His tactics were horribly successful. The figures that came riding over the brow of the hill, some carrying guttering torches, spied William and gave chase. It was impossible for him to escape, but he rode at breakneck speed in order to give us the best advantage.
Erasmus coaxed our horse into a canter in the opposite direction.
“We can’t leave him!” I wailed.
“We must hurry. He will not evade them for long,” Erasmus said.
“They will hang him! He will die!”
“Then let us not squander the precious time he has bequeathed us.”
I felt tears spilling down my face. I held tight to Erasmus, leaning close into his body so that the horse could more easily carry us. My heart was breaking for William, and was in turmoil for Tegan. I had let her slip through my fingers again! Even her own magnificent magic had not kept her safe. Gideon had acted with such unexpected speed, and in a manner none of us could have foreseen. From what Erasmus had told me she was in terrible danger Time Stepping unprepared and unwilling. And even if she did survive, where would he take her next? Would we be able to follow?
We rode on, away from the edge of the woods, across the meadows, down past the ruin of my family home, and on to Batchcombe Point, the very southernmost tip of the corner of Dorset where I had known so many tragedies. Erasmus slowed the horse to a walk, and ultimately we halted atop the cliffs. He jumped from the tired animal’s back and helped me down from the saddle. The horse’s flanks heaved from the exertion and steam rose from its sleek body into the cool night air. Already the darkness was beginning to thin, and a soft summer dawn was breaking. I walked away from Erasmus, not wishing him to witness my distress. I knew he had done what he had to do in following William’s instructions, but still I wished with all my heart that there might have been some other course, some other way.
Standing at the cliff’s edge, I could hear the gentle waves caressing the tiny pebbles of the beach below. The sea was a glossy darkness, awaiting the warmth and brightness of the sun to bring it to sparkling life. I had stood here before in desperate circumstances, when my world had seemed to be breaking about me into a thousand tiny pieces which could never be retrieved, never be picked up and put back together again. All had seemed lost and impossible then, and yet I had survived. I had gone on to live, to fulfill my destiny as a witch and a healer, to know love, and to find Tegan. I could not give up now. There would be a way forward. I would find it. I would take it. If I did not, William’s sacrifice had been in vain.
Erasmus had come to stand beside me. He did not reach out a hand, nor try to find soothing words for me, and I was glad of it. The quiet strength of his presence was comfort enough. He looked out over the slumbering ocean and waited for me to voice what he knew I must be thinking.
At last I said, “Can you do it? Can you find where they have gone?”
He nodded.
“And can we then follow?”
“I would be a poor Stepper if we could not.”
I took a breath, drawing the warmth of the sunrise into my very soul. I nodded then. “Very well,” I said firmly. “Let us begin.”
PART THREE
18
LONDON 1851
I was reluctant to rouse myself from such a delicious sleep. As I began to wake, a seductive drowsiness blurred my senses, tempting me back to the soft embrace of slumber. And yet I wanted to wake up. I knew that I must, for beneath the easy lulling of the darkness lay an undertow of urgency. A barely suppressed panic. There was something that needed to be done. There was someone who needed me. Though my eyes remained closed, there danced before me a luminous phantasmagoria. Figures twirled and spun, their faces indistinct, their identities hidden. Such a mix of colors, a muddle of clothing and physiques. Were they people I knew? Were they real, or merely phantoms conjured by a confused mind? Where was it I should go? Who was it who needed me? I became aware of someone saying my name. The voice was calm but bright, and gently insistent.
“Elizabeth? Elizabeth? Can you hear me?” he asked, and I felt my hand held, cupped in warm palms.
At last I opened my eyes. There followed a few seconds of dizziness, and then a familiar face came into focus. Erasmus peered at me with concern, but the moment he saw me wake, his features arranged themselves into their more customary cheerful expression. When I tried to speak, he shushed me and put a glass of water to my lips. I drank greedily, becoming aware of a fierce thirst.
“Just a little, Elizabeth,” he cautioned. “After such a very big Step it is advisable to take only tiny sips for a while.” He put down the glass but his left hand kept hold of mine. It was a comforting connection. No, somehow it was more than that, I realized. And that realization made me self-conscious, so that I withdrew my hand and made the effort to sit more upright on the red velvet chaise.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“Home. That is, my home. We are in London.”
He made a broad sweep of his arm to indicate the room, and what a room it was! It had the large proportions of an early Victorian house, with a high ceiling and two long brocade-draped windows through which streamed sunshine. Despite the generous size of the space, it did not feel overly large, as every inch of it was taken. There were two more velvet settees, with extra cushions and tartan rugs over the arms, several overstuffed and worn leather chairs placed so as to take advantage of the daylight, and a broad desk between the windows, piled high with papers and ink pots and blotters and such, with a chair pulled up to it. The floorboards were covered with a threadbare but beautiful Persian rug, and there hung from the ceiling two impressive brass lanterns. But, by far and away, the most striking feature of the whole room was the number and variety of the books it housed. This was a veritable library. Shelves lined three of the walls from floor to ceiling, with barely any available space on any. Small tables groaned beneath the weight of more leather-bound tomes, and there were two glass-fronted cabinets housing further volumes. The very particular aroma of books, of paper, of leather, of words, permeated the room.
My head began to clear.
“What year is it?” I asked.
“1851. Summer. A very hot one, apparently.”
“But, is it the right year? I mean, have we come to the same time as Tegan?” I rubbed my temples, willing my mind to rid itself of the fog that clouded it. There was no time for being less than well. Gideon was not a person to be bested in such a condition.
“I am confident it is. I was able to follow closely. Gideon made the Step, though whether entirely successfully I cannot yet be certain.”
“What do you mean?”
“They Stepped without care, without observing the acknowledged precautions and procedures. Tegan was neither willing nor informed.” He looked at me closely then. “Elizabeth, I have told you how dangerous that can be. The first occasion would have been risky enough, but at least then they had the assistance of an accomplished and experienced Stepper. This time Gideon was dabbling in something he cannot fully understand. He might very well have overreached himself.”
“You think Tegan may not have survived it?” I kept my voice level, but my heart was racing.
“I will not hide the truth from you. I was able to follow Gideon’s trail in this instance. He was not acting as a warlock when he jumped the centuries, so he was not able to obscure his route. I tracked him as I would any other Stepper.”
“And you know that they came here, came to this date?”
“I do, but I cannot know precisely where he has her hidden. London, even in this century, is a large and populous city. What is more, the moment he arrived he would have been able to mask his whereabouts as he normally does. His temporary guise as Time Stepper abandoned, he is a warlock once more, his powers intact. No doubt he knew in advance exactly where he would go and what he would do when he got here. What is more…” He hesitated.
“Go on.”
“It may not be significant, but though I could, for a while, detect two people cro
ssing the eras, at the last, when there was still a glimpse of Gideon … I could find only one Stepper.” Seeing my look of despair he went on, “As I say, it may not mean anything. After all, it was Gideon working the actual Stepping, so his would have been the stronger trail to follow. And in those moments when he first arrived, before he had fully regained his powers, I could clearly see him. But only him.”
“But what could have happened to Tegan? Are you saying she is still back at Batchcombe at the time we just left? Or is she in some dreadful limbo? How can we know? We have to find her.”
“And we will. I told you, it may not be significant. After all, wouldn’t Gideon’s first move on coming here be to hide her, rather than himself? Think about it, Elizabeth. Tegan is clearly a powerful witch in her own right. He needs to keep her subdued and secure. That would have been his first priority, and it may have been why I could not detect her.”
I forced myself to accept what he was saying. What option was there? As my memory cleared further, my heart became heavy at the memory of William. My poor, good William. I prayed that his sacrifice had not been in vain. I tried to shake such thoughts from my mind, and the movement caused my head to spin. I swung my feet to the floor.
“Have a care…” he said.
“Please.” I flapped him away. “I am not an invalid. I merely wish to stand and walk about a little, to properly wake up.” Seeing his concern I tried to reassure him as I stood up by putting on the brightest voice I could muster. “This is a splendid room, Erasmus. You are a keen reader, but the looks of things.”
He nodded. “I confess this is but a fraction of my collection. The house has more books than I can ever expect to have time to read.”
I turned to him. “This is home for you, then? This place? This house? This time?”
“As much as anywhere ever can be, yes, it is.” He took my hand in his. “Come, there is something I should like you to see,” he suggested, “if you feel able.”
I allowed him to lead me from the room. There were many questions to be asked, many puzzles to be solved, and as yet I did not have all the pieces, but the Time Stepping had left me fragile, and my thoughts were still soft at the edges. I needed a little time to come properly to my senses. We were on the first floor of the house and emerged onto a landing through which a steep staircase passed. We crossed over to the opposite room.
“Perhaps this will explain better what it is I do here,” he told me as we entered.
The space was of similar size to the drawing room, but here there were no creature comforts to be found. This was a workshop, with benches and crates and tools. I could smell turpentine and linseed oil and ink and glue and paint of some sort. I stepped over to the workbench and picked up tiny shavings of leather. Now I could see that there were books here, too. Beautifully bound volumes with gold lettering tooled into their supple leather covers, and slim collections of poems, and hefty medical encyclopedias. Unlike the other room, this one, however, was not merely a place where books were housed; it was a place where they were made.
“Oh, this is exquisite, Erasmus. Did you do this?” I asked, picking up an intricately worked volume bound in dark blue with red- and-gold-embossed lettering.
His pride at my delight was obvious, though he tried to hide it.
“It is quite pretty that one, isn’t it? Yes, this is what I do. When I am not skipping hither and yon through the centuries. This is my place, and here I am Erasmus Balmoral the Bookbinder. This is, as much as it ever can be, my time.”
“I had such a book once,” I murmured, “though it was not quite so lovely. It was special to me.”
“Your grimoire?” he asked, and then seeing my surprise added, “I do know something of the habits of witches.”
“My Book of Shadows,” I told him. “Not entirely the same thing, but every bit as important.”
“Where is it now?”
“I gave it to Tegan,” I said, biting my bottom lip against the emotion that surged through me. As if sensing my distress Erasmus did not question me further. Instead he placed his hand over mine as I held the book.
“One day you shall have a new one,” he promised.
One of the windows was propped open, and through it came the sounds of the street outside. Trotting hooves and a carriage wheeling over the cobbles. A barrow boy declaring the freshness of his wares. A young woman laughing.
I felt suddenly unsteady on my feet and leaned heavily against the workbench. Erasmus slipped his arm around my waist to steady me.
“First things first,” he said gently. “You are not yet fully recovered from the Stepping. You need food, and rest…”
“But…”
“Food and rest,” he repeated. “And then we will begin our search anew.”
I did not answer him, for I felt suddenly overwhelmed by tiredness. If he had not been supporting me I would have slumped to the floor. He helped me to the stool behind the bench and sat me down, before pulling the bell-rope beside the fireplace.
“We will find her, Elizabeth. I promise you,” he said.
I wanted to trust him, to believe him, but at that moment I could only think of the promise I had made to Tegan. I told her I would never leave her again. I had promised that I would stay by her side. We had been together, and I had allowed Gideon to take her from me a second time. What would she be thinking? How would she hold faith with the idea that I could ever rescue her from him, and that we could ever truly be rid of him?
I heard footsteps on the stairs and two voices keeping up a babble of chatter as they came. The door opened and a woman of advanced years wearing an elaborately frilled and hooped day dress entered at the run, followed by a stout, breathless gentleman with whiskers that added inches to the width of his face.
“Mr. Balmoral, sir!” the woman cried, advancing through the cluttered room with some difficulty due to her voluminous skirts. “You are home, and all is topsy-turvy! Will there ever be an occasion you do not take us unawares and find us in disarray?”
Erasmus stepped forward to meet her and took her hand. “Mrs. Timms, I swear you have spent my absence growing younger.”
She blushed at this, flapping away his compliment with an embroidered handkerchief. She was evidently a woman with a fondness for lace, and wore so much of it on her cotton cap that she resembled a flower, her face peeping out from trembling lacy petals. It was an honest face, I thought, and a kind one. Her bright eyes took me in swiftly.
“But here!” she cried. “You have company. Oh, my dear, that we should find you in this place of muddle and confusion,” she exclaimed, gesticulating at the workshop and brushing past Erasmus to get closer to me. I stood up.
“Elizabeth was interested in my books,” Erasmus said.
“A woman of sound sense!” put in the gentleman, who stood with feet firmly planted, hands on his hips as if braced for an assault of some sort or perhaps to withstand the flurry that was the woman he had arrived with.
“Mr. Timms,” his wife admonished him, “I will thank you not to make such presumptuous and bald declarations of a lady we have not so much as been introduced to.” Here she glared at Erasmus.
“Forgive me. Mr. and Mrs. Timms, may I present to you…”
“Elizabeth Hawksmith,” I interrupted, offering Mrs. Timms my hand. I knew Erasmus would name me as Mrs. Carmichael, but I was unknown here in this time, and though I had enjoyed taking Archie’s name for a while, it seemed only right that I should revert to my own now that I could. She squeezed my hand and then beckoned to her husband, who reached forward to take it from her.
“We are delighted to make your acquaintance, madam,” he told me, bending to kiss my fingers, his moustache tickling my skin as he did so.
“Fancy bringing your visitor in here before offering her even a cup of good China tea, Mr. Balmoral. What were you thinking?” Mrs. Timms demanded.
“As I say, my books were of interest…”
“Books, books, books!” she tutted. “A person
cannot be sustained by the things, sir, contrary to what you would have us believe.”
Erasmus turned to me. “Mr. and Mrs. Timms are the proprietors of the guesthouse which adjoins my own home,” he explained. “This is my very good fortune, for Mrs. Timms is also my housekeeper, and Mr. Timms sees to my accounts. They both do a sterling job of managing my business and my affairs whilst I am … away.”
“And we are happy to do it,” Mrs. Timms assured me. “Though never as happy as when Mr. Balmoral is once again himself in residence. Now, let us rescue you from this dusty place, my dear Mrs. Hawksmith, and send to the kitchen for refreshment. You must tell me what it is that you desire and we shall do our utmost to furnish you with it. Is that not so, Mr. Timms?”
“Indeed it is, ma’am. Indeed it is,” he agreed, standing aside to allow his wife to bundle me out of the room.
I was at the threshold before I was able to detach myself and protest.
“Mrs. Timms, you are too kind, and I thank you for your concern, but there are matters of great urgency. I must attend to them now.”
“Elizabeth…” Erasmus shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Erasmus, I cannot sit and do nothing. I am going out to look for them,” I said and, ignoring the gasps and entreaties of his housekeeper and his own protestations, I hurried from the room.
Mrs. Timms caught up and insisted she be allowed to find me some clothes. I was still wearing my seventeenth-century garb so I agreed, and she quickly fetched me a more suitable dress. I winced as she laced me into the corset that went beneath it, silently cursing the trend for such a restrictive garment. I drew the line at letting her fuss with my hair, so that I must have presented a ragamuffin appearance when judged by the standards of the day. I had no interest in how I was seen. All I could think of was Tegan.
And so I tramped the streets. It had been many years since I had visited London, and more than a hundred since I had lived there. While much had changed, and the roar of the traffic had been replaced by the clopping of hooves and rattling of wheels, the thrum and energy of the place was a constant factor. It was as if its heartbeat had continued and would continue in the same hectic rhythm, while fashions and innovations came and went upon its surface. The activity of brisk walking, negotiating the teeming streets and striving to recall routes from memory, stimulated my mind into action. My first port of call was the Fitzroy Hospital. It was but a short walk from Erasmus’s home in Primrose Hill, heading directly south. As I walked I found myself searching the crowds for a glimpse of either Tegan or Gideon, though I knew he would be unlikely to be walking abroad in daylight with her. I hoped only that he might have chosen to revisit somewhere that had a connection to me. After all, he had selected Batchcombe first, why not somewhere else I had once lived or worked?
The Return of the Witch Page 20