Chapter 8 - Over the Hills and Far Away

Chapter 8 - Over the Hills and Far Away
Emmeline sat dazedly through the presentation. Although it featured some fine, riveting speakers, she couldn't rein her thoughts from wandering back to where, or whence, she had just been, and of course, back to Jack...
She found herself blushing and fanning her fever'd face with handbills, and smiling like a dimwit for no reaon, as she tried again and again to direct her attention to the lectures. Her attention alas, was like a butterfly however, and flitted back to Crowley Place and Jack's burning gaze and eager kiss...dammitol, girl! She felt like smacking herself with her program. Get hold of yourself! At a women's rights meeting, thinking only of men and kisses! She pinched herself,hard.
This is utterly infra dignitatum, Em! Do show a bit of pertinacity toward the program! She snuck a peek at the clock in the rear; diosa, it was nearly over!
Had she been daydreaming this entire time? Em sighed.
Perhaps she was tired...events had gone rather fast and furious of late. She didn't wish to become ill, not now. She should heed the doctor's warnings and try to take it slow, rest up. Obviously, she was off her game.Timewalking. That was to blame.
She noted then a familiar face. Yes, at the back table with the union information. Where had she seen that man before? Perhaps at a union meeting in Pankhurst... A dark haired man in a tweed cap nodded slightly, acknowledging her notice. She gave a brief nod to him, and then turned back to the lecture, which was now wrapping up, the other speakers came back onstage, smiled and waved, to the applause of the crowd.
Emmeline flushed, embarrased. Had she taken in one word of it at all? She couldn't remember a thing...obviously she must be weary to become so easily distracted. Perhaps coming down with something...
'Well!,' Mrs. Peel turned to her and the other ladies, 'That was just what we needed, eh? Avanti!  Onward, and upward, ladies!' She stood, as the others gathered their coats and bags and prepared to take their leave.
'Would it be alright, do you think, Emmeline, if we were to stop for tea en route home?' Mrs. Peel enquired, as they made their way to the exits, greeting familiar faces and picking up the odd handbill that took their fancy. Em agreed that would be most welcome indeed.
                     . . . .
Heading toward Nob Hill, their carriage stopped half way up the ascent before a tea shop with the aspiring hauteur of 'Madame Angelique's Tea Room'. Inside was more cozy than majestic, however, and rather bustling despite the late hour. The ladies managed to appropriate a table for five and settle comforably into the warm and inviting custom of taking tea. Emmeline noted the women were not shy of ordering some delicious looking pastries as well, and she herself, following doctor's orders!, gave in to a delightfully toothsome creme puff.
The women were abuzz with talk of the lecture and the speakers and attendees they knew and knew of, perusing the literature they had taken with them, between bites.
'I wish to thank you all so much for encluding me in your enterprise!' Em enthused. 'It is so good to be in the company of other activists, for such a worthy cause!'
'Our pleasure!'answered Mrs. Peel. 'I only wish more young women would come round to heed the call! Alas, girls of your age are often led astray by thoughts of love and marriage, etcetera,'she waved her hand in a vague way at all those 'etceteras' which can so often claim a girl's entire existence in one fell swoop.'...to the exclusion of anything and everything else!'
Em looked down, trying not to blush, and concentrated upon her creme puff intently. Oh, dear Mrs. Peel, if only she knew what a reprobate she had been...and how little of the nights' presentation had actually penetrated Emmeline's wayward thoughts. It was so unlike her usual self, thought she. She truly must marshall her better virtures to the fore, and the sooner the better. Em then turned attention to the union handbill on the table and gave advertence to the rallying cry of unionization.
'Ah, yes...once the vote is won, perhaps we may turn our energies to the next battle...' Thus spake Miss Steinem, perusing her own union literature. Em was surprised to hear her colleagues speaking so openly.
'I did attend a pro-union meeting in Pankhurst once,'Em admitted tentatively. 'Some friends of mine, teachers and nurses, were rallying for unions, and
my colleague at the library and I were hopeful that
we may be encluded somehow, sometime.' Em left out the disasterous conclusion of that tale.
'Excellent!' exclaimed Ms. Greer. 'Worker's rights, most important.' She slipped a small silver flask from her bag, and tipped a dram into her tea, raising an enquiring eyebrow toward the others. Ms. Steinem took the proferred flask for a dash to her tea, as did the other ladies, excluding Mrs. Peel.
'Em?' asked Ms. Greer. Not wanting to appear standoffish, Em smiled and poured a drop as well.
Nodding, as if satisfied, Ms. Greer stoppered her flask, returning it, much lighter now, to her purse.
A ladies' night out in a tea shop took on new connotations to Emmeline.
As the evening wore on, and patrons of the tea room exited for home, the women grew more talkative, and the flask went round once more.
 '...Well, I know that most of the workers there are all for a union,'said Mrs. Goldman, who had been rather reticent until then. 'It's the administration, as well as the board, who feel threatened.
'Yes, threatened by a living wage for slave labor!'
Ms. Greer was becoming bellicose in her cups. Em rather liked her.
'Now, ladies...'Mrs. Peel smiled, used to their outbursts of enthusiasm it seemed, 'Temper, temper...'
'The flask is empty, Georgina...'Ms Greer sighed, as the last drops fell sadly into her teacup.
'I said, 'temper', not 'temperance'...' Mrs. Peel, Georgina, smiled. 'Unrepentant, aren't you, luv?'
'Always.'Ms Greer leaned back, brushing crumbs from her lips with a napkin.
'How good it is to hear women speak their minds!' Emmeline couldn't help her youthful ardor. 'It is a refreshing change from stuffy Pankhurst.'
'We are so pleased you find it so!' Mrs. Goldman smiled at her. 'I do hope to see you at upcoming meetings, my dear.'
Mrs. Peel eyed Mrs. Goldman narrowly. 'Depending upon the time and place, of course, Sophia! Don Diego has entrusted his ward to us this evening, after all. We must not foster that which may be misconstrued as impropriety.'
Mrs. Goldman ignored Mrs. Peels' admonishment. Leaning toward Emmeline she patted her hand, saying,
'Georgina fears that I may inflame innocent blood with the infernal fires of raging socialism!' She smiled wryly, raising her brows which accented her widow's peak.
Mrs. Peel issued a quiet, 'Hauff!' and looked away, drinking her tea, albeit with a small smile.
'Oh, I have read Mr.Engles and Mr. Marx, Mrs. Peel!' Em enthused. 'I follow news of the insurgent campaigns in the North Country and...'she gazed about furtively, 'in Mexico as well.' She was careful not to say too much. Just how close she was to what would soon be known as the Mexican Revolution, Em thought it best to be circumspect at present.
'Indeed?' Mrs. Goldman looked surprised, but pleased.
She nodded at Mrs. Peel. 'You see, Georgina? Not all young heads are filled with frothy notions of pink chiffon and wedding cakes!'
Mrs. Peel stifled a yawn behind her hand. 'Yes, well, that may be; however, I now propose we should return Emmeline to her home and not give Don Diego cause to restrain her from any further forays out with us!' She smiled at Em. 'Ready, ladies?'
And coming home, Emmeline found herself retaining rather a different attitude regarding life in San Francisco since the morning.
                     . . . .
'What do you make of it, Al?'
Jack sipped his morning java with Aleister upon the porch, greeting a rare cloudy day. Fall was encroaching upon summers' reign.
Aleister frowned, staring before him, watching Dylan chase about the yard. 'Hard to say, as yet...isn't it?' he glanced at Jack, who nodded. 'But...I am beginning to think that Daryl has access to more than one timeline, or dimension. And he certainly does not seem to be at all 'trapped' in one.'
'But if so...' Jack ceased his pacing and sat next to Al, 'Why the histrionics with the fireplace here?'
'Could be just an actors' perogative?'Al enquired, 'Staging a scene, perhaps?'
'Maybe.' Jack wasn't convinced. 'You know I perforce must view Daryl in the most realistic light...' Jack meant, 'worst' or 'entirely negative', Al interpreted. 'Hardest to understsand, is his gypsy
connection. Why? How does he fit in with gypsies?
Or perhaps I should ask, how do we?' Jack tapped his empty cup in cadence.
'The man is a complete conundrum.' Aleister huffed. 'What about the whole 'Don Diego' persona? And a fine house on Nob Hill, eh, Jack?'
That rankled most, Jack had to admit. Here he was shouldering Daryl's estate, whilst Daryl was alive and galivanting. What perfidy was this?
 'I mean to get some answers if I have to wring them out of the--'
'There will be no wringing.'
A low clear voice cut through the grey of morning. Yeats had joined the men on the porch.
'Although the temptation is great,' Yeats allowed, as he sank into one of the wicker chairs and set his teacup on the table betwixt them,  'I think it would be in our best interests to keep a low profile and exhibit no knowledge of Daryl's or Don Diego's existence.' Dylan had padded up under Yeat's dangling hand and inserted his furry head beneath, elicting a pat. The two had come to an understanding of sorts, it seemed.
'I understand, Jack, why you wish to be out from under the burden of his estate. But, now that he is showing his hand, as it were, we're coming closer to
a confrontation. Until then, secrecy is best. It won't be much longer, I feel, until he makes his move,whatever that may be.'
Jack thought a moment then declared, 'Yes, you're absolutely right. The Order has waited long for just such a chance to get a line on Daryl...' he surprised them all with his nolo contendere.
'Yes,'agreed Al, 'I think it will be soon, as you say. But what? And I fear it involves our girl, Em.
We must be in secretum, yet vigilant.'
All were agreed upon that.
                     . . . .
Meanwhile, back in the stacks...
Emmeline at last had a chance to check on how Yeats was biding in the 800's...she was glad to spot his works upon the shelf still. Nothing within, however.
What if that book checked out? Well, Yeats was prolific, luckily. She assumed other volumes would suffice for courier service.
'Fond of the Irish poets, Emmeline?' Em was startled by the sudden appearance of Ms. Greer at her side.
'That I am,'Em smiled at her colleague, who seemed none the worse for their indulgences of the night before. She felt more at ease around her coworkers now. 'I belonged to a group of Druids back in Pankhurst, we studied Keltic mythology and lore...' Em pretended to peruse the shelf.
'Ah! Excellent!' Ms. Greer surprised her with her approval. 'Irish yourself then?'
'No, not that I know of, at least. Welsh, certainly, though, on the distaff side.' Em wondered how much trouble that would be getting her...
'Do you now? Well, the library has afew of your fellows here. Scottish, myself, in part.' Ms. Greer also studied the bookshelf. 'There is a Druid group in the City, you know. You ought to look them up! They have a grand ball in December, for the winter solstice.'
'Indeed? Perhaps I shall!' Excellent suggestion, Em thought. And something that might get her out of Casa Rivera with Daryl's approval. Perhaps.
'If you like, I can find their address for you. It is on file here!' Ms. Greer offered, and the two women headed for the desk and the files that were kept behind. Emmeline pocketed the address, thanking her new friend, Ms. Greer, or 'do call me Maggie, please!' as she told her.
Yes, that may be another ticket out, and about, thought Emmeline, resolving to connect with the Bay Area Druids,
the BADs. She missed Clare and Michael back home, but she did recall that they often went to the City for the big winter solstice celebration. She must certainly attend herself this year! And, what of Samhain, coming soon?
Time to make some local connections, my girl, Em decided.
Out and about...sounded good.
                        . . . . .
Nob Hill.
Daryl was in his study, gazing out the bay windows, lost in thought. Thus far, all seemed to be going well. He'd
Emmeline here, and he kept her, like Peter Pumpkineater, very well...his tight leash rankled just enough, he thought. Sighing, he turned back to his desk, sat, and drummed his fingers upon the blond wood. Yes, his plan seemed to have succeeded, all too well.
Emmeline despised him.
He ceased the rhythmic tapping and leaned his head on his hand. Indeed, all seemed to be proceeding apace...after seeing Jack last night, Daryl noted Em often staring before her with a bemused smile upon her face. So her affection for Jack appeared to be in parity with her hatred of himself.
Yes, he sighed again, all was progressing just as it should.
Not that it was easy for him. But, as he had told himself, daily, hourly...it had to be. It was for the best. It must be done.
And it was breaking his heart.
                         . . . .

Listen! to Over the HIlls and Far Away
from Sharpe:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Fy3tSim3to

Chapter 7 - A Gathering of Forces

Monday came all too quickly for Emmeline, now that she had resumed working again. She liked the work, and San Francisco Public was certainly a far cry from Pankhurst and it's attendant picayune pomposity...but she had come to love life's slower pace back in the Villa Encantata. Herb, egg and wool gathering, planting, harvesting, drying crops, caring for the animals, milking goats, cooking, canning, even sewing and chopping wood all seemed to Em more worthwhile efforts and far more agreeable to her than city life.
Em sighed as she struggled to awaken and prepare to meet the new day. Caramba but it was cold in San Francisco! Mark Twain had the right of it...she braved a peek out her window. Bah. Fog again...yes, she had to admit, she was a changed person for all her recent experiences.
Oddly, Daryl accompanied her on this trip to the library, and escorted her within. They came upon Mrs. Peel in the foyer. Emmeline noted her worthy supervisor was sporting a violet and gold ribbon. Her notions were bang on when after greeting them both, she handed Daryl and Em a handbill proclaiming 'Women's Suffrage Meeting': at District
11 Union Hall. 'Tonight!'smiled Mrs. Peel. 'I do hope you will attend!' She looked down upon her new employee's head, suddenly filled with hopeful visions of renewed activism.
'Oh, certainly!' Emmeline answered, daring Daryl to oppose them both.
Daryl, ever surprising, answered, 'Unfortunately, I shan't be able to attend, but my ward seems anxious to be represented in my stead.'
'Very good!' Mrs. Peel nodded, and addressed Emmeline. 'A coterie of library women will be heading there directly after work, if you would care to join us.' She looked at Daryl, '...and we would be happy to take you home afterward.'
Daryl agreed that would be fine, and seemed full of encouragement for the ladies' efforts. Well! One never knew did one? Em couldn't spare time to figure out Daryl's quirks.
She looked forward to the evening out, and becoming acquainted with the library's sisterhood.
Oddly, because she'd be leaving with the women of the library when heading home, Daryl took Manuel with him this day, leaving Emmeline without her escort/guard. Finally...she liked Manuel, she simply did not care to be under constant surveillance.
Later that day, toward the end of her shift, she spotted a familiar bright red head of hair. Ah! She remembered then, it had to be Casey. Yes, that the was lad who did the odd job for Jack and Aleister she now recalled.
Hmmm...and no Manuel. A perfect day to get word to Jack, et al. Em went to the desk and took a sheet of paper and pencil and scribbled a quick note:
'Mr. Yeats, Jack and Aleister,
First, I must say muchas gracias, mi amigos. As ever, I am
in your debt. But my short stay here has yielded much fruit.
Ripe for the picking. I would like to get some choice offerings to you, as soon as possible. Tonight there is a suffrage meeting at the Union Hall, district 11, at 6pm. I shall await you there with a cornucopia!
Adiosa til then,
Emmelina'
There! Em folded the note and went into the 800's seeking Yeats. She found him easily enough and stuck the note within, setting the book back upon the shelf, slightly forward of the others. She paused, wondering if their own Mr. Yeats was a relative of Himself; he had hinted as much during the St. Patrick's celebration. Well, another mystery for another day perhaps...Em gazed about her, hoping Casey would notice the book before someone else did. Ah, there he was, across the room, he caught her eye then and lightly touched his cap and gave a bare nod.
Em exited around the shelf and took her cart down the aisle, keeping one eye on Casey. He casually approached Yeats's shelf and from the other side, Em saw the book disappear. She watched as he took the note, glanced about, and pocketed it, setting the book back with a wink her way across the shelf.
At last, the Game Was Afoot!
                           . . . .
Although evenings came sooner now, still 6 pm hadn't come soon enough for Emmeline. She entered the Union Hall with the others from the library, amazed at the turnout here! The hall was much larger than any at Pankhurst, and it was already filling with people, not only women, Em was pleased to note, hoping for some brotherly solidarity as well.
The ladies jockied for seats, greeting friends, and saved a space for Em, luckily on the aisle. 'It's so good to see such a crowd! Back in Pankhurst, we could barely fill a hall half this size!'
Mrs. Peel smiled. 'Well, you're not in Pankhurst any longer!' she touched Em's hand briefly. 'I should not be surprised to see things become SRO before the night is over!'
One of the women, a Ms. Greer, if Em remembered aright, leaned forward, 'We all pull together here! Most of us anyway,'she grinned, 'We San Franciscans are known for our open minds.'
Mrs. Peel sighed, as she gazed about, 'Yes...but there's still the Old Guard here, the Old Boys' Club, you know, wishing to hold on to their musty, ancient facades, however crumbling...'
'Well,'another woman took up the thread,'You do know old Dewey only recommended women for library work because he knew they could be paid less money than men!' She gave a sharp nod to punctuate her words. Em did recall that now. What was this lady's name? ...something like Stein...
Steinem, perhaps? She sat back smiling to herself. She liked these women.
Best keep an eye peeled for her party, though. No sign of Yeats or Jack as yet. Thank goodness they were both tall, she might be able to locate them easier in this throng.
'Ah, here are Greta and Margaret!' Mrs. Peel stood, waving toward the doorway, trying to catch the attention of her friends. 'They've seen us. Now, where to put them...?' she gazed about. Em thought this was her chance. 'I don't mind sitting behind you all! If your row moves over one, they can both fit beside you...'
Despite polite protests, Em did just that, and took a seat behind the women. Perfect. Now she could slip out easier when the time came...if it ever did. 'I'm just going to the tables in back a moment to have a look at the literature, if you don't mind watching my coat?'
Amid murmurs of agreement, Emmeline slipped out and wandered about the hall, thrilling to the energy of the crowd. She breathed a sigh of relief. How grand to be somewhere amongst so many others of like mind! What a battleground, by comparison, Pankhurst was; at least where there was anything new or at all challenging to the status quo. Perhaps there was something to city life after all, at least in San Francisco.
Em was perusing tables of handbills, which she pocketed in her bag, as well as hastily printed stacks of literature of all sorts, and not only women's voting rights. Emmeline was heartened by viewing Gertrude Sanger's family planning materials here, recalling that earnest and hardworking lady. Ah, some union handbills as well. I best keep a low profile with that until I've tested the waters at work, Em thought, thinking she was pushing enough envelopes there already...
Emmeline had donated some coins and was pinning a gold and violet ribbon to her jacket, when she heard a familiar voice:
'Viva la difference, except when it comes to women's rights, of course!' Em looked up into Jack's smiling and welcome face, and noted Yeats looming behind.
She smiled. 'I'm so glad you could come!' She glanced about. 'I have much to tell you both, but...alas, I can't get away for long...'
'Leave that to me, then,'Yeats took charge. 'We shall be traveling in a special coach which shall deliver us between and beyond, and back again, no one the wiser.'
'I haven't brought...anything, with me though,' Em accented her 'anything' hoping they would know she was referring to the the artefact. 'I only just found out about the meeting here this morning.'
'Not to worry. We have a conveyance of our own, just over here...' Yeats put an arm forth, escorting them both out the  rear exit, after muscling their way through the gathering crowd.
As they went through the doorway, Em felt a tight squeeze upon her person, and a slight feeling of being stretched somehow, as Jack took one hand and Yeats held her other. All went black and she felt nothing under her feet a moment.
When she could see again, she found herself standing in the parlor of Crowley House.
                           . . . .
Aleister rose in greeting. 'Emmeline! My girl! So good to see you!' He gestured for her to have a seat upon the sofa, which she managed to do whilst orienting herself.
'How are you feeling?' Dr. Parsons enquired, sitting beside her.
Em blinked, glancing about her. 'I, I think I'm alright. Physically. Perhaps a trifle dizzy.' My, how strange the place seemed to her now! Though it hadn't been long, timewise, too much had happened in that same short space between Emmeline's departure and return for it to seem anything other than an age betwixt then and now.
'May I?' Aleister enquired, taking Emmeline's pulse.
'Oh, Aleister...I'm alright, truly.' Em was touched by his concern.
Yeats looked at Jack and the latter went 'round into the kitchen, whilst the Head took a seat. Jack returned moments later with a tray of hot tea. Setting it upon the tea table before them, he poured for all.
'Do try some tea, Em. It will settle you,' Jack handed her a cup, ever solicitous.
Emmeline recalled her mission here then, fingering her cameo. She wore the one Daryl had given her nearly every day. She accepted the tea and smiled. 'I'm fine. Everything seems so oddly familiar,' Em commented as she gazed 'round. 'I recognize it all, but it seems from nearly another lifetime ago...'
Yeats sat in the chair across from her and looked intently upon her. 'You needn't worry about your friends missing you. As long as you are here with us, your time is frozen back in the City. When you return, it will be as though you never left.'
Jack sat in the armchair next to Yeats regarding her seriously as well. She needed to come round to present place/time and get down to business...
Just then from the back of the house came a slap-bang! and a scampering of claws on floor hailed the arrival of Dylan through his recently cut dog-door; a furry ball of hyperactivity and bon homie.
'Oh! Who is this then?' Emmeline asked, attempting to pet Dylan who was twisting himself into pretzels at her feet.
'Dylan! Sit!'Aleister tried his best command-voice. Dylan sat, a minute, too excited by company to last longer and resumed his enraptured squirming about.
'Ah, this is Dylan, our new watchdog-to-be,' Jack offered,
thinking that title sounded rather more hopeful than actual at present. 'We acquired him only recently, after the incident here with the bear...'
'Bear!?' He'd Em's attention now.
'Um, yes, a tale for another time perhaps. The bear is no longer a threat at any rate,'Jack wished to hear what Em had to say about Daryl forthwith.
Aleister directed Dylan to his basket. 'Lie down, boy.' Dylan reluctantly went and complied, but his tail thumped hopefully from his corner.'Alice is here still, but, ah, they're working on getting used to one another.'
Al motioned atop the secretary desk where Alice glared balefully down from her basket. Emmeline smiled, amused to be among her friends once more. 'It's good to be here, with you all, I must say...and thank you so much for your help;it is greatly appreciated!' The men made murmurs of 'not at all's!' and 'da nada's...' Em frowned slightly. 'Actually I don't know if I'm still a wanted suspect or not. Have you any news?'
Her friends assured her that the entire affair seemed to have been hushed-up. What they had concluded, was the man who was said to be 'missing' (one of the be-sheeted party who had
attacked the Guevara's and was accidentally killed), hadn't
really been missed much at all. As those who had perpetrated the attack knew they were in the wrong, and the Guevara's fled, the matter had been rather quickly dropped.
'The Guevara's can probably return home, and nothing more will be said about it,'Jack assured her.'I...don't believe that you were implicated, directly, Em.'
This was good news. Em visibly relaxed. Soon, somehow, (maybe even through Daryl, Emmeline reluctantly conjectured), she could get word to them in Mexico City.
'I'm hoping I may still have some of my papers here, for identification at the bank. There is an office in San Francisco near Nob Hill where Daryl has taken residence.'
'Nob Hill',thought Jack: perfect for Daryl who was still quite the knob in Jack's book. 'All of your papers and personal items are here, Em...in the Indigo Room.'
Ah, her old room...she'd barely a chance to try it out before she fled...how welcome it seemed now. Well, one day perhaps, but for now, she was on a mission and meant to see it through and find some answers.
'Good. I'll have to take what few items I may secret away with me when I return...but!' Em took a breath and continued,'I suppose you are wondering what news I have for you as well.'
'We are just happy to have you here with us, again, Emmeline.'Aleister assured her. Yeats and Jack smiled in agreement.
'And I couldn't be happier to see you all!' Em grinned and took a sip of tea. 'Right then! Well, as you may have guessed, Daryl showed up at the gypsy camp in Sonora where I was visiting with Marta's mother...'and she proceeded to detail her kidnapping and consequent enshrined entrapment at Casa Rivera.
 '"Don Diego" he is calling himself now! Can you believe it?'
Jack looked at Yeats, both men frowning now. 'This is the house on Nob Hill?'
'Yes. And look at this...' Emmeline opened her cameo and  revealed her mothers' photograph within. 'Daryl gave me some
clothing for work and other items, encluding this cameo of my mother. He also showed me a photograph, taken on the front steps of our same house, of him with my mother and father!'
'The devil you say...' Jack couldn't help himself. 'When was it taken?'
'Oh, 1860 he guessed. He didn't know exactly. It was before I was born.'Em glanced at him questioningly. She was hoping they would have more answers than questions.
'...Jack? Did you know they were acquainted?'
Jack was leaning forward, head in hand, and was rubbing his
chin in deliberation. '...actually, no, I didn't know. It's a surprise, rather.' He gazed up, eyebrow raised. 'Daryl's doings are pretty much a mystery, to me especially. I was always away at school...and he was banished from my fathers' house.' He sighed. 'I have only what I've gleaned from living at his old estate, and well, hearsay...'
'It does put quite a new twist on old mysteries...'Aleister opined.
'Well, you haven't heard anything yet!' Em leaned forward as well. 'He recently took me to a teashop on Russian Hill, a sortof antique store-cum-cafe, which was ran by a Russian woman, where he feted us in grand style and also gave me some royal hyperbole about our families, Jack, yours and mine, and how there is a connection somehow.' Jack was all ears. Emmeline looked down, trying to recall Daryl's ramblings.'...yes, something about a  Welsh prince, Madoc, a Bowen ancestor, which is my mother's maiden name, who had discovered America by way of Mobile Bay--this I know is a true legend, at least, I had heard of it from my cousins on the distaff side while I was there visiting, long ago...anyway...these Welsh sailors met with a tribe of Indians...'
'...the Mandan,' Jack supplied.
'Yes! Exactly! And they settled among them, teaching them Welsh apparently, and intermarrying...many of the tribe later had blue, grey and hazel eye colors.'
'Well,' Jack sat back, hands on knees. 'That explains our consanguinity, Em! Way back, on my mother's side as well, I have Mandan blood.'
'Jewish and Indian, and Dutch and now a wee bit Welsh as well, Jack? Interesting...'
Aleister looked at Jack as if he were studying a new  specimen. Luckily, Jack was used to Al's scientifically enquiring mind.
'Well, we're all a melting pot here in America,' Yeats supplied at last, who had been quietly taking in all the latest.
Em wasn't fazed, she was mentally adding it all up, hoping for an answer. '...also Daryl mentioned something about Elizabeth's court astrologer, John Dee--he,too, was related to Prince Madoc, or so he claimed.'
'...think I've heard something about that, now,'Jack mused.
Yeats stood then, pouring more tea all around. 'Yes, but what does it mean? And what has Daryl in mind for Emmeline?'
'I may have an idea...'Em ventured, taking a sip. 'Daryl mentioned that the Welsh, like most Kelts, have the odd bent for second sight, and for having interconnections with the Sidhe; he also said they excelled in time travel and walking between worlds.'
'As do most native tribes,and indigenous peoples of all lands,' Jack added.
'Possibly, when the two bloodlines combine...?' Aleister suggested, 'You have a good subject for timewalking through many dimensions.' Al considered this thoughtfully.
'When bloodlines combine...'Em was gazing at her left ring finger, and sighed. 'When I was in Sonora, at the gypsy festival, I met the gypsy king's daughter, Josephina...' Em smiled then. 'She was wonderful...truly...I wish I had been able to get to know her better! But, before Daryl came along, we spent a little time together and, we became blood-sisters.' Emmeline showed them her krys knife cut, now mostly healed.
'Hm...interesting,'Jack took her hand, studying the mark. 'It is rare that gypsies would take a stranger, and a gringa, gorgia, into their family so readily!'
'She read my palm...and gave me warning, although I didn't realize it then for what it was. The thing is, Jack,'Em paused, gazing at him,'Daryl has the same mark. He showed it to me, intending I take note of it.'
Jack looked at Yeats then. He stood at the mantle, leaning his chin in hand, deep in conjecture, but merely uttered a low, 'Hmmm...'
'Also...on the night he abducted me, he made certain I brought the artefact with me.'
Em had their full attention. 'And where is it now?' asked Yeats.
'It is safe, in my room at Daryl's house. Oddly, he only gazed at it and returned it to me. As far as I know, he hasn't touched it since.' She looked at them all, curious.
'That IS a mystery,' Aleister shook his head, and went to rummage in his humidor, drawing forth a cigarillo.
'A 'two-pipe problem', doctor?' Em enquired, slyly.
'Ah Emmeline...' The good doctor lit up with the tip of some small kindling, '...we have missed your wit of late, my dear.' He smiled. Good of the lass to have endured all she had with such grace. He wished that she would give her adventuring a bit of a rest, however. She looked much too thin and wan since he'd last seen her.
'As your physician, though, my girl, I urge you to take things easy for awhile, whenever you can. How is your health now?' The unrepentant smoking doctor enquired.
Em felt she'd been found out in some guilty plot, but his concern warmed her spirit. 'Oh, I'm much better now...I'd taken  ill when I was on the road with the Guevara's...we'd days of rain without a break and I came down with bronchitis...'The doctor frowned, puffing like a steam train, and went for his black bag, Em noted,'...but I'm quite well now! Truly, Aleister!' He'd sat next to her now, tossing his cigarillo into the fire, and was taking out his stethoscope, '...only an occasional cough...'she added weakly,knowing she had said too much already. Oh, dear, she shouldn't have brought it up, she realized; good friends though they were, they could be overly solicitous, which only read: 'controlling' in Em's book.
'Just wish to check your lungs, my dear. You seem to be well enough...but just to be sure.' Al had his physician's cap on now so Em had no choice but to go along. 'Deep breath now!'
Meanwhile Jack wasn't looking happy. 'A word, Mr. Yeats, if you please...?' And the two of them repaired to the foyer. Oh dear, that didn't bode well. What were they cooking up now?
Em's first intimations of unease crept in. She simply wished everyone would treat her as an equal and not some china doll...
Aleister meanwhile put his things away and took Em's hand. 'You'll be fine, I'm sure.' He patted it gently. 'But!' He frowned at her, concerned. 'You are much too thin, my dear.
You lost much weight, and quickly too. Your lungs have been weakened. You need to repair cells, now, with good nourishing food, and rest!' A final pat, then he held her hand in both of his. 'Promise me. As an old friend.You have been under considerable stress.'
Em couldn't stand much more gentle regard or she would soon become teary. She patted his hand in turn. 'Of course, Aleister! Doctor!' she amended, nodding. 'I feed very well at Daryl's, really...we have a wonderful girl, Rosa, who is an excellent cook, and she lets me help in the kitchen as well.
We recently made pumpkin tamales...' Em smiled, hoping to lighten the mood.
Al wasn't to be so easily placated. He tilted his chin up and gazed into her eyes. 'And do you sleep? Not working too hard, or too long?'
Oh, goodness...well, this is what friends are for, and Al was only doing his duty. 'Yes, papa doc! I sleep...alright, as much as I ever can...and it's only part time work at the library.'
'Papa Doc!' Aleister busted out a laugh. 'Did you hear that Jack? "Papa Doc!" Am I such an old dictator, then?' He still was chuckling.
Yeats and Jack returned smiling, but still looking concerned.
'Ah, she doesn't know...' he turned to her, 'Papa Doc Duvallier was a fearsome Haitian dictator in the 20th century, Em.'
'Far from a 'seven-dwarf' connotation, I take it!'Em smiled,
relaxing again.
'Definately.' Jack sat on the other side of Em. 'Emmeline...
you do know that our concern for you is genuinely for your own safety, and health as well. Please, Em,' he took her hand now that Aleister had relinquished it, 'We aren't about to become dictators ourselves,' he glanced up at Yeats,'but, promise us, you will take the utmost care in dealing with Daryl. And, well,'he looked down then, black forelock falling over one eye as she had seen so often before, 'We worry about you, girl...'
Emmeline squeezed his hand. 'Of course Jack, Al, Mr. Yeats!
You know I appreciate your concern. And I shall be cautious. And, yes  doctor, I will try to rest and eat well enough, you may be sure!'
The clock struck the hour of 8pm and Yeats spoke then, 'Don't worry, Em, when you are returned, it will only be half past six and just minutes after you left the hall. I think though, that this should be enough for now, and we can reconnoiter again after we have had some time to research this new information.' He came to her then and bent to take her hand in his. 'Take care, my dear. Nothing chancy, what!' His eyebrows bristled as he gazed intently down. Em nodded, smiling.'Very well. Jack shall usher you back whence you came, then.' And giving Aleister a meaningful glance, he took his leave, with Al following,after laying a brotherly hand upon her shoulder and giving further encouragment of food and rest...and at last, Emmeline and Jack were alone together.
'Well, Jack! I suppose I should retrieve my things from upstairs first!'
'Yes, of course, Em!' Jack roused himself and escorted her to the stairs, Dylan decided to shepherd them both.
Em looked back at their dogged companion. 'He is a sociable creature, isn't he?' She smiled. 'He is awfully cute, Jack. I'm glad you got a watch dog, in training.'
'Someday, yes...we're working on it,' Jack assured her, as he unlocked the door to her room, and surprisingly, turned on the light, a low, round blue globe hanging in one corner.
'Ah! You're wired now!' Em noted the cool blue glow with approval.
'Umm, not exactly. We're wireless, but it's Tesla technology, not satellite or similar frequency waves. It doesn't interfere with human biology and the body's own electromagnetic system, unlike some 21st century experiments with wireless...but I digress! Here are your things, Em, we kept them in this trunk...'
Em rummaged about, finding her identification papers and a few other items she deemed would come in handy. She couldn't very well return with more than she'd came with which would raise questions.
'Well, this is about all I really need anyway...' She gazed about. 'How odd it seems to be back here...' She breathed in, noting the new grass smell of the tatami mat, which Dylan also delighted in, sniffing eagerly.
'You're a good boy, aren't you, Dylan?' Em bent down and petted the pup in friendly fashion which set his tail whirling like the blade in a ceiling fan. She righted herself and gazed out the window...
 'Ah, Jack...'she turned, and regarded him, smiling. 'I have missed you. And this place...Al, Mr. Yeats...you still see Jethro and Homer...?' Em's voice trailed off softly.
'I do. I was nearly living at Homer's after...you left.' Jack felt like saying he'd been seeing Sugar as well, but his smarter side told him to cork it.
Em nodded, looking down. 'It, hasn't been easy Jack.' She took his hand, surprisingly, and gazed at him. 'I have missed you.'
Jack wasn't sure if he was hearing right. But he'd take a sweet illusion over a sour reality any day. Still, he didn't quite know how to act around Em. Tread carefully, then, old man.
'Well. We're always here if you need us. You know that, Em.'
He squeezed her hand.
Hm. That 'we' wasn't what Em was expecting. Could it have possibly been a royal 'we'? She sighed.
 Well, so then, things had changed...
 'Thank you, Jack.' She rallied and took up her bag. 'I suppose I'm ready, then!'
Jack ushered her out, Dylan following, and locked the door.
'Your room is ever ready for you, Em.'
Well, she supposed there was still that, at least. How would that be, then? Could she live here like a sister to Jack, watching him escort his lady loves out on the town? And, after...?
Oh, not bloody likely...
Em stopped on the landing, waiting for him to catch up. 'Look. You can see the moon from here, just over that big oak tree.'
'Yes.'Jack came to her side, gazing at the clear autumn sky.
'I often stand here, just for the view sometimes...'
'San Francisco...is often foggy nights...' Em murmured, 'I haven't seen stars since Sonora...'
Jack couldn't bear it. He gently took her arms and turned her toward him. 'Emmelina...I can't tell you how much I regret the turn things have taken, and all because of Daryl!' He raised a hand then, gazing down, 'I know, I know: yet another mad Van Horn, wild with abduction obsessions!'
She listened quietly, not having the heart to tell him that she had thought exactly that... Not that she believed it of Jack any longer.
He looked at her again. 'Please tell me you don't blame me...'
'Jack!' The very idea! 'Of course I don't! How is your Uncle Daryl's actions at all under your control?' She held onto his arms as well. 'I don't think any less of you for this. Jack, you have done nothing but give me aid of late. I'm not confused about who is to blame, believe me!'
He sighed. 'Alright. Thank you, Em.' He regarded her, shaking his head slightly. 'Em, how I've worried...I've missed you so...'
She looked down then. Maybe he wasn't...otherwise occupied.
'Jack...'
He tilted her chin up, gazing at her. 'Let me help you. Just give me a chance, Em...' He wasn't waiting any longer. He took her cheek and slipped a hand through her hair, bringing her to his lips.
Em felt herself being kissed suddenly, and oh, my...what a good feeling it was. She melted into Jack's kiss, leaning into him, and wrap'd her arms about him, which he rewarded with a groan. Oh, that just wasn't fair...she'd been too long away...
Pulling him toward her, Emmeline pressed her mouth to his, needing to be closer, slowly moving her lips deeply onto Jack's...
...And then let go, breathing in. She looked into his eyes, which met hers with a pleading, yet fierce and hungry gaze. Closing her eyes then, she slowly, gently touched his face with her hand and caressed his lips with her tongue, lightly. Jack about went mad.
He embraced her hard and kissed her desperately, needing to drink her in like a man finding an oasis in the desert...
Emmeline lost herself then, feeling the room spin about her...suddenly, she found herself held away from Jack, while he frowned, eyes closed. Opening them, he said,
'I, we, had better get going, Em!'He looked down, shaking his head, 'If you don't go now, I don't think I could leave you alone...'
She came to herself somewhat then. 'I, alright, Jack.' Yes, it was best. She certainly hadn't expected this so soon. Needed time to think. Should get back.
Jack was nodding his head, and ran a hand through his hair.
'Um, after you, Em...'
Em bit her lip, and turned, trying to get her bearings. Wuf! Timewalking and kissing Jack now had become a rather volatile combination. She slowly descended the stairway, stepping carefully around Dylan.
'Right then.' Jack led her into the parlor once more. 'Ready?'
'Oh, yes, I suppose so!' Emmeline flustered. 'I'll see you again soon, then?'
Jack flushed. 'Of course!' Try to keep me away, he thought!
'Whenever you wish.' He nodded. Then kissed her gently. 'Here you go, then, my lass...I'll send you safely on your way, but it's best that I not appear on the other side this time, alright? You'll be fine, I guarantee.'
Em wasn't so sure, but, 'If you say so, Jack,' she looked earnestly at him, biting her lip. Jack wished to do the same.
He kissed her once more, a bit longer this time...
'Alright!' Jack, let the girl be on her way, man! Or keep her here and duel it out with Daryl..."Don Diego", diosa what a bloody knob! He was half tempted to take that option.
Emmeline was nodding. 'I'm ready Jack. I'll be fine.' She told herself, clutching her bag with white knuckles.
'Here you go then. Adiosa, til we meet again...' Jack bent over her hand, kissed her fingers lightly, and twirled her about, as if they were at an English country dance...
And Emmeline suddenly found herself opening the exit door from whence she'd come, and entered the crowd of suffragettes, momentarily disoriented by the noise and people milling about. She dazedly found her way back to her seat.
Mrs. Peel turned around. 'Ah, Emmeline! You're back!'
Yes, she supposed she was. Em smiled like the cat who'd been tickled with canary feathers...
                           . . . . .

Photo Page 2: Daryl, Gypsies et al

 Jack and Em
steal a moment
together for tea...

             ...but what's this?
                          Wicked Uncle Daryls' musical

insinuations...

 Alone together
at last...

...but are they?

...still, no time like the present...

 ...no sooner do Jack and Em meet in the park...



Daryl whisks her away in his
handy landau....

Em demands some answers from Daryl...

But gets only more questions, and laudanum-laced cognacs....

Do you really wish to see what's on the other side of the Looking Glass?

 

Dance Dance Revolution!

 

Daryl as Don Diego

Somebody has a sideways grin...

 

Hark the Gypsies Are
Coming to Town!

 

 Daryl does play a mandolino of sorts...

Another tell-tale sign:like uncle like nephew?

Beware the fire in the fireplace, it could be someone you know!

 Jack helps himself to some
Smoking Bishop at Woody's

 Jack and Em share a
dance together at Woody's

Emmelina at the library

At home with music, alone at last... 

 

Em's holly-headed for the Solstice

Chapter 6: Mystery Meetings and Musica at the Mercado

Chapter 6: Mystery Meetings and Musica at the Mercado
Friday finally, Emmeline's last day at the library this week.
As she put her book cart in order for shelving, she ruminated upon recent events...last night she'd stolen upstairs to the Closet. The Box with the Letters was now gone. Caramba...
What could it all mean? This particular trip down the rabbit hole was beyond puzzling. Daryl's rambling tales were enough to send her head spinning. She could make nothing of them at all, as yet.
She sighed, shelving the non-fiction;000-133's: speculation. She needed time alone with pen and paper to outline it all and try to diagram some semblance of hows, wheres and whys.
At her elbow she became aware then of a tall young man with a red shock of hair who looked vaguely familiar. He touched his cap and smiled with a slight bob.
'Afternoon, miss! I was wondering about this book, here...' He held a copy of Yeats's poems, and opened to the middle. Therein nestled an envelope. 'Perhaps you would know the proper place for it then!' And with another nod, he smiled and made his exit round the shelf.
Em was tempted to follow, but knowing Manuel was ever near, she stayed where she was and pocketed the paper for later perusal. Where had she seen that boy before? ...His identity escaped her at the moment, but she seemed to place him in Pankhurst.
Oh, for the day to be overwith and she could be alone with her thoughts at long last! And have a look at this note...
                           . . . .
Our Dear Emmeline, (it began),
Yeats here, my dear, but you probably discerned as much. Jack, Aleister and I have all been concerned for your well-being of late, but it seems that you are taking matters into your own hands as much as possible, for your own detective work perhaps.
Do take care, my dear. Daryl is an enigma to all, although I personally do not think him quite the sinister figure of Jack's speculation. Do as thou wilt. But know that we are keeping watch at your back, and will stand ever ready in case you have need of our aid.
Casey will act as our squire and you may trust him to secret any correspondence to us. You may find him lurking about the library on the odd day.
Meanwhile, good luck to you, my girl. Within the other enclosed envelope you will find such as may come in handy meanwhile.
Thinking of you always,
Your Obedient Servants,
Mr. Yeats, Aleister and of course, Jack.
Well! This was a welcome surprise! Em opened the smaller evelope folded within, and found--Oh, blessed wonders! Money! Some rather large denominations! Oh, thrice-blessed filthy lucre! She clutched it to her breast and teared up momentarily. Dear old Yeats, Al and Jack... Gracias Diosa!
Emmeline sighed with relief and dabbed her eyes with a hanky. Her shoulders relaxed at last and she sat upon her bed heavily. How good it was to still have friends...and, although she was at first surprised, (and, she hated to admit it, but she felt rather slighted to have found the note to be from Yeats, and not Jack),
she knew that she truly was glad that her formerly interferring knights in shining armor, were leaving her to her own devices, whilst offering their services, only if requested this time. Well,
it beats being abducted into a different timeline. She'd quite enough of that.
Em thought about it all for a moment, recalling some of Daryl's
loose lecture... She had presumed that she'd been thus sought after simply because she was her scientist fathers' daughter. But in light of Uncle Daryl's information, perhaps it was her mothers' bloodline that was equally coveted. By some.
She'd a sudden realization then: perhaps that was why her father had married her mother? A chilling thought. But one that should not be discounted, she told herself. But why, then, the animosity of her father toward herself? She'd always assumed he was simply grieving...but she knew he had never been much of a father figure.
He'd never been much about, at all, even when she was very young.
Em had located a loose floorboard underneath her rug and therein secreted the envelope with most of the money. She longed to save the note as well, but thought better of it. She would burn it soon as she may...
Opening her bedroom door, she peered into the hallway, listening.
No one seemed about at the moment, so she crept with the note pocketed, into the parlor. The fire had just been built up against the evenings' damp chill, and glancing over her shoulder, she tossed the note, dear and dangerous, into the flames. Watching it burn, she thought she heard distant voices...
She walked quietly to the back stairway. Yes. Daryl and Rosa seemed to be arguing about something. She took a couple of steps up the stairway, listening...they seemed to be outside the Closet.
'How came you by the box? All this was never to be out of my chambers! Whatever were you thinking to bring it in here!?' Daryl seemed to be angry. She'd never really seen him thus. Menacing, yes...but not angry.
Rosa murmured something about thinking it was only boots, hats, clothing which he, himself, Don Diego, had ordered her to gather in here for Emmeline's perusal...they spoke together again, Daryl gruffly, Rosa apologetically, and Em heard Daryl's boots upon the hallway then. She backed quietly down the steps and headed into the parlor...
Hmmm...so it was Rosa who put the Box there, not Daryl. He certainly did not want Emmeline to find it. Was it only Rosa's innocent mistake then, or something else? Did Rosa wish her to see something that Daryl would not approve of? Em was consumed with curiousity about the bloody Box now...and Rosa as well.
                              . . . .
Sundays boasted a sort of bustling Farmers Market about the local square and Emmeline wheedled a morning out shopping with Rosa from Daryl's efficient stewardship. Naturally, however, Manuel was also dispatched to offer 'help'...
The trio strolled about the market booths full of new fall bounty; apples and squashes were coming in now. My, how fast has flown this year, Emmeline allowed, eyeing the cornucopia of produce. The women gaily loaded dour Manuel's arms with netted bags full of groceries and he dutifully trudged to and fro, loading the carriage with provender.
'Oh, pumpkin empanadas, already!' Rosa eagerly headed to the baker's booth, with Em closely upon her heels. Em treated Rosa and Manuel to the tasty Mexican tarts and they enjoyed a moment together, seated upon a bench with their baker's booty. 'Umm, not bad!' Em admitted. 'I bet you could do better, though, Rosa!'
'Rosa makes the best empanadas,' Manuel deigned to open his mouth for more than a bite. Em smiled. She rarely heard this taciturn Indian offer his opinion.
'I thank you, Manuel.' Rosa surveyed her pastry. 'I could make a lighter crust, I do believe. You know what is best though? Pumpkin tamales, with chilies!'
'Umm. Si. Tamales de Calabasa...' Manuel got a dreamy look in his eyes, like some men do when thinking of their beloved.
'That sounds delicioso!' Em agreed. 'Do we have the ingredients?'
Rosa became animated. 'Well...let's see..we will need cuaresemeno, jalapeno chilies...and epazote leaves...' They all paused and sat silently a moment.
'Calabasas,' said Manuel. They looked at each other and laughed.
'Alright then!' Em decided. 'Whatever we need, our mission is now
pumpkin tamales!'
'Mission, si.' Manuel nodded. 'In the Mission Dolores district, we could find all we need.'
'Is it far?' Em enquired.
'No, no...'Rosa stood, dusting flour from her hands. 'I'm sure we can find what we need near here.' She pointed across the park. 'I saw some chilies and herb sellers just over there.' She gathered her bags. 'Come, Manuel. You know what we're looking for.'
'I'll wait here, if you don't mind,' Emmeline stayed seated. 'I'm a bit tired of walking. I promise I shan't stray, Manuel!'
He stood, looking undecided, then Rosa took his arm, steering him away. 'We shall return successful!' And, at last, just like that, Em found herself alone in public. A rarity indeed!
                                . . . .
Emmeline lay her head against the back of the bench, luxuriating in her now-found freedom, however illusory. She momentarily closed her eyes, feeling the sun warm her face and listening to the sounds of the busy mercado...suddenly she felt the wooden bench shift as someone sat beside her. She opened her eyes and stared into Jack's familiar blue-grey gaze.
She sat up, but before she could utter a sound, he put a finger to his lips. 'Em, don't worry. I'm just paying a...brief social visit.' He spread his hands, as if displaying his innocence.
Emmeline looked about, hoping that Manuel was occupied elsewhere for the nonce. 'You're taking an awful chance, Jack!'
Jack simply leaned back against the bench. He seemed casual and unruffled as could be. 'Not to worry. Manuel and Rosa will be busy awhile...' He nodded across the park to where a small band of musicians began playing and Em noticed her two companeros were engrossed in the musica.
Emmeline and Jack looked at one another. Neither said a word. They then began to smile, and Em laughed at last. 'I must admit it is good to see a friendly face, Jack.'
Jack nodded, acknowledging her cautious acceptance of his presence.
Still, he said nothing, merely smiled.
'Thank you all, for the note and...'
Jack held up a hand. 'Da nada,' he said at last.
'Well, it has been...quite the year, already.'Emmeline sighed. 'I never know what to expect from one day to the next...it hasn't been easy. But, I wish to know what Daryl is up to, Jack.' She regarded him earnestly. 'Already I've discovered some intriguing information...if it is actually true...'
Jack looked at her with a slight frown now. But made no move or protest. Emmeline found this absolutely astonishing. She thought he would leap upon any and all information regarding her and Daryl.
She cleared her throat and continued:
'He claims to have researched our family lineage; yours, and mine, Jack. In depth.'
Jack looked away then, sighed softly. 'I don't doubt it.' He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Manuel and Rosa were heading for the carriage, Manuel with an armload of small calabasas.
Em's gaze followed his. 'It's fascinating,in its' way, truly, Jack. I do wish I could speak with you regarding it all...?' She looked at him inquiringly.
'Not just yet, Em.' His response she found oddly disappointing. It wasn't like Jack to be so, unconcerned. He smiled at her. 'But, soon perhaps.' He took her hand then, and placed a soft kiss upon her fingers, and stood. 'I must go. It was a mad chance I took coming here. Yeats would have my hide.' He grinned that familiar sideways smile, the old Jack showed through then. 'I had to see you though, Em. Make sure you're alright.' He patted her hand in brotherly fashion, and looked up to see Manuel and Rosa heading back their way. 'Must run, cara. Adiosa, for now.'
'Hasta luego, Jack?' Emmeline felt bereft, suddenly.
He turned back, smiled and nodded, then disappeared into the crowd.
                                   . . . .
The night found Jack returned to Crowley House, his taboo tableau
with Emmeline successfully undetected, and was now, as usual, pacing about his practice room, trying to marshall his energies toward fighting forms. But his mind raced like a loco caballo, galloping over the hills and coming ever to rest upon the City, so close, yet so far, and Emmeline there with Daryl, for whatever purpose; she was under his trust, and at his none too tender mercies...Lord and Lady, but it was a bitter truth to swallow...
he frowned into the darkness. She found Daryl 'fascinating'.
Peachy.
 O, dammit man...she'd been Shanghai'd; poor girl.
And only by Van Horns. He looked up and begged forgiveness from his ancestors both past and future, for his impulsive rescues miscontrued.
Jack sighed hard and came to the window, leaned on the sill and bowed his head. He gazed outside, watching Aleister and Dylan play fetch at the end of the dusky dying day. He couldn't shake the feeling that Emmeline should be here, too...if not living here, then at least within...reach. She was part of their little family, he felt, the only one he had left; as they were hers.
He smiled as Dylan made a wild leap for the stick, twisting himself into a pretzel, falling over, and scrambling for the prize as Al
laughed heartily. Em would so love Dylan, he knew...he longed to recount the tale of Alice the Bear Warrior to her, and to hear all her stories as well.
Yeats was off on one of his mystery trips, but had made it clear that Jack was to back off from this one, and he had been uber serious this time. Jack had dared make the Timeleap to the park only because his madness had reached a peak and he couldn't help himself;especially after hearing Casey's recounting of the beauteous library lady and how chuffed he was to have pulled off his secret agent errand with book and note...
Jack ran a hand through his tangled locks, getting long again, and admitted defeat. He hadn't the focus for practice at the moment. He'd gotten away with his meeting with Em, and was determined to play safe now, and bide his time, leaving further tactics to Yeats...though it gnawed at his solar plexus thinking of Emmeline living under the same roof as Daryl. His jaw clenched. Best not think of it...
Soon, he told himself. If he just kept a cool head, perhaps, with Yeats's assistance, they could all meet with Emmeline and discuss the situation, calmly, and without causing suspicion  or upset.
Steady on, Jack. You'll get there. He put a hand against his knotted stomach muscles, thinking: right...if he didn't get an ulcer first...
                              . . . .
Later that same evening, Emmeline pled her case for early retirement and sighed in relief as she could close her bedroom door at last and have time alone with her thoughts.
Seeing Jack, she had to concede, had been the highlight of her day.
(That and Rosa's pumpkin tamales! Such a delight to the tongue!
She stayed to help in the kitchen as much as Rosa would allow and could replicate the receta, she was sure...)
She propped her pillows against the headboard and lay awake ruminating awhile...Jack would have loved those tamales...
Calabasas already...where had the year gone? It would soon be September. She thought of Solstice tamales soon come December. Could she reconcile herself to staying here at Casa del Secretos
that long? What would she tell her sister Amelie? She had to get to work on discovering Daryl's plans and the reasons behind them.
He hadn't approached her regarding the artefact, or even so much as mentioned it. Could it possibly have been be a ruse, simply to abduct her here? And why? She rubbed her forehead, trying to ease her frown. Diosa, but speculation without facts drove her barmy...Sherlock Holmes was right about that.
Well, Daryl, she had to admit, had only acted the part of her warden thus far. She refused to name him 'benefactor' as his giving --so to speak--had in her eyes, amounted only to piles of outrage and offense.  But, aside from the abduction, he had acted the
suave and proper gentleman, Don Diego; who would introduce her as his ward.
He seemed to be oddly forthcoming only with puzzle bits which Em could not piece together as yet. Which was why she had hoped to talk to Jack, or even Yeats, regarding it all.
Em sighed, gazing at the strands of dark crimson against the indigo sky above the porphyry hills, slowly being claimed by twilight and fog approaching together, twin heralds of the evening.
Yes, it had been a fine thing to see Jack...looking fine as well she smiled to herself. Could it be, she missed him now?
She pensively brushed her nubby chenile bedspread...Jack had seemed...what was it, exactly? He was polite. Quiet. Reserved. Yes, that was what was different. Perhaps it was only their time apart which had caused him to act thus.But in her mind, she could almost hear Alice's voice saying to her: 'What do you expect, my dear? You ran from the man who only offered you sanctuary and solid assistance.' He hadn't been chasing her...and it had been she who had kissed him...Emmeline touched a finger to her lips, closing her eyes. Such a wild and hurried night it had been, when she fled with the Guevaras into the unknown with avenging desperados and the law on their tails...
It had seemed so long ago. Em opened her eyes then, her hand fell beside her. Of course. Oh, Emmeline, you fool. Of course it was long ago...Jack had offered his all, and you had refused it and ran. He was only a man, after all, and not a saint. Em fell over upon the bed, onto her side. He's found someone else by now. Of course...diosa, what an idiota she was.
Well, Em: you got what you wanted, then, didn't you? You just wanted to be free. She sighed. She was free of Jack, but not the Van Horns, entirely, she told herself with a wry sideways smile.
Get a grip, girl. What did you expect, indeed? That Jack would be waiting for you, forever? And do you really wish for that?
Caramba. She felt like slapping herself. How contrary was the human heart. When pursued, she wished only to flee. But now that Jack is reserved and aloof, she now felt frustrated by his distance. It is entirely my problem and not his, she decided. And there are much larger issues to be dealt with besides my wounded little ego, Em scolded herself, wiping unbidden tears away. She'd just gone abit loco momentarily, she lectured herself. And as she lay there alone in the Casa del Secretos, night closed in upon her and sleep stole her worries away for a time, into suenas of sweet tamales...
                           . . . .
 Tamales de Calabasa
receta soon to come...

Chapter 5: Dining With the Devil

Chapter 5: Dining With the Devil
The next morning Emmeline was unceremoniously deposited at
the library by her...warden, 'Don Diego', and when she and Manuel disembarked from the coach, Daryl made his departure for points unknown. Em sighed, as they climbed the stairway to the building. She'd been unable to access the Closet again last evening and it'd been much on her mind all night. She was determined to get some answers, from somewhere.
As they walked to the portico, she heard a thin but sweet voice and a banjo's strum around the side of the building.
Em glanced briefly at Manuel, then strode over to investigate. She saw a bedraggled and lean young woman,
picking and singing in a high clear voice:
'I am an orphan on God's highway
Gotta share my troubles
When you go my way
I have no mother no father
No sister no brother
I am an orphan girl
I have had friendships pure and golden
But ties of kinship, I have not know them
I know no mother, no father, no sister,
No brother...I am an Orphan Girl...'
It tugged Em's heartstrings and with abit of the allowance Daryl had given her for tea, she put some coins in the girl's tin cup, for which she was awarded with a brief nod before she continued her song.
'Musn't be late, miss,' Manuel was at her side then.
Emmeline turned and headed into the lobby, and another
days' work. When was payday she wondered? Though her circumstances were now on a temporarily even keel, she'd be needing some real cash  soon. Daryl kept her on a short leash,she knew, hating the word 'kept'...and 'leash' was much worse.
She wasn't exactly an orphan girl...she'd her sister, who she heartily hoped, knew nothing of Emmeline's mad escapades, escapes, abductions, flights across the border and back... She kept in touch with Amelie but inconsistently; they were both on the go often, so the sisters were used to long periods of being incommunicado.  It had been awhile though...some months.
She'd enquire about an address from Daryl, and see what that would get her.
Em took her leave from Manuel and after greeting the redoubtable Mrs. Peel, who seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once, she was finding, she headed in the back room and got to work at check-in. Today's pile wasn't as horrendous as before, and she'd actually more time to spend in the stacks.
It was good hard work, and Emmeline enjoyed getting to know the library. She had to drag herself away from the many books of interest; so much information here, much more diverse than  Pankhurst. It was like finding buried treasure for a book fiend like Em...
And so the day passed quickly. She was again in the stacks her last hour shelving. She rounded a shelf with her book cart and nearly ran over someone.
'Emmeline?' Asked an oddly recognizable voice. She glanced up to find herself face-to-face with an old co-worker from
Pankhurst Public. 'Emmeline Page! It IS you!'
Good goddess! It was that great idiot, Arnold Schadenfreude!
'Arnold?' She asked. She couldn't believe it.
Arnold barked out a laugh and Em shushed him with a frown.
'I'll be quiet!  So, you work here now? You certainly look well, Em.'He stared at her intently.
'Yes,' she quietly answered. 'I only just started. A temporary job.' My stars. Arnold. How much did he know about what had gone on in Pankhurst prior to her departure?
And, the jailbreak before that...? Em was too surprised to
think.
'Yes, you look really, really good!' Arnold was staring at her like she was the only meat pie on the table at the orphanage. 'Lost weight, eh?'
'I've been ill,' Em answered quietly. 'Quite ill.'
'Well you look great!' Diosa, what an idiot! How to get rid of him?
'It's near the end of my shift, I really must go...'
'Sure, sure...I was just checking on employment here in the City. You know Pankhurst had another wave of discharges.Guess they'd enough of old Arnold as well...'
he grimaced. 'Down to a skeleton crew there now.' His gaze narrowed at Em. Wondering how she got on here, no doubt.
'Well, good to see how well you're looking, Em. Good day then.' He still stared at her with the uncomfortabe intensity of a wolf stalking a stray sheep. Em nodded and
took her book cart to the back room. Wuf! That was certainly an unwelcome eye-opener.
Em was just putting away her cart, signing out for the day and as she pulled on her gloves, she'd much to muse upon. She hadn't quite recovered from Arnold's onslaught;
diosa, were all men such unfeeling dolts? She'd a notion that if she'd said, 'I was at deaths' door,' the bloody
moron would have simply commented, 'Well it certainly suits you!' How depressing. She was finding less and less upon which to recommend the male species. They seemed all appetite, with no brain and certainly no heart, to her, of late. Had somewhat to do with her recent experiences no doubt. Although...her old nemesis at Pankhurst were women in the main, whilst her male friends: Jack, Marco,Jethro & Woody...all stood ground with her.
Just bad luck of late, Em.
She exited into the lobby, peering about for Manuel, but for once, didn't see his tall dark person lurking as usual. She wandered into the study room beyond and there at a table, beneath the green-shaded desk lamp, sat Daryl, books spread about him, seemingly deep in research.
Well. I wonder what all this portends...Emmeline walked slowly over to his table. 'Find an interesting book?'
Daryls' gaze slowly left the page he was  perusing and  refocused upon her hovering presence. 'Ah! Emmeline!--that time already?' He withdrew his pocket watch, checked the time. 'Sorry.' He closed his watch. 'Yes, actually, I have found several. Do have a seat.'
What else could she do but sit. Like a pet schnauzer. Or a schlemiel. Daryl pushed a book before her. 'Have you eaten today?'
Nice of him to enquire. Finally. 'I took a tamale from Rosa, for lunch.'
'Ah. Good. We shall dine out later then. I managed to locate at least two books I'd like you to see this,' he showed her the cover--'Indian Tribes of the United States;
A Compendium' and this as well:' he pushed to her the book he'd been delving into,'The Mystery of the Moundbuilders'.
'Ah, I think...we'll also take this one,'he gathered them together with a last: 'Antebellum History of the Louisiana and Mississippi Territories and Southern States, encluding
Spanish East Florida'.
 'That should do for now,' Daryl scooped his papers together into a leather briefcase, and stacking the three books he enquired, 'Ready for an early dinner?'
Emmeline nodded, wondering what was on Daryl's devious mind now.                           
                          . . . .
Manuel was waiting atop the coach in the driver seat, as they clambered in and he turned the horses toward Russian Hill. Before reaching the top, they came to a halt before a rather non-descript shop front. They debarked and Daryl handed Manuel some coins and off went the coach. 'Shall we?' Daryl offered his arm to Em as they approached the shop, although Emmeline couldn't discern the reason why.
The door opened to the tinkle of a bell, and into a dark jumble of antiques amongst second-hand goods they entered.
However, Emmeline detected a warm and welcoming aroma of
delicious cooking from somewhere within. The scent recalled the Czech restaurant in the City the Captain had chosen for their New Year's Eve party...so long ago, now.
At the back of the shop, a woman looked up and acknowledged them with a smile. 'Ah, Don Diego, we haven't had your company in some time! Velcome, velcome!' She led them down a hallway and behind a beaded curtain until they at last entered into a  dining room paneled in dark wood. Circled within sat ornately etched brass tables with  samovars  while cozy intimate booths lined the walls, comfortably padded in deep reds, but mostly empty at this hour. In fact, only two other tables had any customers to boast of, both taking tea.
 The only others in the room were a violinist and a man with a sort of lute-like instrument. They sat upon a red oriental patterned carpet on a small stage surrounded by tapestries and framed by another beaded curtain. They had sheet music between them whereupon they  made notations, speaking softly together in a foreign tongue. Russian, Em presumed.
'Speciba, Yvanna,' Daryl said, as the woman, a tall ashen haired matron, showed them to a booth at the back.
'Tea?' she enquired. Daryl smiled and nodded, as he ushered Em to her plush bench and taking his seat across from her, stacked his books upon the table while stowing his briefcase beside him.
 Yvanna rolled a cart to their table upon which sat a steaming samovar on a tray set with glasses. The two musicians looked up then, taking note of them.
Daryl smiled  their way, and they acknowledged him with a nod.  They studied Emmeline intently as well and the violinist made some comment to the other man, whereupon they chuckled together, and the lute player began to pluck out a slow tune in a minor key.
Yvanna expertly poured their glasses of tea, held round by carved brass handles, and set a dish of tea cakes upon the table along with menus. 'I shall return. We have caviar in but hours ago today, quite fresh!' she recommended, then left them to peruse the menu.
Daryl smiled her way and held his glass to Emmeline. 'Salud' she said, as she clinked with his, beating him to the toast. She wasn't about to give up her Espanol so soon.
Daryl wasn't biting. He sighed and seemed to relax further down into his seat, leaning back. 'Do try a Russian Tea Cake. They're the best on the Barbary Coast.'
Em had no problem with complying. 'Ummm, deliciosa!' she exclaimed, dabbing the powdered sugar from her lips with her scarlet napkin. 'Mexican Wedding Cookies are my favorite.'
Daryl smiled his scalene smile as he shook his head slightly, acknowledging Emmeline's perverse contrariness.  'They are much the same,' he agreed with good humor, biting into the buttery goodness.
Emmeline looked about, taking in the atmosphere. Her gaze settled upon the musicians. 'What sort of instrument is he playing? It looks rather like a lute...'
'Ah. It's a balalaika. Wonderful, aren't they?' Em nodded, missing her mandolin and Carlos. She looked down then, quiet. Daryl seemed to know her thoughts. '...you can always get another mandolin you know, and continue your
lessons here.'
She looked up quickly, and had to stop herself from barking at him: she wanted her mandolin, made by her mentor, and lessons only from him. She forced herself to take a sip of tea, and looked down again, not trusting herself to look at Daryl without a hard, hateful stare. 'Carlos makes the best instruments.'
Daryl leaned his head against the back of the booth. 'That he does. I've ordered my violins from him for years.' He sipped his own tea, letting that bit of news sink in.'...as well as a mandolin.'
Emmeline blinked at him. 'You play mandolin?' She frowned slightly. She didn't like the fact that Daryl played 'her' instrument. She didn't much like that he played violin so damn well, either, for that matter.
'I've been torturing the mandolin for some years now.' He remarked. 'You'd be welcome to play mine, until you get another.'He seemed to simply assume she would be accepting of his generosity. 'It was made by Carlos.'
She thought that perhaps she might glean some information from him at last. Taking another bite of cookie, she casually enquired, 'You are acquainted with Carlos?'
Daryl closed his menu. 'We'll begin with caviar. And 2 shots of vodka, on ice. Oysters.' He narrowed his gaze at her and sat up. Emmeline noticed then their hostess had somehow oozed up to the table and was taking their order.
 Em hadn't a chance to decide...although it was all rather foreign...hmmm...'The latkes and lox...'Em
knew she could depend upon them.'And perhaps a good cheese?' Emmeline closed hers as well. 'What wine do you recommend?'
'A nicely chilled California rose' I think...' Daryl surprised her with his homegrown choice. He gazed  at her sometimes intensely, at others, seemingly rather disinterested. T'was a puzzlement. She really didn't care at present. It'd been a long day and Em could use a good meal. She crammed alot of work into her four hours. More than some back home who would leave 10 minutes early for lunch when the supervisor was out...they'll probably retire with the gold watch from Pankhurst...Em was surprised at Arnold's dismissal; they liked just his sort of ardent brown noser. Perhaps when he gladhanded out champers at New Year's, he'd skipped a year. Or someone. Poor Arnold.
                     . . . . .
'Now.' Daryl had his book open. Down to business, it seemed.
Em sipped the excellent tea meanwhile, listening to the balalaika in the background and tried to relax abit; or at least put a good face on the entire 'abducted by a Van Horn again' scenario...

'What do you know of the Welsh Prince Madoc, Emmeline?'
Odd question, she thought. He'd the history book open. 'Hmmm...' the name sounded familiar to her. Something her cousins on the distaff side had mentioned when the family had long ago taken the train southeast to visit her Grandmother Bowen. Although her  mother had taken the name 'Page' herself, her maiden name was Bowen, nonetheless. After returning from that trip, Em assumed because of the distance involved, they became rather estranged from her mothers' relations. As a young woman she had gone to live with the Pages, friends of the family.This Em knew, she simply hadn't delved that deeply into questions of the past. The present was too demanding of her time and energy.
'I vaguely recall my cousins saying something when we were at Mobile Bay...about a Welsh Prince who had actually discovered America and he was a Bowen as well.'
Daryl eyed her over his open page. 'Indeed.' He turned the book around to show her: an old engraving of a group of men,sailors by the look of the ship in port behind them. And another picture of the same group of men hacking through the wilderness and a map showing their route heading north from Mobile Bay. The last depicted the men meeting with a band of Native Americans, dressed mostly in feathers and beads;wisely thought Em, recalling the hot and humid weather there.
'Those are who we now call the Mandan Indians. There is a legend that Prince Madoc and his men befriended the tribe, stayed and settled with them.' He looked into Emmelines' eyes with his reflective grey orbs. 'There are now legends, so called, of Indians who surprised white settlers by speaking Welsh.'
Emmeline was actually interested now, being keen on history.
'Fascinating!' She looked at the picture. 'And here in California, we have the Modoc tribe.'
'Yes,'Daryl nodded. 'Sounds quite similar to Madoc, doesn't it?'
Yvanna reappeared with a tray of oysters on the half shell, black caviar with crackers and a small wheel of cut cheese. She then set two small narrow glasses of vodka before them, and a candle in a brass carved holder and lit it with a long match. Blowing it out she enquired,'...Anything else?'
'Ummm, I think borst soon as it's ready?'
'Nearly. Another 10 minutes perhaps.'
'Excellent. We'll be fine til then. Oh, perhaps the rose' now whilst we wait. What is on tonights' menu?'
'Bif, ala the style most Californians know as a 'saurbraten' with cabbage, potatoes, carrots, apples and onions, in sour cream.'
'Sounds wonderful. Alright with you, Emmeline?' Daryl raised an eyebrow. Em nodded, thinking it sounded delicious.
 'Very good,'Yvanna nodded and took herself and her tray back to the kitchen with a rustle of skirts.
Daryl closed the book. He took one of the vodkas, and handed Em the other. 'Salud,' he deigned to offer in toast. Em smiled and clinked his glass. 'Salud,' and drank down the firewater. She didn't much care for clear liquors, reminded her of moonshine...but very, very cold vodka wasn't bad, she thought. It certainly warmed her insides.
'Do try the oysters and caviar...Yvanna has the best, and the freshest in the City...' Daryl wasn't shy about it, topping the cracker with a mound of the dark roe, and following with an oyster chaser.
Em spooned a bit of the small eggs atop her cracker and gingerly tried a taste. 'Umm!' It was good. Smoky and salty, but not overly so.
'You like?' Daryl smiled slowly.
Emmeline nodded, 'I do. It's much better than any I've tried before...not that I've had much caviar in my day.' Once before, Em admitted, and it had been the large eggs which she didn't care for, having been much too salty. She tried an oyster next, and found it fresh as well, tasting of the sea. How very fitting for a port city meal.
Yvanna was back with the bottle of rose' which she opened at table, and poured for Daryl. He nosed it, sipped, and nodded and she filled their wine glasses less than half. She also left a basket with a covered round of warm dark rye bread with caraway,scored into quarters, and a dish of fresh butter. Em then noticed her lox and latkes. She tasted a bite and closed her eyes in melting appreciation.
 'It's divine! Do they bake the bread here also?'Emmeline had torn off a piece and was buttering it, noting how well it complemented the strong cheese. 'Do help yourself...'
she nudged the latkes and lox Daryls' way. 'Wonderful.'
Daryl followed her example. 'Wait until Christmas, you'll really see some baking here.'
Emmeline wondered then...where would she be come the holiday season? She'd hardly had a minute to think. So much of her life of late had been a scrambling, recuperative, exhausting course in catching up with herself. 'How long have you been living in the city, Da...Don Diego?' She barely caught herself. She really couldn't think of him as anyone other than Daryl. But,in such a relaxed setting, she didn't feel like pulling the devils' tail just now. Go along to get along, she decided.
He chewed thoughtfully for a moment. 'Some years. The house I live in now was not mine at the time the photo was taken with your parents...'He took up his wine glass and motioned Em to do likewise. 'A toast.'
'...another?' Em smiled. 'I don't think we should toast ourselves silly before eating!'
Daryl smiled his lopsided grin.  'The last one, I promise.'
Em raised her glass. 'To a new understanding between us,'
Daryl pledged. Em thought with that would come new information and so she clinked her wineglass to his and drank.
Tall glasses of water arrived, thankfully, with the borscht, and diverted them momentarily. Emmeline was beginning to relax at last, she had to admit.
                             . . . . .
The dinner had come, and mostly gone. Emmeline couldn't believe she'd been able to eat that much. The sauerbraten was tender enough to cut with a spoon...everything redolent of much garlic, and cooked in a cabernet sauvignon. Magic.
They both sat back, drinking the last of the wine; Daryl had switched to a merlot for the main course. Emmeline felt she could easily have slept there. But they were refreshed by the entrance of more band members, a guitarist and another violinist, as well as more diners. A lively atmosphere ensued as the sun slowly headed into the bay beyond.
Twirling his wine glass in hand, Daryl raised an eyebrow. 'Do you know...that all peoples, at one time on this planet, had only brown eyes?'
Em sipped her wine slowly, set it down. 'Actually, I didn't.' Was this so? ...she wondered.
'It is true.' Daryls' smile echoed Jacks' sideways grin. 'Different eye colors were a relatively recent mutation, which seemed to happen rather suddenly.'
'Somewhat like Cro Magnon from Neanderthal?' Emmeline pronounced it correctly, ommitting the 'th' as was proper.
'Exactly.' Daryl drank. He poured more wine. 'Curious, isn't it?' He corked the bottle and
nibbled upon the cheese. 'I'll tell you something else about your Bowen family,' he added.
Emmeline was intrigued. 'Indeed?' How did he know so much about her ancestors? ...He'd said something about a common denominator betwixt his family and her own, hadn't he?
'I have studied our ancestral lines and found some fascinating facts linking both.' Again, the twirling of the wineglass, slightly hypnotic, as the violinists began a slow,
minor-key waltz.
'Have you heard of the name: 'John Dee'?'
Emmeline thought a moment.'Wasn't he Elizabeth the First's court astrologer?'
Daryl smiled. 'Exactly so. He and Edward Kelly rediscovered the Enochian alphabet. Kelly claimed it was given him by the angels.'
Em had heard about this... Her Druidic studies touched upon Dee and Kelly briefly. She sipped slowly the dark wine. 'Yes. Our Druid gatherings back in Pankhurst studied many aspects of the Keltic magics.'
But Daryl was wandering down seemingly unconnected pathways tonight. 'Yes...' he stared down into his wineglass. '...and
later, when the Mandan Indians met with other white people, the
European settlers were amazed to find natives who spoke Welsh, and many had blue, grey, and hazel eyes...'
Em waited, wondering where all this was heading.
Daryl sighed. 'John Dee, also claimed to be related to Prince Madoc.'
'I see.' Ems' brow furrowed. Did she, though? She needed to ponder all of this information with a clear head when she had time to herself. She gazed upon the musicians onstage; the others had joined in with the violinists. She now appreciated that they were obviously a practiced band with excellent timing together.
But Daryl was murmuring still. '...the Welsh were thought a bit wild and fey, you know. More so than the Irish, even.' He smiled and raised that inquiring eyebrow.
Emmeline thought about that. It's true; she thought back to her times in England, and the odd ideas that Keithcliff and the British had about the Welsh...'..."she's a wild one, that! Welsh, you know,"  and he'd nod at a dark, fetching lass.
The English somehow considered them barely a step 'above' the gypsies. This irritated Emmeline, yet made her feel proud and fey herself. She knew the Welsh were mad fighters, like the Viking berserkers. And the English had found them a right challenge to 'subdue'. Perhaps, like the Irish and the Scots, they were simply biding their time...waiting for Arthur and Merlin to return.
'...the character Arthur was most likely based upon...was very much Roman, you know...culturally,'Daryl again surprised and annoyed her by his mind-reading. 'But the Merlin...he was something else again.'
The musicians had been slowly speeding up their tune and were now smiling and tapping their feet to a lively song that set several tables of diners clapping along in accompaniment, with occasional shouts of encouragement.
'Was he now?' Em replied. 'How so?' She finished her wine. Daryl began to pour more, but she smilingly held her hand over her glass and he poured himself the remainder.
'The Merlin, and the Welsh... were able to walk between worlds.' Daryl shot her an intense look suddenly, grey eyes narrowing.
Emmeline was nonplussed. 'You mean Timewalking?' she wondered.
'Not only that. But he had mastered the ability to walk through Time, as well as Dimensions, and Other Worlds.' He drank and then twirled his glass. '...the Irish and Scots were hunted as witches, for this art. But the Welsh truly excelled at it.'
Emmeline thought about the Irish legends of being seduced by the fey, the Gentry, fairy folk, who led unsuspecting comely young lads and lasses into their Enchanted Realms...
'...Yes...' Daryl's grey eyes reflected the candlelight, 'And,
when these ensorcelled young folk were returned to their villages, they found that Time had passed them by, and their
kinsfolk and comrades had grown old, while they had not.'
Emmeline looked at Daryl. In the candles' golden glow, Daryl looked much like Jack. They could pass as brothers, close in age.
'...Not such an enviable state, really,' he continued, 'They were usually shunned then as being tainted with the brush of the fey, and driven from their towns and former homes. They became wanderers, ever seeking that which was lost to them.' He drank off the last of his wine. 'Truly, you can never go home again.'
The musicians finished the song with a flourish and the appreciative audience applauded and shouted with enthusiasm as they took their bows.
'Well!' Daryl suddenly roused himself. 'Time has indeed, flown.'
Again, that inquiring eyebrow was raised. 'Would you care for anything else?'
Em shook her head. 'I could not possibly take another bite!' So much delicious food and drink...to wash down the incredible tales Daryl fed her as well. But, she had seen, and experienced herself, such strange byroads of late, that she should perhaps study the fantastic subjects he broached more in depth.
Especially since so many of them would seem to pertain directly  to her self... She also recalled that the naiive youths who were led astray by the faery folk, became victims and could no longer return to their homes only if they stayed to sup with their Gentry Hosts.
'...An enchanting meal this evening, was it not?' Daryl enquired, eyebrow raised.

Emmylou Harris: Orphan Girl                          . . . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AFDk3U9oGq0