‘Nor I you. But Amanda… Adele. To be my old self. Oh, I’m so confused.’ Joy and grief warred in her, clogging her voice. Her constant hopes, her frequent bouts of despair, her secret desires, all combined in a mélange of emotion that forbade any kind of clear thinking.
‘I know.’ Amanda’s smile was a poor effort.
‘There’s so much to think about – so much at stake. I had begun to lose hope.’
‘Say no more, my dear. We shall simply have to wait with what patience we can until we hear the man has arrived safely in London. He has undertaken a dangerous journey. We should not be too sanguine.’
*
Charles still hadn’t solved his dilemma when the ladies returned home. To tell, or not to tell? Antony’s absence had placed a heavy burden of responsibility on him and, for once, he did not feel equal to the weight.
Amanda gave him no chance to speak, even had he not decided to let the matter rest, at least until they had eaten their luncheon.
‘My dear Charles, you will be in raptures when you view my picture. I vow ‘tis the cleverest likeness, after just the first sitting. Caro has managed to show my dimples, without making much of my more than ample proportions.’
She put out her hand to her friend, who said in a robust tone, ‘I hope I have shown your nature, Amanda, and that’s more to the point. Anyone viewing the finished portrait will know you for what you are, a good, kind woman who cares about her fellow creatures.’
For once Amanda was left with nothing to say, so Charles said it for her.
‘Thank you, Caro. You have the gift of discernment. I fancy your own nature leaves little to be desired or Amanda would not have taken you so much to her heart.’
Karen looked pleased. ‘If we are throwing bouquets, what about one for a loyal and trusted friend who keeps our lives running as smoothly as he can?’
Amanda clapped delightedly, and only ceased when Bates trod into the room to announce that all was in readiness for her ladyship to partake of her meal. Clearly he didn’t approve their levity, and it was with twinkling eyes that both ladies took Charles’ arm.
He did wonder what it was that had put them in such high spirits. The painting alone seemed scarcely enough cause. But the light in his love’s eyes should not be dimmed if he could prevent it. He kept his worries to himself, promising his conscience that he would deal with them before nightfall.
Chloe came down to visit in the small parlor, and the three ladies spent a pleasant hour playing at spillikins, at home to nobody. Charles kept an appointment with an acquaintance and came home to find the party in the library showing Chloe the exact point she occupied on the globe, and vaguely looking over some of the tomes that had stood undisturbed for decades. They did not appear to have found much of interest.
Most of the books had been purchased as a job-lot to furnish the shelves, by a Frensham with absolutely no literary pretensions whatever. There was little to the taste of Antony or Charles, and even less to please a lady. Chloe, however, discovered a folder of sketches on a lower shelf, squeezed between volumes of religious dissertations.
Blowing off a coating of dust, she staggered to the desk with the heavily bound folder. ‘Look, Mama. Here is a picture of our house.’ Her shy smile was intercepted by Charles, who took great interest in the new relationship between stepdaughter and stepmother.
Karen looked up. ‘Show me, darling.’
The bundle was thick, but the sketches lay loose in their binding. She leafed idly through, then stopped. The quality of her stillness attracted the others’ attention.
‘What have you found, Caro?’ Amanda came forward, her eyes suddenly anxious.
Charles, took, felt uneasy, and could not think why. He saw that Caro had grown pale, and she was rigid as a statue.
She didn’t speak. Her hands lay on the desk top, pinning the sketch there. She looked not at it, but through it, seeing something visible only to her.
Charles peered over her shoulder. ‘’Tis merely a sketch of Ashbourne Manor – a very good likeness indeed. I wonder who was responsible for it?’
Karen continued to stare into space.
He looked curiously at her, while Amanda took both her hands and shook her gently. ‘Caro! What is it? Why do you look so?’
Karen gave a shudder and her eyes refocused back on the sketch. ‘Did you say… Ashbourne Manor?’
Charles nodded. ‘Yes, where Lord Edward resides. I believe I did say that Antony will not go there. ‘Tis a pity. You would find it a lovely place.’
‘I have been there.’
‘I fear you are mistaken. You must be thinking of another of Antony’s houses, perhaps the one in Wales.’
‘No. I know this place. I know that garden, and the ruined tower…’ Her voice trailed away. She moved decisively, closing the folder on the other sketches and retaining the one of the Manor. Then she turned to Amanda. ‘My dear, will you excuse me? I cannot explain to you at this precise time, but I know you will understand and forgive me if I leave you.’
‘Of course. But may I not know your plans?’
‘I am going down to Devon.’
‘Caro!’
‘I must. Charles, you will see to Chloe in my absence?’ She dropped down on her knees and looked into the child’s eyes. ‘And my little Chloe will be a good girl while I am gone, and not give nurse any trouble.’
Chloe nodded solemnly and kissed her.
‘But Caro, what would Antony say?’ Charles pulled at his lip and prepared to be stubborn. ‘You can’t go posting down to Devon like this, without adequate preparation.’
‘I can, you know. Although I shall not go post, of course. I shall require two coachmen, for they will be hard driven.’ She looked at him steadily. Even on her knees her air of authority was not diminished. ‘Kindly make the necessary arrangements. My own preparations will be simple, and I expect to leave within the hour.’
Charles helped her to her feet and pulled the bell cord. When a servant entered he gave orders for the light travelling carriage to be brought around with the grays poled up, and a pair of outriders to make ready.
‘Charles, there is no need for an escort.’
‘My dear Caro, Antony would have my head if you were to travel out of town unaccompanied. In fact, I am not at all sure that I should not accompany you myself.’
‘No, thank you. I wish to go alone. I must tell Lucy to pack a bag.’ She swept out of the library, leaving the three to stare after her whirlwind passage.
‘What do you suppose has set her in such a flutter?’ Charles was ruffled. He could not accustom himself to Caro’s new decisiveness that took no note of his advice, nor even asked for it. In Antony’s absence he felt it was his place to give counsel. His sense of fitness was chafed.
Amanda patted his arm reassuringly. ‘I would not hazard a guess. But whatever drives her to this start is important to her, and we have not the right to interfere.’
He placed a hand over hers, pressing it. ‘My dear…’
‘Hush. This is not the moment, with the child present.’ She indicated Chloe’s neat brown head bent over the sketches.
He felt a moody desire to send the child to perdition. Why was there always another present on the few occasions when Amanda was within reach? He saw her socially, but never with an opportunity for more than the most casual exchanges.
‘She is not aware, Amanda. I must speak with you privately. Will you drive out with me tomorrow to Richmond? We could take a picnic luncheon.’ He openly pleaded with voice and eyes, and was satisfied to see her weakening.
‘I had thought to spend the day with my aunt, whose indisposition confines her sadly.’
‘I too am lonely. I pine for the sunlight of your presence. I am wan and listless in the shade of your absence. I need to say what cannot be said in the company of others.’
She gave great attention to her gloves, smoothing them on with precise little tugs and pats. ‘I should be delighted to drive out with you in
the morning. Shall we say at ten o’clock?’
He bowed, letting her see his elation. His arm trembled a little as she laid her hand on it and moved with him to the door. He had forgotten Chloe. So, apparently, had Amanda.
The child came after them with a rush. ‘Are you leaving, Aunt Amanda? You did not bid me farewell.’ She clutched at Amanda’s skirt and raised her cheek for a kiss.
Amanda bent down to her, then abruptly straightened and took her leave, barely allowing Bates time to reach the main door ahead of her.
Charles stood where she had left him, a slight smile on his normally stern mouth. She had not rebuffed him. She would let him declare himself. And he’d be damned if he couldn’t wear down that soft heart of hers and have her return his regard. What mattered their different estates? He knew that would not weigh with her. As for his lack of fortune, he would beg Antony to help him to preferment of some kind. Perhaps some sinecure in the Defense Ministry, one that he could fill while remaining as comptroller of the Roth estates. There were ways.
He took Chloe by the hand and led her upstairs to her nursery.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It took Karen more than thirty hours to cover the distance between London and the village of Ashbourne St Mary, just over the Dorsetshire border into Devon. She changed horses every ten miles or so; but on that first night she never paused for longer than it took to pole up a new team, or for an extra few minutes to take a coffee and roll, before urging her coachman on. She was in the grip of something stronger than reason, and it urged her to hasten towards the discovery that lay ahead.
The sketch of the Manor lay in the pocket of her travelling coat, and she brought it out at intervals to study it by the light of the full moon, trying to elicit some hidden meaning. There had to be more to it, far more than the fact that the Manor was familiar to her.
The ruined tower was particularly intriguing. No, more than that. It disturbed her. Not just a melancholy reminder of destruction and decay, it held a message for her, and a threat. ‘Keep off. Danger lurks here!’ Had the stone walls been hung with hazard lights and a skull and crossbones, the warning could not have been more explicit.
The nerves along her spine crept like a thousand caterpillars, right up into her hairline. She was afraid to go on, but the urge to do so was greater than her fear.
And all the while she fended off that other matter claiming her attention, the small matter of a possible return to her own time.
There came a moment when she couldn’t ignore it any longer. Deliberately taking down the mental barrier, she let the message flood in on a massive tide of mixed feelings, swamping everything, even the urgency of her flight. The rhythm of the horses’ hooves beat out a phrase in her mind – ‘going home, going home’. At last, after all the tears, the refusal to accept what looked like the inevitable, the months of gradually dying hope – at last she saw the possibility within her grasp. It devastated her. She couldn’t cope with the irony. Just when she’d come to a point of reconciliation with her strange new life, the pendulum had been thrust back again.
Struggling to maintain her balance she drew on her memories. With a feeling of shock she groped for Adele and found her a pale and wavering ghost, the chubby baby features now overlaid in her mind with a piquant, elfin grin, blonde curls turned to a smooth dark cap of hair molded to Chloe’s head.
And behind her stood another shadowy figure that she would not, dare not acknowledge.
Guiltily she strove to recapture something she’d thought she would never forget. The love for her daughter was still there, and the pain of separation, but it had faded a little, overlaid by present needs. Her life’s focus had shifted without her noticing it.
The realization hurt. A terrible lump had risen in her throat, and she sobbed dryly. No relieving tears for such an unworthy mother, she told herself, administering a mental whipping for disloyalty. How could she have forgotten? Adele remained in the hands of a sometimes brutal, always insensitive father, cared for by strangers, needing Karen. But she hadn’t really forgotten. Distance and hopelessness had simply worn away the sharp edge of sorrow, blunting it to make it bearable.
Of course, Chloe, too, needed love; but she did have Antony. His performance no longer fooled Karen. She’d discovered the real Antony, a loving man who had been hurt badly enough to guard himself, yet remained vulnerable. Now that Chloe was no longer afraid to show her own loving little ways, she and her father were rediscovering each other. It was one of Karen’s principal joys, watching this happen.
And what of your own needs, asked a small, interior voice? She was stern with it. Her long-made decision hardened – no involvement. She might have fallen in love against her will, but she had managed to keep the fact hidden, more or less. Charles and Amanda might suspect but they would never violate her privacy; Sybilla discounted her as a rival; and Antony himself gave no indication of anything more than a pleasant attraction. He was still heart-whole with his Jenny, and always would be.
Having decided all that satisfactorily, she then found she could enjoy the relief of tears, and sobbed for a good three miles before pulling herself together.
The carriage rolled into Ashbourne St. Mary at ten o’clock on a beautiful summer’s evening. Karen felt tempted to continue on to the Manor, but remembered the weary drivers and outriders. The horses, too, were hanging their head. She’d been on the road for nine hours since lunch and felt exhausted herself. At The Bull, a somewhat basic hostelry but the only one available, she took a room and private parlor, leaving a message at the stables for the morning.
Although acclimatized to luxury during the past few months, she was too keyed-up to care about small, stuffy rooms and unaired beds. Lucy had been left behind in London, and so Karen accepted the willing services of the one chambermaid to unhook her gown and sponge and press it against the next day’s use. Then, for the better part of the night she sat at the window in her wrapper and thought about her life back in twentieth-century London.
She thought about Theo and his kindness to an unknown artist, about Billie’s revelations and her strange, ambivalent attitudes. She considered her own ill-starred marriage and its result, Adele. She searched for a plan, something that would make sense of it all. After a while her recollections started drifting further back. Time gathered speed, unraveling like a dropped ball of wool down a staircase. She saw herself running backwards, running away from things, from people, from the many challenges that could have taught her so much, had she taken them up.
At the beginning of the strand was her birth, and the five cosseted years with Mama and Papa. Then came the huge tangled knot of the accident, the cutting of the strand, and herself a loose end blown in every breeze. Figuratively fingering the frayed ends of fibers she relived the awful desolation of that time. Now she understood the reactions of the child she’d been then – the period of hiding alternating with wild demands for affection. Love at any price, from any source – an impossible and ultimately disastrous burden on the people responsible for her well-being.
What a waste. What an appalling waste. If she had the time over she’d use it very differently. For one thing, she would hopefully grow up and start taking responsibility, instead of letting life just happen to her. If she did get back to her own time she’d make sure she lived every minute to the full, extracting the essence of each moment and sharing it with others around her. Never again would she travel alone. The lessons of the past were not to be ignored. Too much of the world suffered hurt and loneliness, and Karen Courtney must not add one more featherweight of pain.
She’d try again with Billie, sealed off in her hard little shell. She’d support Theo’s efforts to promote her and her work, instead of trying to hide away from the cruel, unfeeling world she’d believed in. And she would try to deal fairly with Humphrey, to see his point of view, and maybe win him over to seeing her own. She smiled wryly at that. Yet miracles had happened, and they were by their nature totally unexpected and unlikely.
>
The moon set and small night creatures came out and moved about the darkened fields at the back of the inn. The delicate scent of wisteria blossom came in on the breeze, reminiscent of the vine twined about her bedroom balcony at Rothmoor House. She sighed and stretched and went to lie on the bed for the brief hour left before dawn. Time enough to make promises if she ever found a way back again.
The French seer, this Pierre Marnie, had first to make it safely to London, and then, hopefully, come up with a means of sending her back through time. It was asking a lot. It might prove to be impossible. Meanwhile, she had this urgent need to explore the subject of the sketch, Antony’s boyhood home, which had such a feel of familiarity to her – and such a feeling of foreboding, too.
The sun had risen only a few degrees above the horizon when the carriage stopped a good hundred yards before the gates of Ashbourne Manor. Climbing down to the road, Karen dismissed the coach and walked the remaining distance. To avoid bringing out the gatekeeper she slipped through a gap between post and park rail and started up the long, oak-lined drive. She wanted to arrive unheralded, to see the Manor before it saw her. She struck out purposefully in her sturdy boots.
The day had begun with a low-lying fog, and she could see no more than three paces ahead. Warm moist air was sucked into her lungs. It clung to her clothes in fine drops, dampening her hair until it flew into wild ringlets. The oaks closed in around her, an eerie guard of honor advancing and retreating with the movement of the fog. There was no sound but the crunch of her boots on the gravel.
Something called from amongst the trees. She turned swiftly to face it, her heart pounding uncomfortably. It came out of the fog, swooping across her face for a brief, shocking instant, and was gone. An owl, a bat? Something with teeth and claws? Best not to think about it.
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