The water was freezing.
He had dipped a toe in, just one toe, and immediately backed away.
He had.
Dylan hadn't.
Dylan had scoffed, claimed he'd been in colder water, zipped up his wetsuit and dove under the waves before anyone of authority could realize Dylan had broken the staunch rules they had been told.
No diving in the Harbour.
"Fuck that," Dylan had told them outside of the last place the twins had been seen alive. "Brandon and Brenda were together when they disappeared. Isn't that what the security camera showed? If they were together and Brandon was found in the water, then Bren's got to be down there. I'm going after her."
"What if you don't find her down there?" asked Valerie, picking at her food.
"I won't stop 'til I find her," said Dylan definitively.
Steve had glanced at the unusually quiet woman on the other side of the table.
"Kel?" he asked. "Aren't you going to eat something?"
"That wasn't Brandon," she said, both to them and to no one.
Steve also wished the body hadn't belonged to Brandon, but Jim and Cindy Walsh had confirmed the identification the day before.
All Steve could do was stay strong for his friends, as he knew Brandon would have done if the roles were reversed.
Steve had to be the pillar of strength, because Brandon could no longer be.
Kelly had walked around in a daze since arriving in Cork. Valerie had lashed out at anyone who dared to give her sympathies about Brandon. Dylan had stormed into the old building that used to belong to the White Star Line offices and demanded to see the last footage they had on the missing Walshes.
As much as Steve wanted to shatter, to cry for the loss of his best friend, his brother, he couldn't.
He had permitted himself to tear up only once, when he had seen the news report on Maggie's small kitchen television.
"Not Brandon," said Maggie, over and over on a loop. "This will kill Brenda."
If Brenda would ever be found, Steve nearly shouted out in his simmering rage, but he kept what he wanted to say inside.
Kelly hadn't seen the news.
Kelly hadn't known anything about Brandon until she had seen Steve's face.
Except Kelly assumed Steve's face was about Brenda.
"Did they find her?" Kelly had asked, sitting beside Steve in the taxi hired to return them to the airport. "Is she alright? Is Brandon with her?"
"Kel," Steve hadn't known where to begin. He had to begin somewhere, as both Dylan and Valerie had shied away from telling Kelly and he couldn't let her find out through the news as they had. "Kel," Steve had said again, reaching for her hand, "when is the last time you saw Brandon?"
"At a psychology conference last summer." Kelly was startled by the question. "He was covering it. I had planned to say hi, but he left with his colleagues before I got the chance. I don't think he even knew I was there."
"What would you have told him, if you had been given the chance?" asked Steve.
"I don't like where this is going," Kelly had said, withdrawing both of her hands from Steve's reach. "If you think we won't find him, you're wrong. We will. We'll find him, and I'll make sure he knows just how much we looked for him."
"He's been found, Kelly."
"No," Kelly had said, looking closer into Steve's eyes, "no."
That was the last time Kelly had spoken, until sitting at that sidewalk café.
"It is him," said Valerie. "His dental records match. If there was the tiniest possibility that it wasn't Brandon, I'd be out hunting for him right now, but Cindy and Jim know their son, Kelly."
"Then how do you explain the pocket watch?" Kelly had fired back. "Jim said he had never seen that pocket watch in his life."
"Could've been a gift from a colleague," said Val. "Jim doesn't know everything."
"Why would Brandon's colleague give him a pocket watch with an inscription that he should use it for his sister?" Kelly had asked.
"Why would Jim and Cindy not know their own son?" asked Valerie. "Are you trying to mess with me, Kel? Are you trying to give me false hope? Do you hate me that much?" Valerie had abruptly stood. "Fuck this. I'm outta here."
"Where are you going to go?" Steve had asked.
"I'm going to see what Donal knows," said Val.
"I'm going to check the footage again," said Kelly. "It isn't Brandon. It isn't."
"And where are you going?" Steve had asked as Dylan had also stood.
"To buy a wetsuit," Dylan had said. "You coming, or what?"
Steve had chosen to come along, needing the distraction himself.
"What were you and Papa Walsh talking about last night?" Steve had asked.
"The twins," said Dylan, though it was clear he was hiding something. "What else?"
"You seemed to be yelling at each other."
"That's what Jim and I do."
"Is that all?"
"Drop it, Steve. Just drop it."
Dylan had appeared defeated enough to the point that Steve had temporarily given up on the subject of Jim Walsh.
But not on investigating what had happened between Dylan and Brenda to bring them to the distant place they had stood before Brenda had disappeared.
"I asked Mags why she can't stand you," Steve had said.
"And?" asked Dylan. "What'd she say?"
"'The one time Brenda tried calling that wanker after he left, she stained her carpet.' Any idea what Mags is talking about?"
"None."
"Bren didn't try to call you at any point?"
"Sanders, I think I would know if Bren tried to call me." Dylan had sifted through rack after rack. "When was the date of this alleged phone call?"
"I didn't ask." Steve had helped Dylan browse. "Do you think there's any truth to what Kel's saying?"
"People don't come back from the dead, Sanders."
"Jack did."
"Yeah, well, my father was never dead, was he?" Dylan had bitterly asked. "Brandon isn't pulling a fast one on us the way Jack did. The only thing I can do for Brandon now is to find his sister."
"Bren could also be -"
"Don't." Dylan's hand had balled into a fist and rested atop a hanger. "Don't say it."
"What makes you so sure she was kidnapped?"
"Because she's still alive," said Dylan. "I can feel it."
"Like Kel feels Brandon's still alive?"
"Look, if Brenda was - if she was; look, I'd know, okay? I'd know." Dylan had stepped away from the rack. "We aren't finding a wetsuit down here. I'm going to check upstairs."
He had found his wetsuit, but his plan to remain underwater until he had found Brenda went by the wayside when Dylan was caught by the search-and-rescue team.
"It isn't me you needed to rescue!" he shouted at the team. "It's Brenda! She's down there. I'm telling you; she's down there. The more time you waste looking for her on land, the - the -"
Dylan couldn't say the rest.
"We will send down a submarine," they were told. "No untrained divers in the harbor."
"A submarine isn't good enough," Dylan bit out. "I've spent my life in the water. No one knows the way of the waves better than me. You gotta let me dive further out."
Dylan was denied.
A grumpy Dylan, an enraged Valerie, and a Kelly in firm denial was too much for Steve to handle alone.
It was almost a relief when he was joined by David.
Almost, because Donna had insisted on coming along, and the last thing any of them needed was a possibly pregnant Donna joining their rescue mission.
"I want to help," Donna said.
"You want to help?" asked Valerie. "How do you expect to be of much help when you might be carrying Kelly's spawn?"
"I loved Brandon, too," said Donna. "I want to help. Brandon would want me to help."
"Brandon wants you to help," Kelly corrected.
She did that every time Brandon was spoken of in the past tense.
"Val and Donna, go with Kel. Silver, you're with us," said Dylan.
"Is this some kind of sexist arrangement?" asked Valerie.
"I don't care what you do," said Dylan, "just as long as we find Brenda."
"And Brandon," said Kelly.
Steve followed Dylan and David back to the former White Star Line offices, where they sat to examine more footage from the day of the Walsh siblings' disappearance.
"Him." Dylan paused the footage. "Talking to Brenda. That's the guy, isn't it? The one who was pictured in the paper with Brandon?" Dylan fast-forwarded the tape. "The last person to see either of them alive."
"Old Mr. Walshford," said the head of security. "Sweet man. A frequent visitor."
"Where can I find this Mr. Walshford?" asked Dylan.
Shit, that was a steep path.
Of all the places old man Walshford could have lived, it had to be near the cathedral.
"If you're gonna keep walking like you've aged sixty years, I can leave you behind," said Dylan from up ahead.
David and Steve both increased their pace.
Dylan pounded on the door of the small cottage.
It opened, revealing a man more ancient than anyone Steve had ever known.
"May I help you?" asked the man. It was easy to tell that he had seen much better days.
He peered at them beneath his gold-chained spectacles.
"You were the last person to see Brenda McKay," said Dylan, getting right down to the point.
Walshford rapidly blinked, and Steve swore tears swirled in that blink.
"McKay?" asked Walshford.
"Walsh," said Dylan. "Brenda Walsh. You were the last person to see Brenda Walsh, so you're gonna tell us what we want to know."
"Is this an interrogation?" asked Walshford.
"If it has to be," said Dylan.
Something caught Dylan's eye, causing him to push open the door further and barrel past Walshford.
"That's Brenda," said Dylan, looking at a picture on the wall.
"And that's Valerie," said David.
The smiling women in the sepia-tinted photograph did appear similar to the Brenda and Valerie that Steve knew, but their fashion of choice threw him off.
That wasn't Brenda's style, or Valerie's.
Dylan whirled around to face Walshford.
"What did you do to Brenda?" he demanded.
"Now, there's a perfectly good explanation for this," Walshford began.
"Oh yeah?" Dylan pulled out his phone. "There's a perfectly good explanation for why you snatched my Brenda? Tell it to the cops."
"She was my Brenda first," said Walshford. "She was taken from me. The Society offered me the opportunity to bring her back, to fix our future, and you do not give up an opportunity like that when you are as old as I am, young man."
Steve had to hold Dylan back.
"You sick fucker!" Dylan roared. "If you did anything to my Brenda like you did to Brandon, I swear I will ensure you never see the sun again."
The sirens were imminent.
Steve was surprised that Walshford didn't attempt to escape.
"Do not give up an opportunity like that, young man," Walshford repeated as he was cuffed on charges of murder and kidnapping.
"I thought his name was Walshford," said David, reading over a stack of envelopes on the table in the vacant home of a new prisoner.
The envelopes were all addressed to Mr. Dylan McKay.
"So he stole my name, and then he stole Brenda," said Dylan. "Brandon must've caught onto all of this, confronted the old man, and got tossed in the harbor."
"Brandon, tossed into the harbor by a man as feeble as that?" asked David.
"He could have hired someone," said Dylan.
"That doesn't explain why Val's in that picture," said David.
"Photo editing," said Dylan. "He found a picture of Val and Bren in Brandon's wallet and edited it all together."
"That's a pretty excellent paste job," said Steve. "Maybe he just knew two women who looked a lot like Bren and Val."
"What, like their doppelgängers?" asked Dylan derisively.
They searched the entire cottage and the surrounding property.
No Brenda.
"I know it sounds crazy," said Steve, "but could it be possible that there are two Brendas? Maybe two Valeries?"
"And what," Dylan scoffed, "two Brandons too, I suppose?"
"I just think there's more to this Dylan McKay thing than we think. He could've brought back the wrong Brenda."
"We are not calling him that," said Dylan. "You don't actually believe this shit, do you?"
"The man is one hundred and twelve years old," said Steve. "Should we really assume he's a kidnapper?"
"He confessed," said Dylan. "The perv thinks Brenda was his first. There's no age limit for criminals, Sanders. He did something with Bren, and I'm gonna find out what. Then Walshford's never gonna see the light of day again."
They returned to find Kelly, sitting on the sofa in the hotel lobby, clutching the pocket watch that had been found in Brandon's possession.
"She won't let go of it," said Donna.
"This means something." Kelly traced her finger over the watch face. "It means something."
David eyed Valerie.
"What?" she asked.
"What do you know about your great-grandma?" he asked her.
"What?" Valerie asked again.
"The Society," said David. "Was she a member of the Society?"
"What Society?" asked Valerie, further stumped. "Why are you asking about my great-grandma?"
"Silver's officially lost it," said Dylan.
"The women in the photo," said David. "There was a ship funnel in the background. You saw it, didn't you?"
"All I saw in that photo was the handiwork of a stalker," said Dylan. "That background could have been torn out of any magazine, or digitized on a computer."
"Do you know what photo they're talking about?" asked Donna.
"Not a clue," said Val.
Steve was the closest to Dylan's ringing phone.
"Go ahead," Dylan gestured at Steve. "You'll be glad to know we found Brandon's murderer and Brenda's kidnapper," he told the others.
"You did?" asked Val.
Kelly remained transfixed on the watch, as if she hadn't heard Dylan.
"Now all we have to do is get him to confess where he hid Brenda and then we can safely bring her home," said Dylan.
When Steve heard who was on the line, he gestured back at Dylan.
"Go over that again," said Dylan, holding the phone to where Steve could hear it as well.
"Iris is on her way out there," said Dylan's younger sister, Erica McKay. "She had a dream that Bren and Brandon are trapped in the past. I told her that was crazy, but you know how Iris gets with her dreams. I tried to convince her to let it go. She insisted that she had to get to you, grabbed something from the attic, and left. Should I fly out, too?"
"You stay there," said Dylan. "I can't watch you and concentrate on finding Brenda."
"You don't need to watch me," said Erica.
"I do need to watch you," Dylan argued. "Riggs is out there."
"Riggs won't just randomly walk into a town in Ireland."
"You're safer in Hawaii. I'll send Iris straight back once I get her to forget this crazy idea."
"Maybe it isn't so crazy," Steve ventured.
Dylan stared at him.
"Hear me out," said Steve. "You're convinced Bren's alive. Kel's convinced Brandon's alive. Maybe they are, just not here."
"You're talking time travel," said Dylan. "They would've had to travel through time, a concept many have tried and no one's succeeded in. You realize that, right?"
"Marty McFly did it."
"Marty McFly is a character in a movie you've watched way too many times."
"It's a cool movie," said Erica.
"Don't help him," said Dylan.
"Is it really all that crazy to believe in the possibility of time travel when so many creators have imagined it?" asked Steve. "You're a writer. You know imagination comes from somewhere."
"What's crazy is thinking the twins travelled through time," said Dylan. "That's the crazy part."
"As opposed to the alternative, where a hundred and twelve year old man hired a goon to toss Brandon in the water so he could get hold of Bren?" Steve lowered his voice away from the phone, to prevent Erica from listening in. "You told me before that Iris dreamed Jack was alive."
"She could've seen the same news report I did," said Dylan.
"And how about her dreaming that you and Kel would split less than a year after the Silvers' wedding?"
"Anyone could've seen that coming."
"Look, your mom's dreams may be crazy, but they are grounded in reality. Just see what she has to say."
"You're just saying this to get Walshford off the hook."
"McKay."
"Walshford."
"McKay?" asked Erica, who could evidently hear their conversation again.
"Your brother got a hundred and twelve year old man arrested," said Steve.
"Dylan! What the fuck?"
"He kidnapped Brenda and killed Brandon," said Dylan forcibly.
"Did he?" asked Erica.
"He has a stalker wall," said Dylan.
"He has one photo that David thinks came from a news clipping," said Steve.
"Silver!" hollered Dylan.
David jogged over.
"You belted?"
"Did you tell Sanders the picture looks out of a news clipping?"
"Yes," said David, "because it does." He withdrew the picture from his pocket.
"You stole the old man's photo?" asked Steve.
"I wanted to get a professional's opinion on it," said David. "It looks real to me. I think the woman's related to Val."
"And, what, Val's doppelgänger great-grandma just happened to know a woman who looks exactly like Bren?" asked Dylan.
"And a man who looks like Brandon." Steve tipped his finger towards the far corner of the photo. "Doesn't he look like Brandon?"
"You've both lost it," said Dylan.
"Dyl, I really hope you didn't send an innocent man to prison," said Erica.
"Why is everyone ganging up on me?" asked Dylan. "He straight-up confessed that he took Brenda. By default, that makes him Brandon's killer. Am I supposed to not want justice for Brandon's murder?"
"We don't know it was a murder," said Erica.
"We don't know it wasn't, especially with Walshford involved," said Dylan. "Tell me Iris doesn't know where we're staying."
"She didn't, but you weren't difficult to find," said a voice behind them.
Steve thought Iris McKay had aged quite gracefully. Her vibrant red curls were piled atop her head. Her jewelry clinked with her movements.
"Brandon is alive," she told Dylan. "He is alive, and Brenda is with him."
"I knew it!" said Kelly. "I told you! Brandon is alive. He's alive and when I see him, I'm going to tell him everything I haven't told him."
The group moved to Steve's hotel room, where they could further discuss Iris' theory without causing a disturbance to the other guests.
"Brenda is here," Dylan told his mother. "In this life. I don't know where, but she is, somewhere. She isn't in the past, okay? She isn't."
"Dylan, you have scoffed at my beliefs for years, but did I or did I not tell you when you came out of your coma that you would return to Brenda?"
"You did, but -"
"And did I not tell you Steve's wife would file for a separation?"
"Hey, wait a minute. What?" asked Steve.
"Okay, so you can on occasion be right, but Mom, this is ludicrous. There's no way."
"More ludicrous than the hypnotherapy that showed you a past life you believed to be real?"
"That's different," said Dylan. "I was so messed up that year. It made me more gullible than usual. Molly could've told me I'd been Bluebeard in another life, and I would have believed her. But time travel? That's a whole other thing. That's science, and - and physics, and -"
"This belonged to my great-grandmother." Iris held out what appeared to be an old coin. "It was one of the few items she possessed when she came to the US."
Dylan and Steve read the imprint on the back of the coin.
We, the Society, vow to never stop dreaming, it said.
"Society?" asked Dylan.
"Legend has it that a group of dreamers formed a Society in the early days of Mesopotamia," said Iris. "There was a sect amongst the Mesopotamians that attempted to forbid dreamers, but you cannot make a dreamer stop dreaming. The Society welcomed dreamers. They believed that if you lost someone of great value in one life, you could find them again in the next. The Society actively made it possible, by offering trips to the future or to the past to find the ones that had been lost."
"What does this have to do with us?" asked Dylan.
"The coin is said to be a portal to the past," said Iris. "If it does not work then, fine, I'm a kook. My mother was a kook, my grandmother, and her mother before her. You'll come from a long line of kooks. But if it does work, it may show you whether the Walshes are indeed stuck in the past."
"And if they are?" asked Steve, urging with his eyes for Dylan to try out the coin.
"If they are, then Dylan and Kelly will have to return to a point in their own lives to keep Brandon and Brenda from ever being in Cork on the day they disappeared."
"Why Dylan and Kelly?" asked Val.
"Because if I'm right, and I do believe I am," said Iris, "then as Dylan is Brenda's great love, so too is Kelly Brandon's. Which means they are the only ones who can save the twins from their fate."
"What makes you so sure?" asked Val.
"Only a great love will be able to use this coin for the purpose it is intended," said Iris. "Or perhaps two individuals, halves of two loves unlike any the universe has ever known."
"Assuming this works, how will we get back?" asked Dylan.
"There is not enough energy in that coin to last you past a day," said Iris. "You will have only enough time to determine if Brandon and Brenda are there."
"I'll go, if he won't." Taking the coin, Valerie failed to make anything happen.
So did Steve, David, and Donna.
"See?" said Dylan. "It doesn't work. Just another one of your wild ideas, Mom."
"Then there's no harm in you trying it out," said Steve.
Donna gave Dylan the coin.
"Here goes nothing." Dylan flipped the coin over.
Kelly curved her finger against it.
"Think of the two you long to see," said Iris. "Your desire will direct you to the proper place in time."
"Brandon," Kelly whispered, clutching at her chest.
"Brenda," Dylan murmured, holding out his free arm as if he had draped it over Brenda's shoulders.
The coin took on the appearance of a mood ring, turning a multitude of colors from various ends of the color wheel before emitting a blinding flash.
Steve shielded his eyes from the light.
The coin clattered to the floor, in the place where Dylan and Kelly had stood.
Steve picked it up.
Letters forming words that appeared Latin and what may have been the design of a cross stared up at him, on what Iris explained was said to be a Medieval French franc.
xx
There was a sprightliness in her brother's step, one she had not seen in years; if ever.
She wondered if it had to do with the large plate of fish he had put into the icebox that he insisted had not been thieved.
"You look, dare I say, happy?" said Valerie, warming up her fish over the old stove. "Will you share with me why?"
"Only that you are to join me in the park on Thursday," said Dylan.
"In the park?" asked Valerie. "Whatever for?"
"For food," said Dylan.
"Is the reason you are happy aware that we will be leaving?" asked Valerie.
"No." Dylan became sullen. "And you are not to say. Eat up," he changed the subject. "We may not get many more feasts like these."
Shutting the door behind him, Dylan went to look out over the rooftops.
He liked to do that: sit on the roof and watch the people pass by.
Valerie had tried to join him in the past, but had quickly grown bored by the activity.
Besides, she had a small bit of savings left over from her latest paycheck, and she was determined to use it to buy Dylan a birthday present.
He likely hadn't even realized that they would set sail on his birthday, as Dylan was not overly fond of the day.
Their mother, after all, had died at exactly midnight on one of those birthdays.
Valerie had scrimped and saved, taking on odd cleaning jobs in the hours when she didn't work at the museum.
Dylan deserved one nice thing on his birthday, whether or not he wanted to celebrate it.
"Valerie." The voice gripped her spine in an Arctic chill. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"It's a street," said Valerie. "I am walking on it."
"You still owe me, Valerie." Vitor drew his hand across Valerie's waist. "The debt has not been paid."
"The debt is nearly paid," said Valerie, trying to remain upright as she hoped Vitor couldn't see the furious wobble of her knees in the low-lit street.
"The debt can be paid in other ways." Vitor drew Valerie to him and breathed into her ear. "You always were a sensational companion in bed. My best strumpet."
"Your best strumpet who you nearly got killed." Valerie pushed Vitor off of her.
"These things happen, Valerie," said Vitor. "Let us make amends, yes? I will forgive the debt, if you will return to my service."
"I promised Dylan I would never approach you again. I will not break my promise to my brother."
"It is a win for your brother," said Vitor. "He will be able to save his meager wages. He will no longer owe me. You, I can give you wealth beyond all your imaginings."
"I'm out of that life, Vitor. I have been out for years. You will not lull me back in with fake promises. I was younger. Naïve."
"You are parroting the words of your brother."
"Goodbye, Vitor," said Valerie. "Goodbye, and good riddance."
Valerie tried to run. Vitor was faster.
"Release me!" Valerie kicked out her legs, clawing at him.
"It has been so long since I have been near someone so desirable," said Vitor, tightening his grip on Valerie's leg.
"Valerie?"
Valerie closed her eyes, praying the other woman would leave.
"Valerie, who is this man?"
"Brenda - Miss Walshford - you needn't concern yourself," said Valerie.
"It appears that you are quite uncomfortable," said the man standing beside Brenda. "To see a woman as uncomfortable as you in the grip of a man makes me quite furious."
"This is hardly your concern," said Vitor. "Valerie is my possession."
"You will be in the possession of the authorities if you do not unhand that woman," said David Silverthorne.
"Do you believe I am afraid of you?" asked Vitor.
"Him, no. But I? I can crush you into a pulp."
Vitor turned around, still gripping onto Valerie, and encountered a man much larger, much taller than Vitor.
"Now, what is it to be?" asked the man. "Will you release this friend of David's, or shall I grind you into a fine dust?"
Vitor dropped Valerie.
"This is not over," he said.
"It is long over," said Valerie, unable to pick herself up off the ground.
"Merci, Scofield," said David.
"Anytime you require my services, simply contact me," said Scofield before he rushed off.
"Who was that man?" asked Brenda as she helped Valerie to stand.
"No one of consequence," said Valerie.
"Your skirts," Brenda looked her over, "they are destroyed."
"I've another pair at home," said Valerie.
A blatant lie.
Brenda must have seen straight through the lie, for she said, "I will take you to my seamstress, and then return you home. David? Will you accompany us?"
"Valerie, is it?" asked David as he helped them both into the motor car.
Valerie could barely speak, for David Silverthorne knew her name.
"Really, this is far too much," she said, looking at the pile of new skirts Brenda had picked out for her.
"What good is money if you cannot help those with less?" asked Brenda, her face half-hidden in the scarf wrapped around her head. "These will all look divine on you."
"I will accept half, or less," said Valerie. "But not all."
"Will you accept it if it is a gift from a friend?"
"Are we friends?" asked Valerie.
"Whether we are or are not, you must allow me to point out that David is stood outside, guarding the building. I think he may be bewitched by you."
"Bewitched?" Valerie was horrified. "You do not think me a witch?"
"Bewitched, as in captivated," said Brenda. "I believe David is captivated by you."
"Men often are," said Valerie. "It never means anything more than that they think with their genitals."
Brenda gaped at Valerie.
"Is it something I said?" asked Valerie.
"I am not accustomed to such crass language," said Brenda. "I think I like it," she hurried on before Valerie could become offended. "It is refreshing. But I would not count David as a man who thinks with his," Brenda whispered out, "manly parts."
"All men do," said Valerie.
"Does your brother?" asked Brenda.
"He might be the only exception."
"As might David. He doesn't dart out of his house for just any woman, and he certainly does not get Scofield involved unless David feels there is a need."
New skirts in hand, Valerie tried to gauge whether David did have an interest in her.
He could hardly look her in the eye.
Valerie convinced herself that David had only done the nice thing; nothing more, nothing less.
"What happened?" asked Dylan as he stood outside the house.
"Valerie was in need of new skirts," said Brenda. "I knew just where to take her."
"What happened to your old skirts?" asked Dylan.
"They were crimson," said Brenda, which effectively shut Dylan up.
"How much are we indebted to you?" he asked, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck.
"You are not," said Brenda.
"Why are you wearing that scarf?" asked Dylan.
"I'm sorry?"
"You are covering your face. You were not covering your face before."
"It is nothing, just a bit of pallor from overexertion," said Brenda. "David, I am ready."
Dylan stepped between Brenda and David.
"Remove the scarf, Brenda," said Dylan.
"I shan't," said Brenda. "It is quite rude of you to make such a demand, to infringe on a lady's privacy in such a way."
"Brenda, remove the scarf," Dylan said again.
"I shall wish you a goodnight, Mr. McKay, and be on my way."
Dylan reached out to pull the scarf off of Brenda's face.
Valerie gasped.
"What happened to your cheek?" she asked.
A bruise stretched from Brenda's cheek to the bottom of her eye.
"A fall." Brenda held her cheek. "I fell, off of my horse. I lost control of the reins and fell. It was terribly clumsy of me."
"You did not fall," said Dylan. His eyes blazed, bearing a torch forged in Mount Vesuvius. "Worthington? Did Worthington do this?"
"Richard did this?" asked David.
"It wasn't Richard," said Brenda.
"Tell me who did this," said Dylan.
"I cannot," said Brenda. "I chose to stand between him and Nanny, in the midst of one of his tirades. I knew what that decision would entail."
"Your father did this," said Dylan. "The Earl hit you, didn't he?"
"Had he not hit me, he would have hit Nanny," said Brenda. "I could not allow that to happen."
"You do not need to remain in that place, Brenda," said Dylan. "There isn't a cent or franc worth this violence."
"It is not about the money," said Brenda. "I have tried to run away before, when Brandon and I were newly seven. Mother found me, about to board a train back to London. She brought me back. I saw the bruises Father had inflicted on Brandon. Father said if I were to do that again, Brandon would suffer. Mother said I must do everything I can to ensure Brandon will not suffer. I cannot leave, until Brandon leaves."
"You can both leave," said David.
"We will," said Brenda. "I with Richard, and Brandon with Susannah. It must be why we agreed to these marriages, because we knew they would help us leave Father."
"How is Worthington going to help you get away from your father when you said yourself how close he is to the Earl?" asked Dylan.
"Father will trust me with Richard, and that trust will ensure Father will not constantly be checking up on us."
Valerie wondered how Brenda could not detect Dylan's palpable frustration.
Valerie also wondered why Dylan seemingly cared so much about a woman she had thought Dylan had met only once before.
"I will grab supplies from Father's stores," said David.
"I will treat the wound," said Dylan. "I have treated enough of Valerie's to know what to do."
"It's Brenda," said Valerie, helping Dylan to set out the supplies David had brought. "Brenda is the reason there is a dance in your step, isn't she? You have met her between the museum and now?"
Dylan would not meet Valerie's eye.
"It does not matter," he said, focused on his task. "I cannot protect her from the Earl, as Richard Worthington can. He can afford the finest security, to move from city to city at a moment's notice. I cannot."
"Richard will not protect Brenda from Jameson. You know that," said Valerie.
"Brenda believes he will," said Dylan, though his statement lacked heart. "I have to believe that she knows another side to Worthington, one I am not privy to. I have to believe she has chosen a good man, despite my own reservations of him, and that Worthington's bond with Jameson will not be put before his marriage."
Valerie continued to protest, but Dylan shushed her as Brenda returned.
"This is too much," said Brenda. "Really, I am perfectly fine to go home."
"You flinched when I removed the scarf," said Dylan. "You are to sit and let me treat this wound. It is the least I can do, after the skirts you bought Valerie and the meals you have provided our home."
Valerie ushered David into her room, to give Dylan and Brenda privacy.
"You can still see them," she told David.
"Brenda is entrusted to my care," said David. "I have known her so long that she has become like a sister to me. Now I am to tell Brandon what their father did to our sister?"
"You didn't tell my brother about Vitor," said Valerie. "Why?"
"It did not seem a story you would want him to know," said David.
"Are you betrothed?" asked Valerie.
"No," David smiled, and Valerie decided she had never seen a smile lovelier. "I am not."
Valerie pressed her lips to David's cheek.
"I have always wanted to do that," she confessed.
"Kiss a man's cheek?" asked David, tenderly holding his cheek.
"Kiss your cheek," said Valerie.
"Did it live up to your expectations?" asked David, flabbergasted.
"It did," said Valerie.
She wanted to do far more than kiss David's cheek, but it was neither the time nor the place to initiate what Valerie had in mind.
Not with Dylan and Brenda in the other room.
"My brother likes your friend," said Valerie.
"I believe my friend likes your brother," said David. "But she seems set on this marriage with my cousin."
"Do you also think your cousin can help Brenda?"
"I think Brenda is living in a fantasy if she believes Richard intends to distance them from the Earl. My cousin himself has a temper, one I do not believe Brenda is aware of the extent. It is rare, but it exists nevertheless. Richard likes things to be just so. One wrong move from Brenda, and Richard may react just as the Earl would."
"Then there must be some tactic we can use to persuade Brenda that marrying Richard is not in her best interest."
"There is," said David. "Dylan must work on gaining Brenda's affections, until she will be so enamored with him that the thought of being separated from him will be unbearable, unbearable enough for Brenda to toss aside both Richard and the Earl. Only then will Brenda be safe."
"I can try to convince him. But it will not be easy."
"Perhaps you should meet Brenda's brother. You can devise a plan together."
In her wildest dreams, Valerie would have never dreamt of herself, sitting across from David Silverthorne in his luxurious motor car, on their way to meet Brandon Walshford.
The Brandon Walshford, the one she had read about in a multitude of papers.
"You needn't be nervous," said David. "You have met Brenda. Brandon is similar."
"Brenda was not named Cherbourg's Most Desired Bachelor from the years of 1909 to 1911," said Valerie. "Had he not announced his engagement to Susannah at the start of the year, he would have been named such again." She looked out the window. "Who is that blonde he is speaking to? That does not look like Susannah Keating."
"It is not," said David. "That is Kellieanna, Brandon's newest friend."
Their body language spoke to their being much more than friends, thought Valerie.
"If Brandon does not want to wed Susannah, why does he not break off the engagement?" asked Valerie.
"It is not as simple as that," said David.
"The wealthy always make things more complicated than they need to be."
"Did you say something?" Brandon called into the open window.
"Me?" asked Valerie. "I did not say a thing."
"I know I heard something," said Brandon. He kissed Kellieanna's hand. "You heard it, didn't you, Kellieanna?"
"I heard whatever you want me to hear," said Kellieanna.
She stood lost in Brandon's eyes; he, in hers.
"What did you think you heard?" asked David.
"I cannot tell you in front of the lady," said Brandon. "I will see you tomorrow?" he asked.
"Tomorrow, bright and early. You will come to the performance. Stephen will be there. You are welcome, too, David," said Kellieanna.
She pronounced David's name as if he were an Italian Renaissance painter.
"Would you like to come along?" David asked Valerie.
"I've not been to a performance," said Valerie. "I would not be appropriately dressed."
"Nonsense," said Kellieanna. "You all will come."
Once they had driven off, David again asked Brandon what he had heard in the wind.
"I cannot say in front of this lady, either," said Brandon.
"Oh, trust me," said Valerie. "I'm no lady."
"It was the voice of a woman," said Brandon. "An angry woman, who called Kellieanna the equivalent of a female dog for, and I quote, having 'my face!'"
"Must have been a ghost," said David.
"You believe in ghosts?" asked Valerie.
"Why, don't you?" asked David.
"I don't think I have considered the matter much before."
"So you are Valerie." Brandon sat back to admire her.
"Am I to your liking?" Valerie posed the way she had seen the women of Brandon's circles do.
"You appear to be to David's liking, and therefore, you are to mine, as well," said Brandon. "David said you may be able to help my sister."
"It would involve an affair between her and my brother. Brenda may lose her riches."
"Her riches will mean nothing if she cannot avoid a marriage with Richard Worthington," said Brandon. "David has warned me that Richard will make it his mission to tame Brenda. My sister is not a wild beast to be tamed."
"Then what we must do is bring her and Dylan together at every opportunity," said Valerie. "If Brenda can fall in love with Dylan, she will, as David said, be unable to bear their parting. The issue is that Dylan will do everything he can to keep that from happening, as he believes Brenda requires riches to keep her safe and our ability to acquire them is non-existent."
"Is your implication that Dylan already possesses an attraction for my sister?"
"Mr. Walshford," said Valerie, "I believe every man from Cherbourg to Avignon possesses an attraction for your sister."
Brandon laughed.
"You were spot-on, Silverthorne. I do like her," said Brandon. "She has a sharp tongue, and I do like a woman with a sharp tongue. Then, Miss McKay, we have a deal."
Brandon briefly held Valerie's fingers and, though she should have been ecstatic that Brandon Walshford had touched her, Valerie could not help but peek in David's direction.
He had not been designated the Most Desirable Bachelor in Cherbourg, but he was, indeed, a bachelor most desired.
By her, the woman David would never want when he knew with which kind of scum Valerie had once associated herself.
"When you see Kellieanna tomorrow," said Brandon, "please be aware that she thinks I am Brandon Malone, an American. I will tell her the truth, eventually, but for now, I would like our union to be kept private. I am sure you are aware that privacy is difficult to come by for my family."
"Brandon Malone the American, who is not betrothed to Susannah Keating?" asked Valerie.
"Precisely," said Brandon.
"Why did you become betrothed?" asked Valerie.
"I cannot say."
"I will not tell."
"No, I mean; I truly cannot say. I do not know," said Brandon. "But Kellieanna; Kellieanna, I know. It is difficult to explain. Buffalo."
"Pardon?" asked Valerie.
"You are from Canada," said Brandon. "Have you encountered a buffalo?"
What a strange assumption, Valerie thought.
"Not that I am aware of," she said.
"Peculiar. I thought you had."
"Do I have 'I dance with buffaloes' written across my face?" Valerie asked under her breath to David.
"Don't mind him," said David. "We had scarcely known Kellieanna but ten minutes when Brandon asked if she knew a woman called Jackie."
"Did she know a Jackie?"
"Her aunt Jacqueline, deceased for over a decade. If this continues, I will have Father look Brandon over."
"Brenda doesn't seem to be suffering the same oddities. Although it is odd how quickly she has formed an attachment with my brother."
"It may be odd, but it may do her some good," said David. "Here." He withdrew an object and placed it into Valerie's hand.
Valerie examined the object in her hand.
"Thank you, but it is not my birthday," she said, attempting to give back the franc.
"It is not of monetary value," said David. "It is a family heirloom, passed down from generations of Mother's family, since what is believed to be the Middle Ages. Had I a sister, it would have been passed down to her."
"Are you dubbing me your sister?" asked Valerie, dismayed.
"I am dubbing you as someone who can use the reminder on the back far more than I," said David.
Valerie turned over the franc.
We, the Society, vow to never stop dreaming.
"What is the Society?" she asked.
"Mother died before she could tell me, and Father does not know. But who or what the Society is is not important," said David. "What is important is that I can see you have dreams, Valerie, dreams you cannot allow to be derailed by men like we encountered yesterday. Keep this, as a reminder to let your dreams prevail."
Had David not seen her with Vitor, Valerie would have kissed David then and there.
But David had seen her with Vitor, and David was too kind of a gentleman to not be truthful with Valerie about how uncomfortable their kiss would have made him feel.
So Valerie didn't kiss him.
But damn; did she want to.
More than she had ever kissed anyone.
Which; oh, fucking hell's bells.
Meant she was falling hard, and lightning fast, for a man she couldn't have.
Only to sail away from Cherbourg, on to America.
Where she was guaranteed to never see David Silverthorne again.
-x
Steve seems like the type who would watch Back to the Future on a loop.
Sources: Google, eBay, and the website for Birmingham City Council.
(Shout-out to Crystal and Guest to express my gratitude and appreciation, as well as those of you whose review I could respond to directly. Crystal, interesting theory! Guest, David and Donna were great at supporting each other when they were friends who dated other people. When they were a couple, not so much. After their breakup in the eighth season, that should have been it for them. Dylan and Kelly were similar, in that they supported each other best when they could be friends and were a trainwreck when they tried to be more.)
Thanks a million! x
