The Widow's Walk (23 page)

Chapter 32

Iman pushed the trolley toward a black Mercedes sedan. No identifying logo, no special license plates as far as Liz could tell. But he was parked in a limousine loading area with several other drivers, lending credence to his claim to be a chauffeur.

Should she refuse, take her luggage, and go about her business? She’d never see Andrew again and have to explain why she turned down his generosity. Iman had already been paid, what did he care? She wanted to be alone, didn’t want to be alone; wanted to go home, didn’t want to go home.
God, what should I do?

“Ma’am?” Iman held the door open. “I’ll show you some hotels in Camberley.”

She could plead the necessity to do her research first. Yes, that would be the best course of action. Stay in the city, not be vulnerable and far from help.

“Iman, I need to spend some time tomorrow doing research in London. I think I should find a hotel here tonight and worry about my trip to Camberley afterwards. I’ve heard of The Kensington.”

“Quite an expensive hotel, Mrs. Keeny. Why don’t you get inside? It’s cold, and you’re shivering.”

Liz quaked from fear. She slid into the back and tried affixing Eddie’s seat. It wasn’t secure, so she just held him on her lap and buckled the belt around him. The odd position of the steering wheel on the right side caught her off guard, and she shifted to the left side so she wasn’t directly behind her driver.

The door closed with a solid Mercedes thud. Liz locked it. Iman got in and swiveled, a grin on his face. Eddie frowned. Her hands shook, her brain was on hyperdrive, considering every option, including bolting and calling a constable.

“Mrs. Keeny, it’s already supper time. Let me take you to Camberley, which is on my way home. I will get you and the baby a hotel that meets your approval. Tomorrow morning, I shall be driving back to London and will gladly take you, no charge. You can do your research all day, and I will bring you back tomorrow evening. Yes?”

Liz hesitated. It made perfect sense, at least as much sense as anything in the nonsensical state she was in. “Iman. I’m sorry. I’m so tired with the time change. I can’t think straight.”

“I am familiar with that state in travelers, ma’am. Part of my job is to help them maximize their time while on business.” He motored out of the car park.

Lights flashed by, buildings, landmarks that Iman pointed out as they went. Cars whizzed by, too close. Disoriented by the different traffic pattern, Liz jumped every time she saw one approaching, prepared for impact.

Mysterious shadows lurked in the dusk. People ran for lawrys, taxi’s blurred like a surreal painting. Her eyes threatened to close. Eddie slumped to one side in his own jet-lagged stupor.

Elisabeth trembled.
This isn’t the London I left. The air has a chemical stench worse that horse manure. What if Apthorp is gone or changed for the worse? How will Edward find me?

“Mrs. Keeny?” Iman’s voice woke her.

It took a minute to recall where she was, who she was. Liz pulled herself up. “Yes, I’m sorry.”

He remained focused on the road. The streets, lined with stately row houses reminiscent of her Beacon Hill neighborhood, were far less busy. “I’m glad you took a little rest. We’re coming into Camberley now.”

The large park on the left stirred Elisabeth.
We’re very close. Edward and I rode our horses down this very road.

Liz couldn’t be sure if it was her heart or Elisabeth’s fluttering. It was a relief to allow the ghost to control the conversation. “Would there be a Georgian estate nearby?”

“There is a mansion nearby that takes in guests, mainly for conferences. Isolated. Lovely. Not inexpensive, I fear. But, it is off-season. Shall we try? I can always take you somewhere else.”

“Yes, please, let’s have a look.”

It has to be, it has to be.
Elisabeth couldn’t control her excitement.

Iman continued on what turned into a country lane. The park faded into a tangle of brambles. Portions of a stone wall peeked out like whitened bones from a shallow grave.
Edward and I met here after he’d rescued me from Lord Thornlea.

Iman slowed until the open gate, sagging askew on rusted hinges in between two crumbling pillars, emerged from the shadows. He turned, and the headlights flashed like lighting against them, illuminating the carved, moss encrusted letters.

“Apthorp.” Both she and Iman said it at the same instant.

He continued up the long drive. The stable stood on the right, with cars instead of carriages parked in front. A gazebo sat forlorn in a meadow to the left. A conservatory’s lights glimmered, offering some hope that there was life left in the Earl of Camberley’s former seat. The golden marble steps shimmered, brass door hardware gleamed.

Tears slid down her cheeks.
I’m home
.

Mike hopped out and dragged the suitcases from the trunk. Mae wiped tears from her eyes. Kevin took her shoulders in his hands before stroking her cheek and hugging her. She stepped onto the curb, clutching her purse and a tissue.

Kevin reached out to him. “Good luck. May the Lord be on your side, my friend, as well as the restless spirits. I’ll handle everything at home, just be sure and let me know what’s goin’ on, even if it’s nothin’.”

Mike shook his hand, reluctant to let go of the strong grip Kevin had on both his person, and on reality. “Thanks for everything.”

“I best be goin’, before they chase me.” He planted a kiss on his wife and was off.

Mike took Mae’s arm with his right hand and his suitcase with the left.

She arranged her shoulder bag and pulled her luggage toward her. “Let’s go find Liz and Eddie.”

They walked arm in arm into the terminal. Mike tried to recall the last time he’d been on a plane. Well before Mary got sick, long before 9/11/01 and the war in Iraq when everything had changed. There were lines to get on lines.

Exhausted, numb, his control on Jared relaxed. But out of his element, in a world he could never have imagined, the ghost was quiescent, unconcerned, sure he was going to find the damn woman and take her back home.

“Next.” The clerk called.

Mae went to the counter. Mike watched, wrapped in a time warped fog, as she produced her documents and checked her bag.

“Step down, sir.” The next agent was at the far end of the check in area, and he lost sight of her for a while. He wandered down, a stranger in a strange and bewildering place, about to fly in a heavy metal craft across the same ocean Edward’s ship had gone down in, sinking them all into an abyss.

“Ticket and passport please,” she asked.

Mike plunked them down. Jared waited patiently to see what came next.

Mae had taken care of all his gels and liquids and reminded him to take off his shoes, and put his belt and keys in a basket. Mike focused on the ultimate goal. Nothing else mattered.

Iman stopped in the circular drive. Liz was out before he could get around to open the door for her. The sign post read ‘Camberley Inn’ and ‘Vacancy’.

“I’ll go in with you, Mrs. Keeny. If you’re not happy, I’ll bring you somewhere else.”

She was staying here no matter what, but let him think otherwise. “Thank you.”

The footman will meet us, have our things brought in.

Elisabeth sprinted up the stairs. Liz pounded the knocker. There would be no footman.

The door creaked open. A middle-aged woman peered out. Her face cracked into a smile when she saw Liz and the sleepy baby rubbing his eyes. “Need a room?”

“Yes, please.” She would stay one night, at least, no matter the cost.

“Step in. Lord, you look exhausted. Americans?” She gestured for them to cross the threshold.

Liz stepped back over a century. Elisabeth wanted to run about, explore, but this was no longer her home.
Later, tomorrow, not now
.

She followed the escort, taking in the faded opulence of the cavernous foyer, the imposing staircase, its gleaming wood banister curving into a semi circle, offering the hint of even more dusty grandeur upstairs. A crystal chandelier blazed like the sun, even with several burnt out bulbs.

Their feet tapped on butter colored marble, down a long hall lined with oil portraits and landscapes, statuary on plinths, darkened rooms with hulking shadows of furniture on either side.
Odd candles in the sconces. The parlour is on the left and the sitting room, where I received Edward, where my father belittled and insulted him, to the right.

“Good evening.” A man came from the back of the house to meet them as they stood beside a desk that displayed a phone, a laptop, and a lamp with a beaded shade. Radiators hissed, yet the rooms were likely as cold as the late Earl Baxter’s heart.

Liz wrested back control so she could discuss guest accommodations. Iman, his arms crossed behind him, stood holding his cap.

The woman put on her glasses. “I’m Emma, and this is my husband, James. How did you happen upon the Camberley Inn during this season?”

“Liz Keeny, and this is Edward, Eddie. I’m an author, researching Victorian art and architecture. I heard about this, this, estate and am interested in staying while I complete my work.”

Emma beamed. “We can give you a nice rate, including breakfast and dinner. Just you two? How many nights?”

Liz hesitated, not wanting to sound cheap.

“Yes, just us two. I don’t know how long I’ll actually need.”

“I’ll show you a room that looks out over the lawns. Bath is just outside, in the hall. Fireplace, as in all the rooms, double bed. We can give you a cradle. £100 per night, but remember that includes meals. Milk for the tyke, as needed.”

Far more than $100.00 per day she’d budgeted, but they wouldn’t need to buy food. She’d already saved plenty thanks to Andrew. Plus there was no choice. “All right.”

“Would you like to see it first?” Iman asked.

“I’m sure it’s perfect.”

A room in what was the servant’s wing?
Elisabeth explained
. Our rooms were on the other side of the house.

“We will retrieve your bags.” James led Iman out.

Emma collected keys. “Come this way.”

They passed a large room with glass doors looking out into the darkness.

The patio and rose garden.

A grand piano stood in the corner. Over it hung a portrait of two Victorian ladies, dressed in white lace–a mother and daughter, sullen, eyes sad.

The ghost flipped and Liz’s stomach lurched as she looked upon Elisabeth and the Countess of Camberley, her mother. It was the first time she’d seen them and noted the incredible resemblance to a younger version of herself.

Mother, I’d never imagined that the sight of your face would move me so.

Liz fought back Elisabeth’s tears.

Emma continued up a simple staircase off the kitchen.

“
James and I keep our apartments on the other side of the house. We rent the rooms on this side. We’ve added plumbing, electricity of course, but everything else is as it was. Normally we don’t take children, but this little dear is so quiet I’m sure he’ll not hurt a dust speck.”

Eddie’s eyes glazed over, and his little hands clutched his mom’s arms tight. Had he not been cradled against her chest, he’d have been hysterical.

I played with Katherine in this hall when we were both little girls, even though Mama and Papa never knew.

Emma opened the door to the room. It had once likely housed two or three maids, but with only one bed, was quite spacious. The washstand, the dresser, the linens and drapes–all original. Liz knew enough about the period to be sure, even before Elisabeth could remind her.

“Lovely. Perfect.” She whispered. “How did you and James come to be in possession of this estate?”

James helped Iman bring in the luggage. “William Baxter, the Earl of Camberley, was my great-grandfather. By dint of hard work: being the first born son, of a first born son, of a first born son, I worked my way up to His Lordship from Viscount. Only inherited the title, though.” He grinned.

How could that be? I had no brother to carry on the name.

“Your great-grandfather was Earl William Baxter?”

“Yes. The old dog was quite a dandy. His first wife died, shortly after their only daughter ran off with a pirate. He remarried his mistress, my great-grandmother, by whom he’d already fathered a few illegitimates. My grandfather was born after they married and became sole heir.

Elisabeth shuddered.
Mother died shortly after I left? No wonder my letters had never been answered. And dear Papa had not even had the decency to deliver the news while copulating like a rabbit.

“Mrs. Keeny.” James grabbed her arm as she swayed. Iman ran to her other side.

Liz breathed again, regained control over the ghost. “I’m fascinated by this house and the history. Can we talk more tomorrow?”

“I daresay you and the baby are famished as well. Let me get some supper together for you both. I’ll bring a tray up.” Emma left.

Iman paused by the door. “I trust all is in order then, ma’am. I shall return in the morning to take you to London.”

Liz dug in her coat pocket for the gratuity. “What time should I expect you?”

“Would nine be too early?” he asked. “ My first client needs a pickup at ten.”

Liz glanced at her watch. It seemed like midnight but it was only 5 p.m. “Nine will be fine.” She handed him the wad of bills she’d been saving for dinner.

“This is not necessary,” he protested. “Mr. Richardson . . .”