Intertwine (22 page)

“And this, Miss Emma, have you ever seen anything so delightful?” Sir Henry almost reverently pulled out a brown oval fruit about the size of an egg, covered in what looked like woolly fuzz. “I have it on good authority that I possess one of the only Chinese gooseberry bushes in all of Europe. It is the rarest of all gooseberries. Is it not marvelous?”

“Gracious,”
Georgiana said, looking at it with wide eyes. “I have never seen anything like it.” James nodded in agreement. Even he had never beheld this oddity.

James watched as Emma’s eyes lit with delight. She carefully took the fruit from Sir Henry and gently squeezed it.

“Oh, how wonderful, Sir Henry. It feels perfectly ripe. Chinese gooseberry, you say?” She frowned, giving that same little puzzled look. “I would have called this a kiwi. It is sweet and bright green inside, right? With small black seeds?”

Sir Henry blinked in surprise, nearly too stunned to speak. “Heavens, child! How could you know such a thing? This fruit is not seen outside China. How very exceptional.” Sir Henry seemed almost in awe.

“What else do you recognize, Emma?” James asked, gesturing back toward the basket.

“Well, let me see.” Emma peered into the basket and then started to name items. “We have pineapple, of course. One of my favorites. And then there is passion fruit, mango, star fruit and, oh look, peanuts!” She eagerly picked up several of the small wrinkled pods. “Are they roasted, Sir Henry?” And then without waiting for a reply, she cracked the shell with her fingers and released a small reddish nut into her hand.

“No. Are they better roasted?”

“Oh yes. And best of all with chocolate. We should melt some chocolate and dip them.” And then she paused, as if puzzling something out. “Do we have any solid chocolate? I think I have only seen it in drinking form.”

James frowned. “I am not sure. Perhaps Mrs. Clark knows. I believe there was a traveling merchant here last month with some of that new solid chocolate from Italy. Do you remember,
Georgiana?”

He turned to his sister who most certainly looked as surprised as himself. What life had Emma led before finding herself along his lane? Instead of finding answers, time seemed to be creating more questions.

Indeed, in the end, the only item Emma could
not
identify from Sir Henry’s basket was the common English gooseberry.

Chapter 17

Marfield

Auntie Gray’s cottage

Two days later

May 12, 1812

I
s Auntie Gray expecting us?” Georgiana quietly murmured as she took James’ offered hand and stepped down from the carriage.

“Probably. You know as well as I that very little remains a secret in Marfield,” James ruefully replied.

He turned back to hand down Emma, looking lovely in a ribbon trimmed straw bonnet and rich blue pelisse over her white muslin walking dress. He caught and held her gaze as she slid her gloved hand into his, her hazel eyes wide underneath the brim of her hat, looking far too lovely for his peace of mind.

From the corner of his eye, he noted Arthur dismount and offer Georgiana his arm. Relishing the fine weather, James and his brother had ridden, while the ladies had come in the carriage intending to call on Marianne Linwood at Kinningsley afterward. James had business with Mr. Chatham, his solicitor.

James politely knocked and heard the answering “Come in” from inside. He stooped to enter the cottage, grateful that his head cleared the low beamed ceiling. The house smelled of wholesome things: fresh cut herbs, warm hay and earthy woodsmoke. James caught a glimpse of one of Auntie’s granddaughters in the back kitchen, kneading bread.

Auntie sat by a popping fire, wrapped in blankets despite the warm May air, hunched slightly with age, seeming as ancient as the great oak itself. Stooped and bent but still sparkling with life. She looked up as they entered, light engulfing her face.

“Laddies! ‘Tis good to see you!” she said warmly.

“Auntie,” James replied respectfully, removing his hat and bowing. He loved that no matter how old he grew, Auntie could always be relied upon to make him feel like a five-year-old boy. He silently enjoyed watching Arthur’s lips twitch at being called ‘laddie.’ The merry twinkle in Auntie Gray’s eyes clearly indicated the term had not been unintentional.

“Auntie,” Georgiana said warmly, moving to take the chair at her side, favoring the woman’s worn cheek with a fond kiss. “It is so good to see you!”

“How fare you child?” Auntie’s voice cracked with the weight of age, threaded with a slight reediness. She patted Georgiana’s hand affectionately with her own arthritic one and gestured for them all to sit at chairs arranged around the fire.

“Well enough, Auntie.”

James watched Georgiana swallow a cough, trying valiantly not to appear as weak and tired as she must feel. “Some days are better than others. I make the best use of the time God has seen fit to still allow me.” She ceded and coughed slightly.

“Oh, you mustn’t worry, m’dear. I have always said God has a bright future in store for you! You just need to have the faith to believe upon it.”

“Of course, Auntie,” she said weakly, though not quite agreeing with the words. “You are always such a comfort.” Georgiana coughed again. James quietly handed her his handkerchief, forcing his face to reflect nothing of the pain of watching her struggle to take a breath.

“I see you have brought your mysterious house guest for me to meet. How charming!”

“Yes, Auntie, please allow me to introduce Miss Emma.” James smiled as Emma nodded her head in greeting.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

Auntie smiled, broad and wrinkly. “Indeed, child, the pleasure is all mine. You have given us all much to talk about. I greatly appreciate you providing me with some much needed entertainment. Life here can be quite dull at times.”

Emma’s face broke into a hesitant smile. “Well, as confusing as I find my current circumstances, if they have lifted your spirits, then perhaps there has been some good in it all. Though I think I shall be most grateful when my memory returns.”

“Yes . . . perhaps.” Auntie looked thoughtful for a moment. Then her voice soft and faded, nearly whispering the words, “My heart tells me you are a long way from home, child. Perhaps a good deal farther than you think. A wandering soul in search of its place. . . . A voyager of sorts.”

Emma’s mouth pursed into a little ‘o’ of surprise. Like Auntie’s words had struck something deep within her. “Thank you.” And then again, gently nodding her head. “Thank you.”

“Have faith, child. All will makes sense in time. It always does.”

“Auntie, I’m sure you know why we are here.” James shifted and leaned forward in his chair. “The ancient oak tree . . . it seems that offerings are still being left. Though I know that the old superstitions are fading, it seems there is still apprehension over the oak’s destruction. Some worry about the supposed secret the oak guards.”

“Well, m’boy, first of all, there is nothing ‘supposed’ about the great oak’s secret. It has guarded its burden well. But it is obvious that the burden still exists.” This last bit was said with an odd slanting glance at Emma. “And as the ancient oak is on your land, it will be up to you, lad, to protect it going forward.”

“Indeed,” Arthur said, caustically. “And what precisely is this terrible secret that needs protecting? You have never been particularly forthcoming with that piece of information.”

Despite his acerbic tone, James had to agree with Arthur. Auntie had never explained what exactly the oak was guarding.

“The oak’s secret remains the same as it ever was.” Auntie’s gleaming eyes danced slightly. She seemed to be enjoying herself.

“And that is. . . .” Arthur waved his hand, indicating for her to elaborate.

“The ancient oaks have always been portals into the netherworld.”

“Right,” Arthur said with a disbelieving huff. “And how precisely is this gateway such a danger?”

“Because you never know who might fall into it or who might come out.”

Arthur gave a heavy, long-suffering sigh.

“And is really that such a danger? Netherworld people coming and going?” Arthur seemed to have found an outlet for his frustration. “Have you truly ever known anyone to use this netherworld portal?”

“Of course not. . . . Well, not until now. The great oak was indeed truly ancient. The Romans ruled this area when it was planted and it has guarded its secret ever since. But, of course, now that it is no longer, this gateway to the netherworld could become a problem unless it is secured somehow.”

“Indeed.” Again, Arthur’s tone oozed condescension. “Honestly, if we have to address every superstition—”

“How do you propose we do this?” James interrupted. Really, Arthur could be such a nuisance.

“That is for you to decide, I am sure,” Auntie replied. “Personally, I would suggest building something over the oak’s location, something that can enclose and safeguard its secrets. Haldon Manor has never had a dower house, has it?”

James considered for a moment, glancing around the room. Arthur’s face hung with disbelief, while Georgiana and Emma looked on more calmly.

Slowly nodding his head, James said, “That is not a bad idea, Auntie. A dower house could provide a home for pensioned off servants until it is needed as a dower house proper. Do you feel that would allay worry?”

“I do,” Auntie answered, eyes approving, “and protect the gateway.”

James smiled in reply, noting Georgiana’s approving grin.

As they made their goodbyes, James noted a few children loitering in the yard, obviously hoping for some tidbit to fuel the village gossip mill.

One of the braver boys approached Emma and bowing awkwardly, asked nervously, “Is it true, miss, you saved Sir Henry’s life?”

“Cor!” Another boy breathed in excitement. “My sister, Annie, works as a maid at the big house, and she heard from the second footman that you made the food shoot out of his mouth, like this.” The boy grabbed a loose rock and pantomimed the motion.

“And are you truly from the West Indies?” This question was from a pigtailed girl standing next to the first boy. “All of Sir Henry’s servants say that . . . well . . . that Sir Henry says you are most likely from there. Is that true?”

Emma laughed good-naturedly. “Sir Henry most certainly is quite the investigator.”

“Do you have memories of the West Indies?” the girl asked breathlessly. “Sir Henry says it is hot, and my cousin Betsy’s neighbor’s son served on a merchant ship that sailed to there, and she said that he said that the water there is as blue as a robin’s eggshell. And always summer with no winter at all. Can you imagine?” This last bit was asked to the younger boy at her side.

“I really don’t know,” Emma replied. “I seem to have vague images of palm trees and warm, sandy beaches, so maybe I have been there.” Her face appeared wistful. That same puzzled lost look.

“It is no matter,” James said, trying to deflect more questions. “I am sure all will be made clear in time.”

The morning drawing room

Kinningsely, seat of the viscounts Linwood

An hour later

May 12, 1812

“My dear friend, Miss Knight! How delighted I am to see you. And Miss Emma too.” Miss Marianne Linwood walked across the room toward them, smiling broadly and welcoming, her gray half-mourning dress rustling. Reaching them, she stopped suddenly and instantly blushed, looking past to the door.