CHAPTER SEVEN
It was dusk when they finally returned to Whitmore Manor. They entered the cool darkness of the great hall laughing; their clothes hung like wet rags and mud covered the hem of her skirt. Thomas swept a strand of wet hair from her face, touching her cheek with his thumb like a feather.
He smiled down into the radiance of her face. He had never felt more contented than he did at this moment. He was now certain that his feelings were returned, even if she had not spoken of them. What they had shared had been amazing; no two people could share the bond that they had without having strong feelings for each other. They had taken the walk back to Whitmore, laughing and joking, her small hand enveloped in his, as if they had spent a lifetime that way. They were completely at ease with each other, and not even what happened earlier seemed to embarrass them. He knew now what he must do and that was to speak to Sir John about his intentions and ask for her hand.
“And where, may I ask, have the two of you been?” Sir John’s cross voice bellowed across the hall, breaking Tom from his thoughts.
They both froze where they stood, as Sir John entered further into the room, followed closely by Lady Bradley.
The pair of them didn’t say a word; they just stood looking as guilty as they did when they were children.
“If you would be so kind… If you would both join me in the drawing room, Mr Bradley, Maria.”
They glanced at each other nervously, before they approached the stern stare of Sir John. He stood aside to let them pass and then he and Lady Bradley followed close behind. The moment the door was closed, he rounded on them.
“I have never been so ashamed! Disappearing like that; do you know the damage your behaviour has caused?”
“Damage, Sir?” Thomas questioned raising his eyebrow.
“Yes damage! Your reckless behaviour towards Miss Cartland,” he spoke to Thomas, then turning to Maria, “as your ignorance of young Mr Grainger’s feelings!”
“You are not children anymore!” Lady Bradley added crossly. “Your actions may have been harmless fun when you were, but you are fully grown now and with the adulthood comes a responsibility. Society will not tolerate such behaviour!”
“Pray, Uncle, what damage could we have possibly done?” Maria couldn’t contain her surprise.
“Is it not so, Mr Bradley…” Sir John hesitated, “Do you not have an understanding with Miss Cartland?”
Maria flashed a look at Thomas, who had become quite still at her side, his face an unreadable mask.
“Is it not so Mr Bradley?” he repeated his question.
“Do you have an understanding with that lady?” Maria questioned him with shock.
He turned to see the horror in her eyes.
“Please believe me, M, there is no understanding between us,” as soon as he uttered the words, he knew that he sounded unconvincing.
“Well, she seems to think that there is. She has talked of nothing else and your appalling treatment of her this afternoon. You deserted her. We had to listen to her sobbing all the way back to Whitmore.” Sir John was very angry.
“Please, Sir, there is no such understanding,” panic rose in Thomas’s voice, for he knew what this would mean.
Lady Bradley stepped forward.
“Thomas dear… if she believes that there is,” she paused, “you must understand that her family expect you to honour your agreement,” she added sadly.
“I don’t understand,” Maria spoke quietly, “what does her family expect?”
“But there is no understanding,” Thomas spoke urgently.
She shook her head slowly, still not quite comprehending the implications of Lady Bradley’s words.
“I promise you M,” Tom pleaded with her.
“Miss Cartland has asked one request to set things right,” Lady Bradley looked regretfully at Maria, “and that is… that the two of you NEVER have anything more to do with each other.”
Maria’s hand flew to her mouth, as she looked from Lady Bradley to Thomas. This really could not be happening.
“I will not agree to this… it is absurd. You cannot agree to this, mother,” Thomas objected crossly.
“I’m sorry Thomas,” she replied sternly, although her old grey eyes were full of sorrow.
Maria still looked dumbfounded, taken aback by Lady Bradley’s words. Suddenly, she had the feeling of foreboding; it started way down in the pit of her stomach and gradually worked its way up to settle in her chest. “I really don’t understand what this all means,” she laughed nervously. “Why are we never to see each other again? What right does Miss Cartland have to ask such a thing?” All three faces turned their attention to her, “After all, what is Miss Cartland to us? We are friends, how can she dictate to us?”
“M,” Thomas butted in, warningly.
Lady Bradley gasped.
Sir John opened his mouth, as if to speak, but closed it again, apparently changing his mind.
“You have no comprehension of what this all means, do you child?” Lady Bradley spoke directly to her.
“Mother, please,” Thomas interrupted.
Lady Bradley raised a hand to quieten him, “Unwittingly, it seems that Lord Bradley,” she emphasised his title, “has found himself a bride—Miss Cartland.”
Maria stood routed to the spot; ringing in her ears drowned out their words, her stomach churned violently and she could taste the bile in her throat. Where was the justice? Where was the new beginning that she had hoped for, her chance to take the path of her choice? Her tears welled up and overflowed down her pale cheeks. The pain she felt in her chest felt as if it would engulf her and crush her very soul. How could this have happened? How was she to endure the torture of never being able to see or talk to him again? He had become her life, the centre of her universe. How had the fates taken both of their choices away? She could not bear to look into their faces any longer, so she turned and ran from the room.
“M?” Thomas called after her; he did not care that Sir John or his mother were present. He ran after her to the base of the spiral staircase, “M, please…” His voice broke.
As she turned to look at him one last time, his face mirrored her grief and she knew in that moment that they shared the same pain. Still, she could not let him see how hurt she was; she could not bear for him to know the pain she was in. It was one thing to share a kiss, but another entirely to lose one’s will in passion. It was just as well he had stopped when he did, for where would she be now if she had given him her innocence. No, he would not see her agony. Angrily, she swiped the tears from her eyes; she would not stand for any more lies.
In a hushed voice, she said, “Your choice has been made for you, Thomas Bradley.” With those parting words, she turned away from all her hopes and dreams.
He watched as she ran up the stairs until he could see her no more. He felt as if his heart had stopped beating; a knot formed in the pit of his stomach, making him feel nauseous. It was as if his world had been swept from under his feet. Six long years he had waited for her return so he could show her his true feelings—to feel the touch of her lips once again, to take her in his arms and make her his forever. Now, even after all that had passed between them, she could still never truly be his.
After a long pause, he eased his white fingers from the banister he had been clinging to for support and turned to face his persecutors, his eyes brimming with unshed tears, his solemn face drained of all colour.
Lady Bradley and Sir Thomas had watched the exchange between the young couple and it broke their hearts to see their children suffer in such a cruel way. Still, they both knew the consequences of the young couple’s reckless behaviour and the condemnation in the eyes of society. If Miss Cartland believed that she and Thomas had an unspoken understanding, then it was his duty to honour that promise, for he was bound to her and they should be married.
“Thomas?” Lady Bradley caught her son’s arm as he went to walk past. Blindly, he stared at her hand until she removed
it guiltily and, without saying a word, he continued out into the darkness.
* * * * *
Maria cried herself into an uneasy sleep and, when she awoke, bleary eyed and with a throbbing head, it was to find herself in her room with its pink and white striped wallpaper. Rubbing her sore temples, she glanced around the familiar room. Pictures filled her mind, images of another life… Finally, she remembered. Was it a dream, or had it all been real? She let her head rest on the thick pillow; touching the damp tears on her face with her hand. Her heart ached with the misery of her dream. Then, suddenly she sat bolt upright. It had to be a dream! Hadn’t her mother said all those years ago that it had been? Although, when she was 14, she believed that her dreams were real.
What was the purpose of seeing all the doctors that she had been made to go to? Her mother must have wanted them to rid her of the dreams. What was it that her mother had told her back then? What had her gran told her when she had returned? She tried to think back as her memories returned… What was it?
“You and this house…,” she whispered, as she saw her mother’s face, “what was it about this house?”
She was angry, frustrated; none of it made any sense. There was nothing to prove that either theory was true. Still, as much as she wanted to believe that Tom was real, there just wasn’t any proof. She stomped over to her dresser, pulling out every drawer and emptying the contents onto the floor. She didn’t know what she was looking for. Still, she hoped to find something that would show that she hadn’t lost her mind, anything that would keep her from ending up in the white padded cell of an asylum.
There was nothing. Angrily, she swiped the contents from the dresser top so violently that the little glass perfume bottle shattered against the wooden planks on the floor. Sitting down, she rested her head against the cool wall with a disappointed sigh. Maybe it had all been a dream. But it felt so very real!
It was then, as she placed her hand to rest upon the floor further along, that she felt it give way with a creek. She sat very still, trying to calm her racing heart, realizing that the contents of the perfume had leaked through the floorboards, into a recess beneath. Ever so slowly, she moved and her heart stopped. There was a loose plank. Hastily, she grabbed its edge and levered it up.
“A compartment!” She hesitated at first; her heart was beating painfully in her chest. “Now M, it’s nothing to get excited about,” she told herself.
Then, slowly placing her hand inside, she brought out an old dusty leather-bound diary.
* * * * *
“Gran, Gran?” Maria shouted, as she bounded down the stairs and into the sitting room. Her grandmother sat upon the terracotta sofa, sipping tea. She looked completely surprised as her granddaughter ran into the room.
“Maria! What has happened?” she asked.
Maria sat down next to her breathlessly.
“I was hoping that you could tell me that,” she replied excitedly.
“I don’t understand dear.” Her grandmother looked confused.
“This!”
She handed her grandmother the leather-bound diary.
“What’s this?” she asked, taking it with nervous hands.
“It’s my diary… Well… it’s sort of my dairy.”
Her grandmother looked even more confused.
“You know how you told me about my dreams and that, with time, I would remember them?”
Bertie nodded her head as she recalled her words.
“Well, I do remember my dreams… and this is my diary from the past.”
Bertie took the small book and opened its pages, glancing over the words, then looked up at her granddaughter’s flushed cheeks questioningly.
“Well?” Maria said.
“What is it you want me to say dear?”
“It’s all there Gran… from the first time I remember Tom at the ball… to the last entry… Look!”
Her gran stared at the young woman in front of her. She knew that her granddaughter was waiting for her to explain.
“It’s all there… Look, the last entry about… how we left the picnic party and the way we were torn apart… See!”
“What is it you want me to tell you?” her grandmother questioned quietly.
“I want you to tell me why the pages are blank after the last entry? Why is there nothing else written so that I may see what happens?”
Her grandmother threw her head back, laughing. Maria looked on wondering why her grandmother found her question so funny.
“Why Gran?”
“Oh Maria… My child, it is as I said… It has only just begun!”
“Only just begun… I don’t understand.”
“My dear child… The pages are blank, because you have not written them yet.”
“But how can I have not written them yet? It was nearly two hundred years ago, the book should be full—shouldn’t it?”
Maria was lost in thought; she sat for a few minutes trying to understand her grandmother’s words. Then she noted the look on her gran’s face.
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
“What is there to disbelieve?” her gran asked with a mysterious smile on her face. “If you believe that what you say is true, then who am I to say otherwise?”
“But what about what you’ve just said about the pages being blank because I have not written them yet.”
“My dear Maria, I am just one old lady whose life is almost at an end. I would wish for anything to be true. If you truly believe that what has happened is happening then that is your choice, the path you take is guided by your decisions and yours alone.”
“If I understand you correctly, if I choose is to go back, then I will go back?”
Maria’s face was full of puzzlement and unanswered questions.
“I’ve seen a ghost,” Maria blurted out, “Here in the house, a young woman. I’ve heard laughter as well and voices.”
Unsure of how to respond to this revelation, Bertie thought carefully before she spoke. “This is an old house, Maria; a lot of things have happened within these walls. They say that natural stone can absorb images and ghosts are just a recording of what has already passed.” She laughed quietly. “Maybe that is what we all are? Maybe our whole lives have already been lived and we are just the images left behind within the old bricks…”
“You cannot really think that, Gran?” Maria sounded a little disconcerted.
Her old grey eyes twinkled slightly, “No, of course I don’t, dear; I was just reciting something I had heard once.” She smiled. “Memories are a precious gift, remembering them is only part of it.”
“Remembering? I remember them all so clearly now. Still, when I’m there in the past, it is as if this time never existed, and I have no memories of it.”
Bertie smiled kindly.
“Well, I’m sure that, if you try hard enough, you will remember, but it will only happen when you are ready. Now, if you will excuse me, it is Monday and Margaret and I are due at the Fosters soon.” With that, she vacated her seat and left the room.
*****
Margaret waited until Maria had returned to her room before she joined Bertie by the old desk in the drawing room.
“Is everything alright?” she asked hesitantly.
Bertie looked up, her tired eyes reflecting her inner joy.
“Yes Margaret, for I believe it has truly begun.”
“Oh, I am so glad,” she said excitedly, clapping her hands together.
“Now, all we can do is wait.”
“Do you think everything will go to plan?”
“Oh, I do hope so, Margaret. I have waited too long for it all to fail now.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The diary lay open in front of Maria, as she sat at her dresser once again. Even though she had read each entry over and over again, she was still no closer to the truth. Why was she still here? Nothing had happened for several days and she was starting to think that it had all been a crazy dream. Her gran had spoken in rid
dles, giving her the impression that she knew more than she’d let on, but why?
Sleep had evaded her. Every time she closed her eyes, she willed herself to dream, but to no avail. It was driving her mad. God, maybe she did belong in an asylum, as nothing else seemed to make sense. She so desperately wanted to see Tom again—to see his smiling face, the sparkle in his beautiful eyes. She felt the burning heat as she recalled the memory of them, together beneath the water-soaked branches of the trees.
“Oh Tom,” she whispered his name.
Her eyes felt dry and she closed them for a second. She felt so tired! Upon opening them, she noticed that everything around her started to look distorted, and her head started pounding painfully. Everything began to fade, and she rubbed her eyes with her fingers, as if to sooth them. When she looked again, the room was exactly the same.
She stared at her image in the mirror. “Why is nothing happening?” She moved a little closer. “Damn, if I go back, I have to remember this life, but how?”
She tried to focus on the reflection of her eyes in the dresser mirror, concentrating on her face. “Remember,” she said quietly, and then louder: “M you have to remember! You must remember!” She shook her head slowly. “What am I doing? As if this is going to help!” She was sure that, any minute now, her gran would burst into her room, followed by the people in white coats. If her gran didn’t do it, after this, she might just go and knock on their door herself.
She smiled at the mental image of the doctors taking her to that special room as she said, “Here, take me, I’m a complete looney! I hear voices, I see ghosts.” If that didn’t get their attention she was sure the, “I travel back in time to the year 1814,” would do it.
She sighed heavily as she stretched her arms up over her head, to ease her aching back. Maybe if she went for a walk, it would clear her head. If she stepped back from the situation, she might be able to put it into better perspective. She stretched, moving her upper body from side to side, just as the piercing pain shot through her head once again, knocking her off the stool. She grasped her temples, her eyes screwed up tight against the sounds that whirled in her ears. As the pain began to subside, she looked up from where she lay on the floor. This time, though, the room had changed.
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