The Garden of Promises and Lies

by Paula Brackston

  Petronella, the black crepe of her dress shimmering in the sunshine, took both of Xanthe’s hands in hers.

  “My dear friend. How I shall miss your company.”

  “And I yours.”

  “Do send word the moment you arrive safely home in London. Will you spend long with your aunt in Bradford?”

  “Only an hour or so. There is a stagecoach leaving at midday which will suit us very well.” Abandoning etiquette, Xanthe wrapped her arms around Petronella and pulled her into a heartfelt hug. “Be happy,” she whispered into her ear. Then, not wishing to prolong the emotional moment, she beckoned to Liam and they stepped up into the carriage. As the four strong horses stepped into a steady canter down the drive, she twisted in her seat for one last look at Corsham Hall as it had been, raising her hand in farewell to the small gathering on the steps. Liam slipped his arm around her waist, drawing her close. The miles through the beautiful countryside passed swiftly in companionable silence as they made their way back to Bradford-on-Avon.

  When they arrived at the tearooms, Mistress Flyte came out to greet them.

  “Polly has a lemon cake put aside for you,” she told them.

  “We will be in directly,” Xanthe told her, stepping to the front of the carriage. She and Liam thanked the driver and the footman and tipped them both generously. They were the pair who had helped retrieve Fairfax’s body from the lake, and Xanthe doubted anyone had properly rewarded them for their pains. As the carriage pulled away and turned to cross the bridge, she felt the last of her connection with the Wilcoxes of Corsham Hall disappearing.

  “Come.” Mistress Flyte held open the door. “We shall take tea together upstairs and you must tell me all that has occurred up at the the Hall.”

  Liam took the luggage to his room, partly to be helpful, but also so that Xanthe could talk to the old woman on her own. She had told him she did not want to stay any longer than was necessary, but there were questions she had for Mistress Flyte that required answers before they left. The two women settled in the small sitting room, where Polly had placed a tray of tea and thick slices of sugary lemon cake. Mistress Flyte poured as she spoke.

  “News has reached me, of course, of the demise of Mr. Fairfax. Am I correct in my assumption that you were not unconnected to the events that led to his death?” She picked up a fine china cup and saucer—white with pink rose buds—and passed it to Xanthe.

  “He drowned in pursuit of something that would have been useless to him,” she replied, taking the cup and placing it on her lap to steady a slightly nervous hand.

  “He was ever a person in pursuit of anything that would make him stronger.”

  “He fell, from the folly tower into the lake. I fell with him. He wanted the Spinners book.”

  “And you kept it from him?”

  “We agreed, didn’t we, he wasn’t a fit person to have it?”

  Mistress Flyte finished pouring the tea and regarded her guest levelly.

  “You answered the call of the wedding gown. You did whatever was required of you, as a Spinner.”

  “I believe so. It’s interesting,” she added, “when Fairfax opened the book, all he saw were blank pages.”

  “Ah, so it would not reveal itself to him?”

  “It makes sense, when you think about it. I mean, it will show itself only to those it thinks worthy. And not all of them Spinners. Did I ever tell you that my friend, in my own time, the one who helped me unravel some of the tangled truth behind the blind house, he can see some of what is in it?”

  “I do not recall your mentioning such a friend.”

  “So, some non-Spinners can see what’s there. Some Spinners cannot.”

  “It would appear so.”

  “Would you say, in your experience, that there are not only different people who are Spinners—some good, some not so good—but different types of Spinners?”

  Mistress Flyte took an unhurried sip of her tea. “I am not entirely certain I see your meaning?”

  Xanthe tried a different tack. “When we were at the picnic I asked you about Erasmus Balmoral.…”

  Mistress Flyte returned her cup and saucer to the table. For a short while she was silent, as if weighing up what to share with Xanthe and what to keep hidden.

  “I wondered,” she said at last, “how long it would be before the book began to reveal more of the history of the Spinners to you. I confess, I had rather hoped it would not find it necessary to put me at the center of its story.”

  “But you were at the center of things, weren’t you? And was he?” When Mistress Flyte did not answer she went on. “I saw you, together. I traveled time-within-time,” she said, noticing the old woman’s minute reaction to this information. “Oh yes, I have learned how to do that. I’ve learned quite a lot. I’ve seen quite a lot.”

  “Have a care you do not form hasty opinions of others.”

  “I know what I saw. Do you remember the moment, I wonder? It was winter. I can’t tell you the month or even the year, but I’m sure you will know the exact hour that you stood in the walled garden of Corsham Hall and lied to your lover.”

  “If you knew the whole story you might not be so quick to judge.”

  “So tell me.”

  Again she hesitated before deciding precisely what she would speak of. “Erasmus was a principled man, and those principles cost him dearly. He and I met centuries ago. We both had our origins in the reign of Henry the Eighth. I believe, among Spinners, sharing a birth point in time carries significance. It adds resonance to a friendship. But it was as Spinners we met, when engaged in the business of answering the call, of righting wrongs, of standing for those who were victims of injustice. In short, of ensuring that history unfolded as it was meant to do. In the course of our work we traveled, together and separately, through the centuries, where we witnessed many acts of bravery and as many of wickedness. As you learned with Fairfax, a gift such as we have lends its holder great power over others. At times we needed to wield that power with force, in order to achieve our goals.”

  “Is that all you think Fairfax was doing? Wielding his power with force? Do you think the way he behaved, the things he did, were acceptable?”

  “No, I do not. But I will not pretend there weren’t times when other Spinners, myself included, were not compelled to push the boundaries of what we did. At times, we did indeed move those boundaries. And, as ever when one promotes change, there are those who resist it. Those who disagree.”

  “So you and Erasmus disagreed about how Spinning should be done? How it should be used?”

  “We all of us wished only to do our work most effectively. What we disagreed upon was a matter of methodology.”

  “You fell out about the ‘how’ and not the ‘what’?”

  “In essence.”

  “What I read, what I heard, what I saw … there has to be more to it.”

  “Ultimately, we each had to choose where we stood.”

  “And you and he chose different sides?”

  “As I said, he was a man of principle. He was not to be moved upon it.”

  “But what was it that he found so unacceptable?”

  “You must understand, Erasmus was not the only one. Others left the family of Spinners. They established themselves under a new name. They called themselves Time Steppers.”

  Xanthe knew with complete certainty that Mistress Flyte was doing her best not to reveal everything. Erasmus had spoken of having to kill her if he saw her again. There was more to the split of the Spinners than she was prepared to admit to. It occurred to Xanthe that it might be wise, safer even, not to show the old woman how much she knew. She would have to be content with getting her answers from the book. As casually as she was able, she helped herself to a piece of lemon cake. As she ate it, enjoying the citrus tang contrasting with what would have been ruinously expensive sugar, she could not help comparing it, slightly unfavorably, to the one Gerri made. It was a good thing, she decided, that her thoughts were tur
ning to home. Her work was done.

  Mistress Flyte, however, had questions of her own.

  “You still have the book, of course?”

  “Of course. I never intended to part with it for more than the briefest time. I would never have left without it.”

  “And Fairfax’s astrolabe?”

  “At the bottom of the lake up at Corsham, I’m sorry to say. He died for it, and now it’s lost.”

  “It is strange to think of him gone. He strove to make himself unassailable.”

  “Which was, in the end, what got him killed.”

  “Did you kill him?” she asked, the directness of the question after so much prevarication catching Xanthe a little off guard.

  “No, I did not. I told you, he fell from the tower and drowned in the lake.”

  “And you did not cause him to fall?”

  “He took me with him!”

  “But you did not drown.”

  “I used my locket. I used my Spinner’s gift to save myself.”

  “And he…?”

  “Chose to go after the astrolabe.”

  Mistress Flyte was quiet then, digesting this information, her face inscrutable. It felt to Xanthe that they had reached an impasse. It saddened her that their friendship had faltered. The old woman had helped her so much when they first met, and there was so much she could still learn from her. But to learn she would have to trust her, and after what the Spinners book had shown her, that trust was gone.

  Xanthe got to her feet. “It’s time we left. I must take Liam home,” she said simply.

  Mistress Flyte nodded. “From where do you wish to travel?”

  “I think the point we arrived will do nicely. It’s a quiet street. We should not be observed. But first, I need to change.” Much as Xanthe would have loved to have taken some of her beautiful new clothes with her, she knew it was pointless. Once in her own time they would slowly crumble. It would be hard to leave them, but harder to watch them disintegrate. She asked Mistress Flyte to see that they went to someone who needed them, though to make sure they would not be seen by Petronella or Evie. She went up to the attic room where Liam had already changed back into the costume he had hired in Devises.

  “I see what you mean about this being way off,” he told her, shaking his head at the outfit he was wearing. “Look at these colors … this silky stuff … what were they thinking?”

  “Listen to Liam the historian!” She smiled at him. “You look fine. You can take it off as soon as we get home.”

  “I might need some help,” he said, grabbing her around the waist as she went to step past him. “You got any buttons need unbuttoning?”

  “You can help me out of this,” she said, turning her back to him. “I can manage the hire costume easy enough. It wasn’t designed with servants in mind.”

  He undid the long row of buttons that followed the dip of her spine and then busied himself folding his discarded clothes while she dressed.

  “It’ll be weird being back in overalls,” he said. “Though I am looking forward to a decent pint. And to get back to the band.”

  Xanthe laced up her boots, casting a wistful glance at the dress she had taken off, wondering if she would ever again have something so lovely made for her. “Time travel has its rewards,” she said. “But yes, it will be good to get home.”

  Liam gave a short laugh. “I can’t wait to tell Harley what we got up to. He’s going to be so jealous!”

  “I think it might have been harder to pass him off as a Regency gent, somehow, don’t you?”

  She finished dressing, picked up her bag, double-checked that the book was in it, and turned to Liam.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  He nodded and opened the door to the steep stairs.

  “Liam…”

  He paused, waiting to hear what she had to say.

  “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” He grinned.

  “No, I mean it. It was such a leap of faith, coming here with me. That sort of trust … it matters.”

  “Are you trying to say you couldn’t have done it without me?”

  She pulled a face, playfully pushing past him. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “Didn’t think you would,” he said, following her down the stairs.

  “I would have managed,” she insisted.

  “Course you would,” he agreed.

  Outside, the little alleyway at the back of the tearooms was, as Xanthe had predicted, empty and quiet. The sun had moved beyond the midday point, so that the high wall of the yard cast a deep shadow down one side. She led Liam to stand in that cool shade. At the door, Mistress Flyte stopped.

  “I will bid you farewell and safe journey,” she said, executing a perfect curtsey, which Xanthe returned and Liam answered with a bow. The old woman went through the yard door, closing it quietly behind her, her footsteps on the cobbles of the yard dwindling as she returned to the tearooms.

  “Right.” Xanthe stepped closer to Liam. “You remember the drill?”

  “Let’s see, hold you tight and never let go, no matter what?” He encircled her with his arms, pulling her gently but firmly against his strong body. “I think I can manage that,” he said, the desire obvious in his voice.

  “And now you have to be quiet,” she told him, attempting to be stern, but unable to hide her smile. She gripped his arm with one hand and with the other took the locket from beneath her blouse, closing her fingers over it to nestle it in her palm, feeling the smooth gold against her skin. “Close your eyes,” she told him. “Think of the blind house, think of home.” She had barely spoken the words when she felt the spinning begin. She was accustomed to the sensations it brought but was conscious of how strange it was to Liam, and how unsettling it could be. She tightened her grip on him and felt herself thrown backward in a way that she had not experienced before. Abruptly, she landed on the floor of the blind house. The darkness of the small space was sliced through with sunlight falling through the half-open door, illuminating small areas. She gasped, surprised that yet again, as with the time she had gone to Evie, the transition was quite violent. She thought it curious, as she had explained the unpleasant nature of her traveling time-within-time to rescue the child by the fact that Evie was so unwell and in such distress. There was nothing dangerous or upsetting about going home with Liam. She found she had arrived kneeling on top of the wedding dress and quickly got to her feet, stooping to pick up the dress as she did so, shaking the dirt from it, registering the fact that it was silent.

  “Well,” she said into the gloom, “that was a bit of a bumpy landing. Sorry if you’ve picked up any bruises, Liam. Liam?”

  A coldness swept over her.

  She was alone.

  “Liam!” she screamed. Mistress Flyte’s words of warning came back to her, about how a non-Spinner traveling could be lost in time. Set adrift in a limbo between times. Panic making her feel sick, Xanthe rushed outside into the garden. Blinking against the spring sunshine she searched the garden frantically. “Liam!” she called again.

  “Xanthe?” Flora came hurrying out of the house, stabbing the lawn with her crutches, Pie bounding ahead of her. “What is it, what’s the matter?”

  “Oh, Mum! It’s Liam. He hasn’t made the journey! We were travelling back together…”

  “But, you had hold of him?”

  “Yes, of course! And he had his arms around me. I told him not to let go! I told him, just before we traveled. He knew he had to hold on.”

  “He wouldn’t have let go of you, love. Just calm down.” She reached her daughter and put a hand on her shoulder. “Calm down and think. Did anything happen just before you left? Look how Pie managed to go with you just by jumping in the blind house that time.…”

  “There was nothing. We were on our own. It all felt exactly as it should have before we started, and then…”

  “And then?”

  “I knew something wasn’t right. The spinning felt … rough … difficu
lt, I don’t know.”

  “Did anyone see you go?”

  “No, I told you, we were on our own. Mistress Flyte said goodbye and went back indoors.” She stopped, a thought forming in her head.

  “What is it, Xanthe, love? What have you thought of?”

  “I don’t know … I’m not sure.” She looked at her mother then, trying to draw on her calmness and strength so as not to descend into blind, lurching panic. “I have to go back,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “Right now. The rate of time is different wherever I go to in the past, and it’s not fixed.” She started to move back toward the blind house. “Ten minutes here could be almost the same then or a day, I’ve no way of knowing. I must go straight back to where I left him.”

  “You’ve got the wedding dress, go on, I’ll grab hold of Pie,” said Flora.

  Xanthe stopped in her tracks. “No! No, the wedding dress won’t work anymore.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve done what needed to be done. It’s not singing anymore, Mum. It won’t work.”

  “Oh, Xanthe…”

  “Wait, it’s OK. I’ve traveled time-within-time before without using a found thing. I can do it from here. Of course I had Evie’s boots when I went looking for her, but when I asked the book to show me something I needed to know … I just used the book and an incantation. And a candle! Without a found thing I need a candle.”

  “There’s one in my workshop. I took it out of a silver candlestick.” As Xanthe sprinted from the house Flora called after her. “There are matches on the shelf above the sink!”

  When she returned, breathless from running, her hands were shaking as she set the candle on a flowerpot inside the blind house.

  Flora took the matches from her. “Let me do that,” she said, striking one and setting it to the wick. A timid flame took hold. “What else do you need? Can I help?”

  “Just this.” She placed the book in front of her so that the light from the candle fell on it. Kneeling down, she held the book, steadying herself. “It’s OK, Mum,” she said, calmer now. “I’ll just go straight back to the exact place where I left him, and the exact point in time. You take Pie and go back in the house now. OK?”