Dark Angel (10 page)

He ignored my sarcasm and approached me, grasping my hands, his fingers entwining with mine. “Did Mrs. Howard explain to you how
Ynys Nos
interacts with time?”

“She said something about a river and a leaf floating on it and dipping one’s toes in, but I confess I did not comprehend it all.”
And I thought she was jesting at the time, so I barely listened.

His face darkened. “Then I must say it plainly.” He took a deep breath. “It is possible, even likely, in the short time you have been here, the children from the Benevolent Home have grown up and moved on. That the house has been sold to whoever takes on abandoned places. That whatever joys or problems you had back home have been overcome by the events of many years passing.”

I breathed in sharply, the horror of what he was saying dawning at once.

Pity filled his gaze. “As far as I can reckon, Catherine, the river has moved on and left you here with me.”

Chapter Eight

I stared at Gerard in shock, trembling violently. “Time could not have gone on without me. It is not possible.”

He pulled me into his arms, pressing my head against his shoulder in a protective gesture even as he tore my world apart with his words.

“It is more than possible.” The sound of his voice rumbled against my ear. “It is likely that even if you could find a way off
Ynys Nos
, you would return home to a world that no longer knows you.”

His heart beat beneath my ear and it was like the tolling of a death knell. His hands stroked over my back in a slow caress.

“No.” I refused to believe him. Everything in me rose up against the idea. I lifted my head, looked deep into his eyes. “You use the words
possible
and
likely
, but you do not know for certain. Admit it.”

His hands stilled. “We have seen evidence of it in the shipwrecks that sometimes wash up on the shore. Torn newspapers, private journals, inscriptions on plate or jewelry. We compare these to other found items, and what seems like the passage of months to us is marked by the passage of years on the outside. You yourself confirmed what I already suspected. If in your world it is 1859, nearly one hundred years has passed since the island became lost in time. While we have adapted as much as we are able—our scientific knowledge, our education, our fashions—to the fragments of knowledge we have received from the outside world, we may never know exactly where we are in time.”

I pressed my hands against his chest and the taut muscles beneath them flexed in response. “And yet you also believed until I washed ashore no one could make it alive through the reefs around
Ynys Nos
. Perhaps something has changed. Perhaps whatever curse holds your island hostage has failed.”

He dropped his hands from me and turned away, jamming his fingers through his hair. “Dammit, I am worn out. I cannot have this conversation with you right now.”

“Do not swear, Gerard,” I said absently, and he swung around with a snarl on his lips.

“By Jove, I will
bloody
well swear in my own
damn
home if I choose to,
is that understood?
”

I jumped, frightened of him in a way I had not been before. “What is
wrong
with you?”

I watched as he brought himself to heel, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, his chest heaving as he fought for control.

“I—forgive me,” he said after a long moment and took another deep breath. “When I expend so much energy, it leaves my baser emotions too close to the surface. It is harder for me to control them.” He pressed his palms against his eyes. “I am poor company right now, Catherine. You must leave me for a time. I will find you later and we will talk. I promise.”

“Gerard, if you are not well, I cannot leave you alone.” I reached out to him, but he backed away.

He was obviously distressed.

“Let me help you, please,” I begged.

He gave a harsh bark of laughter, his expression dangerous. “The sort of help I need, you would not wish to provide. Trust me, it is better for you to leave while you still can.”

“Gerard—”

“
Catherine
,” he said through gritted teeth, “I am
trying
to be a gentleman, but if you must know, the only things that will help me are the adequate passage of time or the physical expenditure of my passions. If you do not wish to be the object of those passions,
leave me now.
”

An image of being the object of Gerard’s passions flashed through my mind, and I daresay I hesitated too long. His eyes lit from within and he took a step toward me.

I turned and fled like the coward I was, knowing full well he could catch me if he wished.

I heard his mocking laugh, but he did not follow. Afterward, even with all that had transpired between us, even though I was grateful he had done the right thing, I could not help wondering why a small part of me begrudged him his self-restraint.

…

I had been in my room for several hours when a tapping sounded on the door. The butler greeted me bearing a card on a silver platter.

I took the card and read it with surprise. “The vicar wishes to see me?”

“Yes, madam. Shall I tell him you are not at home to callers?”

I arched an eyebrow at him. “You mean your master has not given instructions on the matter?”

He tilted his head. “He has, madam. The master has always let it be known callers may visit in the evening, with reasonable restrictions. Do you wish to meet with the vicar?”

My first instinct was to say no. However, I realized if I was to accomplish my goal of finding a way home, which I was even more determined to do, despite Gerard’s admonition otherwise, I would have to know more about the island’s supposed curse. Since Gerard was unlikely to be forthcoming on the subject, I had to convince someone else to speak with me. The vicar seemed a perfect place to start. “Yes, I will receive him.”

I quickly checked my appearance in the mirror to ensure I was presentable. I had changed into a pale blue gown, its color quite becoming, and decided it would do. Jeffries led me to an elegant, splendidly decorated drawing room filled with rich, jeweled colors and embroidered silks. There the vicar sat on a divan in his worn suit amidst the opulence, looking a bit like a brown wren sitting in a peacock’s nest. Still, with his golden streaked hair and striking blue eyes, at least he was an attractive wren.

He stood to greet me, grasping my hand again in that familiar way he had while Jeffries arranged for the refreshments. I indicated the vicar should sit, and I sat next to him. Jeffries handed around tea and fresh-baked scones with currants, then left us alone.

“Mrs. Briton,” he began, “please pardon our behavior today. We bumbled through what should have been a delicately handled matter, and I will never forgive myself.”

“Not at all, sir. It is I who needs forgiveness for the abominable treatment I gave you and your cousin when you were only doing your best to enlighten me.” I searched for the right words to say. “I have since learned some things about this place and its people which I will admit have come as quite a shock.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “You have spoken to the master, then.”

“To a degree.” I clasped my hands in front of me. I did not wish to lie to a man of the cloth, so I must tread lightly. “There was an incident earlier in which Gerard—that is, your master—performed nothing short of a medical miracle. I have never seen the like. In doing so, he was forced to admit to me the unusual nature of his powers, and he confirmed some of what your cousin told me as well.”

“Interesting,” he mused and nibbled at his scone, chewing thoughtfully.

“I believed so at the time.”

“Not that.” His discerning gaze captured mine. “I mean to say, it is interesting how you refer to him. ‘
Your
master,’ never ‘
the
master.’ It is clear to me you do not accept his authority over you.”

“And why do you? Is there not a story in the Bible about Daniel and his friends refusing to bow their knees and worship an earthly ruler?”

He smiled. “And so there is. But calling him ‘the master’ is simply an acknowledgment of who he is, not worship. He is the master of this island, and that is what we call him. What do you call your ruling regent?”

“Queen Victoria? Why,
Her Majesty
, or
Her Royal Highness
, and whatever other styles are due her.”

“So, you see, it is not so different here. Think of ‘master’ as a style of address, if it pleases you.”

“Queen Victoria is your regent as well,” I pointed out.

“Apparently so, although this is the first I have heard of her. From the last bit of news we had from a shipwreck about three years ago, King William was regent.”

I bolted upright. “King William? He died twenty-two years ago!”

“Really? Well. Long live the queen, then.”

I put my head in my hands in disbelief. “Twenty-two years have passed, and it seems like only three to you?” I gave him a desperate look. “I have been here for a few days. Surely, not much time has passed in the outside world since then?”

The vicar took another bite of his scone before answering, as if trying to decide whether to tell me or not. “No way to know, I’m afraid. There does not appear to be a one-to-one relationship in how time passes here relative to”—he gestured vaguely toward the walls, the scone sagging a little in his hand—“out there.”

I jumped up and began to pace. “What am I going to
do?
”

“
Do
, my dear lady?” Mr. Pangburn scrunched his brow in confusion. “What is there
to
do? You will live your life. You will make a place for yourself here. You really have no other choice.”

I groaned in despair and sank back down beside him.

He gazed at me sympathetically. “Is it really all that bad?”

“In the past few days, sir, it appears I have lost everything that is important to me. Yes, it is that bad.”

He fiddled with the napkin in his lap. “You had a family back home?”

“Of a sort.” I passed a hand over my cameo, still hidden beneath my dress. “I lost my own family several years ago to a fever. My husband, Jonathan, and—and our daughter, Eliza.” I swallowed hard, surprised I had confessed this to him. I rarely spoke of my family anymore. It was far too painful.

The vicar covered my hand with his. “I am truly sorry, dear lady. The loss of a spouse is difficult, but the loss of a child…” His gaze clouded and he took his hand away. “It is almost beyond bearing.”

“Yes.” I blinked to stop the tears from overflowing. “But I have found a purpose. I am benefactress of a home for disadvantaged children. They depend on me. I am all that stands between them and destitution. I know all their little faces—Margaret and Bunty, Jim, young Susan—all of them. I could not bear for anything to happen to them because of me.”

“Perhaps there are others who will step into the gap for you, Mrs. Briton,” he gently suggested. “God has a way of seeing to these things if we trust Him with our cares.”

He meant to comfort me, but I had always been of the belief that God helped those who helped themselves. With my assistance, of course. Still, I smiled at him to show I appreciated his kindness.

He gave me a tentative smile in return and laid aside his half-finished scone. “And, if I may say so, your presence here is, well, quite an exciting thing for us. I am…that is, we are…”

He cleared his throat and took a quick sip of tea, and I noticed a slight flush creeping past his clerical collar, which he tugged at nervously. I stared at him, wondering why he was suddenly shy.

“New blood and all that,” he rushed out. “So much more interesting than anyone whose entire history one has been familiar with for years, as it were. It, er, it would be an honor to become better acquainted, don’t you know.”

“I think so, too.” Gerard’s deep voice came from the doorway, startling us.

The vicar rose quickly to his feet. “Oh! I did not see you there, Master.”

Gerard favored the vicar with a cool smile and sauntered into the room, his manner every ounce that of a man of noble breeding. I, too, rose, uncomfortable with being towered over by the two men.

“I do not wonder that you did not notice me,” Gerard said. “You were rather occupied with becoming
better acquainted
with my lovely guest.”

It would have been difficult to ignore the possessive note in his voice, but it was impossible to disregard when he stood beside me and placed his hand at the small of my back.

“Hello, Catherine,” he murmured, his tone unmistakably intimate. He eyed the plate of scones in front of us. “Ah. My favorites.” He took one, winking at me before sitting in the chair across from the vicar and drizzling the scone with honey from a small pot. “I hope I have not interrupted anything, my dear. Do go on. Pretend I am not here.” He leaned back, one dark eyebrow raised as his gaze traveled over me appreciatively, then flicked in challenge to the vicar.

I blushed and shot a glance at Mr. Pangburn, who looked back and forth at us, a stunned expression on his face. What he must think about Gerard’s familiar manner toward me did not bear contemplating.

The vicar’s lips tightened. “Actually, I was just leaving. Good evening to you, Master.” He turned and gave me a formal bow. “I am glad you are well, Mrs. Briton. I will see myself out.”

“Nonsense. Let me see you to the door,” I said hastily. I knew Gerard intended to rise and accompany us, so I called over my shoulder to him, “Do not disturb yourself, Gerard. I will be but a moment.”

I rushed the vicar from the drawing room and when we reached the door, turned to him, my voice lowered. “You must know as well as anyone how appearances can be deceiving. Please do not make hasty judgments without adequate information.”

“It is not my place to pass judgment, madam,” he said stiffly.

“And yet you are doing a splendid job of it, are you not?”

He looked surprised at my forthrightness, then smiled sheepishly. “Yes. Perhaps you are correct. I do apologize. Again.”

I threw a quick glance over my shoulder to ensure Gerard had not followed us out. “I have something of importance I must discuss with you. Gerard closets himself up during the daytime, which leaves me free. May I call upon you tomorrow morning?”

He, too, looked worriedly over my shoulder at this request. “Well, I do not know, Mrs. Briton…”