The Last Killiney (18 page)

But when James noticed her standing there, he flagged her down. He beckoned her further into the room. “You should be hearing this!” he said, and taking her arm, he planted her on the chair beside him, urged Paul in a jovial voice, “Pray, tell her all of it, from the beginning.”

She waited expectantly for Paul to explain. When he lifted his glass for another drink, she saw all the explanation she needed: Paul was drunk, that’s what had happened.

“I didn’t see what harm it would do in tellin’ him.” He shrugged his shoulders. “This fellah’s not going to believe us anyway, so what’s the difference? He’s not real, is he? I’m sure I’ve invented him in the midst o’ my psychosis.”

“Inebriation, don’t you mean?”

Paul smirked a little. “He’s as pissed as I am, he just doesn’t express himself.”

“Paul, what were you thinking?”

“Nah, don’t worry, he keeps beggin’ to hear more, don’t you? Tell her what you’ve told me, what you’d do with an aircraft carrier?”

James sat perfectly still, observing the way the pair spoke to each other. His expression was not one of amusement any longer; clearly, he hadn’t believed anything he’d heard, at least not until Ravenna had joined the scenario.

She fidgeted in his massive shadow, wishing she could wring Paul’s neck. “You told him about aircraft carriers? What else have you told him?”

“We never got much further than the armed forces, really.”

“Well, that’s just great. Now he’s never going to take us seriously, is he?” She slipped from her seat beside James, wondering how she’d get them out of this mess.

She was surprised when James answered her question. “On the contrary,” he said, “in what other fashion could you possibly be viewed?” He stared at her darkly over the drink in his hand. “With you both conspiring in fantasy together, I see nothing to joke about now.”

“He told you we’re from the future?” she asked.

“He did,” James said.

“And he told you about the potion? About Killiney’s dreams and how we’re here in his and Elizabeth’s places?”

“I fail to see what you’ll gain by this fantasy.”

“So do I,” she said, throwing Paul a stony glance.

But before she could think of some excuse to offer James for their story, Paul was at it again. “Listen,” he said, and the Irish pronunciations rolled off his tongue with an honest fervor, “if I’m t’be on a boat with this guy fer months on end, I can’t be lying to him. It’s only been two days now I’ve been waltzin’ around him, fearin’ fer me life, and at this rate, I don’t think I’ll make it t’three, y’know? If we’ve convinced him along the way, then that’s great as well, but I’ve no wish t’find m’self explainin’ my mistakes at the end of his sword.”

“He’s not going to kill you. And if you’d only kept quiet—”

“
This has gone far enough!”

James’s shout hung in the air, his eyes blazing as he dared either of them to speak. He turned to Ravenna, his patience wearing thin. “Why do you persist in this? What good could come in my believing your story? It can win you nothing decent nor well intentioned, you know that, no matter what he’s promised you.”

Looking at Paul, she tried to think of a reasonable answer. Why would Elizabeth want to make up such stories? Yet she saw no other way to fix what Paul had done. There seemed only the truth.

She shook her head, knowing it was useless. “I realize how it must sound, but we really are from the future,” she said, hoping her desperate tone counted for something. “I can’t think of a way to prove it off the top of my head, except that I can tell you a lot about Nootka Sound. It’s where I come from…or near there, anyway. I can tell you about the charts. I can help keep Vancouver’s ship safe and on course.”

James glanced at Paul. Where he lifted his drink convivially, Paul apparently didn’t notice.

“Either he’s swayed you to madness with his visions, or you’ve gone willingly,” James said. “All right, Sister. Let’s see how far you can get.”

So Ravenna told him about her trips to British Columbia, to Mitchell Bay and her parents’ new home at the northern end of Vancouver Island. She relayed everything she could think of, from tidal currents and prominent landmarks to salmon runs and tribal names of Native Canadians, and she said all of this as fast as she could. She didn’t want to appear to be making it up, or trying hard to remember what Killiney might have told Elizabeth. The strategy worked, rattling off these descriptions, because rather than accuse her of pilfering this knowledge or inventing these facts, James actually had an honest question. “What kind of salmon?” he asked with a scowl.

“At Christmas it’s mostly chum salmon,” she said. “That’s when I’m up there, near Nootka, in December when there’s nobody else around—just me and about a hundred bald eagles in the snow, with the whole Johnstone Strait to ourselves.”

She fell silent, thinking of the hours she’d spent out in her boat watching those eagles, or diving with friendly Pacific White-sided Dolphins. She expected James to ask another question, but it was Paul who spoke first. “Sounds beautiful,” he said.

James turned, suspicion flaring in his eyes. “You mean you’ve not been there? Shouldn’t you both have seen these eagles, if you’re both from the future?”

“I was raised on an island in the Strait of Juan de Fuca,” Ravenna explained. “He’s never been there.”

“So Killiney’s traveled in air ships to Africa and Mexico while you’ve spent your life among Indians?” James gave her an incredulous glance. “Then tell me, if I’m to believe these things, where’s my real sister? Held captive in a native village?”

“When Elizabeth drank the potion with Killiney, she probably took over my life in the future. I don’t think she’s at Nootka Sound. If anywhere, I think she’s in Dublin with Killiney.”

“At Swallowhill?”

“Yes, because Paul—,” and she pointed at him to make herself clearer, “—he’s the descendant of the Killiney you know. He inherited Swallowhill. So when they arrived at the churchyard in Dublin, they should have been able to find their way home.”

“And that’s what this is all about?” James asked. “Finding your way home?”

She nodded solemnly. “I know women aren’t supposed to be on ships, but I need to be on that voyage to Nootka. There’s no other way to get back.”

“So this is purely a matter of transport?”

“It’s a matter of four years,” Paul said between sips.

“And that’s how long you think the voyage will take?” James regarded Paul with a critical squint. “That adds up to quite a few nights without the company of a woman, doesn’t it?”

Paul glanced up sharply. “She’s
not
my lover, if that’s what you’re saying.”

“Oh, she’s not?” James’s brows drew together, and quietly he looked down at the drink in his hand. “You don’t think I know a lie when I hear one, Killiney?”

“I’ve no idea about
him
, but I’ve never told a lie in me life.”

“And what about Khali and his fear of storms?” James didn’t lift his eyes, but he challenged Paul to deny it nonetheless. “You want to talk about the future, my friend? Let’s talk about that future. I hadn’t intended to confront you just yet, but since Sister is so adamant about joining this voyage—”

“And she’s not your sister,” Paul shot back. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re on about, but do I really seem like Killiney to you?”

“Enough to stand before God’s eyes, yes you do.”

“But look at us! We’ve no class, no style, she hasn’t the accent to be your sister and I’d bet money if this Killiney’s a friend of yours, he doesn’t sound anything like me. Now do I look like a guy who packs a sword?”

“You’ll need one if you keep this up.” James tapped the rim of his wine glass quietly. “My friend, I know what went on in the lodge these two weeks past. I know about your bedchamber visits, your tryst in the ruins, all of it, and before we get on Vancouver’s ship, I expect you’ll do the honorable thing.”

“But that
was
Killiney,” Ravenna insisted.

James turned to look at her. “Yes, I’ll thank you, Sister, it was. God knows it could have been worse than it is.”

“No, you don’t understand, that was before Killiney drank the potion, before we came back and he—”

“Can I just get in here a second?” Paul asked. “What is he talking about? He wants me t’marry you, is that it?”

“You’ve chosen this path, not me,” James said.

“No, I didn’t choose anything, but if I did marry her, even though I’m not this guy Killiney, you’d let her come along on the voyage, yeah?”

“If you refuse to marry her, you’ll be dead.”

Paul hesitated, his jaw shifting defiantly. “That a threat?”

“Does it need to be?” Slowly, with effortless menace, James got to his feet. “Because if you think I won’t defend her, that I’ll acquiesce to your angels and your visions and bring her on board for your beck and call, then perhaps you need provoking. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve crossed swords, would it? Or don’t you remember Madrid, either?”

Paul stared up at him, considering carefully before he replied. “I remember Madrid,” he said, “but I sure wasn’t there with you.”

James came very close to attacking him then as Paul, dropping his glass of wine, started to stand in retaliation. Ravenna saw the tension building in the powerful set of Paul’s shoulders, in his sturdy legs, readied for fighting. Something had to be done. They had to be distracted.

“James—,” and she took his arm, “—what if I told you that your father died before the voyage? Then would you believe us? If I told you he’d die in…what did David call it? The Armistead Affair? Or an affair with someone named Armistead?”

It was the first bit of prediction she could think of, but right after she’d said it, the look on James’s face made her wish she hadn’t. For less than an instant, his gaze fractured into a stab of something horrible, like the bottom had suddenly dropped out of his soul.

Then his composure resumed flawlessly, for he answered with only a hint of betrayal, “You would bring Father into this?”

“You don’t leave me much choice, with all these—”

“No,
you
,” James snapped, and turning around, his eyes sharpened on Paul. “You who calls yourself a friend, you would do this to me? And for the sake of bachelorhood, of all things?”

“The girl’s only trying to warn you, she’s tellin’ you that so you’ll—”

“
You know better than to cross me.”
Taking hold of Paul’s collar in his huge, fisted hands, James jerked him forward and growled, “That’s it. You’ll have no more connection to this family or this house, and if I find you in either when I get back…brother-in-law or not, I’ll run you through.”

With a sudden shove, he released Paul and stepped back. He straightened his coat in collecting himself, and there was something like hurt in the way he gave Paul one final glance before he threw open the door and stalked into the passage.

Ravenna knew she couldn’t bring him back.

After a moment, she heard his voice somewhere deep in the basement. The floor between them did little to muffle the thunder of his shout. Soon doors began to slam upstairs and down. A flurry of servants scattered down the hallways, and through their open door Paul and Ravenna could see maids carrying baggage, kitchen boys and footmen carrying baskets and boxes.

When she looked at Paul, she saw he was just as confused. “Now you’ve done it,” he told her, but there was no humor to his voice at all. He tightened his lip as the servants hurried by. One of them came in to mop up the spilt wine, but neither Paul nor Ravenna moved. Listening to the activity all through the house, it seemed dangerous to stir until things had settled down.

Ten minutes passed before they heard the sound of horses on the road outside, headed toward Dartmouth. A few minutes more and Mr. Scott came in.

“My Lord Broughton has gone to London,” he said, making his usual formalities to Ravenna. Then he turned to Paul, and the servant’s tone changed entirely. “You are invited to collect your personal effects, my lord. Leave nothing of yours behind, as Lord Broughton wishes you out of the house before he gets back. Make your farewells lasting as you shan’t see my lady again, once you’ve quit the premises. You shan’t be received here ever, my lord.”

Chapter Twelve

Paul didn’t leave the house, not that night or the next. Ravenna knew they had no choice but to wait out James’s absence and see if he came back with news of his father’s death. She didn’t know when the old marquess would pass on, not really. She’d just barely remembered David’s mention of this Armistead Affair thing, and she had no way of knowing even if her prediction would come true, let alone exactly when.

But to send Paul away would mean the end of everything: Ravenna’s time in his company, his chances to drink the potion in a year instead of four, not to mention the protection Wolvesfield House afforded in a hostile world he knew nothing about. She really didn’t think James would kill Paul. They’d been friends for
years
. Meanwhile there was a chance Ravenna’s timing might be good, that her prophecy would come true.

So they stayed put and waited. And hoped.

It was morbid in more ways than one.

On the sixth night after James’s departure, Ravenna set about trying to assuage this melancholy Paul indulged in so readily. They sat together on the rug in his room. In front of the fire it was warm enough, but Paul sat in a huddle; his brawny arms were wrapped around legs, his knees were tucked under his chin, and there was a mournful look in his eyes as he stared at the flames, like Dorothy dreaming of Kansas.

“What are we gonna do,” he said.

It was more of declaration of hopelessness than a question. Sensing that mood of his coming on, Ravenna knew better than to touch him, no matter how anguished his tone of voice. Instead, as she’d done for the last three nights, she tried to soothe him with the certainty of her words. “You’re going to tell him you were drunk,” she said, “that you’re sorry we even mentioned his father, and that I’ve since reconsidered and I’d rather marry Christian Hallett.”