The Seventh Miss Hatfield
Page 26
I clicked my tongue to Thunder and gently pressed my knees into his flanks to encourage him to walk forwards. Once we started along the back path to the city, the countryside whirled by in a blur, and the wind soon dried my tears.
Epilogue
Twenty-first-century cars honked loudly as I dashed across the street. It felt odd to be wearing jeans and a hooded grey sweatshirt. I thought longingly of the corsets and billowing skirts I’d been wearing just a few days ago.
‘Hey, lady – are you gonna move, or do you have a death wish?’ a cab driver yelled through his window. Startled, I realized I’d paused in the middle of an intersection, crossing against the light. I shook myself out of it and ran the rest of the way across the street.
I was now only a couple of blocks from my destination – I could see it, just ahead. The serenity of the place I was headed for was like an island in a sea of concrete. It helped me ground myself and find some inner strength to go on to whatever might lie ahead. I knew I was an immortal. I’d finally made some peace with what I’d become. I didn’t have the choice to turn back. I could only move forwards with my new existence. I wandered through the gates into the well-kept grounds and made my way to a site which had become very familiar to me over the last few days. I was surrounded by headstones in a tranquil cemetery. Ironically, the greenery reminded me of life and vibrancy when set against the concrete clatter of the nearby city streets. Here I stood among the dead, surrounded by life. It was quite the conundrum, but it brought me peace. I walked over to a familiar gravestone and knelt down in front of it, tracing the engraved words with my finger, as I’d done many times recently.
These were letters I knew all too well, even with my eyes closed. As my fingers traced them, I could almost feel him there with me. Henley A. Beauford. I traced them three times, as had become my ritual. I wished for them not to be real when I opened my eyes, but they were still there staring back at me like some cruel joke. I read the words beneath his name: Innovative Businessman & Loving Husband. I brought my fingers to my lips, placed a kiss upon my fingertips, and then transferred it to his name. ‘I shall never forget you, dear Henley.’
Nothing seemed real. I waited to feel his familiar hand on my shoulder. He would turn me towards him and look at me. Really look at me. I’d gaze into his bright eyes and they’d tell me that my leaving had been nothing but a dream. He’d be here to stay for good and his lips would come crashing down on mine.
I sighed as I turned to the tombstone beside his. Eliza P. Beauford, Loving Wife & Daughter. For the first time, I really registered the dates of her death. She’d only survived a few years after she and Henley had married. Still, I was glad those two wonderful people had made even a brief life together, and hoped they’d found some happiness with each other. Briefly, I wondered whatever had become of Christine, but then laughed to myself as I realized it really didn’t matter, and I certainly couldn’t care less. The important thing was that Eliza and Henley had turned to one another, and I still loved them both dearly.
‘You know, it’s pointless to relive old memories. You’ll soon forget them, anyway. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.’
I hadn’t heard Miss Hatfield walk up behind me, but this wasn’t unusual. Sometimes I wondered if she was more than an immortal – whether she could just appear wherever and whenever she wanted. It didn’t surprise me any more when she showed up out of nowhere. I moved over to sit for a while on the bench that faced the two gravestones.
‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. You usually are,’ I admitted to her. The noonday sun gleaming behind her made her look like a silhouette against the sky.
‘That’s right. You’re learning,’ she responded. ‘Well, do come along when you’re ready. We must be off soon. Not everything has ended with the return of that painting. We have things to do, you know.’ With that, she turned and walked away. I was a bit surprised she didn’t just de- materialize, since I was ninety-nine per cent sure she could if she wanted to.
‘I’ll be along shortly,’ I called after her. I stood and walked over to stand in front of the headstones to look upon them one last time. ‘Goodbye, Henley.’ I paused, but I knew what I had to say. ‘I love you. I hope you’re happy, wherever you are.’ Then I turned to Eliza’s. ‘And the same to you, Eliza, my friend. I’d never encountered spirit and courage such as yours before. I’m glad you and Henley had a few years together, at least.’
As I turned to follow Miss Hatfield, a piece of paper, charred around the edges, fluttered to the ground. It appeared to have fallen out of the sky, but I knew it must have slipped out of my pocket. I bent down to pick it up and examined it with curiosity.
I remembered that when I’d exchanged my long gown for this sweatshirt, I’d taken this paper from the pocket of my dress and transferred it to my sweatshirt pocket, in a desperate attempt to somehow keep a part of Henley with me. I suddenly realized this was the paper I’d caught in the fire, and I didn’t even know what it was.
For the first time, I really looked at it, turning it over to see if I could make some sense of what I’d recovered from the past. It looked older than ever before. I knew it was now about a hundred years old, even if it had taken a short cut. I turned it again, stroking it softly with a trembling hand. The paper was folded over and felt as though it contained something.
I was startled to find written on the outside of the folded paper, in very clear cursive handwriting: To my darling Charles. With all the love in the world, Ruth. The note to Mr Beauford from Henley’s mother! As I unfolded the paper, I saw that enclosed was a photograph.
‘Are you coming or not? We can’t afford to be seen out in public so often. You never can tell who’s watching.’ Miss Hatfield was nearly at the cemetery gate, preparing to lead us to who knew where. She was still her impatient self.
‘Just a minute,’ I called out, hastily trying to stuff the photograph back into the folds of paper. But as I looked closely at the photograph, I gasped in shock.
The photograph was clearly Miss Hatfield. She was Ruth. It suddenly became obvious why she couldn’t retrieve the painting herself, and had me remain, despite her misgivings, until I finished the job. She’d also possibly hoped for a connection with those she loved, if only through me.
I carefully slid the photo back into the folded paper, just as I’d found it. I saw flashes of my Henley’s smiling eyes, heard the clear ring of his laughter when he was genuinely amused, felt his breath upon my face from our one passionate encounter. My cheeks flushed, and I did what I always did these days to centre myself back in the present and try to leave the past behind – I turned the ring with the blue stone around on my finger, quickly, three full revolutions.
I began walking, and hurried my pace to catch up with Miss Hatfield. She spoke to me without looking my way.
‘Forget about it all,’ she said. ‘You didn’t even belong there. You’re an immortal – you don’t belong anywhere.’
I stayed silent, but I could only think of Henley.
‘Innovative Businessman’ it said on his gravestone. A hint of a smile curved my lips when I remembered how he’d dreaded taking over the family business. Had I touched his life and changed the direction it was heading in? Had Henley kept a memory of me throughout his life, however small a thought it might have been?
I closed my eyes and couldn’t help but laugh, because I knew that I’d changed him and played a bigger role in his life than I’d imagined. I laughed because I knew in that moment, somewhere in time, there was that boy I knew – the one with the clear blue eyes that crinkled when he laughed – and he’d kept a memory of a girl he’d once known. Someone who teased him back and looked forward to the verbal jousts they used to have. That boy kept a few words imprinted in the back of his mind, so when he walked in the park, he could remember her. And suddenly she walked alongside him.
‘Henley?’ I whispered.
I couldn’t see him, but I felt him nearby, as if, in a different time, he was stan
ding next to me, holding my hand.
‘I love you.’
The wind carried my voice away, but I was certain he heard me. The trees around me bowed their heads in reverence for the words I uttered.
‘I love you, too.’
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank my agent, Margaret Hanbury, and my editor, Marcus Gipps, for their enthusiasm and belief in the story I wanted to tell. Both took a risk on a teenage girl who barely gets her English essays in on time, and for that, I’m thankful.
A huge thank you to Henry de Rougemont, Gareth Howard, and Hayley Radford for all their support and encouragement. Thank you to Lisa Rogers, Charlie Panayiotou, Rabab Adams, Jennifer McMenemy, Sophie Calder, and the entire team at Gollancz for making this book a reality.
To Laura Ackermann and Anna Kreynes, a special thank you. There are days when I talk to you more than I talk to my own parents. Thank you for not getting sick of me yet.
Rhean, thank you for all your guidance, reading, and re-reading over the last few years. I think you’ve read this book more times than I have.
For putting up with me when I complain about my imaginary friends, thanks to Maya, Aelya, Fernanda, Corinne, Katie, and Michael. Thank you for not letting my imaginary friends be my only friends.
To my parents, I don’t know what to say. There will never be enough words to thank you for all the times you’ve stood by me, counseled me, and consoled me. Thank you for all your love and patience.
Copyright
A Gollancz eBook
Copyright © Anna Caltabiano 2014
All rights reserved.
The right of Anna Caltabiano to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in Great Britain in 2014 by Gollancz
The Orion Publishing Group Ltd
Orion House
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London, WC2H 9EA
An Hachette UK Company
This eBook first published in 2014 by Gollancz.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978 1 4732 0042 5
All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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