The Forgotten Sister

by Nicola Cornick

  Lizzie did know. She nodded. ‘How are you?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m doing all right.’ Arthur’s quiet words were belied by the deep lines of tiredness she could see in his face. She imagined that the constant worry of Johnny’s disappearance must be endlessly stressful.

  ‘I guess the first thing I should say is thank you for calling Jules, and for standing bail for me,’ she said. ‘So, thank you.’

  Arthur gave her a proper smile and her heart turned over. ‘You’re welcome,’ he said. ‘I trust you not to abscond.’ He took off his jacket and sat back, looking around. ‘They do great fruit cake here,’ he said. ‘Would you like some?’

  ‘I’ve already ordered a chocolate cupcake,’ Lizzie admitted. ‘I have a very sweet tooth.’

  The cake arrived, and with it a latte for Arthur. He sat back in his chair and took a long, heartfelt swallow of the coffee whilst Lizzie took the thatched roof lid off the teapot, stirred its contents and poured. She thought of all the things she needed to talk to him about and tried to work out how to start.

  ‘Why did you do it?’ she blurted out. ‘Why did you put up the bail money?’

  Arthur laughed. ‘That’s direct. Has no one ever done you a favour before?’

  ‘Not on this scale,’ Lizzie said, ‘and not without wanting something in return.’

  Arthur raised his brows. ‘And that’s cynical.’

  ‘You didn’t tell the police about Johnny’s notebook either,’ Lizzie said bluntly. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Is this an interrogation?’ Arthur looked to be enjoying himself.

  ‘If you like,’ Lizzie said. ‘Why didn’t you tell them?’

  Reaching into his pocket, Arthur tossed the green notebook down onto the table between them. ‘I didn’t think it would do you any favours if they knew it had been found in your flat.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Lizzie said. ‘Especially since Johnny’s phone was apparently found there. Did you plant it on me?’

  ‘I’d hardly plant one piece of incriminating evidence and remove another, would I?’ Arthur said.

  ‘You might,’ Lizzie said, ‘if it was a double bluff.’

  ‘I don’t even begin to understand that,’ Arthur said. He leaned forward. ‘Look, Lizzie, I’m a pretty straightforward sort of person. I don’t play games. You’ll just have to take my word for it that I didn’t plant the phone on you. Anna says she didn’t put it there either, so Johnny must have dropped it and you simply didn’t notice sooner.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Lizzie said, frowning. ‘Johnny told me he had left his phone in the car. Unfortunately, he didn’t say who had given him a lift the night he came to find me. It was just a casual remark at the time and I didn’t think to ask.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t me,’ Arthur said, ‘and Anna doesn’t have a car.’

  ‘OK.’ Lizzie’s shoulders slumped. ‘I suppose it’s just another thing that doesn’t make sense, then.’

  There was quiet for a moment. The waitress brought Arthur a piece of fruit cake and another chocolate cupcake for Lizzie. All around them the shop hummed with visitors and chatter, it felt warm and the air was scented with freshly baked cakes, but Lizzie still felt edgy. She thought about letting the whole time travel thing go, ignoring her instincts and not saying anything to Arthur. Then she wondered if that made her sensible or just a coward.

  ‘I had something else to ask you,’ she said in a rush. Her palm itched and she closed her fingers tightly over it. ‘This is going to sound weird,’ she said, ‘but bear with me.’

  Arthur looked amused. ‘Is it weirder than all the other stuff that’s already happened?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lizzie said, ‘much.’ She took a deep breath. ‘OK. I’m just going to go for it. You mentioned in passing that Johnny has a bit of a habit of disappearing. Dudley said the same thing. I wondered whether you meant he would just wander off somewhere to be on his own and then come back when he felt like it, or whether there was more to it than that.’ She saw Arthur’s frown and hurried on. ‘I mean, has he vanished for long periods of time before? Or has he – I don’t know – just seemed to be there one moment and be gone the next?’ She thought she was probably expressing herself very badly but couldn’t see how to put it any better. She wasn’t ready to blurt out that she thought Johnny travelled in time and she didn’t think Arthur would be ready to hear that either.

  Arthur started to speak then checked himself. ‘Why do you ask?’ he said quietly.

  Lizzie looked him in the eye. ‘I can’t tell you that right now. Please, Arthur, believe me, this is very important.’

  ‘All right,’ Arthur said. ‘But tell me first what Dudley said.’

  ‘Not much,’ Lizzie said. ‘It was whilst he was telling me about how he’d reported Johnny for threatening him. I’m afraid I jumped down his throat. I wish I hadn’t now, but at the time I didn’t realise how important it might be.’ She closed her eyes for a second, trying to remember Dudley’s precise words. ‘He said that Johnny was always saying weird stuff and appearing and disappearing like a ghost and that once, at Oakhangar, Johnny and Amelia were playing some childish trick where he vanished like it was magic.’

  Arthur had turned very pale and his mouth was set in a grim line. ‘It’s odd you should mention that,’ he said slowly, ‘because my immediate reaction to what you asked was that yes, Johnny would sometimes wander off on his own but there was no more to it than that. Then I remembered something.’

  Lizzie’s heart speeded up. She found that she desperately wanted to eat another cupcake, as was so often the case when she felt stressed, but this wasn’t the moment to order a third so she sat on her hands.

  ‘It was when Johnny was a kid,’ Arthur said, ‘about seven or eight, I suppose. We were at our dad’s place in Norfolk, and Johnny just disappeared, literally seemed to vanish into thin air. He was gone for hours. Jess, Johnny’s mum, was frantic. We searched everywhere and then he just popped up again as though nothing had happened. He said he’d been playing with Amy. We assumed he meant Amelia and that made Jess even angrier because Amelia wasn’t even there that day so he had to be lying.’

  Lizzie’s mouth was dry. ‘Perhaps he wasn’t lying,’ she said. ‘After all, that’s pretty much what he’s done now.’

  There was a very long silence. She let it spin out.

  ‘Jules told me about the CCTV,’ Arthur said at last. ‘I haven’t seen it but I have to admit that was what it sounded like.’ He met her gaze. ‘You do know what you’re suggesting?’ He sounded almost angry. ‘You’re implying that Johnny has the ability to travel to a different dimension of time, which is a physical impossibility.’

  ‘By all conventional measures,’ Lizzie said steadily, ‘all of the things we’ve been talking about are impossible: psychometry, telepathy…’ She shrugged. ‘If you believe that there are things we can neither explain nor understand scientifically, and manifestly there are, then this is only one other thing on the list.’

  Arthur was silent again. His head was bent and there was a heavy frown on his brow. Lizzie could sense his emotions even though she wasn’t touching him: there was anger and conflict in him, but she knew it was because he was very close to believing her – and he did not want to acknowledge that. It was way too much, too soon. She could understand that. She surreptitiously gestured to the waitress to bring her another cake.

  ‘Johnny could be in Scotland, or Peru, or… or on a beach in Bali,’ Arthur said. ‘All of those are far more likely scenarios than that he’s somehow gone back in time.’

  ‘I agree,’ Lizzie said steadily, ‘and if Johnny pops up having spent a fortnight in Bali I’ll be delighted. But I don’t think he will.’ She leaned forward. ‘You don’t really think he will either, do you, Arthur?’

  Arthur scrubbed an exasperated hand through his hair. ‘It’s insane. Even if it were a physical possibility, why would he want to go back? Where would he go? What is he trying to achieve?’

  ‘I think I kn
ow the answer to that,’ Lizzie said. ‘I think Johnny believes that if he can change the past, he will be able to prevent Amelia’s death.’

  ‘The past can’t be altered to change the present,’ Arthur argued. ‘I’m not even going to start on the butterfly effect or parallel universes or all those theories—’ He stopped. ‘Are you eating cake at a time like this?’

  ‘I can’t help it,’ Lizzie said, her mouth full of icing. ‘I have a sweet tooth and stress gives me a sugar craving.’ She swallowed. ‘Arthur, the point is not what we believe but what Johnny believes. To stand any chance of finding him, we need to think like he did.’

  Arthur swore. ‘You really believe this, don’t you?’ His dark gaze fastened on her. ‘Shit.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t believe we’re even talking about this and at the same time I can – because of this.’ He touched Johnny’s green notebook. ‘I think you said you didn’t ever get the chance to look through it properly?’

  Lizzie shook her head. ‘After I’d tried to use it to connect to Johnny that first time, I was too exhausted and disturbed to touch it again,’ she said.

  ‘It makes for interesting reading,’ Arthur said, ‘especially in view of your theory about Johnny. I thought at first that it was notes for a history project – Johnny’s studying history along with maths and design at school in Oxford. Then I realised it was much more than that.’ He gave the book a little push towards Lizzie. ‘Take a look,’ he said. ‘I don’t think it will hurt you now. It feels… it feels as though its power is spent somehow, if that makes sense.’

  Lizzie touched the cover gingerly. Arthur was right; there was no flash of sensation this time, no visions, no sense of Johnny’s emotions when he had written his notes. It was as though he had somehow severed his connection to it and it was now nothing more than a pile of pages. Curious, though, she opened it.

  Just as she remembered, there were endless scribbles, diagrams and drawings, sprawling charts that looked like family trees, dates with more jottings written over the top, crossings out and different colours, chaotic and rambling. She found the Robsart family tree and started to read.

  ‘Sir John Robsart,’ she said, ‘born circa 1480, son of Terrence and Lucy Robsart, married Elizabeth Scott, one child, Amy born 1532, died 1560…’ Lizzie noticed that Amy had been twenty-eight when she had died, just like Amelia.

  She read the next line of Johnny’s notes: ‘Amy had one elder half-brother, Arthur Robsart, son of Sir John Robsart and an unnamed mother, illegitimate but accepted into the family and a number of other half-siblings…’

  She looked up and met Arthur’s unreadable dark gaze.

  ‘The similarities are uncanny, aren’t they?’ he said evenly.

  ‘I was reading about Amy Robsart last night,’ Lizzie said. ‘This was exactly what set me thinking about Johnny’s reasons for disappearing. Avery mentioned Amy to me – you remember Avery Basing? She sold Oakhangar Hall to Amelia.’ Then, when Arthur nodded, she went on: ‘I don’t know much about Amy – I haven’t had the chance yet to find out about her – but Avery drew my attention to the parallels between Amelia’s death and Amy’s.’ She glanced back down at Johnny’s notes. ‘It seems that Johnny had worked all that out for himself.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Arthur said, ‘that and much more.’ He shifted in his seat. ‘Johnny’s notes suggest that Amelia’s death was part of a replicating pattern that has played out a number of times down the centuries. It hasn’t just happened once and all the deaths are connected in some way to Amy Robsart, or Cumnor Hall or later, Oakhangar.’

  Lizzie was silent. Around her she was aware of the chink of china and the hum of voices, the repeated ring of the bell as the shop door opened, the scent of cinnamon and chocolate. It felt reassuring and distant at the same time.

  ‘Avery suggested much the same thing,’ she said. ‘She thinks there is something evil trapped in the fabric of Oakhangar Hall and that it draws on the original tragedy of Amy Robsart’s death.’ Despite the scented warmth of the shop she shuddered. Her tea had gone cold. She looked around for a waitress to request a refill.

  ‘That sounds like stone tape theory,’ Arthur said, then at her blank look explained, ‘It was a Victorian pseudoscience and became fashionable all over again in the nineteen seventies when someone made a movie about it.’

  ‘Stone tape theory…’ Lizzie picked up the notebook again. ‘Isn’t there something about that in here…’ She flicked through the pages. ‘Yes, here—’ She read aloud from Johnny’s notes: ‘The Stone Tape Theory speculates that inanimate materials can absorb energy from living beings. A “recording” is laid down during moments of high tension or emotion. This stored energy can then be released, resulting in a display of the recorded activity. In some cases, place memories can be replayed by gifted individuals who claim to be able to interact with the events that are released.’ She looked up. ‘I guess that individual would be me,’ she said bleakly. ‘That’s what happened at Baynard’s Castle, except that I was the one who released the memory and Johnny was the one who interacted with it. It was like just like reading an object only more intense.’

  ‘It’s hard to believe that Johnny set all this up,’ Arthur said. ‘Would he really stitch you up like this? He seemed to quite like you.’

  ‘I think he felt bad about it,’ Lizzie said, ‘but yeah, I do believe that he was so fixated on saving Amelia that he would have done just about anything to achieve that.’

  ‘I guess so,’ Arthur said. ‘You know, you’re the Queen Elizabeth I equivalent in this version of the story, if Johnny’s theory is to be believed.’

  ‘Which has to be one of the most bizarre aspects of this apparent repeating pattern,’ Lizzie said. ‘I’m nothing like her.’

  ‘There are similarities.’ For the first time in a long while, Arthur smiled. ‘The red hair, the… ah… strong personality and—’ he nodded at the crumbs on her plate, ‘the sweet tooth.’

  ‘You mean I’m a diva,’ Lizzie said. She sighed. ‘Well, you could be right.’ She looked round. The tea shop had emptied whilst they were sitting there and the staff were rather ostentatiously polishing the tables and looking at them sideways. ‘I think we’ve outstayed our welcome,’ she said. ‘They want to clean up. We’d better go.’

  They paid the bill and went out onto the high street. Daylight was fading; the church clock chimed five. The stream of cars up the hill seemed relentless.

  ‘It’s an odd mix, isn’t it,’ Lizzie said, ‘all this noise and modernity in a place that looks like a costume drama film set.’

  ‘It’s managed to keep its character, though, despite everything,’ Arthur said. ‘Burford’s a beautiful place. I’ll drive you back,’ he added. ‘Protect you from the paparazzi.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Lizzie said. She pulled on a felt hat of her grandmother’s that was adorned with an outsized flower.

  ‘That hat totally works,’ Arthur said, straight-faced. ‘No one will recognise you at all.’

  ‘I’m sure no one cares really,’ Lizzie said, sliding into the passenger seat of the Land Rover. ‘It’s refreshing. Actually, I could walk,’ she added, as the vehicle roared into life, setting the little phoenix charm above the dashboard swinging and making a number of tourists jump. ‘It’s only two minutes away.’

  ‘It’s no problem,’ Arthur said. He pulled out into the traffic and waved his thanks. ‘I’d like to see The High. It’s supposed to be a nice example of Georgian architecture.’

  ‘It’s not a good example of anything at the moment,’ Lizzie said, ‘apart from what can happen when nature takes over. Renovating is on my list of things to do,’ she added, ‘along with trying to decide what I want to do next with my life.’

  ‘Any thoughts?’ Arthur gave her a sideways glance. ‘I know you said you were planning on writing music again, but you could do anything else you want too. Travel, go to university, set up a charity…’

  ‘Or all of those,’ Lizzie said. ‘I’ll let you know. The High is h
ere on the left,’ she added, gesturing to him to go through the wrought iron gates. ‘I told you it was close.’

  The Land Rover roared over the gravel and drew to a stop at the front door.

  ‘The High is an interesting name,’ Arthur said, ‘considering it’s halfway down the hill. Where did it come from?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Lizzie said. ‘I’ll ask Avery. She’s bound to know. Before I forget, there was one other thing I wanted to tell you.’

  ‘Only the one?’ Arthur said.

  ‘It’s the stone angel,’ Lizzie said. ‘The one that Johnny took the night he disappeared. That day at Amelia’s wedding when I cut my hand on the gazing ball and you bandaged me up—’

  ‘Yes?’ Arthur was smiling at the memory. ‘You were a sulky teen in those days.’

  Lizzie pulled a face. ‘Please don’t remind me.’ She sighed. ‘When I touched the stone angel that afternoon, I saw a vision. Or more accurately, I experienced one.’ She swallowed hard, holding Arthur’s gaze. ‘Arthur, I felt as though I was falling. I could feel the air rushing past and I felt utterly terrified.’ She broke off. ‘I think… I’m scared that I foresaw Amelia’s death.’

  ‘Or had a flashback to Amy’s,’ Arthur said grimly. His put his hand over hers. ‘God, Lizzie, how horrible.’ His grip was warm and strong. Lizzie had the sense of him drawing comfort from her touch as much as giving it.

  ‘I know,’ Lizzie said miserably. ‘I wish none of this had ever happened. I wish I’d never met Dudley and I wish I didn’t have this gift and that I didn’t think Johnny was lost—’

  ‘Hey,’ Arthur said. He put his arms around her and drew her closer. It was awkward trying to hug in the Land Rover but she really didn’t mind because it was lovely. ‘We’re all tired and emotional,’ Arthur said, against her hair. ‘Don’t think about it for now.’

  Lizzie tilted her face up to look at him. She could smell the scent of his skin and feel the warmth of him. She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. ‘I sometimes wonder what it would be like if we…’ She stopped.