Our rooms were wallpapered in old-fashioned patterns, and clashed hideously with the bedspreads and matching drapes so lovingly picked out by Mrs. Bradford, who claimed to have had them replaced just last year. She was a sweet old lady who provided a full English breakfast in the mornings and supper, only if ordered no later than noon. She needed time to prepare. Lou and I ate breakfast at the inn, dinner at the Dolphin and lunch wherever. She was working at the manor most afternoons, and I spent time exploring the village and trying not to think of Michael. I had to admit that coming had been a good idea. I felt strangely removed from reality, and the charm of my surroundings helped to cushion me from the acute pain I felt when in the vicinity of my former husband. Lou congratulated herself on being right, and we did our best to enjoy the trip.
My room was directly across the hall from Louisa’s and faced the rear of the building. It was decorated in shades of mauve, and was actually rather cozy if one ignored the multitude of colors and patterns crammed into one small space. I liked to leave the windows uncurtained at night so I could see the ruin of the castle rising mournfully on the hill in the distance. It was just a husk of a tower jutting against the sky, but it fueled my fantasies and helped me get to sleep.
I woke up early one morning and watched the sun rising behind the crumbling edifice, the empty windows momentarily flooded with a blaze of crimson light, turning the gray stones to just a black outline against the rising sun. I decided to ask Mrs. Bradford about it. My guidebook didn’t say anything, and I was curious as to the history of the place. I came downstairs and poured myself a cup of tea, since the coffee Mrs. Bradford made was virtually undrinkable. She erupted from the kitchen with a tray of bacon and eggs and a rack of toast already smothered with butter.
“You’re up early today, lovey. Is your sister still asleep then?” She deposited my cholesterol-fest on the table and stood with her head to one side, clearly expecting a nice chat.
“She’s still sleeping, I think. Mrs. Bradford, I was wondering about that castle on the hill. Who did it belong to?”
“Oh, that. It belonged to a local family called Whitfield, I believe. They were quite wealthy, but not titled. Made their money in trade. Not much is known about them, except that one of them was a traitor and met with a gruesome end. No one has lived there since the seventeenth century and the castle fell to ruin.”
“Can I go explore?” I loved ruins and the prospect of wandering around an old castle perched on a hill overlooking the vista of village, river and the Celtic Sea held great appeal.
Mrs. Bradford gave me a disapproving look. “I wouldn’t recommend it, dear. That place is not safe.”
“You mean it’s a hazard because it’s crumbling?” I was curious to see it and wouldn’t be easily dissuaded.
“No. The stones are not going anywhere. It’s the kids. They hang about the ruins after school, drinking and doing Lord only knows what. The place is full of syringes and worse. Those hooligans like to pick on tourists too, give them a fright, if you know what I mean. Stay away. If you long to see a nice castle, take a day trip to Windsor or Leeds. They’re lovely, with furnished rooms and gift shops. Perfect for Americans.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bradford, I’ll certainly mention that to my sister. I’m sure she’d love to take a little trip on the weekend. May I have more tea?” Mrs. Bradford waddled back into the kitchen to make another pot of tea, and I tucked into my breakfast disappointed. I wanted to see the castle, but not if I were stepping on syringes and looking over my shoulder for hoodlums waiting to give me a scare. I would have to find something else to do today since Lou would be gone for most of the day. I would certainly mention the idea of going to see the places Mrs. Bradford suggested. I would really enjoy that, and anything that would take my mind off my problems would be a welcome distraction. I would just take a walk down Main Street today and look for some souvenirs for mom and dad.
I was just turning the corner to reach my room when Louisa burst out of her room looking flustered and annoyed.
“Totally overslept. Can you believe it? Why didn’t you wake me?” She gave me that accusing older sister look and swept past me down the hall. “Meet me at the Dolphin at 6pm,” she called over her shoulder as I heard her feet thundering down the carpeted wooden stairs, the front door slamming behind her.
“Will do,” I mumbled to myself and entered my room. I looked around until I spotted my sketch pad and a box of charcoal. I wouldn’t go explore the castle, but no one said I couldn’t draw it. I hadn’t drawn anything in months due to lack of inspiration and desire, but at this moment my fingers were itching to hold a piece of charcoal and capture the sinister beauty of the jutting walls of the ruin, outlined against the pristine background of a cloudless June sky. I took my supplies and left by the back door, finding a nice, shady spot in the garden where I had an unobstructed view of my subject. I sat down on a comfortable wicker chair, positioned my pad in my lap and began to sketch. My fingers flew over the page, first outlining the ruin and then filling in the texture of the stone, the narrow slits in the tower that offered glimpses of the sky, and the jagged chunks of what remained of the wall.
I made several different drawings, one in charcoal and two in pastels, trying to capture the desolate, yet mysterious aura of the place. I liked the charcoal drawing better. It was more dramatic, and made the castle look more sinister than the colored drawings. Satisfied with my efforts, I went back to my room and deposited the drawings on the dresser, before putting away the charcoal and pastels and getting ready to leave. I’d grab a light lunch at the café by the wharf and then stop into a few shops along Main Street in search of the perfect gift for my parents. I’d spotted an antique shop tucked away on a narrow side street, and would stop there along the way. My mom would love some Victorian trinket, and dad would probably appreciate something on the history of smuggling in the area. He was always fascinated by anything that had to do with getting over on the tax man.
As I walked toward the river, I tried not to think about Michael’s wedding tomorrow. I knew that some of our friends were attending, and felt an irrational resentment toward them for accepting the invitation. Of course, they had no reason to decline. It wasn’t them he left. I had no right to ask them to choose between us, but I knew they would choose anyway. A few of my friends had remained loyal and steadfast, but some of the couples that we associated with were already choosing to invite Michael and Kimberly and leave me off the list. I was no longer part of a couple, and therefore, not a desirable guest at a gathering where everyone was conveniently paired off. Soon they would be throwing Kimberly a baby shower and giving her advice on nannies and nursery schools, forgetting that it was supposed to be me that they did those things for.
“Stop that right now, Valerie,” I admonished myself. “You’re becoming bitter and angry, and I don’t like you that way.” With that, I put Michael out of my mind and walked into the café. I took a table on the wooden patio overlooking the wharf and ordered a bowl of soup. I loved watching the boats moored by the piers, their wooden hulls rocking gently on the ever-shifting surface of the sparkling river that wound like a ribbon through the hills in the distance. The seagulls screamed to each other and fought over the crumbs left by careless patrons, while fishermen who came back early unloaded their catch, calling out greetings to each other and bragging about their haul. It was a peaceful scene and I stayed longer than I intended, just enjoying the feeling of being a tourist.
Finally, I picked up my bag and left the café heading toward Main Street. I walked slowly down the cobblestone street, looking into shop windows and admiring their wares, as the gentle sunshine of the late afternoon bathed everything in its golden haze. I purchased a few postcards with pictures of the marina and a magnet for my fridge, before coming to the shop I’d been looking for. It was small and dim, cluttered with tiffany lamps, end tables with spindly legs and inlaid surfaces and lacquer boxes depicting oriental scenes of snow-covered pagodas and parasol shaded
geishas. I wandered around, careful not to touch anything.
Just as I was getting ready to leave, I caught a glimpse of a china figurine on a shelf in the far corner. My mom always mentioned a Dresden shepherdess her grandmother used to have that she loved as a little girl, and this reminded me of it. I stopped in front of the shelf and picked up the statuette. It was made in Dresden as I suspected, but two fingers of the smiling, rose-cheeked shepherdess were chipped off. I put the statue back disappointed. It would have been the perfect thing to get for mom. On a shelf above the statuette, I noticed an ormolu clock tucked between a carved jewelry box and a pair of large brass binoculars. The sheer gaudiness of it caught my eye, and I took it down to examine it more closely.
The clock was heavier than I expected, made of brass, with porcelain panels painted with pink and blue flowers around the base. The round face of the clock had a pattern of the same flowers encircling the spindly hands, which pointed to golden roman numerals that were so large they barely left any space for the minutes in-between. The “best” part of the clock was the hugely fat cupid perched on top, holding a loaded bow ready to shoot some unsuspecting victim in desperate need of romance. The clock was ticking loudly, but was set to 8:10, which was almost four hours ahead of time. I’m not sure what possessed me to do it, but I opened the glass panel covering the face of the clock and carefully moved the hands to the correct time, which was 4:05pm. Suddenly, it’s as if all the air had been sucked out of the shop, and I felt like a fish that finds itself out of water, breathing but not drawing in any air. I’d just enough time to put the clock back on the shelf as all sounds faded into silence and I felt momentarily dizzy before everything in front of my eyes went dark.
Chapter 3
I heard the sounds of birdsong and the chirping of crickets before I actually opened my eyes. A light breeze was caressing my face and I felt the warm rays of the sun through my closed eyelids, blades of grass beneath my fingers and the smell of earth and pine filling my nostrils. I slowly opened my eyes and looked up at the cloudless blue sky above the treetops. I was lying in tall grass, dotted with wildflowers and warm from the summer sun. I just lay there for a few moments enjoying the peaceful feeling of floating, before suddenly realizing that this was somehow all wrong.
I sat up and looked around puzzled. There was no sign of the shop I’d been in or even the village. Sparse trees surrounded the meadow I was lying in, and I could see the river flowing to my left through the gap in the trees. There were two fishing boats tied up to posts rising out of the muddy bank, but no sign of the marina or the shops that were there just a few moments ago. I turned to my right, and my blood ran cold. I could see the castle perched on the hill above me, except it was no longer a sinister relic of another time. The castle stood intact and proud, the honey-colored stones warmed by the sun, and its leaded windows reflecting the afternoon light. The wall encircling the castle rose high and impregnable, broken only by the arched wooden doors studded with iron nails and partially opened. I could hear distant voices, and the barking of dogs carried on the wind.
What was going on? One minute I was in the shop looking at the cupid clock, and now I was lying in a meadow not too far from the castle; that up until five minutes ago was just a sad ruin. I looked at my watch. It was 4:10pm. Only five minutes had passed since I turned the hands on the ormolu clock. How did I get here? I looked around again. In relation to the river and the castle, I was sitting in about the spot where the shop would have been, except there was no shop and no street. I could see some fishermen’s huts off in the distance, where there were holiday cottages just a few minutes ago. I closed my eyes, shook my head and opened them again. I was still in the same spot. Reluctantly, I got to my feet and looked around again.
There didn’t seem anywhere to go except in the direction of the castle. I had no idea what I would do when I got there, but at least it was something to do. My purse was nowhere in sight, so I just dusted myself off and began to walk up the hill, my mind spinning out of control. I had no idea what to think, and try as I might, I couldn’t find a logical explanation for what just happened. People didn’t just faint and wake up in a different place and a different time, if that’s what it was. Maybe I was still asleep and I was dreaming all of this. I pinched myself hard and yelped, acknowledging my state of wakefulness. Not asleep then.
As I got closer to the castle I became more and more anxious. What was I to do once I got there? What could I say to whoever was there? What if they turned me away? Where would I go then? There seemed nothing in the vicinity except a few derelict huts and two fishing boats. I took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy, studded door walking into the yard. I was immediately spotted by two large dogs, who bounded over to me and started barking madly, nipping at my feet. I stepped back involuntarily, and found myself bumping into a man who I didn’t realize had come up just behind me. He caught me by the arms and steadied me before yelling at the dogs.
“Shut ye traps, ye fiends. Can’t ye see it’s a lady come to call? Away with ye, then.” The dogs seemed to accept this command and slinked off, leaving me with the man. He was wearing a leather doublet in a muddy shade of brown that could use a good cleaning as it was covered with dust and bits of straw, and his dark pants were tucked into boots covered with muck. The man’s hair was pulled back into a messy tail, and an old hat perched on his head. He looked like something out of a period movie, and I suddenly realized that he was just as curious about my attire as I was about his. I was wearing a sleeveless summer dress in the lightest shade of lilac with a pair of tan leather sandals. The man gaped at me and turned away embarrassed.
“Are ye here to see the Master?” he asked without really looking at me.
“I guess so.” I answered his back as he walked toward the castle implying that I should follow.
The man opened a wooden door and led me up a flight of stairs to the second floor, where he called out for someone named Betty. A plump young woman dressed in a long dress with an apron over it and a cap over her dark, curly hair came out of a room and froze at the sight of me, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
“This young lady is here to see the Master. Will ye inform him he has a visitor?” The girl mutely nodded and disappeared through another door leaving me with the man.
“I am John Dobbs, the overseer,” he informed me, tipping his hat before turning on his heel and leaving me to await the Master, whoever he was. I tried to take deep breaths in order to calm myself, but found myself shaking like a leaf by the time Betty came back into the hall and gave me a little curtsey.
“If ye would follow me, Miss. The Master will see ye in the library.” She led me through a few well-appointed rooms, before opening the door to what must have been the library and motioning me inside. She didn’t go in after me, and I walked in toward the man sitting in an armchair with his feet propped up on the empty grate and a book in his hands. He turned at the sound of my footsteps and rose, putting down the book on top of the mantel of the unlit marble fireplace. He was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in dark pants tucked into a pair of riding boots, a white linen shirt and a velvet doublet in rich brown. His coat was slung over a nearby chair, and he reached for it as I walked in, about to put in on, but became distracted by my appearance. He let the coat fall back onto the back of the chair and looked me up and down discreetly.
“Alexander Whitfield at your service, Madame.” He gave a slight bow of his head and looked at me expectantly.
“Valerie Crane,” I said simply. We stood in silence for a few moments just taking stock of each other. If I wasn’t so scared, I would have noticed that he was very handsome, in a period movie kind of way, with dark hair that fell to his shoulders and eyes the color of caramel, accentuated by his long lashes. His full lips stretched into something resembling a welcoming smile.
“How can I help you, Mistress Crane?”
I was about to say something as a way of explanation, but I suddenly burst int
o tears, overcome by my fear and confusion. The man instantly sprang into action, leading me to a comfortable chair, pouring me brandy from a crystal decanter and offering me his handkerchief.
“I am terribly sorry. I did not mean to upset you. Are you all right?”
I nodded miserably, taking a large gulp of the brandy, and letting it warm its way down my gullet before trying to speak again.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Whitfield. I have no idea how I got here. I found myself in the meadow at the bottom of the hill and saw your home. I thought I’d come here and ask for help.” I realized at that moment that pretending I had no idea what happened would probably be safer, not that I actually did have any idea. All I could do was hope that he was a gentleman and wouldn’t just turn me away.
He looked at me, and I could see a hundred questions racing through his mind, but he didn’t ask any of them. “I will do everything in my power to assist you. You can stay here for as long as you like. I will ask Betty to find you a suitable gown and show you to your room. I think you can do with a rest.” He looked at me waiting for me to agree and then called out to Betty, who appeared about half a second later confirming my suspicions that she had been listening at the door.
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