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.
                           . . . .


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