“No, Billy, I don’t think it’s wise for you to come. I’ll be very careful. And I won’t tell on you calling me Laura if you don’t tell on me.” She giggled gently and saw the effect on Billy who blew her a kiss as he put the preferred saddle on Holly and led her to the big iron gates at the front of “Foxhills”. Poor Billy, he was a fish out of water; she’d have to find him a pond.
Holly, her white socks showing up more than Alexandra would have liked, trod sure-footed down the hill. Alexandra steered her off the track and kept the trees between her and the village of Wells. When she’d decided to look for Adam, she’d had nothing but an intense passion driving her to search. She wouldn’t have been able to sleep so why not set her mind at rest by seeking out clues as to his whereabouts? Now she had that clue. He wouldn’t be there, of course. Hadn’t Father Fox said the diamonds had been returned? Hadn’t Emmanuel Raffles spoken highly of him? Catherine too, until she’d misconstrued what she’d overheard. She was young. She hadn’t experienced the horrendous mistakes that one can make by not having all the information.
Alexandra pulled Holly to a halt at the edge of the trees. She could ask Billy to let her know when Adam was out at night and then she could keep watch. It wouldn’t be difficult. There were only a dozen or so cottages. If Adam did frequent this area at night, it could be for only one purpose. But she would prove to herself and to Billy that Adam did not. If a man like Adam was out and about late at night there would be a legitimate cause. There being no sign of anyone at all, not even a candle in a window, she made her way to the edge of the town. There were lights in the tavern and an occasional bawdy laugh but it was clear this was not a place Adam would frequent. She dared not go further into town. Not tonight. She was too recognizable.
She returned to the village and hid behind the trees again. Holly whinnied. “Hush Holly,” said Alexandra, gently stroking Holly’s muzzle, “this is undercover work. We’re spying and you have to be very quiet.”
Twenty minutes went by and Alexandra grew restless. She no longer passionately wanted to know where Adam was; cold winds had driven out curiosity. Common sense returned.
She turned Holly gently and began to head for “Foxhills” when she looked one last time over her shoulder and, coming from the direction of the town, she could just make out the figure of a man on a dark horse. She pulled Holly to a halt and dismounted quietly; she was lucky, she thought, the wind direction was in her favour, whoever it was, was unlikely to hear Holly and her. Only his movements gave him away. He came close enough for her to hear the sound of hooves on the hard, dusty track. Could it be Adam? No, this is what Billy had seen and he hadn’t bothered to ascertain who the man was. He’d probably had too much to drink as well. She’d speak to him again for being so ungrateful.
The rider dismounted and led his horse to one of the cottage doors. It might be Jack, yet he didn’t go in. He seemed to be reaching for something in his pocket. He found it. He squatted by the doorstep and lifted something and placed the object from his pocket underneath. He quietly led his horse up the hill, fortunately away from Alexandra, then mounted effortlessly and cantered off. She could often recognize people by their gait but he had been hidden by the horse. A dark horse. A dark horse indeed.
If she followed him, she might be caught. She was becoming more certain that it was Jack. Finding out what was on the doorstep might be the evidence she needed. She tied Holly to a silver birch and ran down the slope, sliding on the wet grass. Stealthily she moved towards the cottage doorstep. She lifted an upturned wooden box that formed a rudimentary step and found a small leather pouch. She put her fingers inside the drawstring and withdrew five guineas.
“Who’s there?” A high, sharp voice from inside called.
Alexandra shoved the money inside the pouch, flung it under the box, and ran. She scrambled up to Holly, mounted hastily, and rode back to the safety of “Foxhills”.
“You found him then?” said Billy.
So it was Jack. She’d like to be sure. “Found who?”
Billy hesitated. “Mister Adam.”
“No. Why do you say that?”
“Because you’ve just followed him home.”
Hide in Time ~ Anna Faversham
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
2009
Laura sat on the bench by the bus stop. Watching people passing by was helping but she could not quite recall what she should be doing next. She knew she’d just seen Adam and Alexandra but what was she doing here?
“Do you need any help, love?” Laura looked up at the elderly lady bending over her; who was she? “Only you’ve been sitting here all morning and you’ll catch your death out here in this weather.” Catch her death? No, she mustn’t do that. She performed her quick ‘have I aged’ check – she scrutinized the back of her hands. She seemed to be as expected. But where was she supposed to be going? She knew it would come back to her some time soon. It must do. The lady leaned forward a little more and put a hand on her shoulder. “Is there someone I can ring for you?”
“Ring?” Laura looked at where there had once been a ring on her finger.
“I’ll call an ambulance.”
“No, no, not an ambulance. Not the hospital, no please, no. No tests.” Oh thank God. Something was coming back. “Matt. I need to ring Matt.”
“Do you know his phone number?” Laura fumbled in the bag strapped round her waist and pulled out her list of instructions. The last thing on the list said, ‘If all else fails, phone Matt’, and there was his phone number. “Have you got a mobile in there, dear?” said the elderly lady indicating Laura’s bag.
“Mobile?”
“Come with me. I live over there and we’ll get you a nice hot cuppa and I’ll phone this Matt and get you back where you belong.”
~
Laura looked out of her office window at the twinkling Christmas lights in the jewellers and held up the photograph of Adam just as she had done every day for the last two months. He was every bit as gorgeous as she had remembered. In his world, when the photo was taken, less than three months had passed since she’d walked out and taken a ship for America. In her world, over five years had passed. In the world outside of hers, nearly two hundred years had come and gone and she knew so little of them. She checked in the mirror. All was well. She could never answer truthfully when asked for her date of birth. She wasn’t sure of her age. Matt said she was twenty-three. He had pieced this together because she’d insisted she was born the same year as the jewellers opened. She was equally insistent that she’d set sail for America in 1814. Just eighteen years old. That was right, she remembered that was true. In the hospital, when she first arrived, they’d taken tests and said she was about twenty-three years old. She knew that wasn’t true; she could not have been adrift for five years. A dentist had said, ‘maybe twenty-five’. Horrible man. Matt appeared to go along with the medical doctor and said she had an adult mind of a lady of maybe twenty-three. Laura was deeply upset and eventually it had been agreed that she could be eighteen. She was happy with that so now she was twenty-three. It hardly mattered, she had no birth certificate or papers of any sort and, fortunately, she hadn’t needed any. Matt took care of everything like that. He’d told her not to mention her age to her clients, any age, as no one was going to believe that one so young could be so mature. There was no need, of course, to say that to her – a lady never mentions her age, does she? She checked in the mirror again. All was well; she looked no older than she felt.
She tucked the photograph of Adam back where it belonged in her purse. She’d taken five copies and they were all stored in different places. She looked at the photo of Alexandra and she hoped she wouldn’t have any ageing problems. Adam was twenty-six. Perhaps if she hadn’t been so young she might not have made… “Stop it!” she said aloud. Then added, “Alexandra is older than I was. Wiser too.” She looked to heaven, “Please God, don’t let her make the same wrong assumptions.”
She began to open the post on her de
sk; she’d left it rather late in the day. It was the second one she opened that caused her to sit down heavily and she reread the letter several times. The writer had completed the application form for her friend and enclosed a cheque to cover membership and five events. Normally, thought Laura, I’d have to enquire if the applicant was aware and happy to go ahead but the letter explained: the friend, just forty-five years old was dying of cancer and had never married and had no family living in the U.K. As a Christmas present, the letter-writer had selected the events for her to enjoy in her last days – she had only six months to live. No one must know. Laura felt humbled.
The phone rang. “Will you be ready if I pick you up at five-thirty?”
“Yes, Matt. I’m just closing the agency now. I’m looking forward to it. Thank you.”
She glanced once more at the photo of Alexandra before she dropped it back in Xandra Radcliffe’s file. Dated 3/10/09 she had shown it to the police to allay any fears they may have. As Xandra was now not officially missing, they’d taken the original for their files, told her that it wasn’t proof positive but had no reason not to believe Xandra was safe. All was well. She’d better hurry home.
It had been a crisp, clear day and she’d worked out exactly what she would wear. She had bought the burgundy swirly cloak, edged with white faux fur, especially for the occasion. It seemed suitably Christmassy and would be warm should the Cathedral be as cold as it used to be.
She watched as Matt’s car drew up outside her cottage and he strode towards the door. So confident, so reassuring.
“Oh you look delectable. I could eat you.” He picked her up and twirled her round. “I can’t wait to introduce you to Carrie and Simon.”
“Put me down, you naughty boy!”
He did and she made a futile attempt to hit him playfully, but he’d run away and was holding open the door to the car. She locked the cottage door. What would she do without Matt?
A parking space outside St Paul’s Cathedral had been reserved for him. He never failed to surprise her. She wondered what it took to have such special treatment. He looked very distinguished tonight in his jacket, black bow tie and honey-coloured coat flung around his shoulders.
Laura paused as she read the words etched on the glass door as they entered.
‘This is none other than the House of God. This is the gate of Heaven.’
An usher caught Matt’s eye and took them both through the milling crowd to the front where they sat next to Carrie and Simon. Royalty was welcomed, though Laura, being lost in awe of the great cathedral, caught no more than a glimpse. The huge chandeliers, each carrying what looked like a hundred candles, drew her eyes upwards to the magnificent dome. Recently restored, Matt advised her. Then the lights dimmed and a single choirboy’s pure notes rang clear, “Once in Royal David’s City.” She had indeed entered the gates of Heaven. She could feel her eyes well with tears and Matt, ever watchful, squeezed her hand. When the choir sang the descant, she thought her heart would burst. She loved these new carols.
Then the guest tenor sang something written in the fifteenth century, “Adam Lay Ybounden, Bounden in a bond” and she could hold back her emotions no longer. She found a handkerchief and sniffled all the way through. She wished they weren’t sitting in such a prominent position. Carrie glanced at her cautiously, fearful she might sob. As the tenor sang the last phrase, ‘Deo gracias!’ Laura took a deep breath. Yes, thanks be to God. She had much to be thankful for; she must cling to that.
The candle chandeliers dimmed, a spotlight fell on the lectern and there stood Matt. Good Lord. Was she dreaming? She hadn’t noticed him leave her side – he’d slipped away unnoticed, silently, like a cat. She picked up his programme and turned the page.
READING
By Alexandra Foxley
Read by Matthew Leigh-Fox Redfern
Only with immense effort could Laura contain her emotions. She sat watching him read what Xandra had written and realized this was something no one in the world was going to believe. He had met his, she hesitated; how many greats would it be? She wanted to listen so she deferred counting; suffice to say many greats grandmother.
Of a surety, this confirmed she had been right to hide Xandra in another time. She must not tell Matt that Xandra became Alexandra Mulberry then Alexandra Leigh-Fox who wrote as Alexandra Foxley. It was all coming together. She thought it was probably not a good idea to ask to see Alexandra Mulberry’s birth certificate. Over-riding all this though, was the fact that this knowledge was impossible for anyone else to believe. Oh how wonderful. Fantastic was the word. Now she could smile. Now. What a lovely word. So much to enjoy. Thank you Matt.
After the service, Carrie, Simon, Matt and Laura darted across the road, through the evening traffic, to the pizza restaurant. Matt had reserved a table by the window where they could look across to the hot chestnut stalls, the Victorian-costumed singers and The Salvation Army Band playing at the base of the steps of the floodlit Wren Cathedral. What a sight, thought Laura. Frost was forming on every untouched surface, glistening white; tomorrow morning it would look like snow. Deo gracias indeed. She might take to repeating that daily as a reminder of the Christmas Concert that revealed so much to her. She could have worked it all out, of course. She had really, but it only sunk in as Matt read Xandra’s words. If only Alexandra could have known how revered her writing had become.
“Have you recovered from your shock, Laura?” Carrie murmured.
“I do believe I have,” replied Laura. She looked up to Matt who was making his way to the till.
“Would you mind if I said something personal but important to you?”
Laura hesitated. She hadn’t met Carrie before, though Matt had spoken highly of her. “I don’t know. It depends what you are going to say.”
“It’s rather harsh, I’m afraid, but Matt has been a friend of our family for many years and I am concerned for him.”
Laura leant forward a little. “Oh.” It was a thoughtful, receptive sort of ‘Oh’. “Go ahead.”
“Wake up Laura and smell the coffee before it’s too late.”
Hide in Time ~ Anna Faversham
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
1814
‘Debauched. The whole family, save Catherine, is debauched. I hate him.’ Alexandra lifted her pen, dipped it into the ink and wrote again, ‘I hate him’.
Millie brought her a tray of breakfast; it had become a somewhat reduced affair lately.
“You’re up early, Miss Mulberry. Writin’ again? You should write one of them books that Catherine reads.”
“Romantic novels? Huh! What do I know of romance?”
Poor Millie. She shouldn’t have barked at her like that. Poor Johnson too. There were hardly any servants left. All the money was being spent on Wild’s and Mild’s passions. If it weren’t for Catherine, she would leave. Though where she would go she didn’t know, and her diamonds hadn’t been returned yet, nor would they be, by the looks of it. What a fool she’d been. She pushed her tray away; her appetite was also lost.
Millie returned to collect the tray and to ask which clothes she should lay out for church. Church! She’d forgotten. This church thing was new to her. She was sure of that now. Wherever she’d come from, it was not a part of her life. She’d had that dream again, last night. She should write it down before she forgot it.
“Miss Mulberry.” Millie was still awaiting instructions.
“You choose for me, Millie, I just want to make a note of something.” Alexandra opened her journal, took up her pen, dipped it in the ink and prepared to write. Too late – it had faded; slipped away again. Bally dreams.
~
“I love Advent, don’t you, Alexandra?” Catherine looked with hopeful eyes towards her silent friend as they settled into their pew at the front of the church. It was a fine building, much admired and, surprisingly, not set on the top of one of the many hills surrounding the town: it nestled by the stream at the bottom of a steep incline.
&nbs
p; “I’m not sure I can remember…”
“Oh, Alexandra, how thoughtless of me. Is that why you look so downcast?”
It was more trivial than that but insidious. “No. It’s because I do not want to sit next to Adam. Would you mind if we swapped places, Catherine?”
“Alexandra! Whatever has happened?”
“I cannot say, Catherine,” she whispered as she moved to change places. “It’s nothing for you to worry about though.” Alexandra saw by the slightest flicker of his eyelashes that Adam noticed when he took up his place beside Catherine. But it wasn’t conducive to contemplation of higher things to be sitting next to Jack or his debauched brother. Shocked, she hated herself for thinking this. So now she hated him and she hated herself. What had happened to her sunny disposition?
The choir in the gallery began to sing with a zealous disregard for musical harmony. Two scraping violins, a couple of squeaking flutes and a small drum assisted them in their artistic transgression. After they had finished and seated themselves with looks of pious self-satisfaction, Parson Raffles, looking like an upturned muslin-covered pudding basin with a plum on top, rattled on about the delay in completion of the modifications to the church. This, he said, necessitated the use of a temporary lectern erected on a small, wheeled platform, not much bigger than his feet. Checking the chocks were in place, he confidently mounted the rostrum.
Alexandra was lost in thought. She had just begun to look forward to the church services; there was usually something of intellectual interest and much needed comfort in verses like ‘the truth shall set you free’. But how could Adam stand in church when…
“Our Lord Jesus Christ,” boomed Parson Raffles as he clutched the front edge of the lectern with one hand and thrust the other in the direction of the heavens, “left the sanctuary of his home above and became a helpless infant; his very life at risk from those who jealously guarded their own interests.” Parson Raffles paused, leaned forward, and clutched the corners of the lectern tightly with both hands. “He endured a simple life amongst people who regarded him as peculiar.” He leaned forward and glowered into the eyes of the congregation, “Those he trusted let him down.” There was another, longer pause. The rapt silence was broken by an ominous creak as the parson shifted his stance.
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