"I talked to everyone in the house."
"Malry was wearing your cloak," she added. "Whoever it was may have been trying to get at you or maybe they're trying to throw us off the scent." Isabeau pressed her fingers to her throat. "He thinks I'm part of some plot to harm you."
"I don't share his suspicions," Hawk said briskly, "and I don't think you're in on any plot. Now that we've cleared that up, we need to talk about that day at the shipyard and I need to know exactly what happened when the cat lapped up the bourbon."
"You were there, you saw what happened."
"It's a well known fact that four different people could see the same event at the same time. When all is said and done, you're going to get four varying versions."
"You sound like a lawyer," she observed.
He frowned, her words giving him a moment's pause. "I need to know what you saw and heard."
Isabeau shrugged. "The same as anyone else. At the shipyard I heard an awful, terribly loud noise, like ropes creaking, but super loud. No one else said anything about the noise, but to me it was painfully loud. Next," she added, "I saw this scene in my mind's eye where blood covered everything. That's when I looked up and saw the steel beams overhead. One of them was turned sideways from the rest, almost pointing down. It looked like it was going to fall on top of you and Treat."
"Why did you look up?" There was curiosity in his voice.
"I don't know. I had a feeling about it -- a sensation of panic. That's when I pushed you and Treat out of the way."
"What about the bourbon the cat lapped up -- how did you know there might be something wrong with the bourbon?"
"I didn't throw the glass," she said, twisting her fingers. "When I lifted it, the glass burned my fingers. I dropped it. I didn't throw it."
"That doesn't make sense."
"I heard really loud sounds again, the sound of ice cracking -- the glass itself was red hot."
"You burned your fingers."
"You saw the red marks. Malry's casting suspicion in the wrong place," she said flatly.
"He's worried because the attacks have become more frequent."
"Maybe the person responsible is getting desperate. I've been trying to figure out who would benefit from you being harmed."
"Isabeau," Hawk said softly, coming to sit across from her on the carved oak chair, "tell me how you came to be on board The Lady." At her wary look, he added, "I will not throw you out, but I need some guidance here. How can you know these things before they occur?"
"I don't know --" fiercely, she added, "I swear it. I don't know what's going on any more than you or Malry. I-I just have a sense at times when something terrible is about to happen."
"Has this kind of thing happened to you before -- this acute hearing you talked about?"
"I've had it my entire life," she admitted. "But never over anything so serious as this."
"Where were you before you stowed on board ship?"
"I was in the library at Hawk's Den."
"You were with this other person named Leif?"
"Yes."
"Anyone else? Were any of my staff there?"
"There was Mrs. Cummins. She was your -- Pierce's housekeeper."
"And this Pierce?"
"He owns Hawk's Den."
"You have made that claim before. I own Hawk's Den. There is no Pierce Morgan."
"You don't look so sure about that," she watched him closely.
He brushed her remark aside. "What happened next? You were in the library."
"There was a terrible storm outside. Once we arrived at Hawk's Den, it's like the skies literally opened up. One minute I was in the library looking --" she paused, frowning.
"What did you see in the library?"
"Your family's Bible."
He grabbed her hand. "Come with me."
Her hand felt fragile in relation to the width and breadth of his palm. He led her out of the office and down the hallway to the library. Hawk gentled his touch, then bid her to enter the library before him.
"Please take a seat."
Isabeau took a seat on the Victorian sofa. Once a beautiful piece of furniture, the green silk was worn, the feather pillows lumpy and a bit misshapen.
"There was a newly upholstered sofa and loveseat in here," she said softly, touching the faded silk fabric. "There were picture albums and the Bible was on a small table."
Hawk retrieved a wooden stepladder from behind a screen in the corner. Carrying it to a row of tall shelves, he reached up and lifted a heavy book from the uppermost shelf.
"That's the Bible," she exclaimed.
Hawk walked over to Isabeau, a heavy thudding in his chest. He stood before her, the Bible unopened in his hands. She stared up at him and he felt himself drawn to the concern darkening her eyes as anxiously she waited for him to open the book.
"What did you read?" he asked.
Isabeau looked off into the distance, then closed her eyes. "Marriages, 1858. Catharine Hawk to Brendon Morgan. Issue of Marriage, Hawk Morgan, born 1863."
Hawk opened the Bible, knowing what he would see. Knowing she was correct. Wasn’t it only last week Aunt had reminisced over his parent's marriage?
Hawk handed her the Bible without saying a word. She held it unopened in her lap, staring at him instead.
"Tell me what you remember next."
"I felt very weak and disoriented." She frowned. "All I remember was this feeling of floating. There were voices, but I don't recall what was said. When I came to, I was on the ship."
"You didn't intentionally stow away?"
"No."
"How did you get from here to the ship?"
"At first I thought I was kidnapped, but for what reason?"
"And now?" Tensely, he waited.
"I believe what Belva has told me." Isabeau put the Bible on the couch, came to her feet and began to pace the room. She turned to him and said baldly, "I am not from your time. I am from the 21st century, more than a hundred years into the future. I know it sounds incredible, and trust me it was a hard thing for me to wrap my head around, but I've come to see it is the truth. Somehow, your aunt brought me here to help your family. To help you. I don't understand it further than that, but in a weird way, it fits."
"Aunt has strange and uncommon notions," he stated impatiently. "And this is still a hard concept to swallow."
"I'm not saying it isn't difficult, but --"
Isabeau stared at him in keen disappointment.
He turned from her. "How can this be other than a fabrication?" he asked tersely. "Our meeting is over."
"Don't you want to know what else I read in that Bible?" she demanded. "It's the most important piece of information, and it's time you were told."
The emotional break in her voice could not be ignored. "Tell me."
"Your date of death," she whispered.
He leaned forward to hear her.
"In the year 1894."
#
Teeth clenched on the slim, dark cheroot, Hawk struck a match, then tossed it into the cold grate of the fireplace.
Not for the first time, he questioned his sanity. What the devil was the matter with him? Why was he still even thinking about Isabeau's time travel story? He was beginning to doubt the validity of his senses. Traveling through time. Was it possible?
Malry had been of no help. He was suspicious of everyone who worked at Hawk's Den. Malry was certain if they watched long enough they'd ferret out the potential murderer. Hawk was of the opinion he'd have to set a trap to prove who was plotting against him. If he died, Aunt Belva would inherit the estate, everything. It didn't make sense. He knew she'd never hurt him. According to Isabeau's story, Belva had brought her here by otherworldly means. How is that possible? he mused, conjuring spirits, talking with the dead….
Hawk mulled over the shipyard event and the poisoned bourbon. An acquaintance of his had sent the glass and what was left of the bourbon to a chemist, who had confirmed that the whiskey was
laced with poison. It was still being analyzed to determine the poison’s exact properties.
He took the cheroot from his mouth, carefully studying the glowing tip. Soon he would be leaving on a trip north. Having sold one of his ships to an industrial corporation in New York, he had decided he would make the trip to deliver the vessel personally. The trip offered him an opportunity to get away for a time and release some of the turmoil he felt.
He looked forward to the upcoming journey. Also, putting some distance between himself and Isabeau would help him gain a proper perspective. Time was needed to think more clearly. He didn't like to make decisions based on emotion. He needed cold, rational thought to figure out this strange chain of events. Something told him everything was tied up with that night three months ago when he'd been jumped and knocked out. Once he regained his memory, then he would know more of the truth. Damnation, he had to regain his life. In that respect, both he and Isabeau shared a common thread, she in her own beliefs about her arrival here, and he in the complete lack of any knowledge about himself.
#
Isabeau planted her feet firmly on the flagstone path, the sun warm on her head as she tried to get her bearings.
There was no doubt in her mind she was lost.
She had ventured into the garden maze out of curiosity. Each morning she could see the winding maze from her bedroom window. It hadn't looked overly complex, until now. Somehow, she had taken a wrong turn. The hedge was approximately seven feet high and dense, and she obviously could not jump up to get her bearings.
Roses were at eye level, beautiful orange-pink buds, velvety petals not yet opened, their fragrance teasing her senses.
She decided to go right…she had covered most of the maze, except the very center. Isabeau walked for several more moments, rounded a corner of thick greenery and suddenly came upon the center. It was an idyllic setting, a shelter of tangled shrub and vines providing privacy and shade. In the very center, stood Belva Morgan within a small white gazebo, her back to Isabeau.
Belva busily pruned rose bushes, glorious red, pinks, salmons and whites that trailed up the sides of the gazebo.
Isabeau stared at the small building behind the woman. Everything had been cleverly hidden behind the trees. Who would have guessed there was anything in the middle of the maze? She could not even see it from her window. Only an aerial view from a plane would have given away such a secret. It was almost as if the maze had been built around the building.
"You can come closer, you know."
Isabeau started as Belva spoke. "I -- uh, didn't want to interrupt you."
"I can work while we talk. I think it is time we did talk. That's why I waited for you."
"You waited?" Isabeau rubbed the goose bumps on her arms. "You knew I was coming?"
Belva looked up, smiled, but didn't answer.
Isabeau wondered at the slight smile playing about the woman's lips.
"Some things are better left unexplained," she said gently.
Isabeau shook her head. "I disagree. Everything is in a mess right now because of things unexplained."
"It's human nature to be curious. You've made progress," she added, to Isabeau's surprise.
"What are you talking about?"
"You're helping Hawk. I can sense the difference already. He's beginning to trust you."
"No," Isabeau shook her head. "Not only is he suspicious, he seems convinced I made everything up."
"He is an astute man, he will come around." Belva invited her to sit beside her on a stone bench. "Some say I am crazed…insane." The older woman's voice remained conversational. "It's because I have always had The Sight. It is a gift, although when I was younger I will admit I felt cursed." She paused, looking directly at Isabeau. "I have channeled my energy into helping others."
"You hide the extent of your gift?" Isabeau asked softly.
"Yes, even from my family."
Isabeau cleared her throat. Delicately, she said, "When I saw you that first night I arrived --"
"I hope it did not frighten you overmuch. I must confess it was part of my act."
Isabeau let out a deep breath. "Belva, why would you pretend around your family?"
"It has always been so." Belva snipped off a red rose blossom and it fell to the seat beside Isabeau.
"Hawk is a good man. I can't believe he would condemn you for who you really are."
"Not Hawk. My brother Brendon, Hawk's father. He knew how I was afflicted when we were children. He was a good man, but not always an understanding one."
"He wanted you to hide your gift -- who you were?"
"It was for the best."
"So I suppose you got used to hiding it."
"Until it could no longer be hidden. Then there were the outbursts, but as time went on I played them up a bit."
"So now the lines have blurred between what is real and what is acted out?"
"Sad but true. You must not tell," Belva cautioned.
"How can I promise? You should just tell your family. They will love you for who you are."
"Hawk's life may be dependent upon your pledge of silence. I understand your bewilderment, but I am too old to change my ways. I knew you would come."
"I think you're placing too much emphasis on my being here. I'm only one person."
"You are a strong woman. You can right the wrongs visited upon this family."
"Whatever my purpose in being here, I can't change the past."
"Jealously and greed motivate these acts of violence."
"If you know all this, why can't you save your nephew?" Isabeau asked passionately.
A weary sigh passed from Belva's lips, and her shoulders slumped. "I have overstepped the bounds in summoning you and this other person here. There is nothing else I can do now."
"And you don't know who the other person is?"
Belva did not respond.
"Then tell me what you know about the person who's trying to harm Hawk."
Belva drew several deep breaths, her eyes closing. "I see the circle of life, birth and rebirth."
Isabeau strained to hear the words.
"There are two people in this circle. Tentacles extend outward, like the branches of a tree. One person's tentacles are pure and pulsing, the other --" Belva stopped abruptly, her eyes opening as her head snapped up.
"The other?" Isabeau whispered.
"Black and shriveled with hate," she said somberly. "This person puts forth only wickedness into the world."
Isabeau shivered. "I know very little about Hawk's life, these times. How can I be prepared to stop what's about to happen?" Her mind twisted through various solutions but fell short. "I read of his death in the book," she said desperately. "After that, I found myself onboard Hawk's ship."
"What was the date?"
"Less than a month from now."
Belva closed her eyes, grimacing in pain. "You must never leave his side. You must remain alert to any danger."
"He's not going to allow that." Isabeau gulped. "There's one more thing I have to know." She steeled herself. "Tell me about Amelia."
Belva sighed. "Amelia is the woman my nephew will marry. He loves her dearly."
"She is not from around here?"
"Amelia lives in Maryland. She and Hawk met through mutual acquaintances two years ago. He pursued her relentlessly. She is a sweet girl who loves him as much as he loves -- loved her."
Isabeau retrieved an apricot rose that had fallen to the stone bench. She lifted the newly furled rose to her nose, inhaling the divine scent. "And now?"
"He seems to not remember their courtship. She came when he was first struck down. She stayed beside him for two weeks, but even the most devoted heart can waver in the face of absolute amnesia. He asked her to give him time. She has been patient."
"Is she a good match for Hawk?"
"Yes, they are well matched. When my nephew regains his memory, he will remember his love and marry Amelia."
"Tell me about her
."
Belva lifted her head and stared at her a moment. "Amelia is kind, yet strong, caring and very beautiful. She is the perfect mate for a man of Hawk's character."
Isabeau smiled. "She sounds someone who will make him happy, bear his children. They can have a good life together."
"Yes, it was only a few months before his accident that Amelia accepted his marriage proposal."
"And she is a woman from his time."
"And so it is," Belva said gently.
Isabeau nodded in agreement. Feeling a prick, she dropped the thorny stem on the bench, watching the scarlet blood well on her finger.
When Isabeau looked up, Belva was no longer there.
Chapter Eight
Alone now in the maze, Isabeau shivered as clouds chased the sun, stealing all warmth. Suddenly, the greenery around her seemed full of strange, moving shadows.
Isabeau was determined to remain by Hawk's side until the murderer could be exposed, then her usefulness would be at an end. Belva did not say those words, but Isabeau knew that was her intent.
She made her way from the maze, rounding the last hedge corner and coming up against a hard body. Unyielding arms encircled and then quickly released her.
Isabeau stared at the man she had been thinking about. "Hawk."
He smiled, lifting a hand to free a strand of her hair caught against the hedge. The action was unexpected and tantalizing and more than she could bear at the moment. She jerked her head back, although part of her wanted to lean into him, feel his warmth and strength.
"It's almost dark. Were you lost in the maze?"
"I spoke with your aunt in there."
"Was she upset?" he asked in concern. "Sometimes she sits in the gazebo to quiet herself."
"I didn't upset her, if that's what you're wondering." She hunched a shoulder to evade the hand he put out to her. Hard fingers caught her shoulder nonetheless.
"We must have a discussion regarding your future plans. At the end of the week I go away, but when I return we must decide what is best for your interests."
She experienced a blend of fear and anger. She had been prepared to help and now it sounded as if he were anxious for her to be gone. They walked from the maze, entering the garden as dusk fell around them, the air heavily scented as dew began to form on the abundant flowers.
Breathing hard, she walked up the back veranda steps and reached forward to open the kitchen door. "I'll save you the trouble," she muttered, her voice thick. "I'll leave."