurements of your desk and it must appear as though you had it made for your wife.

He smiled a broad slightly cheeky smile and she shot him a look of disapproval.

“What are you smiling about? This isn’t funny.”

“I know it’s not funny, but you have twice answered a question you said you should not.”

“What?”

“You will be my wife?”

She clapped her hand hard over her mouth realizing with horror what she had done.

He moved her hand slowly from her mouth and gently kissed her lips.

“You haven’t changed anything. I knew from the first moment I saw you that you would be my wife.”

Her head spun in an ever tighter vortex of confusion, the only coherent thought being that she needed to help her daughter.

“You are right and I’m sorry but I can’t think about it now. I have to help Jenny.”

He nodded, handing the pen back to her. She took it from him and began to write, her hand darting furiously across the canvass. When she was done he placed the portrait back on the wall above the fireplace.

“Is that it?”

“No, please pass me my cell?”

One dark brow quirked in question.

“That... thing over there on the bed.”

She took the cell off him and ran her fingers over the touch screen, then lifted it to her mouth and began to speak.

“Harry, this is Grace and I need your help. My daughter is in trouble. Please, Harry, you’ve got to find her? She lives at 114 Monnies End, Clowne, Derbyshire and her name is Jenny.

“The details for my bank account are in my hotel room. Use the money as you see fit. When you find Jenny, please give her this cross. She will know it is from me and understand its significance,” Grace paused and tapped the cell against her top lip. “Harry, tell her that I love her.”

Grace lifted her hands to the back of her neck and unclipped the chain. She watched it as it dropped neatly into the palm of her hand.

“Robert do you have a metal box?”

“I do,” he said, disappearing from the room, to return a few minutes later. He laid the box on the floor in front of her, along with a small leather pouch. She looked up at him quizzically.

“What’s this?”

“Just a little something to help my future nephew through life.”

Grace gently untied the leather thongs and pulled the pouch open. She gaped in amazement at the shining gold coins.

“Robert there’s a fortune here.”

“Only a small one, assuming gold still has a value in your time.”

“Oh yes, gold still has a value in my time,” she said, weighing the heavy coins in the palm of her hand.

“I take it you have a way of getting this... cell to Harry?”

Grace opened the lid of the metal box and placed the cell phone, the silver cross and the leather pouch into the box.

“I do,” she said, routing through the backpack again.

“What are you looking for now?”

“My purse. Jenny will need my bank card to get access to the funds in my account.”

“If you have no idea how you moved nearly four hundred years in time, how are you going to move this box?” he asked, frowning down on her.

“Yes, that is easier than it sounds. We need to go back to the post house.”

“The post house?”

“Yup.”

“Not now, surely?” he said, casting a disapproving eye at her.

She nodded solemnly. “Yes, please?”

“Grace it’s the dead of night. The snow is knee deep and still falling and you have no coat. Can’t this wait until the morning?”

“No, Robert it really can’t. I will go on my own if I have to, but this has to be done now.”

A low guttural groan emanated from his throat as he pulled a cotton shirt over his head.

“It won’t take long, I promise,” she said, wrestling herself into the borrowed gown.

“Exactly why does it have to be the post house?”

“Because in the letter I have just written on the back of your portrait I told myself to tell Harry to look under the floorboards in the post house.”

“I see,” he said, as understanding started to take hold. “You are putting these things somewhere for Harry to find in the future.”

She nodded excitedly. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“Couldn’t you have told Harry to look under the floorboards in this house?”

“No, because I’ve already given him the message.”

“I see. We’d better go then,” he said, handing her an oversized black coat.

“I can’t take your coat.”

“You can and you will. I have another one,” he said, as they made their way through the main living room downstairs.

“Robert, wait,” she said, opening a cabinet and removing a glass bottle.

“From what you’ve said, Harry can do without any more whisky,” he said, stopping beside her.

Grace pulled the cork from the neck of the bottle.

“It’s not for Harry,” she said, lifting the whisky to her mouth and drinking deeply from the bottle.

“Steady, girl,” he said, lifting his hand to take the bottle from her.

She gasped and shuddered as the liquid slid down the back of her throat.

“It was for me,” she finished.

“Yes, I can see that.”

“Funny,” she said, smiling gently to herself.

“What’s funny?”

“Harry used to call me, girl,” she said, hooking her arms into the long black coat.

Robert chuckled to himself as he watched her move clumsily toward the door. The coat hung heavily around her shoulders, her arms lost in the sleeves and her small frame drowned by the thick cloth.

“You look ridiculous,” he said, trying to suppress a laugh.

She shot him an angry look but it did nothing to suppress the laughter building inside him. Unable to help himself he put his arms out and drew her into an affectionate hug.

“I shouldn’t have laughed at you. I’m sorry,” he said, trying to sound serious.

“Let’s just go,” Grace snapped back.

They made their way through the darkened city. The snow still lay deep underfoot and Grace struggled with the added weight of the coat on top of her dress, but she was grateful for its addition nonetheless. The night air was bitter. Her eyes watered and her cheeks stung, but the only thought she had was for her daughter.

Robert slid the key into the lock and turned it. The door pushed silently open into the main room of the posting house. They fumbled their way toward the bar, looking for an oil lamp. Grace stared in shocked silence as Robert flicked the lighter and brought the flame to the wick of a lamp. The light guided them to the small room off what would be the kitchen. Robert placed the lamp on an oak table and looked curiously at the floor.

“How can you be sure no one will find this before Harry does?”

“I can’t,” she said, simply.

“So you don’t know for sure that he is going to get this?”

“No. I left him before he lifted the floorboards,” she paused thoughtfully, “I’m not sure what would have happened if I’d stayed. On one hand, I would have known for sure that the box was still there. On the other hand... I would probably have headed straight back to Jack had I known Jenny was in trouble.”

He frowned curiously at her. “Tell me, Grace. Your cell, could it exist in two times?”

“I don’t think so... at least I can’t see how it could.”

“So perhaps it is a good thing you didn’t stay and watch Harry lift the boards.”

“Perhaps, but now I will never know if Harry will get this box.”

“Yes, you will.”

“How?”

“We leave nothing under these floorboards.”

“That’s a great idea,” she said, sardonically, “Absolutely bloody great. So I get to know for sure that Harry never finds anything there.”

“That’s right.”

“And how exactly is that meant to help Jenny,” she snapped.

“We’re going back to the house.”