Hide in Time

by Anna Faversham

  “Perhaps he goes to see a lady friend?”

  “Can you imagine a lady befriending him? He has terrible debts. We might have retired to the drawing room, except…” Catherine looked as though she’d lost heart once again. Her face grew even more sorrowful when she said, “And Adam misses Laura now she too has gone.”

  That name. She’d heard it somewhere before. Was her memory returning? “Laura?” she enquired.

  “I miss her too.”

  “Was she your sister?”

  “Oh no. She was betrothed to Adam and just a few months ago, she packed a trunk herself and said she was sailing to America.”

  “Just like that? How strange. No explanation?”

  “Oh it is a tragic tale, pitiable and Laura is irretrievably lost.”

  “Lost?”

  “At sea. The ship was wrecked on treacherous sands. The fifteenth of July it was. Tomorrow is the first day of October, winter is coming, and I miss Laura.” Catherine’s head had been drooping but she raised it high before adding, “In my prayers tonight I shall thank God for sending you.”

  “July fifteenth. This year?”

  “Yes, not even three months has yet passed. Poor Adam.”

  “Something significant happened to me on that day. I feel it. And the name ‘Laura’ is connected with it.”

  “Alexandra! Your memory is returning.” Gathering pace Catherine continued, “Perhaps you were on the same ship and were shipwrecked too, maybe drifting for months on the open sea. Maybe you were friends and she is alive somewhere too? I heard the parson say you were dishevelled, wet, and sandy. Perhaps we have solved the mystery.”

  “Perhaps,” echoed Alexandra, though not with any conviction.

  “Utterly deplorable.” Father Fox entered the sitting room, nodded to his daughter and Alexandra, sat down on the sofa opposite, and lit his pipe. Alexandra thought he puffed away like a steam train beginning to roll; steam train? The fleeting memory vanished. Like steam itself, she thought. Father Fox stopped only to repeat, “Utterly deplorable.”

  Catherine whispered to Alexandra, “He’ll be talking about Jack. Don’t mention Laura or Adam will disappear too," Catherine indicated with her eyes that Adam was coming through the door. "You must finish the tale of the knight of the road but only when we are alone.”

  “Alexandra, you must be very tired,” said Adam, “Catherine would keep you up all night.”

  “Thank you, Adam, I am indeed tired, and a good sleep will be very welcome.”

  “You can resume the tangential tale-telling tomorrow, Catherine.”

  Alexandra took her leave of the warm, affectionate Catherine, the aloof Father Fox, and Adam. What to make of Adam? Initially warm, but now displaying an air of mild detachment. Never before had she felt so exhilarated and intensely curious about a man. Never, she mused, how would she know? The highwayman had awakened in her a raw feeling of fascination, now here was something stronger.

  ~

  The following morning, refreshed and having taken breakfast in bed, Alexandra pondered what to wear. What would the day hold? What was expected of her? She checked herself in the looking-glass – the mystifying bruises were still visible; she hoped she would not have to leave the house today. From the magazine Catherine had left in her room Alexandra was able to deduce that two of the three dresses she had were somewhat in need of adjusting to take account of the nuances of fashion.

  She decided to wear the one she had arrived in, the flowery, blue cotton one; Martha had made it look quite respectable. The others seemed more appropriate for evenings. The house was rather chilly and no fire had been lit in the grate so she selected the warm, pale blue shawl, threw it around her shoulders and went down the stairs. Catherine seemed to be watching for her patiently and came forward, like a cat awaiting feeding.

  “Good morning, Alexandra. I hope you slept well?”

  “Why thank you, Catherine, yes I did.”

  “I’m looking forward to hearing more about your adventures.”

  Alexandra could not help but smile. This must be what it’s like to have a little sister, she thought. She’d always wanted… Was she an only child?

  “Come to the morning room and I shall send for some tea.”

  Alexandra followed the enthusiastic Catherine through to the back of the house and what seemed to be a music room. Extending from this into the garden was the morning room with small courtyards either side. Directly across the courtyard on the left was the library, to the right the kitchen overlooked the courtyard, or it might have done had there not been a trellis shielding it from the servants’ view. Pasted directly on to the pale lemon walls, and outlined in decorative paper borders, were many black and white prints. Much of the roof was glass, giving the room a sunny and informal aspect. It was pleasingly warm.

  “What a lovely way to start a day, Catherine. I’ll be delighted to continue last night’s tale, but first I should like to give something to Adam.”

  “Adam?”

  “Yes, do you know where he is?”

  Catherine looked embarrassed. “He has gone out, I think. Yes, he’s out.”

  Alexandra noticed the way Catherine was unable to raise her eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” Alexandra said hurriedly tucking the pouch of coins behind the folds of her dress, “I’ll return shortly and enjoy a cup of tea with you, Catherine.” Alexandra hesitated before leaving. Catherine’s growing consternation was becoming increasingly discernible and though she tried gamely to smile at Alexandra, she failed.

  When Alexandra returned to the morning room she noticed Catherine was shaking as she tried to pour the tea so, in a futile gesture of moral support, Alexandra made herself comfortable alongside her on the sofa. Catherine could dam her tears no longer: she sobbed.

  “Whatever is the matter, Catherine?”

  “The Tree of Life has disappeared and so has Adam.”

  Hide in Time ~ Anna Faversham

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  2009

  ‘Numismatists’ Nirvana’ the shop had been called. Laura hoped the owner knew more about coins than he did about words, though she had to admit she’d had to look both words up in the dictionary. Anyway, it didn’t matter, he’d been delighted to offload much of his lower grade Georgian coinage. She had tried to think if there was anything small and useful she could take with her, like aspirin, but that could cause havoc. She did, however, decide on her little camera.

  Thus it was that on the Friday evening following Xandra’s departure, Laura was to be found hurtling down the motorway towards the gateway to the other time. She had returned to her cottage and her nearby work at the agency, despite Matt’s protestations. There had been no repercussions, no men in balaclavas, no vans following her. She’d only had to deal with the police and they had reluctantly accepted Xandra’s letter as proof of her leaving of her own volition though Laura felt they regarded her with some scepticism. “This whole case feels like a week without a weekend,” one of them had said. Laura had no idea what he meant and he’d explained, “Something is missing.” This she could not refute, so she kept quiet.

  Matt was away again. ‘On business,’ he had said. That was all he ever said. He could be running the Mafia for all she knew.

  Laura parked her car close to Billy Beggar’s favourite place, though he wasn’t there tonight, and walked towards the entrance to the caves. She looked at her watch. Ten past ten. It was dark. The street lighting was poor, the advertising hoardings were obscured by high bushes, she was wearing black, she was through. She picked up the torch, stepped over the rain cape Xandra had worn, then inched away from the entrance and wound the torch without the worry of anyone hearing a strange sound from behind the bushes. She adjusted her all-important waist bag. It contained the directions to Adam’s in case she forgot where she was going and the instructions to return to the twenty-first century. A notebook, pen, the coins, a small bottle of water, an apple, and two bars of chocolate were also packed.

  She had
returned just once before and it had alarmed her. On arrival in the nineteenth century she’d had to borrow a horse and ride all the way to “Foxhills”. Both she and the horse were exhausted. She’d knocked on the door, pulled the bell, but no one answered. When she’d finally gained entrance, everyone ignored her. She’d looked down at herself to see if she’d become a ghost – but she hadn’t. She’d pinched herself – she was very real. Passing a looking glass, she realized the problem. She was completely invisible; she could see straight through herself. She’d looked for Adam and found him in the rose garden distraught at the news of her ship being wrecked. Whereas over five years had passed in her new life, only a few days had passed in Adam’s world. The whole episode had been a disaster especially when her memory started fading and she’d feared she would not remember how to return to her new life nor could she stay in the old. A sense of panic rose in her now as she remembered.

  This time, she thought, she was better prepared. She'd mastered the rules better, and she followed the same instructions she’d given to Xandra in case it made a difference if she crossed the curtain of light at a different angle.

  She pushed her way across the sands then, climbing the seventy-seven steps, she repeated important happenings in the twenty-first century. She reminded herself of her present life; things she’d have to do in the office on Monday morning. It was still dark. That’s right, she thought, it should be about half past eleven. She checked her watch. Eleven twenty-five – near enough; assuming it worked properly. Next time I come, she thought, I’ll leave the comforts of the twenty-first century just before dawn then I shan’t have to hang around in the dark. It occurred to her that she might be able to work out what time of year it was by the time of the sunrise. “Except,” she said aloud, “it might be spring or autumn.”

  It was cold and there was a strong wind blowing from the sea. Though tired after climbing the seventy-seven steps, she had no option but to walk to Merrygate; that would take less than two hours if she kept up a good pace. If things had not changed, the mail coach to Canterbury would be leaving about four. Plenty of time.

  To get to Merrygate she had to pass the entrance to the cave which had just taken her back in time – not that anyone would know it was there – the smugglers disguised the entrance well. She’d even have to pass Billy Beggar’s spot. He hadn’t been there last night. She hoped he was all right. “That’s right, Laura, keep thinking of your new life. Don’t forget.”

  “Laura?”

  She stopped dead.

  “Laura? Where are you? Where did you go?”

  Heaven forfend – blast – her speech was slipping back. It was odd. She knew she was invisible, so how could he know she was there? Had he heard her? He couldn’t have. She switched off her torch. The circle of light from the torch had been seen. Silly girl.

  So that had been the noise she’d heard in the tunnel when she was with Xandra. Somehow Billy had eluded Laura and followed Xandra all the way back in time and then found his way to his usual place. He'd been looking for her and now, here he was, sitting where he’d always sat, but shaking and experiencing some sort of tremor. Drugs. Of course, thought Laura, he’s in cold chicken. He’d not been able to get whatever it was he’d been using to blot out the horrors of his life.

  She couldn’t leave him. He was wearing his old greatcoat, but left outside in this chilly air to go through cold… turkey, that’s what it was, he’d likely perish. She’d have to get help.

  A donkey brayed. Well done, donkey. She would not allow herself to think she had spooked the poor beast. She untied it and led it towards Billy Beggar. She wasn’t sure whether it would be easier to get the donkey to lie down and push Billy on to its back or try to heave Billy on while the donkey was standing. She decided to try the former. The donkey bent its front legs. It could sense her. What a relief – something knew she existed.

  She led the plodding donkey to the inn where the mail coach was awaiting the start of its long day, hauled Billy off and propped him up against the inn door. She couldn’t just leave him there; Adam would help him. He’d have to make his own way and they’d never let him on the coach like this, so Laura put some coins in his pocket and tucked a note with his name and Adam’s name and address in his other pocket. She was a little concerned she’d used her own twenty-first century pen and notebook but there was no alternative. Heaving his arm upwards, and pressing a crown in his hand, she manoeuvred it towards the innkeeper who’d come out to see the cause of the strange noises outside the inn door.

  “Well, bless my soul,” said the kindly man as he quickly pocketed the money and wiped his hands down his once-white apron. “Charlie, give me a hand with this man; old soldier, I reckon. Wants a bed by the looks of it.”

  The donkey nudged Laura, not once but several times. What was the matter with it? Fearful the apparently friendly beast would give her away, she pushed it away, but it trotted back, nudging her bag. The apple. Well, she thought, the big red Gala was taking up too much room anyway and the donkey did deserve a special ‘thank you’. Fair enough.

  “Where’s that donkey got that apple from?” The innkeeper had reappeared in his doorway. “Get away from the coach – stupid animal.”

  With what she feared was an audible sigh, Laura mounted the step into the carriage. Just two other passengers – room for her.

  “Cold ain’t it?” said one to the other.

  “Warmer outside than in ’ere.”

  Laura moved as far away as possible and pondered Billy’s fate. He’d never be able to return to his own world; his memories would have faded fast. Memories of the future were impossible to live with. It had been a few days since he’d followed them; would the withdrawal symptoms last much longer? Then what? He’d surely find Adam’s address at some point and perhaps make his way there. Poor Adam. All these strangers turning up at his front door. It wouldn’t be long before she’d be there herself. She must keep repeating the address instead of marvelling at the way the coin was invisible in her own hand but visible once it touched Billy’s. The rules held true: Billy had only travelled one way and he, and everything connected with him, would be visible. If he tried to return to the twenty-first century, he'd be invisible, just like Laura was now. That would be the end of him – it must never happen.

  She hoped the donkey, last seen plodding away, would find its way home. She smiled as she imagined its owner scolding it for having broken away from its tether and the donkey, unconcerned, silently treasuring the adventures of the night.

  The journey was arduous. She’d had to change coaches at Canterbury. The two women had got out and a burly man had got in and began flinging his arms wide then wrapping them round his shoulders. Over and over again. What she’d give for her Micra. She smiled at the thought of trying to get the Micra through the cave. She couldn’t remember what colour it was but there was no time to worry about that; the coach was coming into Torwell Bridge – she must have fallen asleep.

  She still felt drowsy as she stood in the centre of the town. Not surprising really, she thought. Better hurry up, though. Foremost was the need to keep hold of her memories. She recited the names of the people she knew and clients in her agency. She chuckled at the memory of Xandra in the restaurant with Andy. Now here they both were at “Foxhills”. She hoped. She’d go around to the back of the house where it was easier to enter unseen. A smile hovered on her lips. Invisible. But she still had to be careful. She wasn’t a ghost and couldn’t float through walls; she had to open the doors. She looked at her watch. It was afternoon tea time. She’d drunk some of her water already and eaten a chocolate bar, but maybe, just maybe, she would be able to snatch a piece of cake. She’d bring a bigger bag next time. Next time? What was she saying?

  She looked through the windows of the morning room – it was safe to enter. She shut the door behind her and slid through to the kitchen. She could smell fish in one part of the kitchen, warm cake in another, and earthy smells from the vegetables coming from the
larder. She’d know what day it was by what they were eating for dinner tonight, so she put her head around the larder door. There was the remainder of a cooked, cold joint of beef. It was Monday. It was all so different from her own neat, small kitchen which was plenty big enough for her. Mrs Lamb came in from the garden and began clattering around with a tray and one of the footmen appeared, it was Jones, awaiting her efforts. Oh good, thought Laura, food was on its way.

  Laura took a deep breath and prepared her emotions for seeing Adam. She drifted out into the hall and across to the closed door that led to the sitting room and listened. She could hear only a gentle burble of female voices – Xandra and Catherine. Jones approached with the tray. Three cups, thought Laura, as she swiftly followed him through the opened door. Mr Leigh-Fox was there but Adam wasn’t. She was pleased to observe that Jack wasn’t there either.

  It was at this point that a kerfuffle could be heard in the hall. The overworked footman scuttled through the hall to open the great double doors in response to the thumping of fists.

  “I’m home.”

  Jack. And he’d been drinking.

  Laura watched the reactions of the tea-takers. Catherine was embarrassed and fidgeted. Mr Leigh-Fox was untroubled. Laura looked from one to the other and was aghast as Xandra said, “Perhaps we should stake a claim to these goodies quickly.” Stake a claim! Goodies! Such inappropriate speech. She wondered if she spoke inappropriately herself in the twenty-first century. Not very often now, surely? No wonder people had looked at her as though she was some sort of curiosity. Listening to Xandra was alarming.

  The door burst open and Jack stumbled in. “Damn cold in here. Light the fire.” He turned and held the door wide and yelled, “Fire, fire!” Then he turned to Xandra and said, “There. That’ll have them all running.”

  “With buckets of water, I shouldn’t wonder,” said Mr Leigh-Fox.

  Laura could feel a giggle rising – nothing had changed. How was Xandra coping? Good, she was stifling a giggle too. What on earth was she making of Mr Leigh-Fox? Laura had had the benefit of discussing him with Matt. Matt had said his unusual behaviour was possibly a reaction to stress, perhaps some sort of obsessive behaviour. Laura could not recall precisely but it helped to know there were people who could understand. She certainly couldn't.