Chapter 4: Back In the Stacks
Morning found Emmeline attired in her borrowed suit, seated in a black coach drawn by a fine pair of dapple greys with Don Cabrone, whilst Manuel drove them downtown to the library. The morning mists were just clearing and a wan sun was visible through the patchy fog that was retreating, to await with the moon for evenings' return.
They pulled up before the building, larger by far than Pankhurst Public, and,to Em's surprise, Daryl handed her from the coach and then gave her an envelope with his seal upon it. 'Give this to Mrs. Peel. She is the circulation supervisor and Manuel knows where to find her. I shall return at 2 p.m.' And, with that, Daryl mounted the drivers' seat and took the lines.
'Good luck.' And with a 'Walk on!' he was gone.
Well! That's a fine howdy-do, as Homer would say, thought Emmeline, watching his retreat. A short sigh and she glanced up at Manuel who stood impassive.
'Right, then.' Em took the lead and stepped up to the entrance, Manuel following like a ghost. He opened the front door for her, however, and as they entered the relative quiet of the building, their footsteps echoed in the lobby, as Manuel then directed her to a wide dark wood desk where a few people had gathered already for check-out.
Manuel strode to one end of the desk where a woman with grey hair in a neat chignon sat writing off to the side. 'Madam Peel?' he enquired.
'Yes?'she answered, not looking up. Then a moment later she spied Manuel standing there. 'Ah, Manuel! Buenos dias. I heard from Don Diego that you would be coming round.' She pushed her wire-rimmed glasses up on her nose and regarded Emmeline at last.
Em rallied and introduced herself. 'I'm Emmeline Page, Mrs. Peel.'She handed her the envelope. 'This is from Don...Don Diego. He directed me to hand it to you personally.'
Mrs. Peel stood and accepted the envelope. 'Pleased to meet you, Miss Page,'
she said, as she held out a hand, which Em took to meet her firm grip. Mrs. Peel then opened the envelope and perused the letter within, and gazed at Em over the rim of her glasses. 'So. You worked at Pankhurst Library, then?'
'Yes, ma'am. For five years altogether. Mostly in circulation although I also worked cataloging and typing cards, sorting, shelving...the usual.'she attempted a smile.
Mrs. Peel studied her like a specimen under a microscope. 'I see. Very well!
Come with me!' She opened the half-door next to the desk and directed Emmeline
to a room in back. 'We'll have you start in sorting and check-in. We're backed up rather, from the weekend, so needs must where the devil drives us...which is... here.'
Em followed her around a corner and was gobsmacked to find a veritable mountain of books of all sizes, heaped into bins whilst busy clerks thumbed through them, writing them in on the cards or stamping them and sorting them onto carts for shelving. 'You'll have to fill out some paperwork, and we'll get you into the system as a clerk. It's a temporary position...'she paused and raised a hand to press back a strand of straying hair as she allowed a soft sigh, '...but, we're always in need of extra help.' A small smile nudged at her lips for a moment then. 'Take a break at noon, 15 minutes. Restrooms, through there, 'she gestured at a door in back of the long room, 'And staff room is on the other side. Hot water for tea is available. I shall have Manuel fetch you at 2. We shall see you tomorrow at 10 a.m.' And off she went.
Well! Apparently Em found herself back to work!
. . . .
It was around 1:00 when Em at last managed to work herself out from under the avalanche of books coming in, and was allowed out into the stacks to shelve.
She'd noticed that wherever she was, Manuel followed her like a shadow. Not obtrusively, but neither did he hide his presence, wanting her to know he was there.
While she was glad of the job, and to have some time apart from Daryl, this surveillance made her uneasy to say the least. How could she get word to Jack? And, what at this point, could she impart to him? She decided she needed to be able to poke around abit before she had any information worth reporting. Perhaps if she intimated a desire to rummage about for clothing upstairs...
She hoped that in time, Daryl would allow her about the house on her own more.
And, perhaps, her tight-lipped warden would eventually disclose some hint of what he was about. Em sighed. Would she ever be able to move freely about, anywhere, anytime? It was a problem. She'd work on it...At least she was out of the house, and away from Daryl. She glanced over at Manuel, leaning on a bookcase across the study area from her. Away from Daryl and yet the man still had eyes and ears upon her.
. . . .
'At last! Some good news!' Yeats found Jack and Aleister in the barn where they were working at tweaking Al's mobile thresher. The men had been at it all morning and were ready for a break.
'You've heard something?'Jack wiped his hands on his bandana, whilst Al clambered down from atop the engine.
'We have.' Yeats sneezed. 'Ah...may we adjourn to the porch?' Yeats had an allergic reaction to the great stacks of hay.
Jack led the way, hardly able to contain himself. He'd been wound so tight that he'd been keeping all awake with his incessant pacing or karate practice at all hours. Trying to keep himself from going mad with worry, Al knew, so he convinced Jack to give him a hand fine-tuning his corn-oil powered thresher.
Keep the man busy and maybe he'd sleep at last...
The men sat and Yeats brought out iced tea for all. 'Alright. According to my sources, Emmeline is now working part time at the San Francisco Public Library.'
'Indeed?'Jack looked at Al, surprised. 'Daryl let her...out?'
'...In a manner of speaking.' Yeats sipped his tea. 'He has a valet who keeps watch upon her during her working hours. Which appear to be 10 am to 2 pm. Which days, we aren't yet sure.'
'Hm...'Al mused. 'So, getting in touch with her would still be somewhat problematic?'
'Yes, as well as HOW we go about it.' He regarded them narrowly. 'We do not wish to scare her off. Jack.' He directed a nod his way. 'You know we must tread carefully here.'
'Of course.' Jack pretended that he was cucumber cool. Really, though he had already been speculating how best he could gently ease himself adventitiously
into the stacks and casually let her know he was ready to give aid.
'Hmmm...' Yeats regarded him, as though he knew the pathways of Jack's deliberations. 'Jack, do you still have that young lad about who does odd jobs for you occasionally, exercising Trotsky and whatnot?'
'You mean young Casey?' Jack raised a brow. 'He's about when I need him. Why?'
'He may be able to give us a hand in this...he's innocuous, would blend in at a library, being a student, and Emmeline would not find him a threat at all.'
Jack was beginning to get a clue. 'Although he could not risk speaking with her, not for long anyway, he could surreptitiously slip her a note, in a book perhaps...' Elbows on his knees, Yeats steepled his fingers before him lost in thought. 'Yesss...that may just work.'
Jack thought it a splendid idea. To begin with at least. Surely at some point--soon, he hoped!--he would be able to see Emmeline himself. Jealous of wee Casey already... But, it's a beginning...so close, and yet so far away.
Jack sighed. 'That sounds like a plan. I shall speak with Casey...but you say we don't know her work days as yet?'
'No. We'll have to give it abit more time.' Yeats finished his tea. 'I shall compose the note. Sorry, Jack, but we can't risk having her hear from you, not yet anyway.' Yeats tried to take the sting out of his directive.
'We mustn't take a chance that she'll bolt. Could take things the wrong way, you understand. And don't even think about abduction. That worked, how well again?' Jack looked down, and nodded. 'I'll be brief. Just let her know that we are aware of the situation and keeping watch. And, most importantly, that she has the means of contacting us, should she wish it.'
He stood. 'I don't think that a communique' from me would set her to flight.'
'Right. Well. Do keep us apprised, yes?' Jack remembered himself then. 'Ah, sir.'
'Hm.' Yeats turned to go inside and collided with Dylan who came tearing round the corner, and got twisted up in their Heads' long legs. 'Aghh!' He nearly went down, but grabbed the porch railing in time. 'DO see to some obedience training for this beast, will you meanwhile!?' Yeats righted himself and with a forceful sigh, retreated within the house.
'Dylan!' Aleister snapped his fingers. 'Come on, laddie...'
'We do need to keep at him, Al. Enforce the rules...' Jack was smiling. Wasn't often they got to view their Head in any way other than cool and composed. 'Well, that was news at least! Back in the library, eh? Our girl has come full circle it seems...' Jack chewed his lower lip, musing. 'I believe I'll call on young Casey, make sure he has a fairly clear schedule soon. Still summer for a few more weeks, so no school for him as yet.'
'Righto.' Al patted Dylan. 'Sit! Dylan. Good boy.' Just then Alice poked her nose out the screen door. Dylan was off like lightning. 'Dylan!' Al yelled, grabbing his collar just in time as Alice hissed and spat, retreating.
'Needs work, that,' Jack commented, as he headed off to the stable.
. . . .
Evening deepened in the City. Emmeline was rather surprised to see that sundown actually came earlier now. Goodness, she hadn't kept track of time
for awhile now, apparently. Could it really be August already? Wasn't it just
turning summer a few weeks ago? I suppose not, she admitted.
Em headed up to The Closet. She had not only Daryl's permission but a key to the door as well. Making progress, she told herself.
As she entered, she shut the door behind her and with the lights on it wasn't
so bad at night. She headed for the trunk. Hmmm...looked as she recalled. Nothing...tell tale here.
Em gazed about her. Boxes. On the shelf above the clothes racks. She hadn't paid much attention to these before. She'd been somewhat reined in by Rosa's presence. But now...she reached up and grabbed two at once.
Taking her booty to a dressing table and chair, she sat, and opened the top most box,rectangular, covered in soft leather... a jewellery box perhaps? There was a small key. This she turned, and it opened, smelling of old leather.
Hm. Interesting. Letters! Tied in bundles, with red ribbons. Could it be...?
Em wondered. No, love letters were far too obvious. Daryl wouldn't give her the key to his intimate secrets. Would he?
She thought of the cameo and her mothers' photo. It couldn't have belonged to her--why would anyone carry a remembrance of themselves? And certainly neither Daryl or any other man would wish to wear a cameo pin of a woman playing a lute. Curious.
'Emmelina?' She heard Rosa's voice coming up the stairway. Save this for another time, she thought and quickly closed and locked the box, stashing it with the other back atop the shelf. Secrets kept this long could bide awhile longer.
. . . . .
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Chapter Three: The Haunted House
Chapter Three: The Haunted House
Emmeline stared at Daryl and his finger displayed palm up, with the jagged cut which mirrored her own beneath its' bandage. She thought about his comment regarding their Other Names, their gypsy names, she had to admit.
'...How...Who...?' She stammered, not sure which of the many questions roiling about her brain she wished answered first.
Daryl worked a tight, grim small smile into his features as he then rose and resumed his hunt through his desk. 'Ah! At last!'
Having found what he'd been rooting about for, he motioned Em back to their window seat.
They both sat, necessarily close together so that he could show Emmeline in more detail what he now brandished before her: a photograph.
Emmeline was having problems believing her eyes.
'It's...my mother and father. And, you!' She looked up at Daryl, frowning. 'What does this mean?...and, this looks like, this house!' She stabbed her finger at the photo. 'That's this stairway and front door you are all standing before!'
Daryl held her gaze with his own grey placid stare. 'Yes. It is.'
'When was this taken?' Em knew it had to have been long ago. Perhaps before she was born.
Daryl confirmed this. 'Ah. Some time ago. I'm not certain about the exact date but probably around 1860.'
Emmeline was rather in shock. What to make of all this? She hadn't a clue. But obviously, Jack and Aleister, and even Yeats, she believed, had some intricate and intimate ties with her, she now perceived all too clearly. She was most uncomfortable with this discovery.
'...Daryl...?' Emmeline enquired, looking at him beseechingly.
The lost look on her face tore at his heart. So like her mother... He sighed.
'It is a long story. And it has been a long day for you...'
Emmeline rose, color in her cheeks. 'This cannot wait!'
Daryl regarded her from on high. 'It can and it shall.' His tone was adamant. He sat at his desk. 'Are you familiar with the San Francisco Public Library, Emmeline?'
What a question! 'Of course!' She wasn't about to volunteer more if he was going to be such a close-mouthed tease with information. Don Cabrone.
'How would you like to work there?' He asked her, taking paper from his desk and dipping his pen in the inkwell. He cleared his throat, 'Part time only, of course. Perhaps...four hours per day, four days a week?' The pen scratched upon the paper.
'What is all this about?' Em was becomming weary of Daryl's mysterious high jinks.
'Well?' He simply looked at her. 'Are you interested in the job or not?'
Emmeline was, naturally. This could mean her freedom, possibly. A new life, in San Franciso! So many bizarre surprises...she could hardly think. 'Yes, I am interested.'
'Good. I'll have Manuel take you tomorrow. I'll accompany you and get everything sorted for your first day. Say, around 10 a.m.?'
An enquiring eyebrow was raised in her direction. Em nodded mutely. Daryl continued writing. 'That will be all for now. And do see Rosa for seeing you fitted into something more professional for work tomorrow.'
Dismissed, apparently, Emmeline turned, frowning and exited the study. As she quietly shut the doors behind her, her head whirled with all this new information to digest. She was simply dumbstruck. Hadn't a clue what it could all mean. And now a job?
At San Francisco Public! Em exhaled with relief. Where was Rosa?
One step at a time, Em!
. . . .
Emmeline found Rosa upstairs.
'Rosa. Tell me.' Em looked at the girl. 'What do you know of...Don Diego?'
Rosa calmly folded linens into the closet. She looked briefly Emmeline's direction. 'He is my employer.' Of course.
Well, if Rosa is anything other than...she'll keep it to herself at any rate.
Just have to keep ears and eyes alert.
Em smiled. 'I have a new job, downtown! I must report manana. What shall I wear, Rosa?'
'Ah! Wonderful!' Rosa regarded her with a smile in turn. 'Yes. There are some frocks upstairs that may fit you,' Rosa regarded Em. 'Turn about, miss.
Si. I'll bring something to your room shortly.'
Emmeline repaired to her room above, wondering whose 'frocks' she might fit into...she sighed as she caught her breath on the landing. Landing indeed...
She felt as though she had just crash landed upon a distant shore...she'd felt altogether too much of that lately.
Proceed as if, she told herself. Proceed as though it all makes sense, there were some method to the madness. And perhaps it shall all fall into line. Most of the time, she must admit, it did.
Most of the time.
And yet...what of the trio in the photo? What had Daryl to do with her parents? Or Jack? Why indeed, were they all here...she knew it had to do with her father. And with Frank as well. Oh, above all, Frank and Alice must stay safe! Em resolved then to play along as quiet and agreeable as one may please. Whilst taking notes.
But keep a cool red head, my girl she admonished herself. Best to gain his confidence and thus, more freedom. Perhaps, even, more information.
A pretty puzzle indeed.
. . . . .
A soft knock upon the door.
'Enter!' Emmeline sat upon her bed, musing over her newest conundrums.
Rosa entered, her arms draped with a mound of colorful garments. 'Oh, Rosa, gracias! Let me help you! Let us just put them on the bed for now...' Em lifted the topmost frocks from Rosa's hold and lay them out for a viewing, whilst Rosa did likewise.
Em discarded those she immediately felt were less than business-like in either color or style...very pretty, but...she wished to make a good impression as someone serious about her work. They at last whittled the pile down to two likely candidates: a beige walking skirt and brown tweed jacket,
with a cream colored silk blouse; and a lavendar walking suit which was
lovely, but...Em at last decided she best stick with the tweed. More suited to the library, she believed.
'I only hope it will fit...' Emmeline shrugged out of her old skirt and the purple blouse, having taken her treasures from her pockets and secreted them away earlier; she stood in her chemise and decided she would probably need to find a corset at some point, but she'd lost enough weight so that she could at least tell if the ensemble was a fit or not for now.
It was. She was pleased with the sharp look of her suit and decided that, with corset and boots, perhaps a small cameo at her collar, she would present a modest and professional demeanor tomorrow. Hm. Brown gloves would be nice. She supposed she could do without a hat, still able to pass for a maid. Albeit edging ever closer to the status of Old Maid, she admitted. Nothing wrong with that! She drew herself in, a hand on her slim waistline. I've survived just fine thus far. Barely...she added, slumping a bit. Chin up, Em; fortune just might be turning about in your favor at last.
'That looks fine, miss. It is a good fit for you.' Rosa tugged the jacket down in back, tucking her collar over the edge.
'Oh, do please call me Emmelina, Rosa! I must admit I am lonesome for the sound of my name as I used to know it...'Em's voice trailed off. This was as close as she'd come to admitting to anyone how strange and violent the
journey here had been for her.
Rosa seemed to understand. 'Just between us, then...Emmelina!' Rosa smiled.
'Gracias.' Em sighed, 'Well, it should do, I think! I'll need a corset, and brown boots and gloves would be best...'Em turned as she studied herself in the oval mahogany framed mirror. 'Anything like that about? Although I can't imagine boots in my size just lying about the place!'
'Oh, you would be surprised. Don Diego has ways of making things appear out of thin air you would think!'
I just bet he does, Em agreed, remembering Jack timewalking back to the east coast just to fetch wine and roses for their tete-a-tete.
'I'll mention it to him. He will fill the order, you'll see. But, for now, come with me upstairs. There are some things you may find here to suit you for now, si?'
The women exited Em's bedroom and Rosa led the way to the end of the hall, where, upon opening a small doorway, she turned on the light switch to display a row of narrow stairs heading up. 'An attic room?' Em enquired.
'Ummm...not quite. It's an odd place,' Rosa answered as they climbed the stairway which curved to the left. 'The attics are even higher up. But this level seems to be somewhere in-between.'
Seems fitting for where Emmeline now found herself: Somewhere In Between...here and there, now and then. Who she was, is, shall be...And her
status? Not quite her own person, and not quite a prisoner, she supposed.
Yes, that part definately needs some work.
They reached the top of the stairs into another short hallway. Rosa took a ring of keys from her apron pocket and unlocked a small door, one of three in the hall. They entered what appeared to be a large closet; big as a bedroom but lined with trunks and rods from which all manner of clothes were hanging--men's as well as women's. Hm. This could come in handy for disguise and escape, if needed, Emmeline noted. Rosa went to a trunk and opening the rounded lid, threw it back and Em detected the scent of cedar and lavendar which clung to the mounds of white linens, satins and silks and laces within.
'Oh, how lovely...' She hesitantly reached into the piles of intimate accessories which invited tactile exploration. Em's hands felt the satiny
softness and delighted in the feel of fine lace upon her skin. She was curious about a stack of neatly pressed and folded handkerchiefs, and looked through them, pleased to study the small embroidered flowers and monograms.
Her fingers traced one finely stitched hanky with the initials: 'JHB' upon it and cocked her head sideways...why does this seem familiar to me? she mused. She brought it to her nose and sniffed gingerly. A slight peppery, spicy scent still held fast to the linen, a scent that she recognized.
'Whose things are these, Rosa?' She enquired, trying her best to sound casual.
'Oh, I'm sure I wouldn't know that, miss...ah, Emmelina!' Rosa stood nearby her hands folded. 'All this was here, just as it is, when I arrived. I am not privy to where or how Don Diego acquires his property!'
'Nooo, of course not...'Em frowned. 'I wonder...would it be alright if I were to keep this hanky? And,'she sighed, '...this corset should do...'
'Yes, si! Don Diego instructed me to outfit you as you wished!' She turned, gesturing at the odd assortment all about them. 'As this closet has the most clothing, shoes, hats, accoutrements all in one room, it seemed a good place to start!'
Some time later, armed with additional nightshifts, stockings, petticoats and accoutrements, although Em had attempted to offer Rosa some of the booty, the girl declined with a smile, but helped her carry what Em thought would get her through her upcoming workday as well as her time here...however long that would be...the two women carefully stepped downstairs, peering over and about their respective piles to navigate the stairway back to the floor below.
Depositing their goods upon the bed, Emmeline noted the sun was indeed lowering in the west. 'Thank you so much, Rosa! Truly I don't know what I would have done here without you!' In a burst of affection born of her sudden emptiness, Em surprised the girl with a quick hug. 'Ah, Emmelina! Da nada!'
Rosa smiled and patted Em gently on the shoulder. 'Well, I'll leave you to get this sorted. I'm due in the kitchen and should be setting about getting dinner together. But it was fun, no?'
Em smiled as she held the door whilst Rosa made her exit, and shut it softly behind her. She stared at the fluffy white mound of silks, satins, and linens heaped upon the bed. Em sat next to them and then fell forward upon them, scooping them toward her and inhaling deeply. She had chosen not only what she deemed would best serve her needs, but also, she had picked though and chosen by sense of smell...she had selected by the scent of what kindled her memory of Josephina's oil...to remind her of her gypsy nights, the passionate music and her lost blood sister. Would she ever see her again? And why, she wondered, was that fragrance so prevalent upstairs here in that trunk? Who else could have been wearing that self-same scent?
. . . . .
Em had just gotten things well sorted when there was again a soft knock upon her door. Opening her door, she was startled somewhat to find a tall dark gentleman unknown to her.
'Manuel, miss.' He bowed shortly. 'I am Don Diego's valet. He asks if you would be pleased to join him for dinner in the dining room, when you are ready.' His dark eyes locked with hers and remained cool and reserved. He seemed a very no-nonsense sort, and she felt that 'whenever you're ready' meant 'now', rather.
'Of course, Manuel, mi gustas! Ah, yes, I'll be right there, gracias!'Em was unused to dealing with 'help'; it didn't sit well with her socialist beliefs.
But she didn't wish to make anyone uncomfortable or get them into any trouble on her behalf, either. She wondered if she could persuade 'Don Diego' to embrace a more egalitarian household...
. . . .
After dinner, Daryl proposed they repair to the parlor for coffee. Daryl sat in an armchair near the fireplace whilst Emmeline took a seat upon the chesterfield across from him. Still attired in her old skirt and purple blouse, she had worn this to defy Daryl in some small fashion.As yet, he had made no mention of it.
'Ah, thank you, Manuel.' Daryl leaned over and poured the coffee which Manuel had sat upon the tea tray between them. 'Cream? Sugar?' He enquired.
'Just cream, gracias,'Emmeline answered, feeling that Daryl also disapproved soemwhat of her Espanol now that they were back in California. Perhaps he wished she would forget all about Mexico and her friends there. Well, perhaps 'Don Diego' should change his bloody name then, she decided, sipping her java daintily.
'I see you like your new blouse,' he remarked, staring darkly at her as they sat in the stillness of the parlor, watching the last of the sunset through the windows surrounding them, the bamboo blinds still raised to the view and the only sound the muted ticking of the grandfather clock. It reminded her of Daryl's home in Massachusetts, but lighter, brighter and not as remote.
'I do indeed.'Here we go, Em thought. I can play this game. 'An anonymous donor gifted it to me in the marketplace.' Em leaned back casually, appearing to enjoy the sunset.
Daryl wouldn't take the bait. 'And you have decided upon a brown tweed jacket and walking skirt for work tomorrow?' Em had discussed this with him at dinner. 'Have you everything you need?'
Well, why not? Em decided to be as forward as she was obviously expected to be. 'Actually, a pair of brown boots and brown gloves to match, would compliment the ensemble respectably.' She sat her coffee down. Wouldn't do not to sleep tonight. 'Perhaps a cameo as well.'
Daryl raised an eyebrow, then stood and regarded her. 'Shoe size?'
'A seven and one-half.'
He strode without ceremony from the room, and left Em to wonder about this odd man. Wuf! What a day...it seemed like several. She yawned despite the coffee. Mercy, but bed and sleep would be a blessing at last...she looked up then, hearing footsteps.
Daryl returned. He walked over to her and took a seat beside her on the sofa.
'Try these,' he handed her a pair of new brown leather ladies boots, with lacings. Emmeline showed no surprise at all, but accepted them and divesting herself of her old boots, tried on the new pair which fit a treat, if rather stiff still. 'They fit!'
He lay a pair of brown leather gloves upon the cushion between them. 'How is your finger?' Em hadn't thought about it, but it had stopped hurting. 'Better.' She pulled the soft kid gloves over her hands, fitting the left carefully over her bandage. She flexed her fingers and stood, taking a short turn about the room. 'These should compliment the suit nicely, thank you Daryl.' She wasn't about to call him Don Diego if she could help it.
Daryl watched her from his seat, a finger poised over his boca, rubbing his chin in approbation, a small smile playing about his lips. He stood then and went to the bar upon which crystal decanters gleamed with various amber liquids within. 'A toast, then. To your new employment. Cognac?' He enquired.
Em nodded, surprised. 'Gracias.'
He presented her with a fine cut glass snifter and clinked it together with his own. 'Salud,' he deigned to offer the Spanish pledge. They drank, and Daryl gestured Em back to the sofa, where he took a seat at the opposite end.
She preferred him in his armchair across from her. Oh well. A quick drink and then she was off to bed. Alone.
'It has been a long day,' ...to say the least, Em thought, as she raised a gloved hand to stifle her yawn. 'I fear I must retire rather early, or sleep where I sit.'
Daryl was regarding her carefully. Was he hoping she would do just that? Fall over compliant and rest her head on his shoulder perhaps? What was this man about? Why didn't he simply show his hand, whatever it was? Demand she use the artefact for whatever nefarious purpose he schemed, or make a pass at her, his nephew's girl? Or was Jack his son, in truth? She raised a hand and rubbed her forehead. Conjectures made her head spin.
'I'll show you to your room, then.' They finished their brandies and standing, he offered his arm. Emmeline accepted it hesitantly, and up the stairway they went, looking as though they were lord and lady of this manor house.
At Emmeline's door, she stilled and turned to him, unsure of what to say. 'Thank you for the job offer, Daryl. As well as for the suit of clothes.'
She wasn't about to thank him for kidnapping her.
Daryl sighed softly. 'One day, Emmeline, you might thank me and have a reason to mean it.' He reached within a vest pocket. 'This might go well with your ensemble.' He took her hand, and placed something within, curling her gloved fingers over it. 'Sleep well.' So saying, he turned then and took himself back downstairs without further ado.
Emmeline stared after his tall retreating figure; an enigma on top of conundrums. She shook her head, and went into her room, feeling relief to shut the door at last. And lock it. For all the good that would do.
She sat upon the bed and opened her hand. A cameo pin rested there--a russet backing to the ivory carving of a woman playing a lute. It was indeed a lovely thing...Em wondered if it opened. It did.
Within was a photograph Emmeline recognized...of a well-loved and familiar face from long ago. A picture of her mother, as a young woman, about Em's age now. Emmeline was surprised to find how much she resembled her in the photograph...she'd always thought that she'd her father's features in the main, not that it pleased her. But in this likeness, there was something about the arch of her eyebrow that Em fancied she saw in herself as well.
Her gentle ruminations ceased then. What was Daryl doing with a photograph of her mother,set here in this cameo for posterity? What indeed was the meaning of this? And just what was Daryl trying to tell her? She was not sure she liked what this inferred.
Daryl and her mother. Daryl and Jack's mother. Which other mothers? He seemed to have a veritabe obsession going...Em closed the cameo with a click and clutched it to her, frowning. Don Cabrone strikes again... Em fell back against her pillows and released the pin, letting it roll upon the bed. She sighed and sadly stared at it. Ah, diosa...she so felt like just leaving now.
All of her instincts screamed at her to flee! Take some silver, sell it and go! Back to Mexico? Back to Jack? She rubbed her head again, then pulled her gloves off with distaste, tossing them. She'd like to take this evidence to Jack and tell him all...perhaps together they could...what, really? Beat the truth out of Daryl? She knew Jack would love to try.
But no. That could get them both killed. Aye-eee...she lay down then and stretched upon the bed, her hand on her knotted forehead. No, that's only what she felt like doing, definately not what was best. Okay. So Daryl wishes to play guessing games, it seems. Fine.
Get hold of yourself, nena! She knew she had to take this slow and be patient. Be cunning, and wait. Gather the facts. Gain his trust. He has a hand to play, and he seems to be showing one card at a time. Eventually, as the gypsies would say, all will be revealed.
She hoped she had the patience for this waiting game. At the moment there was only one thing she wished to do with a certain close-mouthed autocrat. And it didn't involve dressing nicely in tight laces, acting the lady, and taking tea with Don Cabrone.
. . . . .
Emmeline stared at Daryl and his finger displayed palm up, with the jagged cut which mirrored her own beneath its' bandage. She thought about his comment regarding their Other Names, their gypsy names, she had to admit.
'...How...Who...?' She stammered, not sure which of the many questions roiling about her brain she wished answered first.
Daryl worked a tight, grim small smile into his features as he then rose and resumed his hunt through his desk. 'Ah! At last!'
Having found what he'd been rooting about for, he motioned Em back to their window seat.
They both sat, necessarily close together so that he could show Emmeline in more detail what he now brandished before her: a photograph.
Emmeline was having problems believing her eyes.
'It's...my mother and father. And, you!' She looked up at Daryl, frowning. 'What does this mean?...and, this looks like, this house!' She stabbed her finger at the photo. 'That's this stairway and front door you are all standing before!'
Daryl held her gaze with his own grey placid stare. 'Yes. It is.'
'When was this taken?' Em knew it had to have been long ago. Perhaps before she was born.
Daryl confirmed this. 'Ah. Some time ago. I'm not certain about the exact date but probably around 1860.'
Emmeline was rather in shock. What to make of all this? She hadn't a clue. But obviously, Jack and Aleister, and even Yeats, she believed, had some intricate and intimate ties with her, she now perceived all too clearly. She was most uncomfortable with this discovery.
'...Daryl...?' Emmeline enquired, looking at him beseechingly.
The lost look on her face tore at his heart. So like her mother... He sighed.
'It is a long story. And it has been a long day for you...'
Emmeline rose, color in her cheeks. 'This cannot wait!'
Daryl regarded her from on high. 'It can and it shall.' His tone was adamant. He sat at his desk. 'Are you familiar with the San Francisco Public Library, Emmeline?'
What a question! 'Of course!' She wasn't about to volunteer more if he was going to be such a close-mouthed tease with information. Don Cabrone.
'How would you like to work there?' He asked her, taking paper from his desk and dipping his pen in the inkwell. He cleared his throat, 'Part time only, of course. Perhaps...four hours per day, four days a week?' The pen scratched upon the paper.
'What is all this about?' Em was becomming weary of Daryl's mysterious high jinks.
'Well?' He simply looked at her. 'Are you interested in the job or not?'
Emmeline was, naturally. This could mean her freedom, possibly. A new life, in San Franciso! So many bizarre surprises...she could hardly think. 'Yes, I am interested.'
'Good. I'll have Manuel take you tomorrow. I'll accompany you and get everything sorted for your first day. Say, around 10 a.m.?'
An enquiring eyebrow was raised in her direction. Em nodded mutely. Daryl continued writing. 'That will be all for now. And do see Rosa for seeing you fitted into something more professional for work tomorrow.'
Dismissed, apparently, Emmeline turned, frowning and exited the study. As she quietly shut the doors behind her, her head whirled with all this new information to digest. She was simply dumbstruck. Hadn't a clue what it could all mean. And now a job?
At San Francisco Public! Em exhaled with relief. Where was Rosa?
One step at a time, Em!
. . . .
Emmeline found Rosa upstairs.
'Rosa. Tell me.' Em looked at the girl. 'What do you know of...Don Diego?'
Rosa calmly folded linens into the closet. She looked briefly Emmeline's direction. 'He is my employer.' Of course.
Well, if Rosa is anything other than...she'll keep it to herself at any rate.
Just have to keep ears and eyes alert.
Em smiled. 'I have a new job, downtown! I must report manana. What shall I wear, Rosa?'
'Ah! Wonderful!' Rosa regarded her with a smile in turn. 'Yes. There are some frocks upstairs that may fit you,' Rosa regarded Em. 'Turn about, miss.
Si. I'll bring something to your room shortly.'
Emmeline repaired to her room above, wondering whose 'frocks' she might fit into...she sighed as she caught her breath on the landing. Landing indeed...
She felt as though she had just crash landed upon a distant shore...she'd felt altogether too much of that lately.
Proceed as if, she told herself. Proceed as though it all makes sense, there were some method to the madness. And perhaps it shall all fall into line. Most of the time, she must admit, it did.
Most of the time.
And yet...what of the trio in the photo? What had Daryl to do with her parents? Or Jack? Why indeed, were they all here...she knew it had to do with her father. And with Frank as well. Oh, above all, Frank and Alice must stay safe! Em resolved then to play along as quiet and agreeable as one may please. Whilst taking notes.
But keep a cool red head, my girl she admonished herself. Best to gain his confidence and thus, more freedom. Perhaps, even, more information.
A pretty puzzle indeed.
. . . . .
A soft knock upon the door.
'Enter!' Emmeline sat upon her bed, musing over her newest conundrums.
Rosa entered, her arms draped with a mound of colorful garments. 'Oh, Rosa, gracias! Let me help you! Let us just put them on the bed for now...' Em lifted the topmost frocks from Rosa's hold and lay them out for a viewing, whilst Rosa did likewise.
Em discarded those she immediately felt were less than business-like in either color or style...very pretty, but...she wished to make a good impression as someone serious about her work. They at last whittled the pile down to two likely candidates: a beige walking skirt and brown tweed jacket,
with a cream colored silk blouse; and a lavendar walking suit which was
lovely, but...Em at last decided she best stick with the tweed. More suited to the library, she believed.
'I only hope it will fit...' Emmeline shrugged out of her old skirt and the purple blouse, having taken her treasures from her pockets and secreted them away earlier; she stood in her chemise and decided she would probably need to find a corset at some point, but she'd lost enough weight so that she could at least tell if the ensemble was a fit or not for now.
It was. She was pleased with the sharp look of her suit and decided that, with corset and boots, perhaps a small cameo at her collar, she would present a modest and professional demeanor tomorrow. Hm. Brown gloves would be nice. She supposed she could do without a hat, still able to pass for a maid. Albeit edging ever closer to the status of Old Maid, she admitted. Nothing wrong with that! She drew herself in, a hand on her slim waistline. I've survived just fine thus far. Barely...she added, slumping a bit. Chin up, Em; fortune just might be turning about in your favor at last.
'That looks fine, miss. It is a good fit for you.' Rosa tugged the jacket down in back, tucking her collar over the edge.
'Oh, do please call me Emmelina, Rosa! I must admit I am lonesome for the sound of my name as I used to know it...'Em's voice trailed off. This was as close as she'd come to admitting to anyone how strange and violent the
journey here had been for her.
Rosa seemed to understand. 'Just between us, then...Emmelina!' Rosa smiled.
'Gracias.' Em sighed, 'Well, it should do, I think! I'll need a corset, and brown boots and gloves would be best...'Em turned as she studied herself in the oval mahogany framed mirror. 'Anything like that about? Although I can't imagine boots in my size just lying about the place!'
'Oh, you would be surprised. Don Diego has ways of making things appear out of thin air you would think!'
I just bet he does, Em agreed, remembering Jack timewalking back to the east coast just to fetch wine and roses for their tete-a-tete.
'I'll mention it to him. He will fill the order, you'll see. But, for now, come with me upstairs. There are some things you may find here to suit you for now, si?'
The women exited Em's bedroom and Rosa led the way to the end of the hall, where, upon opening a small doorway, she turned on the light switch to display a row of narrow stairs heading up. 'An attic room?' Em enquired.
'Ummm...not quite. It's an odd place,' Rosa answered as they climbed the stairway which curved to the left. 'The attics are even higher up. But this level seems to be somewhere in-between.'
Seems fitting for where Emmeline now found herself: Somewhere In Between...here and there, now and then. Who she was, is, shall be...And her
status? Not quite her own person, and not quite a prisoner, she supposed.
Yes, that part definately needs some work.
They reached the top of the stairs into another short hallway. Rosa took a ring of keys from her apron pocket and unlocked a small door, one of three in the hall. They entered what appeared to be a large closet; big as a bedroom but lined with trunks and rods from which all manner of clothes were hanging--men's as well as women's. Hm. This could come in handy for disguise and escape, if needed, Emmeline noted. Rosa went to a trunk and opening the rounded lid, threw it back and Em detected the scent of cedar and lavendar which clung to the mounds of white linens, satins and silks and laces within.
'Oh, how lovely...' She hesitantly reached into the piles of intimate accessories which invited tactile exploration. Em's hands felt the satiny
softness and delighted in the feel of fine lace upon her skin. She was curious about a stack of neatly pressed and folded handkerchiefs, and looked through them, pleased to study the small embroidered flowers and monograms.
Her fingers traced one finely stitched hanky with the initials: 'JHB' upon it and cocked her head sideways...why does this seem familiar to me? she mused. She brought it to her nose and sniffed gingerly. A slight peppery, spicy scent still held fast to the linen, a scent that she recognized.
'Whose things are these, Rosa?' She enquired, trying her best to sound casual.
'Oh, I'm sure I wouldn't know that, miss...ah, Emmelina!' Rosa stood nearby her hands folded. 'All this was here, just as it is, when I arrived. I am not privy to where or how Don Diego acquires his property!'
'Nooo, of course not...'Em frowned. 'I wonder...would it be alright if I were to keep this hanky? And,'she sighed, '...this corset should do...'
'Yes, si! Don Diego instructed me to outfit you as you wished!' She turned, gesturing at the odd assortment all about them. 'As this closet has the most clothing, shoes, hats, accoutrements all in one room, it seemed a good place to start!'
Some time later, armed with additional nightshifts, stockings, petticoats and accoutrements, although Em had attempted to offer Rosa some of the booty, the girl declined with a smile, but helped her carry what Em thought would get her through her upcoming workday as well as her time here...however long that would be...the two women carefully stepped downstairs, peering over and about their respective piles to navigate the stairway back to the floor below.
Depositing their goods upon the bed, Emmeline noted the sun was indeed lowering in the west. 'Thank you so much, Rosa! Truly I don't know what I would have done here without you!' In a burst of affection born of her sudden emptiness, Em surprised the girl with a quick hug. 'Ah, Emmelina! Da nada!'
Rosa smiled and patted Em gently on the shoulder. 'Well, I'll leave you to get this sorted. I'm due in the kitchen and should be setting about getting dinner together. But it was fun, no?'
Em smiled as she held the door whilst Rosa made her exit, and shut it softly behind her. She stared at the fluffy white mound of silks, satins, and linens heaped upon the bed. Em sat next to them and then fell forward upon them, scooping them toward her and inhaling deeply. She had chosen not only what she deemed would best serve her needs, but also, she had picked though and chosen by sense of smell...she had selected by the scent of what kindled her memory of Josephina's oil...to remind her of her gypsy nights, the passionate music and her lost blood sister. Would she ever see her again? And why, she wondered, was that fragrance so prevalent upstairs here in that trunk? Who else could have been wearing that self-same scent?
. . . . .
Em had just gotten things well sorted when there was again a soft knock upon her door. Opening her door, she was startled somewhat to find a tall dark gentleman unknown to her.
'Manuel, miss.' He bowed shortly. 'I am Don Diego's valet. He asks if you would be pleased to join him for dinner in the dining room, when you are ready.' His dark eyes locked with hers and remained cool and reserved. He seemed a very no-nonsense sort, and she felt that 'whenever you're ready' meant 'now', rather.
'Of course, Manuel, mi gustas! Ah, yes, I'll be right there, gracias!'Em was unused to dealing with 'help'; it didn't sit well with her socialist beliefs.
But she didn't wish to make anyone uncomfortable or get them into any trouble on her behalf, either. She wondered if she could persuade 'Don Diego' to embrace a more egalitarian household...
. . . .
After dinner, Daryl proposed they repair to the parlor for coffee. Daryl sat in an armchair near the fireplace whilst Emmeline took a seat upon the chesterfield across from him. Still attired in her old skirt and purple blouse, she had worn this to defy Daryl in some small fashion.As yet, he had made no mention of it.
'Ah, thank you, Manuel.' Daryl leaned over and poured the coffee which Manuel had sat upon the tea tray between them. 'Cream? Sugar?' He enquired.
'Just cream, gracias,'Emmeline answered, feeling that Daryl also disapproved soemwhat of her Espanol now that they were back in California. Perhaps he wished she would forget all about Mexico and her friends there. Well, perhaps 'Don Diego' should change his bloody name then, she decided, sipping her java daintily.
'I see you like your new blouse,' he remarked, staring darkly at her as they sat in the stillness of the parlor, watching the last of the sunset through the windows surrounding them, the bamboo blinds still raised to the view and the only sound the muted ticking of the grandfather clock. It reminded her of Daryl's home in Massachusetts, but lighter, brighter and not as remote.
'I do indeed.'Here we go, Em thought. I can play this game. 'An anonymous donor gifted it to me in the marketplace.' Em leaned back casually, appearing to enjoy the sunset.
Daryl wouldn't take the bait. 'And you have decided upon a brown tweed jacket and walking skirt for work tomorrow?' Em had discussed this with him at dinner. 'Have you everything you need?'
Well, why not? Em decided to be as forward as she was obviously expected to be. 'Actually, a pair of brown boots and brown gloves to match, would compliment the ensemble respectably.' She sat her coffee down. Wouldn't do not to sleep tonight. 'Perhaps a cameo as well.'
Daryl raised an eyebrow, then stood and regarded her. 'Shoe size?'
'A seven and one-half.'
He strode without ceremony from the room, and left Em to wonder about this odd man. Wuf! What a day...it seemed like several. She yawned despite the coffee. Mercy, but bed and sleep would be a blessing at last...she looked up then, hearing footsteps.
Daryl returned. He walked over to her and took a seat beside her on the sofa.
'Try these,' he handed her a pair of new brown leather ladies boots, with lacings. Emmeline showed no surprise at all, but accepted them and divesting herself of her old boots, tried on the new pair which fit a treat, if rather stiff still. 'They fit!'
He lay a pair of brown leather gloves upon the cushion between them. 'How is your finger?' Em hadn't thought about it, but it had stopped hurting. 'Better.' She pulled the soft kid gloves over her hands, fitting the left carefully over her bandage. She flexed her fingers and stood, taking a short turn about the room. 'These should compliment the suit nicely, thank you Daryl.' She wasn't about to call him Don Diego if she could help it.
Daryl watched her from his seat, a finger poised over his boca, rubbing his chin in approbation, a small smile playing about his lips. He stood then and went to the bar upon which crystal decanters gleamed with various amber liquids within. 'A toast, then. To your new employment. Cognac?' He enquired.
Em nodded, surprised. 'Gracias.'
He presented her with a fine cut glass snifter and clinked it together with his own. 'Salud,' he deigned to offer the Spanish pledge. They drank, and Daryl gestured Em back to the sofa, where he took a seat at the opposite end.
She preferred him in his armchair across from her. Oh well. A quick drink and then she was off to bed. Alone.
'It has been a long day,' ...to say the least, Em thought, as she raised a gloved hand to stifle her yawn. 'I fear I must retire rather early, or sleep where I sit.'
Daryl was regarding her carefully. Was he hoping she would do just that? Fall over compliant and rest her head on his shoulder perhaps? What was this man about? Why didn't he simply show his hand, whatever it was? Demand she use the artefact for whatever nefarious purpose he schemed, or make a pass at her, his nephew's girl? Or was Jack his son, in truth? She raised a hand and rubbed her forehead. Conjectures made her head spin.
'I'll show you to your room, then.' They finished their brandies and standing, he offered his arm. Emmeline accepted it hesitantly, and up the stairway they went, looking as though they were lord and lady of this manor house.
At Emmeline's door, she stilled and turned to him, unsure of what to say. 'Thank you for the job offer, Daryl. As well as for the suit of clothes.'
She wasn't about to thank him for kidnapping her.
Daryl sighed softly. 'One day, Emmeline, you might thank me and have a reason to mean it.' He reached within a vest pocket. 'This might go well with your ensemble.' He took her hand, and placed something within, curling her gloved fingers over it. 'Sleep well.' So saying, he turned then and took himself back downstairs without further ado.
Emmeline stared after his tall retreating figure; an enigma on top of conundrums. She shook her head, and went into her room, feeling relief to shut the door at last. And lock it. For all the good that would do.
She sat upon the bed and opened her hand. A cameo pin rested there--a russet backing to the ivory carving of a woman playing a lute. It was indeed a lovely thing...Em wondered if it opened. It did.
Within was a photograph Emmeline recognized...of a well-loved and familiar face from long ago. A picture of her mother, as a young woman, about Em's age now. Emmeline was surprised to find how much she resembled her in the photograph...she'd always thought that she'd her father's features in the main, not that it pleased her. But in this likeness, there was something about the arch of her eyebrow that Em fancied she saw in herself as well.
Her gentle ruminations ceased then. What was Daryl doing with a photograph of her mother,set here in this cameo for posterity? What indeed was the meaning of this? And just what was Daryl trying to tell her? She was not sure she liked what this inferred.
Daryl and her mother. Daryl and Jack's mother. Which other mothers? He seemed to have a veritabe obsession going...Em closed the cameo with a click and clutched it to her, frowning. Don Cabrone strikes again... Em fell back against her pillows and released the pin, letting it roll upon the bed. She sighed and sadly stared at it. Ah, diosa...she so felt like just leaving now.
All of her instincts screamed at her to flee! Take some silver, sell it and go! Back to Mexico? Back to Jack? She rubbed her head again, then pulled her gloves off with distaste, tossing them. She'd like to take this evidence to Jack and tell him all...perhaps together they could...what, really? Beat the truth out of Daryl? She knew Jack would love to try.
But no. That could get them both killed. Aye-eee...she lay down then and stretched upon the bed, her hand on her knotted forehead. No, that's only what she felt like doing, definately not what was best. Okay. So Daryl wishes to play guessing games, it seems. Fine.
Get hold of yourself, nena! She knew she had to take this slow and be patient. Be cunning, and wait. Gather the facts. Gain his trust. He has a hand to play, and he seems to be showing one card at a time. Eventually, as the gypsies would say, all will be revealed.
She hoped she had the patience for this waiting game. At the moment there was only one thing she wished to do with a certain close-mouthed autocrat. And it didn't involve dressing nicely in tight laces, acting the lady, and taking tea with Don Cabrone.
. . . . .
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Only The Ring Finger Knows
Chapter Two: Only The Ring Finger Knows
It was a long trek back up the hill. Or so it seemed.
It was a perspiring, winded, exhausted and ill-tempered Emmeline who arrived at Daryl's.As she suspected, the house was upon Nob Hill.The Captain would have a right say about that, she mused. One that was 'verry discriptive.'Indeed.
She hadn't time or inclination to notice the view before, or the house itself, really. It was large, and gabled, and ornate with gingerbread as the Painted Ladies of San Francisco were known to be;but a placid cream color trimmed in red and black.
Just wanting to get it over with, she pushed on up the stairs to the front door. It opened, strangely enough.
Odd, she thought...and entered, closing it behind her. No Daryl, at least not here or now. She noted the same muffled ticking of the grandfather clock as she softly headed into the parlor. The fire had burned out whilst she was away.
She sighed. Well, fine. She wasn't feeling very diplomatic at the moment anyway. Some tea, something to eat, were her only thoughts.
She wandered til she came upon the kitchen and saw Rosa within, cutting up vegetables as she hummed to herself. 'Buenos tardes, Rosa,' Emmeline offered a greeting.
'Aaayee!' Rosa jumped, 'Ah, Miss Emmelina! You startled me!'
'I do apologize. You didn't cut yourself did you?' Em approached, concerned.
'No, no. One becomes used to surprises in this house.' Rosa
smiled then, 'Would you care for more tea? Or a bite to eat?'
Em's relief was evident as she allowed herself to relax a bit. 'Oh, si, please, Rosa...that would be wonderful...may I join you here for awhile?'
'Of course!' Rosa scooted a chair out and gestured for Em to sit. 'Earl Grey, yes? And there is some stew and bread and cheese left over from lunch...' She passed Em a bowl of fruit.
'Help yourself, miss.'
'Oh, please just call me Emmelina...' Em sighed as she sat at long last, and took an apple. Hm. Since when did I begin to think in Espanol? She wondered to herself, as she bit into the apple's snappy goodness. She actually preferred 'Emmelina' She could hear Josephina's voice and Carlos calling her name, she thought. Perhaps it was in a dream. Diosa, I'm so tired, I'm hallucinating...how odd though...Ernestina changes her name to delete the a and replace it with an e,while I do the opposite.
That would tell Em something, if she hadn't been too tired to think about it.
'Lunch is served!' Announced Rosa, setting a bowl of hot stew before her with cornbread and cheeses.
'Rosa, this smells heavenly! Thank you!' Em went to work earnestly upon the stew for some time. She sat back at last, and poured her tea, taking a bite of Monterey Jack.
'More?' Rosa took her empty bowl and refilled it, setting it before Em's dazed presence. Em opened her eyes and looked at Rosa, noting that she was younger than she'd earlier thought.
She wondered how much the girl knew about Daryl. 'Don Diego', rather...
'Muchas gracias, Rosa...it's a delicious stew! I'm so glad you spice it well. After living in Mexico, I find Norte Americano cooking rather bland by comparison.' Em felt she deserved to have an apppetite after all she'd been though.
'Ah, so? Well, that is good. Don Diego definately likes things spicy.'
Does he now? Em wondered wryly.
The cabrone. 'Don Cabrone' she mused...dipping her cornbread in the succulent red chilie stew. 'Have you worked here for Don Diego long?' Em ventured. At least he knows good cooking, she decided, savoring the last of the stew.
Rosa glanced out the window momentarily. 'Ah, let me see! Well,'
she resumed her chopping, 'I came to work for him just last year, so it has been nearly a year now.'
'Do you hail from Mexico originally?'
'How did you guess?' Rosa's hands were on her hips as she grinned.
Em gestured at the stew. 'They don't cook like this in Minnesota!'
Rosa laughed and handed Em a carrot. Sweet, young and juicy.
Ah, Em could have had a garden...if she'd stayed at Jack's
...she thought somewhat sadly. Stop that, Em! Get a grip....'So sweet! Have you a garden here, Rosa?'
'Oh, si...in the back. Don Diego loves to garden.'
Indeed? Didn't seem like him, somehow. He seemed more...urbane.
'May I?' Em reached for another carrot. She loved them fresh from the garden.
'Of course! Oh!' Rosa exclaimed. 'Your finger! What happened?'
Em took the carrot and saw Rosa staring at her finger with the
blood-sister cut of the krys knife. 'Ah, this happened before I came here, last night.' Em didn't want to say too much.
Rosa didn't press the matter, but frowned, unsatisfied. 'Let's get some alcohol on it pronto,'and she quickly found the rubbing alcohol and after soaking a bit of cloth in it, wrapped it around Em's finger and tied a knot. 'There. Leave that on for awhile. Tomorrow it shouldn't be so red.' She frowned still. 'It's odd, though...I've seen a mark just like that--'
'Good afternoon, Emmeline, Rosa,' Daryl's unmistakable presence suddenly filled the doorway.
'Good afternoon, Don Diego,' Rosa calmly returned to her kitchen duties while Emmeline, caught off guard, attempted to rally.
'Buenos tardes, 'Don Diego!''Emmeline replied, with a small hint of sarcasm.
Daryl wasn't bothered in the least. He strode into the kitchen and took a carrot himself. 'So glad you decided to stay on, Emmeline!' He bit into it with a snap.
'For now,' Em answered, trying to look composed. At least she'd been able to fortify herself somewhat before meeting Daryl again.
'Excellent!' Daryl exclaimed wearing his crooked cat-that-ate-the-canary-smile. 'You've finished your luncheon? Let us take our tea in my study, shall we?'He offered his arm.
Em looked over at Rosa, but she was busy tossing vegetables into a pot. You're on your own here, Em, she told herself. But then,
she supposed she'd better get used to that. She slowly stood. 'So nice to have met you Rosa,' Em said, as she gingerly put a hand upon Daryl's proffered arm.
'And you, miss,' Rosa replied, and put the kettle on for a fresh pot of tea.
The odd couple exited into the hallway, heading for those double doors at the end of the corridor. How can this be happening? Em thought...yesterday if someone had told me
I would soon be in San Francisco walking down an aisle arm-in-arm with Jack's Uncle Daryl, I would have thought them mad.
Then she remembered: Someone did! Josephina's: 'You will soon meet a tall, dark man who will whisk you away!' Carumba!
She should have fled right then.
Too late now.
. . . . .
Daryl's study wasn't like what Em had imagined. Instead of dark-paneled wood walls, shelves of old books and heavy curtains, the room was full of sunlight from a bank of bay windows sporting a comfortably pillowed window seat bearing a green and cream bamboo design. Bamboo blinds were lowered half way down and gave the room a golden tinge to the light blue walls.Blue rice paper shades were a cool addition to the upper windows. Em was drawn to the view and wasn't disappointed, she could just see the bay and low hills beyond. Em turned then, appreciating the soft Turkish rug on the blond wood of the flooring. .All in all, the effect was light and airy yet cooled by the touches of blue and green all about. Ficus trees flanked the windows; Em noted several hanging ferns and potted orchids as well. Was Daryl an orchid fancier? She liked it all very much, she was surprised to find.
Daryl was going through some drawers on the big blond desk next to the windowseat. He looked up then, walked over to the doors and opened them just as Rosa came to bring the tea. 'Gracias,' she said, nodding to Daryl who answered a soft 'Da nada,'and smiled slightly as she entered and placed the tea on a low table before the big white fireplace, fire-free at the moment. As Rosa left, shutting the doors together as she bowed out, Em wondered, how did he know she was just outside then?
'Would you mind pouring? I'm trying to find something...' Daryl seemed preoccupied at the desk again, frowning as he dug through drawers. 'It was just here...'
Em decided she could be civil. Perhaps it would rub off on Daryl. She poured for them both and sweetened her tea, adding a squeeze of lemon, and took a long sip of the strong bracing black beverage. She needed this; after eating and her exertions, she felt like she'd fall asleep again. That won't do, Em...!She roused herself.
'I like your study,' she commented.
'Ah! Do you?' Daryl looked up a moment, glancing about as though to take it in, running a hand through his forelock in a gesture all too similar to Jack's characteristic quirk.
'Yes. This is a good room to catch the light.' He walked to the opposite end of the room, and Em noticed then, framing the corner, the twin windows from which rows of crystal prisms depended. When Daryl ran a long finger across them, they made dancing rainbows upon the wall.
'Oh! Lovely...' Emmeline was delighted in spite of herself. Daryl smiled. Em flushed then, thinking how odd it was to be enjoying a light moment with Daryl the Abductor aka Don Cabrone,
This was all rather beyond bizarre, she told herself.
Daryl regarded her and frowned. Now what?
'What happened to you? When did this happen?' He strode over to her and took Em's left hand, wearing Rosa's makeshift bandage.
'It's nothing. A cut, during the gypsy festival...' Em felt oddly as though she shouldn't let him see her finger. 'Rosa was kind enough to clean and bandage it.'
'Let me see,' Daryl demanded, 'Here let us sit at the window where the light is best.'
Em allowed him to lead her to the window seat. She felt like she was down the rabbit hole again in Wonderland. What was going on with this man?--With all the Van Horns, really? They seemed to think abduction was nothing to be concerned about, yet a cut finger is attention-worthy. Curiouser and crazier, Em decided, as she gave Daryl the finger.
He bent his head to unwrap the bandage and Em stared over at him, studying him up close whilst she wasn't observed by him. Why, in this bright light, he does have blond streaks in his hair. Grey ones, as well. How old would Daryl be? Late 30's perhaps...neither he nor John or Morgana had aged since their timewalk. Em didn't know the details but it seemed like
Daryl began timewalking somewhat later than the other two who
were acting as scouts.
Daryl uncovered her red cut and glanced up at Emmeline, raising a brow inquiringly. 'Hmmm.' He sat up, studying the cut. 'I've seen just such a cut as this, somewhere before.'
Em cleared her throat. 'Indeed?' She didn't want Daryl to know about Josephina. She felt protective of her,of all the gypsy band and her friends back in Villa Encantata.
'The gypsies. Yess...'Daryl was saying, turning her finger over, '...this sortof jagged cut could have been made by a krys knife.' He regarded her with his cool grey gaze.
'It should stay bandaged, I think,' she offered, hoping to change his line of thought.
Daryl stood and went into a room in back of his study. He returned with a tube of a sortof gel which he put on her finger.
'This is a disinfectant ointment. Stronger than just alcohol, although that's not a bad treatment...' He then took a spool from his pocket and unrolled a sortof tape-like bandage which he round about her finger and it stuck together by some type of
glue she surmised.'There.The ointment also administers a mild analgesic. You'll be healed in no time.' He looked at her curiously. 'And when it heals...it will look something like this.' And Daryl held out his left hand toward her, with long brown fingers tanned in the sun. He turned it over, palm up, and Emmeline saw it: a small jagged scar on his ring finger, looking remarkably like the cut on Ems' own.
His gaze narrowed as he cooly took in her reaction. 'So...I would have to say that Diego isn't such a strange name for a gringo, after all...' he enquired, all ingenuous. '...is it, Josephina?'
. . . .
'In San Franciso? With Daryl!?' Jack demanded, turning to Yeats, hands on the table and leaning toward the man.
'Easy Jack. Steady on...'Aleister rose and put a hand on Jack's shoulder, seating him. He then poured more tea all around. 'You're certain?' he asked.
Yeats had a bemused look on his face in spite of it all. 'Oh, yes. Quite.'
Jack and Al regarded one another. If Yeats wasn't in the mood for details, he'd simply disappear again. Best to wait it out...quietly. They stirred their tea and waited.
Just then...'BAM! BAM-BAM-BAM!' The screen door banged like mad whilst someone whimpered and barked outside.
'Better answer that,'said Yeats with a bored expression, finishing his tea.
Aleister rose. 'He must learn that sort of behavior won't get him what he wants!' Al headed to the door to Teach Someone A Lesson.
Yeats and Jack could hear a 'No, Dylan...it will be your job to patrol outside now!...watch out for bears...' his voice trailed away as they wandered from the porch. Good man, Al, thought Jack, grateful to have time alone with Yeats.
'Could use a brandy,' Yeats made the opening move.
'Parlor?' Jack enquired, 'I'll start the fire...'
The men dispatched smartly into the parlor's cozy comfort, drawn there by habit and memory of nights spent round the fireplace,
hashing through whatever crisis or mundane events of the day
occupied them and theirs.
As Jack lit the kindling, Yeats pawed through Aleister's humidor
seeking a cigarillo. Sniffing a thin brown cylinder, he lit it 'sulpherlessly';hot-fingertip-style. He blew the bluish smoke into the warm haze of the new fire, and sighed. 'I was just recalling the night that Daryl and Emmeline's father came through this very fireplace.'
Jack looked up at Yeats. 'Oddly, so was I.' He stood and strode to the walnut bar and poured a cognac for the two of them. He held it out and gazed at his superior, locking eyes with the man. Yeats answered his gaze and taking the glass, clinked it to Jack's, wordlessly. But there was an unspoken understanding between them both.
Yeats put a hand to his forehead and rested an elbow on the mantle, staring into the flames. Jack sat at last and sipped the smoothly biting liquid amber fire. 'What can we do?'
'Well,' Yeats deigned to sit in the armchair across from Jack.
'I wonder...' He sighed. 'Jack, I have my sources, as you know.'
Jack nodded. He knew their Head had many contacts throughout the world, and in different timelines and dimensions. Yeats had mastered the art of frequency fine-tuning. He could be anywhere, anytime. Both here and beyond.
'And, thus far, although we aren't certain exactly what Daryl is up to, we do know that Emmeline is safe. She also has the artefact with her.'
'Of course!' Jack replied hotly. 'That's what he wants!'
Yeats looked from the fire, sideways at Jack. He took a long sip of the fine cognac. '...There is something else.'
Jack waited. He could have sworn Yeats bit his lower lip then, as if undecided.Such a curiously naiive gesture he'd never witnessed in his Head before.
Yeats sighed softly. 'It would seem...that Emmeline, left Daryl's at one point.'
'Yes?' Jack frowned.
'Yes. And then...returned.'He cleared his throat. '...Seemingly,
of her own choice.' He looked down, not wishing to see Jack's face just then.
Which had disbelief, no--shock, writ large upon it. Jack didn't know what to say. None of this made any sense...what could it mean? Why?
Aleister entered the parlor then,and went to warm himself at the fire.'Did I miss anything?'
. . . . . .
Yeats and Jack stared at Aleister a moment, nonplussed. Yeats tossed his cigarillo in the fire, and turned to the two men.
'There is...hope for some sense to be made of all this.' He leaned back and took a sip from his snifter. Aleister meanwhile,
made for the decanter.
After all were seated, Yeats resumed: 'Once we received the intelligence of Emmeline's whereabouts, and who she was with, we had her surveilled. We believe that she is there on a voluntary intelligence gathering mission of her own.' He paused and somberly regarded the men. 'And, that Daryl is allowing her her freedom. Probably within certain limits and temporarily, to impart to her the illusion of her freedom, and so gain her trust.'
Jack was having problems of all sorts taking all this in and remaining still and quiet. He shifted in his seat and scratched his hair and finally doused himself with brandy in an effort to seem patient.
Yeats continued: 'One of our agents will find an innocuous method of contacting her, to see if and how she wishes to communicate with us.'
Jack had had enough. 'So, we're just going to allow her to
stay there, at the mercy of Daryl, then?' He could no longer help himself.
'It is...her perogative, at this point. Trying to force the girl, has gotten you--exactly what, thus far?'
Yeats had a point. Jack conceded with a sigh.
'Sorry. It's not easy, for me...to simply...do nothing.' He drank off the remainder in his glass. 'Especially concerning Daryl' He glowered into the empty snifter.
'I understand. Emmeline is important, as well as dear to us all.'
Yeats glowered at Jack in turn. 'But I have my reasons for taking this route at present. It's our best hope.' He stood. 'So, for now, we shall wait. I will keep you apprised of any news as soon as I hear of anything. ' He stood and stretched. 'But just now, I am in need of sleep. Later I shall resume my duties as chef.' As he exited the parlor, he started up the steps then turned, 'And, you two can fill me in tonight on how we came to have our new watch dog.'Yeats took himself off to bed, leaving Al and Jack to sit and seethe over his unwelcome news.
. . . .
'
It was a long trek back up the hill. Or so it seemed.
It was a perspiring, winded, exhausted and ill-tempered Emmeline who arrived at Daryl's.As she suspected, the house was upon Nob Hill.The Captain would have a right say about that, she mused. One that was 'verry discriptive.'Indeed.
She hadn't time or inclination to notice the view before, or the house itself, really. It was large, and gabled, and ornate with gingerbread as the Painted Ladies of San Francisco were known to be;but a placid cream color trimmed in red and black.
Just wanting to get it over with, she pushed on up the stairs to the front door. It opened, strangely enough.
Odd, she thought...and entered, closing it behind her. No Daryl, at least not here or now. She noted the same muffled ticking of the grandfather clock as she softly headed into the parlor. The fire had burned out whilst she was away.
She sighed. Well, fine. She wasn't feeling very diplomatic at the moment anyway. Some tea, something to eat, were her only thoughts.
She wandered til she came upon the kitchen and saw Rosa within, cutting up vegetables as she hummed to herself. 'Buenos tardes, Rosa,' Emmeline offered a greeting.
'Aaayee!' Rosa jumped, 'Ah, Miss Emmelina! You startled me!'
'I do apologize. You didn't cut yourself did you?' Em approached, concerned.
'No, no. One becomes used to surprises in this house.' Rosa
smiled then, 'Would you care for more tea? Or a bite to eat?'
Em's relief was evident as she allowed herself to relax a bit. 'Oh, si, please, Rosa...that would be wonderful...may I join you here for awhile?'
'Of course!' Rosa scooted a chair out and gestured for Em to sit. 'Earl Grey, yes? And there is some stew and bread and cheese left over from lunch...' She passed Em a bowl of fruit.
'Help yourself, miss.'
'Oh, please just call me Emmelina...' Em sighed as she sat at long last, and took an apple. Hm. Since when did I begin to think in Espanol? She wondered to herself, as she bit into the apple's snappy goodness. She actually preferred 'Emmelina' She could hear Josephina's voice and Carlos calling her name, she thought. Perhaps it was in a dream. Diosa, I'm so tired, I'm hallucinating...how odd though...Ernestina changes her name to delete the a and replace it with an e,while I do the opposite.
That would tell Em something, if she hadn't been too tired to think about it.
'Lunch is served!' Announced Rosa, setting a bowl of hot stew before her with cornbread and cheeses.
'Rosa, this smells heavenly! Thank you!' Em went to work earnestly upon the stew for some time. She sat back at last, and poured her tea, taking a bite of Monterey Jack.
'More?' Rosa took her empty bowl and refilled it, setting it before Em's dazed presence. Em opened her eyes and looked at Rosa, noting that she was younger than she'd earlier thought.
She wondered how much the girl knew about Daryl. 'Don Diego', rather...
'Muchas gracias, Rosa...it's a delicious stew! I'm so glad you spice it well. After living in Mexico, I find Norte Americano cooking rather bland by comparison.' Em felt she deserved to have an apppetite after all she'd been though.
'Ah, so? Well, that is good. Don Diego definately likes things spicy.'
Does he now? Em wondered wryly.
The cabrone. 'Don Cabrone' she mused...dipping her cornbread in the succulent red chilie stew. 'Have you worked here for Don Diego long?' Em ventured. At least he knows good cooking, she decided, savoring the last of the stew.
Rosa glanced out the window momentarily. 'Ah, let me see! Well,'
she resumed her chopping, 'I came to work for him just last year, so it has been nearly a year now.'
'Do you hail from Mexico originally?'
'How did you guess?' Rosa's hands were on her hips as she grinned.
Em gestured at the stew. 'They don't cook like this in Minnesota!'
Rosa laughed and handed Em a carrot. Sweet, young and juicy.
Ah, Em could have had a garden...if she'd stayed at Jack's
...she thought somewhat sadly. Stop that, Em! Get a grip....'So sweet! Have you a garden here, Rosa?'
'Oh, si...in the back. Don Diego loves to garden.'
Indeed? Didn't seem like him, somehow. He seemed more...urbane.
'May I?' Em reached for another carrot. She loved them fresh from the garden.
'Of course! Oh!' Rosa exclaimed. 'Your finger! What happened?'
Em took the carrot and saw Rosa staring at her finger with the
blood-sister cut of the krys knife. 'Ah, this happened before I came here, last night.' Em didn't want to say too much.
Rosa didn't press the matter, but frowned, unsatisfied. 'Let's get some alcohol on it pronto,'and she quickly found the rubbing alcohol and after soaking a bit of cloth in it, wrapped it around Em's finger and tied a knot. 'There. Leave that on for awhile. Tomorrow it shouldn't be so red.' She frowned still. 'It's odd, though...I've seen a mark just like that--'
'Good afternoon, Emmeline, Rosa,' Daryl's unmistakable presence suddenly filled the doorway.
'Good afternoon, Don Diego,' Rosa calmly returned to her kitchen duties while Emmeline, caught off guard, attempted to rally.
'Buenos tardes, 'Don Diego!''Emmeline replied, with a small hint of sarcasm.
Daryl wasn't bothered in the least. He strode into the kitchen and took a carrot himself. 'So glad you decided to stay on, Emmeline!' He bit into it with a snap.
'For now,' Em answered, trying to look composed. At least she'd been able to fortify herself somewhat before meeting Daryl again.
'Excellent!' Daryl exclaimed wearing his crooked cat-that-ate-the-canary-smile. 'You've finished your luncheon? Let us take our tea in my study, shall we?'He offered his arm.
Em looked over at Rosa, but she was busy tossing vegetables into a pot. You're on your own here, Em, she told herself. But then,
she supposed she'd better get used to that. She slowly stood. 'So nice to have met you Rosa,' Em said, as she gingerly put a hand upon Daryl's proffered arm.
'And you, miss,' Rosa replied, and put the kettle on for a fresh pot of tea.
The odd couple exited into the hallway, heading for those double doors at the end of the corridor. How can this be happening? Em thought...yesterday if someone had told me
I would soon be in San Francisco walking down an aisle arm-in-arm with Jack's Uncle Daryl, I would have thought them mad.
Then she remembered: Someone did! Josephina's: 'You will soon meet a tall, dark man who will whisk you away!' Carumba!
She should have fled right then.
Too late now.
. . . . .
Daryl's study wasn't like what Em had imagined. Instead of dark-paneled wood walls, shelves of old books and heavy curtains, the room was full of sunlight from a bank of bay windows sporting a comfortably pillowed window seat bearing a green and cream bamboo design. Bamboo blinds were lowered half way down and gave the room a golden tinge to the light blue walls.Blue rice paper shades were a cool addition to the upper windows. Em was drawn to the view and wasn't disappointed, she could just see the bay and low hills beyond. Em turned then, appreciating the soft Turkish rug on the blond wood of the flooring. .All in all, the effect was light and airy yet cooled by the touches of blue and green all about. Ficus trees flanked the windows; Em noted several hanging ferns and potted orchids as well. Was Daryl an orchid fancier? She liked it all very much, she was surprised to find.
Daryl was going through some drawers on the big blond desk next to the windowseat. He looked up then, walked over to the doors and opened them just as Rosa came to bring the tea. 'Gracias,' she said, nodding to Daryl who answered a soft 'Da nada,'and smiled slightly as she entered and placed the tea on a low table before the big white fireplace, fire-free at the moment. As Rosa left, shutting the doors together as she bowed out, Em wondered, how did he know she was just outside then?
'Would you mind pouring? I'm trying to find something...' Daryl seemed preoccupied at the desk again, frowning as he dug through drawers. 'It was just here...'
Em decided she could be civil. Perhaps it would rub off on Daryl. She poured for them both and sweetened her tea, adding a squeeze of lemon, and took a long sip of the strong bracing black beverage. She needed this; after eating and her exertions, she felt like she'd fall asleep again. That won't do, Em...!She roused herself.
'I like your study,' she commented.
'Ah! Do you?' Daryl looked up a moment, glancing about as though to take it in, running a hand through his forelock in a gesture all too similar to Jack's characteristic quirk.
'Yes. This is a good room to catch the light.' He walked to the opposite end of the room, and Em noticed then, framing the corner, the twin windows from which rows of crystal prisms depended. When Daryl ran a long finger across them, they made dancing rainbows upon the wall.
'Oh! Lovely...' Emmeline was delighted in spite of herself. Daryl smiled. Em flushed then, thinking how odd it was to be enjoying a light moment with Daryl the Abductor aka Don Cabrone,
This was all rather beyond bizarre, she told herself.
Daryl regarded her and frowned. Now what?
'What happened to you? When did this happen?' He strode over to her and took Em's left hand, wearing Rosa's makeshift bandage.
'It's nothing. A cut, during the gypsy festival...' Em felt oddly as though she shouldn't let him see her finger. 'Rosa was kind enough to clean and bandage it.'
'Let me see,' Daryl demanded, 'Here let us sit at the window where the light is best.'
Em allowed him to lead her to the window seat. She felt like she was down the rabbit hole again in Wonderland. What was going on with this man?--With all the Van Horns, really? They seemed to think abduction was nothing to be concerned about, yet a cut finger is attention-worthy. Curiouser and crazier, Em decided, as she gave Daryl the finger.
He bent his head to unwrap the bandage and Em stared over at him, studying him up close whilst she wasn't observed by him. Why, in this bright light, he does have blond streaks in his hair. Grey ones, as well. How old would Daryl be? Late 30's perhaps...neither he nor John or Morgana had aged since their timewalk. Em didn't know the details but it seemed like
Daryl began timewalking somewhat later than the other two who
were acting as scouts.
Daryl uncovered her red cut and glanced up at Emmeline, raising a brow inquiringly. 'Hmmm.' He sat up, studying the cut. 'I've seen just such a cut as this, somewhere before.'
Em cleared her throat. 'Indeed?' She didn't want Daryl to know about Josephina. She felt protective of her,of all the gypsy band and her friends back in Villa Encantata.
'The gypsies. Yess...'Daryl was saying, turning her finger over, '...this sortof jagged cut could have been made by a krys knife.' He regarded her with his cool grey gaze.
'It should stay bandaged, I think,' she offered, hoping to change his line of thought.
Daryl stood and went into a room in back of his study. He returned with a tube of a sortof gel which he put on her finger.
'This is a disinfectant ointment. Stronger than just alcohol, although that's not a bad treatment...' He then took a spool from his pocket and unrolled a sortof tape-like bandage which he round about her finger and it stuck together by some type of
glue she surmised.'There.The ointment also administers a mild analgesic. You'll be healed in no time.' He looked at her curiously. 'And when it heals...it will look something like this.' And Daryl held out his left hand toward her, with long brown fingers tanned in the sun. He turned it over, palm up, and Emmeline saw it: a small jagged scar on his ring finger, looking remarkably like the cut on Ems' own.
His gaze narrowed as he cooly took in her reaction. 'So...I would have to say that Diego isn't such a strange name for a gringo, after all...' he enquired, all ingenuous. '...is it, Josephina?'
. . . .
'In San Franciso? With Daryl!?' Jack demanded, turning to Yeats, hands on the table and leaning toward the man.
'Easy Jack. Steady on...'Aleister rose and put a hand on Jack's shoulder, seating him. He then poured more tea all around. 'You're certain?' he asked.
Yeats had a bemused look on his face in spite of it all. 'Oh, yes. Quite.'
Jack and Al regarded one another. If Yeats wasn't in the mood for details, he'd simply disappear again. Best to wait it out...quietly. They stirred their tea and waited.
Just then...'BAM! BAM-BAM-BAM!' The screen door banged like mad whilst someone whimpered and barked outside.
'Better answer that,'said Yeats with a bored expression, finishing his tea.
Aleister rose. 'He must learn that sort of behavior won't get him what he wants!' Al headed to the door to Teach Someone A Lesson.
Yeats and Jack could hear a 'No, Dylan...it will be your job to patrol outside now!...watch out for bears...' his voice trailed away as they wandered from the porch. Good man, Al, thought Jack, grateful to have time alone with Yeats.
'Could use a brandy,' Yeats made the opening move.
'Parlor?' Jack enquired, 'I'll start the fire...'
The men dispatched smartly into the parlor's cozy comfort, drawn there by habit and memory of nights spent round the fireplace,
hashing through whatever crisis or mundane events of the day
occupied them and theirs.
As Jack lit the kindling, Yeats pawed through Aleister's humidor
seeking a cigarillo. Sniffing a thin brown cylinder, he lit it 'sulpherlessly';hot-fingertip-style. He blew the bluish smoke into the warm haze of the new fire, and sighed. 'I was just recalling the night that Daryl and Emmeline's father came through this very fireplace.'
Jack looked up at Yeats. 'Oddly, so was I.' He stood and strode to the walnut bar and poured a cognac for the two of them. He held it out and gazed at his superior, locking eyes with the man. Yeats answered his gaze and taking the glass, clinked it to Jack's, wordlessly. But there was an unspoken understanding between them both.
Yeats put a hand to his forehead and rested an elbow on the mantle, staring into the flames. Jack sat at last and sipped the smoothly biting liquid amber fire. 'What can we do?'
'Well,' Yeats deigned to sit in the armchair across from Jack.
'I wonder...' He sighed. 'Jack, I have my sources, as you know.'
Jack nodded. He knew their Head had many contacts throughout the world, and in different timelines and dimensions. Yeats had mastered the art of frequency fine-tuning. He could be anywhere, anytime. Both here and beyond.
'And, thus far, although we aren't certain exactly what Daryl is up to, we do know that Emmeline is safe. She also has the artefact with her.'
'Of course!' Jack replied hotly. 'That's what he wants!'
Yeats looked from the fire, sideways at Jack. He took a long sip of the fine cognac. '...There is something else.'
Jack waited. He could have sworn Yeats bit his lower lip then, as if undecided.Such a curiously naiive gesture he'd never witnessed in his Head before.
Yeats sighed softly. 'It would seem...that Emmeline, left Daryl's at one point.'
'Yes?' Jack frowned.
'Yes. And then...returned.'He cleared his throat. '...Seemingly,
of her own choice.' He looked down, not wishing to see Jack's face just then.
Which had disbelief, no--shock, writ large upon it. Jack didn't know what to say. None of this made any sense...what could it mean? Why?
Aleister entered the parlor then,and went to warm himself at the fire.'Did I miss anything?'
. . . . . .
Yeats and Jack stared at Aleister a moment, nonplussed. Yeats tossed his cigarillo in the fire, and turned to the two men.
'There is...hope for some sense to be made of all this.' He leaned back and took a sip from his snifter. Aleister meanwhile,
made for the decanter.
After all were seated, Yeats resumed: 'Once we received the intelligence of Emmeline's whereabouts, and who she was with, we had her surveilled. We believe that she is there on a voluntary intelligence gathering mission of her own.' He paused and somberly regarded the men. 'And, that Daryl is allowing her her freedom. Probably within certain limits and temporarily, to impart to her the illusion of her freedom, and so gain her trust.'
Jack was having problems of all sorts taking all this in and remaining still and quiet. He shifted in his seat and scratched his hair and finally doused himself with brandy in an effort to seem patient.
Yeats continued: 'One of our agents will find an innocuous method of contacting her, to see if and how she wishes to communicate with us.'
Jack had had enough. 'So, we're just going to allow her to
stay there, at the mercy of Daryl, then?' He could no longer help himself.
'It is...her perogative, at this point. Trying to force the girl, has gotten you--exactly what, thus far?'
Yeats had a point. Jack conceded with a sigh.
'Sorry. It's not easy, for me...to simply...do nothing.' He drank off the remainder in his glass. 'Especially concerning Daryl' He glowered into the empty snifter.
'I understand. Emmeline is important, as well as dear to us all.'
Yeats glowered at Jack in turn. 'But I have my reasons for taking this route at present. It's our best hope.' He stood. 'So, for now, we shall wait. I will keep you apprised of any news as soon as I hear of anything. ' He stood and stretched. 'But just now, I am in need of sleep. Later I shall resume my duties as chef.' As he exited the parlor, he started up the steps then turned, 'And, you two can fill me in tonight on how we came to have our new watch dog.'Yeats took himself off to bed, leaving Al and Jack to sit and seethe over his unwelcome news.
. . . .
'
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