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