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