Page 32 of Echoes of the Sea (Storm Tide #2)

Kip was exhausted. Sleeping in a chair in a corridor wasn’t the most restful arrangement.

And jolting awake at every sound in case Mr. Winthrop was on the prowl hadn’t helped.

He’d mused at one point that it was good practice for if he were cast in a role that required a believable jumpscare.

But his heart had dropped in the next instant.

There would be no more roles. There would be no regaining the career he’d lost. Everything he’d ever known was gone.

He admitted to himself that he wasn’t in a great mood as he walked out to the work shed the next morning. He was tired, frustrated, and entirely out of his element.

What chance was there that he could make a convincing gentleman by borrowing from his portrayal of Tennyson Lamont?

That role had all been scripted. He was managing to improvise well enough in this tiny corner of England, but he’d need a lot of coaching and practice to pull it off long-term.

He was probably more suited to a carpenter in the working class.

Of course, Amelia was a lady of the upper classes, no matter that she’d been a poor relation. A carpenter and a lady didn’t move in the same circles in this era. If he leaned into that role, he’d never see her again after they left Guilford.

Getting ahead of yourself, Kip.

They weren’t together, and they didn’t know each other very well yet. Making huge life decisions based on what she would think and whether or not they could be together—even just as friends—was an incredibly odd thing to be doing.

In the midst of these spiraling thoughts, the sound of Smudge’s whistle reached the work shed.

Whistling didn’t usually bother Kip, but it grated on him in that moment.

He kept his eyes on his list of tasks to be accomplished and kept his mouth shut so he wouldn’t say anything he would regret.

Smudge had become a quick friend. He’d given Kip answers to impossible questions and was someone he could talk to about it all. Kip wouldn’t be a jerk to him.

“Miss Archibald’s visitors left this morning,” Smudge said. “Mick had a few choice words to say about both men. The boy don’t mince words.”

“I had a chance to listen in on them last night,” Kip said. “They don’t deserve to have words minced.”

Smudge looked concerned. “Them’s making trouble for Miss Archibald?”

“I believe they intend to ‘prove’ she didn’t do a good job managing Guilford.”

“I’m here to help you do whatever it is her needs you to do. What task do you have for me?”

“This is what I’m trying to get done.” Kip tapped the list he’d nailed to the wall. “You let me know if there’s any of it you can do.”

“Can’t read a lick,” Smudge said, “so you’ll have to tell me what’s on it.”

They went over it one item at a time. Smudge said he was able to do a lot of things listed, so with the both of them working, they might get through the list in the next few weeks. And if Smudge would stay on, that would give them the freedom to work on other projects Amelia might need done.

“I’ve been curious,” Smudge said as they made their way back to the house, tools in hand. “How is it you went as long as you did without knowing you weren’t in your own time?”

“I would guess most people don’t assume they’ve traveled through time just because things seem a little odd.”

“But I think it’d be more than just ‘a little’ odd. You can’t tell me not much has changed in two hundred years. You was tossing out words I’d never heard before and seemed to think I ought to know them without even a thought.”

“Oh, more has changed than I could possibly explain.”

Smudge didn’t know what plumbing was. Trying to explain things like space shuttles and the internet was likely pointless.

Smudge gave him a side eye as they stepped through a door at the back of the house.

“You just looked around at this place that ain’t got any of them things and thought, ‘Seems normal to me’?

” There was just enough of a laugh in his voice for Kip to know that he was enjoying the ridiculousness of this all.

In an unexpected way, it helped Kip feel better about it too. A very little .

“In my own time,” he said, “the place I was about to go to before the ocean decided to take me for a ride was intentionally supposed to mirror life two hundred years before my time. It was supposed to be the exact kind of odd that I found here. I just thought the people running the place had gone to the extreme.”

“And is that a regular sort of thing in two hundred years? Pretending like all the changes that happened haven’t happened?”

Kip gave that some thought. He supposed it was true.

Some of the most popular movies and television shows were set in the distant past, or a fantasy version of it.

Historical-themed destinations were pretty common.

Museums were erected to keep the past alive and known.

“I guess it is a regular sort of thing.”

“What is it us has in this time that people are missing so much?”

Another good question. This time had diseases that were unheard of in the future.

None of the modern conveniences. No modern medicine to help treat things that killed people in the 1800s but were merely a blip on the radar in Kip’s time.

Travel was so much easier. Communication was so much more convenient. What was it people missed?

“It’s an escape, I guess,” Kip said. “We spend bits of time pretending it’s long ago, but don’t have to actually live it every day.”

“It’s more like a game than a goal,” Smudge said.

“Sometimes, yeah.”

They made their way to Amelia’s book room. A few of the shelves in there were either rickety or broken, and they were going to see those fixed. They’d have that room sorted, as there wasn’t much that needed to be done.

“And in the future, do all Americans sound like you?”

Kip actually laughed. “Miss Archibald asked me the same thing. No Americans sound like me. I’ve lived quite a while in England, and my occupation required me to sound as though I were from here.”

“It’s strange on the ears, I’ll tell you.” Smudge actually winced.

Kip shook his head even as he grinned. “Your manner of talk-ing is strange on my ears.”

“Our way of talking don’t exist anymore?” That seemed to hang heavy on his mind.

“It actually probably does,” Kip said. “I just never visited this area of England.”

Relief flitted over his face.

Kip would have to be careful what he said to people.

It wasn’t just a matter of worrying about setting in motion something that would change the future but also not inadvertently causing people sorrow over things that couldn’t be avoided or things they would never see happen.

He could only imagine how it would feel to tell the people of this area about the devastation that would come in World War I and World War II.

That thought made him stop for a moment.

1803. The Beau took place later than this, when the war with Napoleon was in full swing.

That was in the future. If Kip decided to make himself a person of the lower classes or found he had no choice but to do so, he might very well find himself conscripted into the army, fighting in a war he knew was going to be long and bloody and in many ways horrific.

And the war of 1812 lay in the future as well, when America, which everyone would know he was from because, apparently, his accent was so atrocious, would go from being a tense former colony to an enemy again.

This was getting complicated.

They were in the midst of their work when Amelia stepped into the room.

He expected her to look relieved and lighter in spirit now that her uncle and his unwanted guest were gone.

But she didn’t. While a very large part of him wanted to drop what he was doing and assure her that everything would be fine and that she didn’t need to worry, he was too tired and overwhelmed to do much more than glance over at her and hope that she wasn’t about to announce yet another complication he’d have to sort out.

“My uncle says he’ll return soon,” she said. “He didn’t say how soon, but I suspect he doesn’t want to give me very much time between disruptions to make headway.”

That lined up with everything Kip had heard from him. “Is he bringing his friend back with him?” The question emerged grumpy.

The change in tone clearly caught her attention. She looked at him with more uncertainty than before. “I don’t know. I suspect he will.”

“It might make sense to try to hire an actual footman,” Kip said. “We can station that fellow outside your door so I can get some sleep.”

She nodded. “I did think of that, actually. Smudge, perhaps you would be willing to return to the village in the next few days to see if anyone else would come up here to work. I can pay them. I’ve been given sufficient funds for that.

I simply can’t go beg them myself. And I can’t change the fact that this island is surrounded by these fearful waters. ”

“The people are hesitant, but I think them can be convinced.” Smudge kept working as he talked.

Marsh and Mrs. Jagger always stopped whatever they were doing when he or Amelia addressed them.

Was that actually how it was supposed to be done?

Servants and tradesmen had casual and friendly conversations with members of the upper classes on The Beau, but he knew not everything on the show had been accurate.

Problem was, he didn’t know which parts of it were inaccurate, and the stuff they’d had on the show was all he had to lean on to navigate this time period.

“It’s a shame you can’t come to meet the villagers,” Smudge added. “That’d help a heap.”

“I truly can’t,” she said. “But not because I don’t want to.”

Smudge nodded, though whether he knew the details of her situation or not, Kip couldn’t say.

“I’ll bring Mick with me,” Smudge said. “Him’s been down to the village enough. Everywho’s fond of the boy. Them’ll think well of you, hearing from Mick how you’re fond of he and have looked after he.”

“I know what it is to be an orphan,” she said without emotion or self-pity.

She’d touched very briefly on the loss of her parents the night before. Kip had wanted to ask her how they’d died but hadn’t yet felt himself in a position to press.

Amelia turned to Kip. In tones too pleading for his peace of mind, she asked him, “May I speak with you for just a moment in the corridor?”

Why did she seem so sure that he would say no or be upset at the request?

He nodded his agreement and, setting his tools down for the time being, walked with her out into the corridor.

“Thank you for all you did last night,” she said. “I can’t imagine you rested well.”

He shook his head. “As fitful as my sleep was sitting up in the corridor, I think it would have been far worse in my own room, worrying that Mr. Winthrop was causing you grief.”

Her expression turned pensive. “He worries me,” she whispered. “And now, so does my uncle. He never used to, but he is proving himself greedy.”

“He and his friend spoke in the corridor last night,” Kip said. “They are hoping to see you fail; they said so.”

She released a tight breath, one heavy with distress.

“We’ll thwart them,” Kip said. Firmly.

Amelia’s shoulders relaxed somewhat. “I should allow you to return to your work. I need to see to my own. I have come to the conclusion that should I manage to keep my inheritance—” She gave a tiny shake of her head.

“ When I secure my inheritance,” she amended, “I will find myself a home that doesn’t need nearly as much work as this one.

I’d far rather spend my days beautifying a garden than restoring a house. ”

“Sounds to me like you need to go spend some time in your garden. Smudge and I’ll keep at our work in here. You go resecure your peace.”

A hint of a blush touched her cheeks. “I think you are the first person I have ever known who has understood that about me so quickly.”

It was, truth be told, a proud moment for him. To be understood and seen was a powerful thing. He liked knowing he had managed that for her.

“What is it that gives you a measure of peace?” Amelia asked him. “I suspect it isn’t gardens.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever felt that way about gardens. However, I don’t dislike them.”

She smiled softly. It was difficult to think logically when she did that. Did she have any idea how hauntingly beautiful she was? He suspected she didn’t.

“I will discover what it is that brings you peace and a feeling of belonging,” she said. “I’m going to discover what your garden is.”

He watched her walk away, both sad to see her go and delighted at the possibility that she intended to study him. But along with that came the realization that if she was able to sort out what would bring him peace and contentment, she would manage to do something he himself never had.