Thursday's Child (Out of Time #5) (2 page)

The madness ended after the Civil War when a national banking system was developed. Luckily for Simon and Elizabeth, a great many of these obsolete notes survived and they were able to amass a small fortune without paying one for it.

Their room arranged, Simon took the key and put a hand on the small of Elizabeth's back. “Shall we?”

After they'd climbed the stairs to their rooms, Simon oversaw the bellhops and their trunks as Elizabeth explored. The rooms were spacious and comfortable by 1850's standards. In the sitting room there was a large mahogany sofa and side chairs resting on a beautiful ornamental rug that made Elizabeth feel guilty for tracking in mud. The bedroom had a decent-sized double bed and lounge chair. The one glaring omission, and it was a big one, was the bathroom. There wouldn't be one down the hall either. Indoor plumbing wouldn't become common until after the Civil War. For now, a small table with a porcelain ewer and wash basin would serve as a sink while an odd-looking wooden chair with a boxed-in seat in the corner was probably the commode. Elizabeth carefully lifted up the upholstered seat of the chair to reveal a toilet-like wooden seat with a hole under which a chamber pot was discreetly hidden.

“Everything all right?” Simon asked as he joined her in the bedroom.

Startled, Elizabeth dropped the lid to the commode.

Simon chuckled. “You said you wanted adventure.”

Elizabeth walked over to him and slipped her arms around his waist. “It will be that.”

Simon pulled her closer and kissed her. “Are you ready for a little reconnaissance? Or do you want to rest first?” His brow drew together as one long finger traced the edge of her cheek. “You're flushed.”

Simon arched an eyebrow and Elizabeth shook her head and laid a hand on his chest. “If we unlace me, there's no going back.”

“I meant actual rest, but now that you mention it…” The gleam in his eye and the rumble in his chest did very little to help cool things down.

Elizabeth sighed. As tempting as it was to loosen her corset and shed a few dozen layers of clothing with Simon, they came here with a purpose. “I'm gonna regret this, but recon first. Then dinner. Then…” she added with a smile.

“Until then,” Simon said and leaned down and kissed her once more.

~~~

The livery stable wasn't far from the hotel, but even with paved sidewalks, it was a dusty affair. Men on horseback, carriages and carts kicked up the dirt from the street and it swirled around between the buildings, an inordinate amount of it landing with precision on the white parts of her dress.

Elizabeth waited outside the stable and, after a few minutes, Simon drove up in a small buggy looking every inch the Southern gentleman. Elizabeth shook her head in wonder. How was it he always managed to look so at home in each period they traveled to? He held the reins to the large chestnut mare with one hand and held out the other to her.

Thankfully, the buggy seat wasn't nearly as high as the buckboard had been, and she could reach the cast iron buggy step without having to lift her skirts up to her waist. But the buggy horse was a little restless and the whole shebang kept moving back and forth a few inches just as she was ready to try to get in.

“Shhh, easy,” Simon said to the horse soothingly and it stilled.

Elizabeth managed to get in without much of a problem after that, and Simon helped her tuck her voluminous skirts in between them. He shifted the reins back to his left hand, picked up a long thin whip with his right and gently urged the horse to walk.

“Where on earth did you learn to do that?” Elizabeth asked.

Simon smiled and then turned his attention back to the road. “I'm English.”

Elizabeth suspected being stinking rich and running with the horsiest of the horsey set probably had more to do with it, but she let it slide. She had more important things on her mind, like the mission.

They'd agreed to follow the list they'd found tucked inside Simon's grandfather's journal. Whether or not these were official Council for Temporal Studies approved missions didn't matter. The Latin inscription at the top that read,
“In the absence of light, darkness prevails”
summed it up nicely.

Simon's name had been first on the list and his grandfather Sebastian had traveled back to 1929 to save him. And now, Simon and Elizabeth had picked up where he'd left off. They'd saved Alan Grant in 1933 Hollywood and now they'd moved on to the next name on the list, Mary Stewart.

Unfortunately, the list only told them the most basic who, when and where. The what, why and how was up to them to figure out as they went along. In the end, all they really knew was that someone needed their help and whatever it took, they'd give it.

“What do you think it's about?” Elizabeth asked. She'd asked that a dozen times before they'd left and the answer was always the same.

“We'll know when we get there. And,” Simon added craning his neck to see over the next rise. “Unless I'm mistaken, that won't be long now.”

The road had wound its way out of town and up and over a few rolling hills. As they crested the last, Elizabeth felt a tingle of anticipation. This was where it would all begin. Of course, they might not find out anything today, she reminded herself and smoothed down her skirt to give her hands something to do. They were there a day earlier than the one given on the list, just to get the lay of the land. She had hoped they might learn more about Mary Stewart before tomorrow, too.

The research they'd done at home wasn't very helpful. The name Mary Stewart was common enough to muddy the results and the historical records of the period were pretty limited. They'd also tried to find out if the date listed - May 5, 1852, 9 p.m. - was historically significant at all. Research didn't turn up much on that front either. It was, as far as the public record was concerned, an uneventful day. That left the location, Catholic Hill. It had been easy to find on the old maps, but knowing where it was didn't tamp down her unease.

“There it is,” Simon said as they came out from under a canopy of trees and out into the open.

Elizabeth pushed out a bracing breath as they drove into the city cemetery.

Chapter Two

Simon pulled the buggy off the road onto a grassy patch of shade just outside the main wall to the cemetery. He got out of the carriage and picked up the twenty-pound, iron bell-shaped hitch weight and lead rope from under the seat. Running his hand along the horse's back to calm her, he attached the lead rope to her bridle and set the weight down on the ground. With no groom or hitching post, the weight would act as an anchor and discourage her from straying. He hoped.

“Good girl,” he said giving the horse's cheek a friendly rub.

While he'd settled the horse, Elizabeth had managed to extricate herself from the buggy. She stood looking over the low, stone wall at the graveyard beyond, as unsure as he was as to just what exactly they were looking for. Doing a little early reconnoitering of the area was undoubtedly a good idea, but what they expected to find here, he wasn't sure.

He joined Elizabeth and expected her to fall into step with him as he approached the gate. When she didn't, he turned back. “Something wrong?”

She wrinkled her forehead in worry and shook her head.

He tried to suppress his smile as he walked back over to her. “Don't tell me you're afraid of graveyards.”

Her frown deepened. “Not afraid. I just don't like them.”

He was about to tease her when she looked up at him. The sadness in her eyes brought him up short.

She saw the concern in his face and shook her head. “It's okay. It's just … they're so full of endings, you know?”

Simon turned to look out at the grassy expanse, dotted with large oak trees and worn pathways.

“It feels like the only place on earth where hope doesn't belong,” she said.

The tiny thread of pain in her voice was something Simon hadn't heard before. He started to ask her about it when she started for the gate. “We should go before we lose the light.”

He watched her for a moment, concerned, and then lengthened his stride to catch up.

They walked up one of the paths toward the center of the cemetery. There, they found wooden signs marking the various portions including Jewish Hill and Catholic Hill. Catholic Hill housed a special section of the cemetery set aside for the paupers and the less fortunate and was the location on Sebastian's list. The afternoon sun bathed the grounds in a warm glow and long shadows began to stretch out from the trees and larger monuments. Small groups of people gathered at various gravesites to pay their respects. But the only sound was the wind coming off the river from across the road.

Simon looked down at Elizabeth as they walked along the well-planned paths between rows of gleaming white headstones and large mausoleums. Whatever had troubled her at the gate still lingered. No one else would have noticed the subtle change in her body language or felt the slight undercurrent of unease. To anyone else, she would have appeared as her usual self, open and curious.

Feeling him watching her, she turned and smiled up at him. It was a genuine smile and not one sent to simply assuage him. Simon put away his worry, for now.

The grand mausoleums and obelisks gave way to simpler headstones until they reached a section set off from the rest. It was covered with small wooden anonymous crosses. As they moved closer, Simon realized that the people in the distance were not visiting, but conducting a funeral.

An elderly priest and two women stood at the foot of a freshly dug grave. Simon and Elizabeth watched from afar as the priest finished and nodded solemnly to the two women before walking away. The older of the two women wore a simple black dress and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. The younger, clearly wealthier woman, judging from the silk of her dress, patted the other woman's arm consolingly and then led her away from the grave.

Once the women were out of sight, Simon and Elizabeth continued on. It wasn't until they were close to the grave that they could see how small it was. A child's grave.

Simon felt Elizabeth's hand slip into his. The pall she'd carried with her since they arrived settled heavily on his shoulders.

A man appeared at the graveside and began to shovel the mound of dark fresh earth back into the grave. The clumps of heavy dirt cascaded and drummed against the wooden lid of the small pine box inside. It was a wholly unsettling sound.

Despite that, they stood transfixed. It felt wrong to watch and yet somehow disrespectful to turn away.

With such a small grave, the man's work was quickly done and he patted the earth down with the back of the shovel. He took off his hat and wiped his brow before bowing his head and saying a silent prayer. When he looked up again, he nodded to them in greeting and then looked sadly back at the grave. “Such a wee thing,” he said with a gentle Irish lilt. “Did you know the gal?”

Simon shook his head and the man nodded again. The three of them stood in silence at the grave for a moment before the man tipped his hat and quietly walked down one of the paths.

“What was her name?” Elizabeth asked suddenly.

The man stopped and turned back. “Mary, ma'am. Mary Stewart.”

Chapter Three

Elizabeth couldn't explain what had prompted her to ask the child's name. The words had just come out. And yet, some part of her knew what the answer would be.

“Mary Stewart?” Simon repeated.

The man nodded, tipped his hat once more and resumed his way back toward the main road.

“It's a common name,” Simon said. “We must have come across a dozen or more in our research.”

Elizabeth looked over at the grave. “But how many of them are here on Catholic Hill?”

Simon didn't have an answer for that. “Perhaps a relative of the girl? One of those women?”

It was possible, but Elizabeth knew that wasn't going to be the case. She could hear in Simon's voice that he didn't really think so either. He was more pragmatic than she was and giving himself over to the illogical, no matter how much he knew it to be true in his heart was difficult for him. He'd come to accept it though. Elizabeth could feel the truth of it. It vibrated inside her like a living thing. “It's her,” she said.

Simon looked like he was going to argue the point further, but instead he sighed and frowned down at the grave. His fingers brushed against Elizabeth's and took hold of her hand.

How on earth were they going to help someone who was already dead?

~~~

Elizabeth tugged off her gloves and laid them on the cloth-covered table as Simon ordered dinner and a bottle of wine. She leaned back in her chair, running her bare fingers over the dark wood and upholstered velvet armrests. The setting was rich and for the rich. The table legs, to the extent they were visible beneath the starkly white starched tablecloths, had deeply carved legs with lion’s heads and huge clawed feet. The lighting was warm and a little smoky. Candles burned in their holders on the table and in the huge crystal chandeliers above and oil lamp sconces flickered against the dark wooden walls. The restaurant was lavishly furnished with early and very elaborate Victorian detail.

“I hope claret's all right,” Simon said.

“Honestly, I could use a bourbon after this afternoon.”

Simon hmm'd in agreement and shook out his linen napkin before slipping it onto his lap. “If you're right—”

“I am.”

Simon ceded the point with a nod. “Then this mission will be challenging.”

“Unlike the others,” Elizabeth said with a grin. She took a sip of water and was grateful for the cooling sensation it brought. Although it hadn't been a hot day, wearing all of these clothes was beginning to take its toll.

Simon smiled back and then cocked his head to the side. “Are you all right?”

Elizabeth plucked at the lace collar of her dress. “Just a little hot.”

“I'm sure, but I meant, about earlier,” he said, treading carefully in a way he seldom did with others.

Elizabeth wrinkled her face into a frown. It wasn't something she liked to talk about. “It just makes me think about daddy.”