An Untimely Romance: A Time Travel Romance

by Wells, J

  “What you see is only a tiny part of the Manor’s gardens,” her father piped up at the change in Heather’s demeanour.

  She felt a sudden rush, a kind of excitement, and thought that perhaps life in the country wouldn’t be as bad as she had originally thought after all. She hoped the manor itself would impress her just as much.

  The first thing that came in to view as they passed through an extensive vegetable garden was scaffolding and more scaffolding, with men working like ants, quickening their pace as they saw the car approach.

  “Don’t worry, Heather, we’re in the annex, in the west wing of the house. There’s no scaffold or workmen there, and it can’t be seen from the main entrance,” her mother reassured her as the car pulled up.

  Heather had never seen anything this grand; yes, it needed a lot of work, but its immense build made a statement of its own, two storeys high, a courtyard meandering through the middle, almost making it look like two separate buildings. Must be at least a hundred rooms, she thought to herself, trying to take it all in.

  “Let me out,” she insisted. “While you settle in, I’ll have a proper look round for myself.”

  With her iPod back in her bag, she threw the strap over her left shoulder, jumped out of the car and set off in the direction of the gardens.

  It was a beautiful afternoon, the sun filtering through the trees’ branches creating variegated patterns; it was like a bewitching paradise. The sweet fragrances of the summer flowers hung in the air, and Heather had never smelt anything so sweet. Totally relaxed, she ambled between the long tendrils of a weeping willow tree on the banks of a large lake, and smiled as she was welcomed by its mirror-like reflections that shone up to greet her. She sauntered onto the ornamental bridge and stood for a moment, looking down into the clear waters, and saw large mottled Koi surfacing in their search for food between the contrasting colours of decorative water lilies. The warm breeze softly lifted wisps of her hair, which then fell like soft kisses on her forehead and cheeks.

  “Good day.”

  Heather jumped as a deep, husky voice interrupted her, disrupting the tranquillity in which she had found herself. She immediately turned in the direction it had come from, and saw a boy standing on the left-hand side of the bridge. An odd-looking boy, she thought. He was three or four years her senior and dressed in clothes of an unfamiliar style.

  “Hello,” she replied, looking him up and down.

  He was pleasing on the eye, with tanned skin and the darkest brown hair, which lay in a mop of thick waves. He wore a light-brown jacket, longer than Heather had ever seen on a man before, virtually brushing the back of his knees. With a cravat around his neck, an ivory waistcoat and tight-fitting breeches, he did look a picture.

  “Please, allow me to introduce myself,” he said, walking closer, his dark eyes meeting hers. “The name’s Frank.”

  “I’m Heather, Heather Richardson.”

  “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Richardson.”

  Heather giggled. “Why do you talk so oddly? Where are you from? Is this how everyone talks around here?”

  “From these parts, and yes,” he replied. “Yourself?”

  “London originally, but now this is my home.”

  A look of confusion crossed his face and he frowned, listening intently as she continued.

  “My dad is in the restoration business. He bought the manor for a great price, and it was too good an opportunity to miss. From what he says, it came from a long line of gentry. I can’t quite remember the name of the family, but I know they were very rich and had owned it for the last few centuries; well, as far back as the archives show anyway. Dad’s been harping on about it for months.”

  “Freesdon Manor? Surely you must be mistaken. Are you visiting? How long do you plan to stay?”

  “Forever, as far as my dad’s concerned.” She paused for breath.

  There was a quizzical smile on Frank’s face, and Heather never questioned it.

  “He says we all need more quality time as a family,” she continued. “The manor has given him and mum the opportunity to work from home together, and me to have home tutoring.” Heather sighed. The previous excitement she’d felt was suddenly draining from her. “But I’m not looking forward to it, to be honest.” she added, sulking. “I’m going to miss all my friends.” Looking around, she dropped her shoulders. “I mean, tell me what I’m going to do around here? Yeah, the gardens are wow, but this place is boring with a capital B!”

  Frowning further, Frank replied, “Why do you complain so? Be this your tale of woe? Fear not, Miss Richardson, time has a way of working its magic for all of us.” He paused. “In regards to your mention of the manor, do you actually know to whom you are speaking?”

  “Enough talking,” Heather butted in. “I’m hungry, and there’s some sandwiches and bits and bobs in my bag.” She pulled the duffel bag off her shoulder and began unzipping it.

  “Are you inviting me to eat with you?” Frank questioned inquisitively as he watched her rummaging through the bag.

  “Yeah, there’s plenty here for two.”

  “I would have brought a blanket had I known I was picnicking today.”

  Gentleman-like, he unbuttoned and removed his jacket, gesturing her to follow him. They walked away from the bridge and down to the water’s edge.

  “Perfect,” he said, grinning.

  The grass was soft and recently mowed, its sweet scent lingering in the air. Frank placed his jacket down, spreading it neatly to its widest points to ensure there was enough room for two.

  “After you,” he said.

  “After you? After you what?” Heather uttered, confused.

  “Please, miss, be seated.”

  “Do all you country folk talk in riddles?” She curtsied sarcastically before sitting down. “You don’t have to wait for me, ya know.”

  “To speak the truth, I’m afraid I do not understand you, nor do I understand your ways.”

  Reaching up, she grabbed his hands and pulled him to the ground.

  “Now, Mr Frank, shalt one eat?” Heather jibed, now finding his peculiarities more than slightly amusing. “Anyway, you don’t look like a Frank to me; it’s an old man’s name. I’ve got an uncle called Frank and he’s old, well into his eighties. So, I’m going to call you Frankie, my new Devonshire friend.”

  After a feast of tuna and cucumber sandwiches, slices of ham and cheese quiche and one sausage roll, which Heather was careful to divide equally, they chatted away like old friends.

  “I forget myself,” Frank said.

  He started searching in the breast pocket of his jacket, pulled out a small gold pocket watch and turned it towards him.

  “I’m afraid I must take your leave. I cannot stay; time waits for no one. I have many duties awaiting me. Farewell, Miss Richardson, till we meet again.”

  “You can’t go, Frankie,” Heather objected, disappointment running through her voice. “You’re my one and only friend around here.”

  “I assure you, Miss Richardson, this shall not be our last meeting.”

  “Will you come here tomorrow then? Same time, same place?”

  “This I cannot promise, but you shall see me again.”

  With this they both stood, and Frank picked up his jacket, brushing it down and relieving it of any stray blades of grass that had attached themselves. He hurriedly threw it over his right shoulder, managed a wry smile and headed back towards the bridge. Heather brushed herself down also before turning to follow him, but upon looking up, she realised he’d gone. Frank would soon be no more than a distant memory.

  ~•••~

  “I thought you were my imaginary friend,” Heather said, smiling. “It was so lonely here. I came back every day looking for you for at least a month, but you never came, and I assumed you’d moved away. I see your dress sense hasn’t improved in the slightest.” She laughed. “Well actually, you’d fit in very well at Freesdon Manor. Do you get your clothes
from a museum?”

  A bemused Frank stood silently. He wore an open-neck linen shirt, with a taupe waistcoat and matching jacket, tight-fitting breeches and black shoes.

  “How beautiful you are, Miss Richardson,” he commented, his eyes examining her, much like he had on their first meeting.

  She vaguely remembered being attracted to his striking good looks, yet striking was now an understatement. She didn’t understand why she felt comfortable in his presence; after all, he was almost a complete stranger. It just didn’t make any sense.

  “You haven’t turned out too bad yourself,” she said approvingly.

  Stop flirting, she told herself as Ruben popped into her mind, though it was really difficult not to, and she could hardly take her eyes off him.

  His hair had darkened with age and was now almost jet-black, with a midnight-blue tinge in the sunlight and a shimmering undertone to his curls that complemented his tanned features. He oozed charm, and visually he was pretty near perfect, yet he lacked something, that edge, the je ne sais quoi that drew her to Ruben. Maybe that was why she felt so at ease with him, because she felt nothing.

  “Well, we’ve got a lot to show for these last four years... Come on, I’ll show you,” she insisted, smiling up at him as she grabbed his hand and led him away from the lake, back towards Freesdon Manor.

  She waved at one of the gardeners.

  “Alright, Bill?” she called.

  He looked up from the herbaceous borders he was tending and, smiling, replied, “Alright, Hev? Seen ya dad not ten minutes gone. Keeping a check on us, I’d say. The opening’s not long away now, ya know?” Pausing briefly, his gaze turned to her companion. “Who’s ya mate? One of the entertainers?”

  “Sumat like that!” She grinned, looking up at Frank cheekily.

  They continued walking, passing numerous workmen tending to their own designated areas.

  “Well, what do you think?” Heather asked, stopping.

  “Beautiful,” was Frank’s reply, though his gaze was locked on her without interruption.

  She caught his eyes for no more than a second, yet she could feel them burning into hers. Feeling a little uneasy, she flicked her hair from behind her ears, briefly covering the side of her face and blocking his view of her.

  “You’ve got your own tour guide. Fancy a look?” she asked, excitement in her voice at showing off the manor.

  “I would like that immensely. After you...” He gestured.

  The grand, dimly lit hall was filled with portraits, the subjects’ eyes following them as they walked through, the only sound being Heather’s heels as they met with the wooden floorboards.

  “Upstairs first...” Heather paused as she noticed a subtle grin manifesting on Frank’s face.

  She swallowed. “What I’m trying to say is, there’s so much I want to show you, so many rooms...”

  The staircase beckoned, answered by only an echo as their footsteps rose between the two intricately carved mahogany handrails. She paused and looked up, and as she did so the grandfather clock chimed just once. Her eyes were drawn to its face and she gasped, causing her to miss her footing and lose her balance as she teetered on the top step. She was now face-to-face with a darkened vision, with soft edges, manifesting itself into a female form, a sudden reinvention of itself into an obscure orb, its menacing aura emitting an unearthly chilling cry that pierced Heather’s ears like a knife, before evaporating like the early morning mist. Then, time was lost in an all-consuming slow motion as both clock hands rested once again on the number one. An eerie repeat of the night before cried out in her mind.

  “I shall never let you fall. Never...”

  Startled back to reality, Heather felt the support of two strong arms holding her tightly. As Frank’s face nuzzled into her neck, with a slight tilt of her head their lips met in a soft, yet passionate kiss. She could feel his teeth pressing against hers, his kiss filled with intense emotion. Flustered and disorientated, she pulled away. She was thankful for him catching her, but felt awkward following his advances. Who did he think he was?

  “Frankie, I ... I’ve got a boyfriend,” she stuttered, her breathing returning to normal, her expression making further words between them unnecessary.

  “My, my, doesn’t this look cosy! Quite the couple, I’d say!” Ruben’s voice rang angrily up the stairwell upon seeing the compromising position in which he found them.

  Heather guiltily jumped from Frank’s arms.

  “It’s not like that,” she snapped in her defence. “I slipped, and if it wasn’t for Frankie, who knows where I’d be!” She looked down ominously at the floor below. “He’s an old friend, I’ve known him since childhood. I was just showing him around.”

  Ruben frowned for a second as he looked Frank up and down.

  “In that case, I think a thank you is in order, mate,” he said, climbing the stairs. “Put it there,” he added, taking Frank’s hand in his own. “In fact, why not join us? After all, you’ve saved my girl.” He loosened his grip before cosily locking both his arms around Heather’s waist.

  “Join us?” Heather questioned, placing her hands over his.

  “Yes. I bumped into your dad, and he said you wanted me to join you all for dinner.”

  “Oh, he did, did he?” Heather smiled inwardly.

  Good old Dad, she thought to herself; he certainly didn’t miss a trick. She already knew what the topics of conversation would be that evening – the guest house’s grand opening, Ruben’s father’s connections, not forgetting his own handicap on the golf course. Joy, she thought.

  “I think ya old man said dinner was at six, so see ya later. Frank, wasn’t it? Oh yeh, and thanks again.”

  “Very much looking forward to dining with you this evening. I will see you both at six.” With that, Frank made his way back down the staircase.

  Heather, totally wrapped up in Ruben, hardly heard the door close behind him as he left.

  “Haven’t been able to get my mind off you. You’re driving me crazy,” Ruben said, kissing her softly on the cheek, making sure to hold her hand before leading her onto the landing. “We don’t want you to fall again, now do we? Anyway, I was here earlier today, and have I got something to show you.”

  A quizzical expression crossed Heather’s face as she considered how his choice of words held a rather ambiguous meaning. Her eyes once more wandered to the clock face. She could hear its melodic ticking as it held its own one-way conversation. It was twenty past one. The grandfather clock stood proudly in its deep mahogany overcoat surveying its majestic surroundings, a near match to the dark wood panelling on the neighbouring walls.

  “I’m sure it was the fourth bedroom along,” Ruben uttered as they walked further down the landing.

  Heather sighed with relief that it wasn’t that bedroom. She hadn’t even dared to enter it to tidy up or make the bed since the night before. She felt lost somewhere in her daydreams, or nightmares, and was confused as to where she’d found herself on more than one occasion.

  Multi-coloured tapestries hung as a welcome interruption to the plain wall panelling. A mournful groaning came from the hinges as Ruben pushed open the heavy door. The room was a substantial space, but not overly decorative. The furnishings were a decent size, and comprised of a four-poster bed in sculptured oak, with a matching wardrobe and bedside table. Standing at the end of the bed was a rectangular-shaped ottoman, its cushion seat faded, its original material fraying at the edges, finished with rounded feet on castors.

  “Over here,” Ruben beckoned as he approached the bed. “Actually no, undress for me, slowly.” His words were teasing, yet meaningful.

  Heather stood rigid, an uneasiness in the air.

  “Go on, undress, and then I’ll show you. Hang on, best close the door, don’t want disturbing, do we?”

  Loosening his shirt, Ruben lay back on the bed, his hypnotic green eyes boring into her, tracing every intricate curve of her body.

  “But, Ruben...” />
  “Just do it.”

  Ill at ease, but feeling backed into a corner, Heather stepped towards one of the sash windows, the afternoon sun adding to her natural beauty. She slipped her T-shirt over her head and brushed her hair back into place with her fingers, before quickly removing her trousers.

  “There’s a good girl. Now come here,” he demanded.

  Heather’s vulnerability wouldn’t allow her eyes to meet his, and she felt less confident now that it was daylight, knowing this would show up every flaw. Wrapping her arms around herself, she made her way towards him.

  “No, not yet,” he said, half smiling. “The ottoman ... lift the lid.”

  Heather didn’t argue, and pushed the lid back until the hinges held it in place, the musty scent of old age reaching her nostrils as she glanced down.

  “Now put it on,” he ordered.

  She carefully rummaged through reams of soft white tissue paper.

  “Quickly, girl, don’t keep me waiting.” There was a wanting in his tone.

  “Oh, Ruben, it’s beautiful, thank you!” Heather exclaimed, relief in her voice. “I’ve never seen anything so pretty.”

  “Well, only the best for my girl’s 18th. This is what I’m going to take off you, slowly, delicately, like the unwrapping of a present, and then I’ll spend the whole night making love to you. It’ll be a night, I can assure you, that you’ll never forget.”

  Heather held up the stunning ivory evening gown, with a corset-style waist from which folds of rich crushed taffeta concertinaed out before softly kissing the floor. She stepped carefully between the several layers of underskirts, one foot at a time so as not to damage the delicate material, before gently lifting the dress up around her petite waist. The luxurious material felt cool and soft against her skin.