A maid took Xanthe’s hat and coat. If she was surprised at the strangeness of one garment and the unladylike fashion of the other she was too well trained, or possibly too wary of a scolding, to let her astonishment show. She bobbed a curtsey and disappeared as her master descended the stairs.
“Ah-ha, our little minstrel! I am pleased to see you were not deterred by the inclement weather,” Fairfax said, smiling politely as he bowed over her hand. Xanthe wished she had worn gloves as the feel of his flesh against hers made her want to whip her hand away. She resisted the impulse, knowing that she had to play the part of guest. For now. Fairfax was dressed in expensive, good-quality clothes and wore them as if it were his birthright to do so. The portraits on the walls around him showed ancestors with an unmistakable family likeness, particularly the blond hair and pale eyes.
“Before we dine,” he said, letting go her hand at last, “permit me to show you how the house is being improved. After all, I am certain you would wish to see the fruits of Appleby’s labors. Please…”
He offered her his arm and she took it. They left the hall through a door of light oak which opened onto an antechamber and then out into a courtyard enclosed by beautiful cloisters. Xanthe couldn’t help a gasp of wonder.
“Yes,” Fairfax smiled again, “they are impressive. The abbey was home to a community of nuns up until the middle of the last century. When King Henry decided to break with Rome and dissolve the monasteries, this building was rare in as much as all trace of its original purpose was not destroyed. The nobleman who first transformed it into a home chose to keep the cloisters. I, for one, am glad that he did so. There is something pleasing about their appearance, and they imbue the space with a contemplative air. Do you not agree?”
Xanthe suspected Fairfax was used to having his opinion agreed with. On this occasion, it was easy to say what he wanted to hear.
“They are very lovely, sir,” she said meekly, choosing her words with great care, horribly aware that she sounded stilted and insincere. “I think it is good to keep a reminder of the history of the place.”
“There are many other remnants of the old buildings. Might those interest you also?”
“Perhaps later?”
“Indeed. Here,” he opened another door, “allow me to show you the latest additions to the house.”
Xanthe stepped in from the cold of the cloisters into the slightly less cold great hall. There was no fire, so that the craftsmen who worked on even at night had to rely on warm clothes and the heat of exertion to stop them from freezing. There was an abundance of candles and lamps, but their combined warmth was no match for the harshness of the winter weather. There were six or seven men, all engrossed in what they were doing, evidently accustomed to having their employer inspect their work. One nodded in deference, another touched his cap, but none paused in their work. Two were lifting a wooden windowsill into place. A carpenter planed wood upon a bench in one corner. The far wall was covered in scaffolding, and a mason chiseled at a small alcove high up. Xanthe could see that the recess would house a statue, and that there were a dozen or so similar spaces all around the room. This was to be a statement; a hall in which to entertain and impress. And Fairfax was clearly nailing his colors to the mast, with a statue of King James at the top of the room, above the position the high table would take. A figure clad in dark clothes moved out of the shadows and into the lamplight. Samuel saw her at the same moment she saw him, and for a charged instant they held each other’s gaze.
“Appleby,” Fairfax beckoned him. “Come, tell your friend what it is you toil away at here.”
Samuel made a polite bow and Xanthe bobbed a curtsey. It was frustrating to have her contact with him so acutely observed, but, she reasoned, it was better than not seeing him at all. His jacket was coated with stone dust and he looked tired, though there was a brightness in his eyes she recognized. It was the same flare of passion for his work she had seen before. How conflicted he must be to produce a thing of beauty for a man who would later sign his death warrant.
“As you see, Mistress Westlake, the new wing is nearing completion. We are working day and night to finish the interior. I am fortunate indeed in having diligent and expert craftsmen with whom to bring the great hall into being.”
“Do you think you will complete the task soon?” she asked.
“God willing and with no more snow to impede deliveries of supplies, perhaps a week. Two at most.”
There hung between them the unspoken conclusion to this statement. Two weeks, at most, before Samuel would be removed and his fate decided.
Fairfax was in a genial mood. “I am well pleased with your labors, Appleby. The hall will stand the test of time and fashion, I believe. You should be proud of it. Are you not impressed, mistress?”
“I could not fail to be, sir. The house will indeed impress all who see it, I’m certain.”
“Let us hope so, else why am I sparing no expense and feeding all these workers? Ha!” He allowed himself a dry laugh at his own wit.
There was a shout from one of the men lifting a stone lintel, followed by a crash and a cry. Samuel rushed to see what had happened. Xanthe watched as he first checked that the mason was unhurt before turning his attention to the damaged piece of stone. From where she stood there did not seem to be any serious harm done.
Fairfax was instantly furious, the veneer of good-natured host quickly stripped away. “Remove that imbecile from my sight!” He pointed at the slightly dazed stone mason.
Samuel stepped forward. “Master Fairfax, the damage to the stone is slight.…”
“I will not have carelessness! I will not tolerate ham-fisted workmen. Call yourself master craftsman!” He glared at the mason. “You are not fit to work on my property. Get your things and get you gone!”
The man opened his mouth to protest and then thought better of it.
“If it please you, sir.” Samuel’s voice was measured and calm but Xanthe could hear the tension of restraint in it. “Harris is a good worker, skilled, trustworthy. Mishaps befall even the most cautious when working with such heavy items and without the benefit of daylight.”
“It is curious how such accidents are never at the expense of those who bring them about. No! I will not suffer such sloppy workmanship, for where one is seen to go unpunished for it another may yet find himself victim of such a mishap.”
It was clear to everyone in the room that Fairfax had said his last word on the matter. The stonemason collected his tools and limped quietly away. Samuel gestured at the others to return to their tasks.
“Come, my little minstrel,” Fairfax addressed Xanthe in gentle tones again, as if nothing had happened. As if he had not shown his quick temper and hard heart only seconds before. “Let us to table.”
“Will not Samuel be joining us?” she asked, looking over her shoulder as she was guided toward the door.
“Alas his presence is required here, as you see. Your friend is too vital a player in this endeavor for his attention to be elsewhere. You would not wish to slow his prodigious progress, I think?”
Xanthe wished very much to slow down anything that could benefit Fairfax and harm Samuel, but this was not the time for her to show her hand.
The room her host had selected for them to dine in was not a grand hall nor a lofty space but small and square. Almost one entire wall was taken up with a vast fireplace under an intricately carved mantelpiece. A log fire crackled and blazed atop a basket full of glowing embers. The room was noticeably warmer than the rest of the house. There was a small table positioned in front of the hearth, with elaborate place settings at either end. Place settings for two people. Clearly Fairfax had never had any intention of inviting Samuel to dine with them. The burnished wood of the table and ladder-backed chairs gleamed in the firelight and beneath the candelabra. There was shining silverware on the table, which Xanthe knew to be a huge expense afforded only by the wealthiest of seventeenth-century people. She had learned a great deal abo
ut the dining habits of rich people of the day when she had worked as a kitchen maid for the Lovewell’s at Great Chalfield. She had not been there long, but blunders and slowness brought angry responses from the housekeeper and the mistress of the house, so that she had been forced to acquire new knowledge speedily. As was the custom, there were spoons and water bowls at each setting. What was less usual was that there were also knives. It was still common for everyone to carry with them their own knife and use it for eating wherever they found themselves. Fairfax, it seemed, was keen to embrace new ideas. There were even rudimentary forks, which were very rare indeed. As Xanthe took her place at one end of the table she couldn’t help but think, with a stab of homesickness, what her mother would have made of such interesting antiques had they come across them at a fair or house clearance. She smiled ruefully to herself at the thought that it was a shame she could not take just one of those rare forks home for Flora. However tempting it was, she knew anything transported forward in time would not last more than a few weeks before it began to first dull, then disintegrate. She thought longingly of the love letter Samuel had given her when she had left him after helping Alice. She had treasured it and looked after it with such care but still she had been forced to watch helplessly as it became more fragile over time, falling to nothing at all in a few short weeks. She recalled how a dress she had been given during her time as a kitchen maid had also shown signs of falling to pieces when she wore it back to her own time. Nothing, it seemed, could make the journey forward in time if it had not originated there. She could not allow herself to think of home. There was too much at stake. She must give Fairfax her full attention and find out what it was he wanted from her, somehow, without giving away what Mistress Flyte had told her. The old woman had been adamant that Fairfax would know that Xanthe had traveled through time, and that he would know this because he too was able to do so. He would, the old woman had said, be able to sense her journey, and sense that she was close. And he had been observing her blundering attempts to travel through time ever since she started. Looking at him again there was no shadow of doubt in Xanthe’s mind that this was indeed the tall, lone figure who had stood across the green from the blind house in Marlborough, the one that had held Alice, when she had visited the poor girl to offer her help only last summer, and yet it seemed a lifetime ago. She had felt someone watching her then and turned to see a man, this man, observing her from a distance. And then again, when she fell through the centuries to find Samuel, the face she had seen, those pallid, sharp features, had belonged to Benedict Fairfax. And the voice that had questioned her, during another of her journeys through time. What was it that she had heard? She remembered: Where do you go? He had sensed her traveling even then and had been able to make his presence felt, to make himself heard. What else had he seen? What else did he know? Had he watched her and Samuel together? Had he listened to her conversations with Mistress Flyte? Suddenly she felt unequal to the task of confronting him. What had made her think stepping into the lion’s den was the best way to help Samuel? Rose was right; Fairfax was indeed a powerful man, more powerful than Samuel’s cousin could ever know. And now Xanthe was alone with him, in his house, at his invitation, with Samuel shut away. How was she going to help him? How was she even going to keep herself safe? All she could think of was to play innocent as long as possible. To hope that his interest in her was something she could use to persuade him to let Samuel go.
“Now, Mistress Westlake, I sincerely hope you will enjoy this wine. I have it shipped directly from Portugal. It is very fine. Likewise, the food that has been prepared is of the highest quality. Dishes I’ll wager you have never had set before you anywhere else. And if it pleases you to do so, after we have supped, I would hear you sing. I am told you have the voice of an angel, and I should very much delight in being serenaded by a member of the celestial choir.”
The maid finished filling the Venetian glass goblets with dark red wine and Fairfax signaled for her to leave. After the door was closed and swift footsteps receded down the hallway he leaned forward on the table, his expression growing serious.
“But first,” he said slowly, watching her closely as he spoke, “first I should very much like you to tell me how it is you come to be able to spin time.”
9
Xanthe did her best not to react. She picked up her wine and took a sip before responding. “Spin time? What a curious idea. I am a simple minstrel.…”
“Oh, come, come. Enough of this charade, I tire of it. We both know how you come to be here.”
“I came to help my friend.”
“You will persist in this?” He sighed. “I grant you that part at least is true, the why rather than the how. Very well, let us address your friendship so that it no longer stands in the way of more important matters. You and Master Appleby evidently had some manner of … friendship in the past. I do not dispute that. While it is laudable that you should put yourself at risk to assist him, I think that you do not realize to what breed of man you ally yourself. You sought him in the Bradford lockup for good reason. He has been freely associating with rebels and recusants; people who have openly set themselves against both the king and the faith of this land. Such blatant opposition to the monarch can no longer be tolerated. It is nothing short of treason. When he has served his purpose here he will face trial for his beliefs, both religious and political, as his fellows have done.” Fairfax held up a hand to silence any protest Xanthe might have thought of making. He had not yet finished his attempt at crushing her loyalty to Samuel. “Of course, none of this may prevent a woman’s heart from its illogical preferences, I am aware of that. There is something that seems to draw a tender soul toward a martyr, though for my part I cannot see the attraction. Nor do I presume to understand the workings of a woman’s mind. No, what I think you may be more interested to learn is that the object of your misplaced affection would not be at liberty to return your love, even if he were not on his way to imprisonment, for he is now, and has for some weeks been, engaged to be married.”
Fairfax leaned back in his chair, waiting to see what effect this news would have upon his dining companion.
Xanthe felt her stomach lurch. Engaged. She couldn’t recall Samuel’s family mentioning that there was anyone special in his life. He had certainly never said any such thing. It had only been a few months in his time since she and he had parted. Had he really moved on so quickly? Had there been someone else all along? Aware that she was being scrutinized she kept her face impassive, determined not to give Fairfax the satisfaction of seeing her upset. Whatever the truth of what he had just told her, Samuel’s life was still in danger, and this man was the one who would send him to the Tower.
“As I have said, Samuel helped me once when no one else would. I am in his debt. I cannot stand by and see a friend in trouble and do nothing,” she said.
“How noble. And how fortunate young Appleby is to have such a champion. He cannot know that you are quite possibly the only person able to alter his destiny.”
She looked up at Fairfax then, trying to read his expression, waiting to hear what would come next, keen to discover at last what it was he wanted from her.
At that moment the maid and a footman returned with food. Fairfax did not seem to mind the interruption. On the contrary, he appeared to be greatly enjoying the game of confusing Xanthe, of giving her snippets of information and suggestions of what might or might not be true, and then observing her reactions. The servants set platters of roast meats and baked salmon on the table, along with freshly baked bread and pastries. There was a ridiculous amount of food for two people. Fairfax no doubt sought to impress but had not considered Xanthe’s more modern perspective and how she would be appalled at such a wasteful use of food.
“So,” he helped himself to some slices of lamb and pork as he spoke, “let us put aside Master Appleby’s fate for the moment. I promise you, we shall return to it later. Of much more interest to me is the journey that you made in order to
reach him. I wish to know not only where you came from, but how, specifically, and of course”—he stopped piling food onto his plate and smiled up at her—“when?”
Xanthe realized there was little point in continuing to pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about. If Mistress Flyte was right about him, Fairfax knew the truth of it already. And from what he had just said, it was the fact that she had traveled through time that made her of importance to him. It would be some aspect, some detail of her talent that was of importance to him, and was, therefore, what she had to bargain with in order to get Samuel released.
Secrets of the Chocolate House Page 14