Shades of the Past

by Sandra Heath

  “What if he was wealthy, married Marianna, and then lost everything through no fault of his own. Not gambling. Would you still say they couldn’t use her inheritance?”

  “That’s hardly the same thing.”

  “Maybe not, but the end result is exactly the same—Marianna would be supporting Stephen.”

  “How clever you are at turning an argument in your own favor.”

  “I’ve turned nothing, sir, I’ve merely pointed out an incontrovertible fact. You’d clearly find it acceptable for Marianna to provide for Stephen if fate reduced his circumstances.”

  “I see I’m now being charged with double standards as well.”

  “No, just with standards which do not seem to apply to royalty. Our future queen, Princess Charlotte, is married to Prince Leopold of Coburg, whose prospects and finances hardly stand comparison with hers. What do you say to that, sir?”

  “Nothing, for it’s an example with which I cannot argue.”

  “Why can’t Stephen be Marianna’s Prince Leopold? Is he so far beyond the pale that nothing will make him acceptable? Please, Blair, if you feel anything for Marianna, and I know you do, you’ll not only stand by your decision to release her from the Handworth match, you’ll also give Stephen proper consideration.” She searched his face in the candlelight. “Or do you mean to make her marry Alex Handworth after all?”

  “I said I’d halt the match, and that’s what I’ll do.”

  “Have you told her yet?”

  “No. The moment hasn’t been opportune.”

  Laura held his gaze. “Tell her, Blair, and mend at least a little of the rift between you. And if you would mend still more, then promise to consider Stephen as her husband.”

  “Stephen is unacceptable,” he repeated flatly.

  “He’d make her happy, doesn’t that count at all? You were happy in yours—” She broke off hastily and could have bitten her tongue, for his marriage clearly hadn’t been that happy after all.

  He read her thoughts, and exhaled slowly, setting the candle flame dancing. “Yet another delicate finger on my pulse,” he murmured. “Very well, I’ll agree to speak to Stephen—as civilly as I can—about Marianna, but that’s all I agree to, because in the light of the plan to run away, I fear no amount of eloquent pleading on his behalf can turn him into another Prince Leopold of Coburg!”

  Laura was deeply affected by his struggle with what his loving heart wanted for his troublesome sister, and what was forced upon him by the conventions of his time. And this when he believed he’d been betrayed by all those around him. “Oh, I do love you so,” she murmured.

  “Love?” He looked into her eyes. “The trap waits before me again, beguiling in its tenderness, seductive in its promise...”

  “There’s no trap, Blair, just me.”

  “Just you? But you are no ordinary being, Laura Reynolds.”

  How true that was, for she was a traveler between centuries, a woman so overwhelmed with love for a man from another age that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. A woman who was prepared to forsake everything she’d ever known, her very world and culture, just to be near him...

  He watched the nuances on her face, and then closed his eyes, finding aloofness too difficult to maintain. He’d tried to fight his feelings for her, but now, face-to-face, he couldn’t endure. “Oh, Laura…” he breathed, opening his eyes to put his hand to her cheek. His fingertips were so soft and gentle she could barely feel their touch. “I wish it were otherwise, but I can’t close you out.”

  Her heart lurched with hope. “You can’t?” Tears shone in her eyes, and her voice was so tight with emotion she could barely speak.

  “Do you imagine I’d still be here like this, talking with you, if you didn’t mean anything to me? When I saw you standing here I wanted you to plead with me, wanted you to make me change my mind, but I had to protect myself from you at the same time. My coldness was a defense against an attraction my head tells me is too sudden, too intense, but my heart tells me is right...”

  He didn’t finish, but put an arm to her waist to pull her close. The candle flame swayed and smoked in his other hand, its light flickering over them both as he bent his head to kiss her.

  Her lips parted yearningly, and she softened against him, her body warm and pliable beneath the muslin of her nightgown. Kisses weren’t enough, their reconciliation demanded more. She felt passion carrying her away as her hands moved wantonly over him; her exploring fingers pressed to the arousal that had surged to match her desire.

  His breath caught, and he drew back. “I’ll have you in a bed this time, Mrs. Reynolds,” he said softly, taking her by the hand and leading her across the landing in the direction of his private apartment.

  But as they reached the door, there was a sudden rumbling sound in the distance. They both turned in alarm, for the whole house seemed to shake, and the candle flame swayed and smoked. What was it? An earthquake? In England?

  They heard the servants’ alarmed cries from the floor above, and then the rumbling died away and everything was still again. Blair’s lips parted with realization. “Dear God, it’s the tunnel,” he whispered.

  “The tunnel?” Of course! The 1818 roof fall! She looked quickly at him. “Marianna will be frightened!”

  He hurried toward his sister’s apartment, but as he flung the door open, they saw only darkness beyond. The candles threw an uncertain light over deserted rooms. There was no sign of Marianna, and her bed was still neatly turned back, just as her maid had left it earlier.

  Awful realization began to sink through Laura as Blair went into the dressing room. After a moment he returned. “She’s gone,” he said quietly. “Her portmanteau is missing, and so are her traveling things.”

  “Are—are you quite certain?”

  “Yes.” He gave a harsh laugh. “Too late I see the truth about Woodville’s visit to Cheltenham. There was no friend; he was simply making arrangements for an elopement!”

  Laura stared at him, knowing he was right.

  “Damn it, they’ve run away together after all!” His anger exploded, and he hurled the candlestick at the fireplace. The flame went out, and the rooms were engulfed in darkness.

  She heard the servants on the landing.

  No, not servants. Voices outside. And a car. Filled with dismay, she ran to her hotel window, and looked out to see some very late guests arriving. Tears of frustration stung her eyes. She felt so helpless. What was happening at Deveril House? Had Marianna and Stephen really eloped? Would Blair go after them? And then there was the tunnel fall... She felt like a prisoner, and the future was her cell. Everything that mattered was in 1818, but when she looked in the mirror it was only her modern self that gazed back. She felt so trapped her face crumpled with sobs, but then she pulled herself sharply together. Crying wouldn’t do any good, she had to carry on until the past claimed her again.

  Somehow she managed to sleep, although not for long and not very well, and after breakfast drove to the Bargee’s Arms to meet Ron Sawyer as arranged.

  The rain had stopped overnight, and it was sunny as she parked her car. Ron heard her arrive, and came out almost straightaway. He was wearing an oilskin hat and raincoat, and had some oilskins for her to wear too because the tunnel would be very wet after the rain. When she was ready, he helped her into a boat where he’d already put some hurricane lamps, then he rowed strongly toward the tunnel.

  She heard the woodpeckers as the canal entered the trees near the portal. The noise became louder by the ruined cottage, and Laura glanced at the rotting old boat by the gate, remembering how she’d seen it in pristine condition in 1818. The spruce tree cast a long shadow over the water as Ron shipped the oars to glide the final yards to the safety gate just inside the tunnel.

  Laura watched him open the padlock. “Your great-grandfather lived at that cottage, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, the old rogue.”

  “You think he really did visit his mistress tha
t day?”

  “There’s no doubt. If he was white as a sheet, it was because he was terrified of his fearsome wife.” Ron chuckled as he eased the gates open.

  Laura turned up her collar, because the air was perceptibly colder. Ron maneuvered the boat forward, and she looked into the darkness as he paused to light one of the hurricane lamps. The draft she’d heard before still sighed through the tunnel, and spring water splashed somewhere. The atmosphere was creepy, she thought, and although the canal had still been in use in Ron’s great-grandfather’s time, it can’t have been all that different then from now. Someone like the old watchman would have been used to it, and wouldn’t get spooked by odd noises. It would take much more to make him row out of here like a bat out of hell, and whatever it was, he’d preferred to run the gauntlet of his wife than be ridiculed for insisting he’d been back in time.

  Ron fixed the lamp to the prow, then handed her a torch. “Keep it ready in case the lamp goes out. And don’t forget, if you see any roof falls ahead, just give me a yell. We don’t want to ram into one like old Gulliver.”

  He began to row, and the light from the portal slid further and further behind. The lamp shone brightly, but all around the darkness was murky and claustrophobic, and there was something eerie about the marks left on the limestone by the long-gone bargees who’d legged their vessels through the heart of the hill.

  Laura glanced up at the roof of the tunnel. It ran with moisture and was spiked with tiny stalactites. Droplets of water pattered constantly on her oilskins, and she could see her breath. The first spring they came to was pouring quite freely through a fissure and splashed noisily as the boat passed.

  Ron grinned. “It sounds worse than it is,” he said, raising his voice to be heard.

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “We’ll reach the end of the limestone soon. It’s as far as I usually go because the fuller’s earth is so unstable. They used to shore it up with brickwork and elm planking, but now it’s all badly in need of repair. If it looks okay, I’ll risk going a bit further in to see if we can reach the stretch below the cave. From what I remember, it’s easy enough to recognize because there’s brickwork in the middle of a stretch of limestone roof.” He rowed on.

  Suddenly she saw a wall of earth directly ahead. It loomed into the arc of lamplight like a dark, soft iceberg, and she cried out in alarm. “Ron, there’s a roof fall!”

  He hastily rowed in reverse to slow the boat, and as the prow nudged gently into the earth he shipped the oars to inspect the fall more closely. “I think it’s what did for poor old Gulliver. Yes, the marks he left behind are still here after all this time. Hand me the torch.”

  She obeyed, and he shone it at the top of the fall. “See that gap up there? It’s where Gulliver tried to get through. You can see where he scrambled up. Well, something made him change his mind about going through, because he left the tunnel, but then went back again soon after. If he hadn’t done that, he’d probably have been all right. Instead, he lost his footing and fell, injuring himself badly on the boat.”

  Laura stared at him. “But he told me he came in here once, and damaged his spine when the boat capsized on striking the cave-in.”

  “Oh, no, it was his infernal curiosity that cost him by taking him back a second time. He just had to snoop a little more.” Ron drew a long breath. “I’m sorry we can’t go any further than this, miss. I thought this fall came a bit further in than this, but then I haven’t been this far for a long time. I’m quite amazed all the marks Gulliver left are still so fresh.”

  She was puzzled. Why hadn’t Gulliver told the truth about what happened? What possible reason could he have? Unless... She gazed up at the gap. What was on the other side? Had he heard something? Seen something, maybe? “Can I have the torch?” she said, and then flashed it toward the top of the fall.

  Beyond the splash of the springs she could hear the draft moaning through the tunnel, and a muffled voice calling from the far side of the fall. Help us, please ...

  She gasped. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  Suddenly the tunnel felt so oppressive she couldn’t stay there. “Let’s go, please.”

  He quickly turned the boat and began to row back toward the portal. It seemed an age before they emerged into daylight again, and as she exhaled with relief, Ron grinned at her. “Reckon that’s your first and last visit to Deveril Tunnel, eh, miss? “

  “You reckon right,” she replied, taking off her oilskin hat and shaking her hair loose in the fresh air.

  They reached the inn, and Ron helped her out of the boat again. She was just taking off her raincoat when she heard a familiar whirring sound by the inn entrance and saw Gulliver’s wheelchair going in. Her eyes glinted with determination. He might be able to order her out of his cottage, but he couldn’t do the same at a public house.

  She had questions to which she was sure Gulliver Harcourt had some answers, and this time she wasn’t going to take any nonsense.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gulliver was enjoying a beer by the inglenook, and didn’t see Laura until she sat next to him.

  “Hi, Gulliver. It’s me again, and I’m afraid I’m not going away.”

  He sighed. “Look, Miss Reynolds, I don’t know anything, so you’re wasting your time.”

  “You’d probably keep it to yourself if aliens landed on Great Deveril church, in case everyone thought you’d gone crazy.”

  “Well, never having seen aliens, I—”

  She interrupted. “No, but you know about time travel, don’t you? Oh, come on, Gulliver, I’m going to be on your back until you give in.”

  He sighed again. “You’re a very pushy woman, Miss Reynolds.”

  “And you’re being plain cussed by refusing to admit that you and I have something very peculiar in common. Please talk to me.”

  He ran a fingertip around his beer glass. “Are you a reporter of some kind?”

  “A what? No, I’m not, nor am I writing a book, if that’s your next question. I just happen to be here on vacation. That’s all, I promise.”

  “So if I talk to you, it won’t go any further?”

  “Of course.” Her eyes brightened. “Does that mean you will talk about it?”

  He nodded reluctantly. “All right, I admit I know what you’re on about. Traveling in time isn’t a myth, it really can happen, and twenty years ago it happened to me.”

  She sat back in relief. “I knew I wasn’t the only one!” Then she looked at him again. “It was in the tunnel, wasn’t it? I know you haven’t been entirely honest about it so far, because Ron told me you climbed up a second time to try to see past the cave-in, and that was when you hurt your spine, not the first time you were there, when your boat actually struck the roof collapse.” Her thoughts raced on. “Something happened to Ron’s great-grandfather in the tunnel as well, didn’t it?”

  “Well, something definitely happened to me, but I can’t really comment on Jack Sawyer, except to say I’d guess he experienced it too.”

  “Jack Sawyer?” she repeated, her glance flying to the wall and the picture of the traveling showman.

  He knew what she was thinking. “That’s right, the same name as his ancestor. Names seem to have something to do with it. I share mine with the butler at Deveril House, you share yours with the other Laura Reynolds, so I’m pretty sure the same thing applied to Jack Sawyer.”

  “Does that mean it’s happened to Dolly Frampton as well? Sorry, I mean Dolly Renwick.”

  “No, you see her name isn’t really Dolly, it’s just a nickname in the Frampton family. She’s Irene, but the 1818 Dolly was Dorothy. It seems the names have to be exactly the same. Anyway, you want to know about my brush with time travel. It was the week of the Mercury Fair, and—”

  ‘The fair was still being held twenty years ago?” she interrupted in surprise.

  “It’s still held now.” The interruption exasperated him. “Do you want to hear t
his tale or not?”

  “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.”

  A little mollified, he continued. “Well, as I told you before, I wanted to examine part of the tunnel, so I rowed in. I didn’t see the collapse until it was too late, and I’d rammed right into it, but I didn’t hurt myself. I was about to row out again when I heard a strange noise coming from the other side of the cave-in.”

  Laura sat forward. “Was it someone calling for help?”

  He looked quickly at her. “Not at first. The sound I heard was a dull hammering, a thud, thud, thud that seemed to make the whole tunnel shake. I had a torch, and realized it was coming from beyond a gap at the top of the fall, so I scrambled up to look through.” He paused to sip his beer, and Laura saw his hand was shaking.

  “Go on,” she prompted gently.

  “Well, I just wasn’t expecting what happened next. One moment I was in my own time, the next I was looking on something from the past. I knew without being told that it was 1818, and that the roof fall I’d come upon was the one that had happened then, right down to the fact that it was actually two falls, with a fifty-foot stretch of safe rocky tunnel in between. There was a blue rowing boat trapped in the safe part, I could see it plainly because of a lighted lantern on its prow, just like Ron fixes lamps on his boats now. I recognized the boat, because it’s been rotting by the old watchman’s cottage ever since I can remember. It was found in the tunnel when the 1818 fall was cleared up and made good.”

  “I know the boat you mean,” Laura said.

  “Well, it had a young man and woman in it. He was fair-haired and rather frail-looking, and she was a dark little thing, like a young Audrey Hepburn. You remember her? She was a movie star?”

  Stephen and Marianna, Laura thought with a start. “Er, yes, I know of Audrey Hepburn.”

  He went on. “Anyway, they were looking up at where the hammering was coming from behind a patch of brickwork set into the tunnel roof. It was so foolish for them to be right under the hammering. Why the young man didn’t row to one side I’ll never know, but he didn’t. As it was, any falling bricks were bound to strike the boat. I wanted to call out, but couldn’t. The young woman—Marianna Deveril, I was to find out—was frightened and crying and the young man, her lover, Stephen Woodville, was standing up in the boat calling to whoever it was beyond the brickwork. ‘Help us, please,’ he kept saying.”