The Last Beginning

by Lauren James

  Once again, Clove was amazed at her skill at lying. Did she do this a lot? Had Ella lied to her?

  Mrs Finchley’s eyes softened. “It’s hard times we’re living in.” She hesitated as she seemed to take them both in. Finally, she said, “Several girls have asked to go home because of the trouble, and we are short-staffed. I suppose we could take you on temporarily and see what happens.”

  Mrs Samson led them up the servants’ staircase to the attic where they would be sleeping.

  “I’ll leave you two to get settled,” she said after showing them the room they would share. “When you finish unpacking, come back down to the kitchens. You can help me prepare dinner.”

  Clove unpacked her things in a daze, unable to believe her luck at bumping into Ella and managing to get a job in the very house where Katherine lived. She was following Ella down the staircase to the kitchens, listening to her outline the details of their past employer, “for consistency”, she said, when she ran straight into—

  “Matthew!” Clove said, staring for the first time at the man who could be her father.

  CHAPTER 16

  Servants’ Wages, Allowances and Travelling Expenses for the year 1745

  Folios/v1/Time-landscape-1745/MS-8

  Carlisle, England, 1745

  Matthew Galloway was tall, skinny, and very young. He was also currently looking at Clove as if she was completely insane.

  His hair was the exact same colour as Clove’s, with dark curls falling over his forehead − just like the ones falling over hers at that very moment. She had seen that pointy nose and freckles in the mirror more times than she could remember. He looked just like her. Whether this man was her time-travelling father, some kind of clone of him, or even just a long-lost ancestor, there was no denying that they were related.

  It was him. It was really him. This was Matthew Galloway. In 1745.

  “Hello,” he said. “Do I know you?”

  She opened her mouth, and then closed it again. He was so young − almost the same age as Clove.

  “Uh… You don’t know me.” She swallowed. “But I know you.”

  Ella had come back up the stairs to see where Clove had gone, and was watching them both curiously.

  “Oh? You do?” Matthew’s gaze flickered over her features, pausing on her nose. She saw a kind of recognition light up his eyes. He frowned. “Who are you?”

  “I’m…” She stopped. What could she say? “I…”

  Ella’s face did something interesting, and then quickly went blank. Clove looked back and forth between her and Matthew, feeling faint under the force of their gazes. She couldn’t do this. “I have to go.”

  She escaped down the stairs and out through the kitchens, sending hens fluttering in her wake as she ran across the drive. Her only thought was to get away from them, from the house and everyone in it, so that she had time to think. When she reached the gates, she stopped, gasping.

  She had spoken to Matthew Galloway. He was real.

  She didn’t know how to feel. What had just happened? She was clearly related to this man, but not for another three hundred years.

  How could this be happening? How could she work out what was going on? And more importantly, had she just messed up history? Was she allowed to just go trampling around in the past like this, talking to her own ancestors? She really should have considered all of this before now.

  She rubbed at her eyes as she tried to decide what to do. Then, after checking there was no one around, she looked at her watch. “Spart, did you hear what just happened?”

  > During your conversation, I compared the voice imprint of this version of “MATTHEW” with known archived recordings of MATTHEW GALLOWAY from various times, specifically his court appearances during his trial in 2040.

  > There is a definite match to the other subjects. It will require a DNA test to confirm fully, but based on the evidence, I hypothesize that this subject will be genetically identical to the others we have found.

  Clove didn’t know what to make of that. Her mind was so overwhelmed that she could only focus on her next step: she had to find a way to steal some of Matthew’s DNA. Easy.

  CHAPTER 17

  Carlisle, England, 1745

  When Clove finally plucked up the courage to go back into the house, Matthew had disappeared. She spent the rest of the evening furious with herself for running away as soon as she’d found the person she’d come all this way to see.

  To make matters worse, she found out from Mrs Samson over dinner that Katherine Finchley didn’t even live here yet. The cook seemed to have taken a liking to Clove – probably after she’d found out that Clove could knit. She seemed delighted to have someone to work and gossip with and had immediately handed Clove a pile of undergarments to repair. Clove now knew more about the other families of Annetwell Street than she did about people on her own street in St Andrews.

  Mrs Samson had scarcely needed prompting before she’d told Clove that Katherine Finchley, the niece of the house’s mistress, was staying with her sick grandmother somewhere outside of the city, and the grandmother and the mistress had long been estranged. Clove, however, had taken in none of this except for the fact that Katherine wasn’t here. She now had no way of meeting her at all. The revelation had been enough to make her want to give up and go home all over again.

  Before she went to bed, Clove put her watch behind a pot of lavender on the windowsill in her room, so that it could charge in the early morning sunlight. As she was doing so, she saw a notification for an unread message, one which must have come in before she time-travelled. She flicked it open.

  From: Jen

  To: Clove

  Subject: I know it’s late

  Date: 21 July 2056 23:01:04 GMT

  I just wanted to say, in case you’re still awake, that no matter what happens, we’re your parents, and you are our daughter. You can never ever do anything that we won’t forgive. We love you more than anything else in the world.

  Finding out about the adoption is a huge, life-changing thing, and you need to deal with it in a way that works for you. Take your time. We understand. We love you.

  Your mother

  File note: Email from JENNIFER SUTCLIFFE to CLOVE SUTCLIFFE on 21 July 2056

  The message made Clove want to cry. She quickly turned away from Ella, who was washing her face in the washbasin, and climbed into bed, burying her face in her pillow to hide her tears.

  She had to get a sample of Matthew’s DNA as quickly as possible, so that she could go home to her parents. As soon as Ella was asleep, she would sneak out of bed and try to find Matthew’s room. She could take a DNA sample while he was sleeping. If she was careful, he wouldn’t even notice.

  “Good night,” Ella said, yawning into her palm before blowing out her candle.

  Clove lay in bed and listened to Ella’s breathing turn slow and steady – which only took a few minutes. Clove was jealous. It usually took her an hour to quiet her mind long enough to fall asleep. She carefully stood up, trying not to make the wooden pallet bed creak. Then she crept out of the room and down the stairs with a candle in one hand and the DNA kit in the other.

  As he was the coachman, Matthew’s living quarters were in the stables, so Clove went through the kitchens to the back door, stopping to light her candle in the fire. The dog, which hadn’t moved from his place in front of the dying embers, didn’t even open his eyes when she turned the heavy iron lock, only let out a doleful grumble that she was disturbing his quiet, empty kitchen.

  It was pitch-black outside. By the light of her candle, she stalked past the herb garden and through the stable full of sleeping horses. Her candle cast flickering shadows across the stalls. There was a wooden ladder leading up to the hay loft, which was where she thought the coachman must sleep.

  Clove started climbing the ladder. It wasn’t easy to do with a candle in one hand, and she had to pause after each rung to listen for an
y sound of movement above. She was four rungs up when something tapped her shoulder.

  Clove did a full body spasm in surprise. She let go of the ladder and flailed backwards. She snatched at a rung and just managed to grab it to stop herself from crashing to the ground. She reared her head back to see who – or what – had touched her.

  Standing on the ground below her was Ella.

  “What are you doing?” Ella hissed. “You’re going to get caught!”

  Clove was so shocked that she didn’t know what to say. “You – what – what?”

  “He’s going to wake up the second you climb up there, and I’m assuming that you don’t want that to happen.”

  “Are you following me?” Clove asked, outraged. “What the hell, Ella?!”

  “Of course I’m following you! You insist on doing stupid things like this all of the time!”

  Clove was furious, but it was very hard to yell at someone in a whisper. “Why do you even care what I do?” She dropped to the floor and pushed Ella out of the way, before walking out of the stables. “I only met you this morning!” That had been the perfect opportunity to collect Matthew’s DNA. If Ella wasn’t so interfering, Clove could have tested his DNA and solved this whole mystery by now.

  “I thought we were friends,” Ella said, and Clove’s anger evaporated.

  “We are friends. You just – you can’t go sneaking up on me like that. You could have ruined everything.”

  “I won’t do it again,” Ella said solemnly, then grinned. “What are you trying to do, anyway? Can I help?”

  Clove was about to say a firm no, when she realized that it would be a lot easier to collect the DNA if she had some help, and it wasn’t like Spart could volunteer. Besides, even if she didn’t let Ella get involved, she’d probably follow her around anyway.

  Clove coughed. “It’s a bit weird… I mean … unusual. Strange. But I absolutely promise that it isn’t as creepy as it sounds.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  Clove thought about her words carefully. “I need a sample of hair from the coachman Matthew Galloway.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s my … cousin,” Clove lied. “Estranged cousin. I want his hair for a … a … spell!”

  “I knew it!” Ella exclaimed, startling Clove. “I thought that there might be something happening between the two of you. He never stopped staring at you all through dinner, except when the butler asked him about the horses. Also, you have the same nose. What kind of spell?”

  Clove cast around wildly. “A reconciliation spell.”

  “Clove ‘Anise’ Sutcliffe,” Ella said, impressed. “You have hidden depths.”

  “You have absolutely no idea.” Clove had to try very hard to hide her smile.

  “Well, I don’t believe in magic personally, but I can respect your beliefs. Be careful, though. There’s a lot of fear of witches in these parts. Some have been burnt alive!”

  Clove blinked. She vaguely remembered something in one of her history lessons about witches being killed in the eighteenth century. “Thank you for the warning.” She hesitated, unsure how Ella might react, and then said bravely, “So can you help me? Could you stand on guard while I sneak up to the hay loft?”

  Ella frowned, biting her lip. “Would it not be simpler to steal his hair while he is awake? I should be able to distract him for you.”

  Clove didn’t want to waste any more time, but she had to admit that Ella’s idea did seem a lot … safer. “All right. But we have to do it straight away, tomorrow morning.”

  Ella smiled − a genuine one without even a trace of a smirk. “Shall we shake hands on the agreement?”

  Clove held out her hand. Ella’s palm was soft in hers, and when her thumb touched Clove’s palm, it made her shiver involuntarily.

  “Can we please go to bed properly this time?” Ella said. “I’m exhausted, and I can’t follow you around all night.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Ella-is-swell 14:46:03 If 1745 was the “Early life” section of our biography, what section are we in now?

  LuckyClover 14:53:52 “Penniless adolescence” probably. I couldn’t even afford to buy chips earlier… it’s hard being a student.

  Ella-is-swell 14:54:31 I’m broke too. But that’s because I went clothes shopping when I was cold and ended up buying four jumpers.

  LuckyClover 14:54:59 AGAIN? How is this a thing you’ve done multiple times now?!

  Ella-is-swell 14:55:11 Look …….. we all have our flaws, OK, just accept that this is one of mine.

  Ella-is-swell 14:55:26 Like your startling ability to miss things which are completely obvious. See the aforementioned “Early life” chapter.

  LuckyClover 14:55:47 I miss 1745. It was a simpler time, before everything got all complicated.

  Ella-is-swell 14:56:28 The salad days of our youth.

  Ella-is-swell 14:56:49 You know, there were times in 1745 when I was certain you’d guessed who I was. How could you not? I was so obviously a time traveller.

  LuckyClover 14:57:02 I had a lot on my plate! I was distracted! Besides, I knew something was up. I was hip to your jive.

  Ella-is-swell 14:57:25 That is such a barefaced lie I’m not even going to deign it with a response. I had you totally fooled.

  LuckyClover 14:57:52 I still don’t get why you even pretended to be from 1745 anyway. Why didn’t you just tell me you were a time traveller too?

  Ella-is-swell 14:58:34 Um. I’ve explained this before. I was trying not to interfere. I didn’t want to mess up what was supposed to happen… It had to happen naturally.

  File note: Chat log dated 27 November 2058

  Carlisle, England, 1745

  The next morning, after a shivery wash with a bucket of ice-cold water at dawn, and a horrifying experience with the smelly outhouse toilet, Clove helped Mrs Samson and the other kitchen staff to cook breakfast. As she worked, Clove couldn’t stop shooting looks at Ella, who was sitting at the kitchen table and chatting casually with Matthew. Their plan was simple: steal a strand of his hair when he wasn’t looking.

  Ella had reassured her that she would be able to distract him while Clove pulled out a hair, but Clove wasn’t entirely convinced. She needed to get the root for a DNA test, so she had to yank a whole hair from his scalp. Clove thought that this was probably something Matthew would notice, despite Ella’s admittedly very distracting nature. Clove found it nearly impossible to take her eyes off Ella. She was reluctantly charmed by everything she did.

  Ella turned her head and winked at Clove. That was their signal. Clove took a deep breath and hurried over to the table. As she did so, Ella knocked over a jug of ale in the middle of a particularly expansive gesture. As the ale splashed over Matthew’s arm, Ella let out a shocked gasp, and Clove leant over Matthew’s head and carefully grabbed a hair between two fingers. She gave it a hard tug.

  “Ouch,” Matthew cried, spinning round, one hand raised to his head.

  “There was a bee…” Clove said.

  Matthew frowned at her, dripping ale. “A bee?”

  “In your hair.”

  “It was enormous,” Ella confirmed. “I think it might even have been a hornet.”

  Matthew looked around frantically. “Where did it go?”

  As Matthew was gazing around the kitchen for the bee, Clove dashed out of the room, calling to Mrs Samson that she was going to get some more ale.

  She ran up to her attic bedroom. Once there, she followed the instructions on the DNA testing kit. The few seconds the device took to extract DNA from the hair follicle felt like a lifetime to Clove as she waited, hopping from foot to foot. This was the moment of truth.

  Roughly two decades later, the top of the box lit up with the results.

  Match found in database:

  MATTHEW GEORGE GALLOWAY

  Gender: M

  Nationality: SCO

  DOB: 14/5/2021

  DOD: Unknown

  Permanent address: Unknown

&nb
sp; Criminal history: Life sentence for political terrorism. Incarcerated in Wakefield Prison 2039−2040

  Threat level: Highest

  Folios/v1/Time-landscape-1745/MS-9

  File note: DNA results for MATTHEW GALLOWAY

  So.

  There was no denying it. The man downstairs, covered in ale and confusion, was genetically her father. He wasn’t just her distant ancestor. He really was her dad. Somehow.

  Clove ran her hands through her hair. She didn’t know what to think. Her father was here. Was he time-travelling too? Or was he a clone of the man who was her birth father?

  “My parents are alive in the past,” she said aloud, testing out the idea. “They’re really here. In 1745 – or one of them is, at the very least.”

  She was suddenly filled with longing for home. Now that Spart’s theories had been confirmed scientifically all she wanted to do was hide from it all.

  “Can we go home now, Spart?” she asked her watch. She had done what she had come to do. She could process the information back home in 2056.

  > I recommend staying in the eighteenth century a little longer. We are more likely to determine the source of the anomaly in the subjects here than in 2056. This is where the issue first appeared.

  “‘Subjects’? ‘Anomaly’? You’re talking about my parents like they are some kind of experiment!” She’d just met her father as a teenager in 1745, and all Spart wanted to do was analyse him.

  > They are my data. I have to treat them scientifically. Handling this situation emotionally would only be detrimental at this point. Emotions never help. I’ve seen enough episodes of Sherbot Holmes: Robot Detective to work that out.

  “They are real people. Not data.”