Samuel nodded, taking her hand in his. “And nor would I want you to,” he said.
She could see from his expression that he thought Fairfax wanted her for himself, which was at least in part true. She let him think it, unable to discuss with him the details of his desire to keep her as his own, which went so far beyond taking her as his wife. Even if Samuel was prepared to believe all manner of impossible things about her, she couldn’t speak of time travel and such madness in front of Joshua.
“There is something else,” she said. “My locket. I lost it. When Fairfax attacked me.…”
“The one of gold that holds the miniature of your mother?” Samuel asked.
“Yes. You know, I think, you understand, Samuel … I have to have it. I cannot leave unless I have it.”
“You too cannot mean to return to the abbey?” Joshua was incredulous.
“She must,” Samuel replied.
“But Fairfax…”
“… is in London. We have some time. Let us not waste it on further debate.” He stood up, pausing to reassure Xanthe. “We will find your little piece of gold.”
He smiled then, knowing and yet not knowing. Understanding little of what he had seen about the locket in the past, but just enough. Enough to accept that it was vital to her, though he could not be certain how. He was simply prepared to accept all her strangeness without question.
* * *
The weather outside had calmed a little, so that there was no wind and the snow had ceased to fall. It remained fiercely cold, however, and Xanthe’s clothes, without her heavy coat, were insufficient. A search of the house produced a mop cap belonging to Abigail, the maid, and a velvet cloak with a wool lining that was Samuel’s. Being tall, Xanthe was able to wear it without tripping up, and was grateful for its luxurious warmth and faint scent of the sandalwood soap Samuel used.
As they were getting into the carriage Samuel’s father came out of the house, still in his nightclothes. Xanthe thought Master Appleby had aged noticeably since the last time she had seen him.
“Samuel.” He put his hand on his son’s arm. “Have a care. It is unlikely the king would summon Fairfax at such an hour and in poor weather for good news. He may return in a worse temper than he left. Do not let yourself, nor Mistress Westlake, bear the brunt of his ill humor.” He nodded at Xanthe through the window of the carriage. Samuel assured him they would find her locket and then get her to safety. There was work still to be done on the house. There was still time for them to find a way to lift the threat of prosecution from him.
The driver steered the carriage around the snow-coated green, down the high street, and out of Marlborough. The thick snow clouds allowed no moonlight at all now, so that the horses navigated by their own superior vision, their familiarity with the road, and the meager cast of the coach lamps. At such an uncivilized hour there was no one else abroad. The horses’ hoofbeats and the rumble of the carriage wheels were hushed by the snow. Inside the carriage Xanthe leaned close to Samuel, savoring the intimacy of the moment, storing up the memory of it for later when she would miss him. She reminded herself that he was engaged to be married now and shifted to sit a little more upright, a little more distant.
“Samuel, I understand you are to be congratulated.”
“How so?”
“You are to be wed. I am happy for you.”
He did not respond immediately. Xanthe sensed it was not an easy subject for him.
“I wished to have told you myself. I suppose that Fairfax relished delivering the news.”
“He did seem to enjoy the moment. I admit, I was … surprised.”
In the gloom of the carriage interior, with the fluctuating light from the swinging lamp, Samuel’s face was revealed only in shadowy silhouette, his expression hard to read.
He spoke at last. “My father wished me wed. Alliances are all and everything for the survival of a family. And for my part, I had thought you gone forever. More, I knew that even should you return, it would not alter our circumstances. Better that we accept the way things are, so that we might both of us continue with our lives, without regret.”
“Samuel, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. Really, you don’t.”
“Henrietta’s family and my own have long been close. They have been stalwart in their support, even now, with me so compromised. They are good people. Our families can help each other. She is a fine woman. Good-natured, wise, sincere. I believe we might have a good life together, God willing. Perchance a happy one. Xanthe, I would have you understand…”
“It’s not my business. You were right, after all. I was gone. And I will be again soon. Your father knows what he’s doing. And you are right; we cannot change the way things are.”
They journeyed on in silence for a few miles until the lights of the village of Laybrook broke through the murky night.
“We should search the upper part of the drive,” Xanthe said, leaning forward to peer out the window. “I can’t be sure where I lost the locket.”
“You do not think it to be inside the house?”
“It is probably there, but with more snow likely, I just think we should walk the last stretch, the part where I ran out of the house at least.”
Samuel shouted to the driver to stop and he set them down, taking instructions to drive the carriage on to the east wing and have the men unload the pieces of cherrywood paneling Samuel had had the quick wit to fetch from the studio to shore up his story. Xanthe held the coach lamp high, searching for familiar landmarks, trying to recall her route.
“I made for the fence, and then the woods. I think if the chain was broken in the scuffle, the locket would have fallen free of my clothing as I ran. It is smooth, with a bit of weight to it. It couldn’t have stayed in my clothes for many paces, so it’s more likely still in the house, but I need to check. Here, look at the tracks. You can still make them out even though they are filled in a little. This is the point where I climbed the fence. Let’s retrace my steps back to the front door.”
Together they walked slowly, being careful not to disturb the snow, focusing only on the narrow route where Xanthe’s Dr. Martens had left their distinctive treads. Soon they had reached the house and found nothing. Samuel opened the door. The footman saw them enter and he waved him away, explaining he was to take Mistress Westlake to the observatory to await his master’s return. As they climbed the stairs to the top of the Tower Xanthe felt her anxiety mounting. What if they couldn’t find the locket? And what if Fairfax returned before she could leave? She was no nearer to helping Samuel than she had been when she’d first arrived, and now it seemed her own safety had become the priority.
As soon as they entered the observatory Xanthe hurried over to the broken bookcase, feeling increasingly certain that the locket must have fallen during her fight with Fairfax. That, or else it was somewhere in the snowy field or woods, which was too worrying a prospect to contemplate, as it would be impossibly hard to find there. Samuel had never been in the room before and was immediately distracted by its strange contents. He stared, amazed, at the glass ceiling, the telescope, the rows and rows of huge books, the charts of the stars and models of the planets.
“What uncommon curios Fairfax values. He concerns himself with the most arcane things. Is it magic he seeks in this unholy place?”
Xanthe crouched down among the shards of glass and splinters of the bookcase doors, taking care not to gather pieces in the hem of her dress. She picked up a piece of wood with which to search through the debris.
“You are closer to the truth than you know.”
“Witchcraft, then?”
Xanthe paused and looked up at him, holding his gaze.
“Is that what you think of me? That I am some sort of witch? I wish I could help you understand.”
“I cannot believe that, though the evidence of my eyes has told me you possess some method of … ensorcellment…” His expression suggested things were becoming clearer to him. “Is it this that
Fairfax wishes to have from you? Is this what he asks of you? Some manner of ability he covets?”
“I can’t do what he wants. It would mean staying here. Forever.”
“Xanthe…”
“But I can’t. We both know that. He does not.”
Samuel walked over to her and joined in the search. Together they continued with the delicate work of moving the shattered glass. Xanthe was all too aware of the mutual unspoken longing that accompanied their task. And of the fact that Samuel was helping her do something that would send her away from him, again. Did he think it was for the best? Was it what he wanted, in fact, now that he was going to be married? Or was he doing what he knew Xanthe needed to do? Was she right in thinking that he truly understood that she had no real choice? She found herself staring at him, so that she saw his eyes light up suddenly.
“I have it!” he cried, plucking the locket from among the glass, gaining a small cut on his hand as he did so.
“Be careful!” she said, instinctively taking hold of his hand. For a moment they stayed, fingers entwined, the locket safe in his grasp, his blood warm upon her cool palm.
From outside the room came shouts.
Xanthe started. “Fairfax.”
“He has returned so soon!”
They rose quickly to their feet but already they could hear pounding footsteps on the stairs. There was only one door to the observatory, and the room was placed too high in the building to escape through the windows. There was nowhere to run.
Fairfax flung wide the door and stood in the entrance. He was flushed from running, his normally pallid skin mottled pink. Xanthe was shocked to see that his left eye was covered with a patch and bandage. The thought that she had damaged his eye with the shard of glass, perhaps blinding him, made her feel sick.
“How fortunate for me I was intercepted by a messenger on the London road, informing me my presence was no longer required at court this night. Fortunate for me, if not for you,” he said.
Samuel stepped in front of Xanthe. “Mistress Westlake was on the point of leaving,” he said firmly.
“She does not have my permission to leave.”
“Your mistake is in believing she requires it,” Samuel said, turning to hand Xanthe the locket, closing her fingers around it, his look telling her he knew what would happen next. That he expected her to vanish, then and there, before Fairfax could stop her.
“Samuel, no, I can’t…”
“You must.”
“But what are you going to do? I can’t leave you like this.”
“I must have you safe. Away from here. I will not see Fairfax use you to who knows what end.”
“Step aside, Appleby. Mistress Westlake is possessed of an unusually sharp and well-reasoned mind for a woman. The time she has had to consider her situation will, I am confident, have brought her to the conclusion that she can best help herself and you by accepting my offer.”
“She will never be yours.” Samuel took a step toward him.
“She will if she values your life as she claims to. Come, mistress, let us strike a bargain this moment. Your alliance, sworn and freely given, for the lives of the entire Appleby family. A fair exchange, do you not agree?”
“I will not allow it,” Samuel told him.
“Oh? Do you have dominion over the maid? I understood you were betrothed to the daughter of a minor nobleman from Sussex. Am I mistook? No, I see by your expression that I am not. Mistress Westlake is free, then, to make her own choice as to her future. Come, mistress, will you take that step toward a bright and wondrous future with me?” He gave a smile that, in his ruined and bandaged face, was strained and lopsided. He held out his hand and Xanthe saw that it was shaking. Whether from pain or suppressed rage she could not tell. She hesitated, unsure what to do. If she pretended to accept his terms, to go along with what he wanted, it would buy them some time. But could she trust him? Trust him to keep his word about Samuel and his family, and trust him not to take his revenge on her for injuring him? Whatever the risks, there seemed no helpful option. She could not simply leave Samuel now. She must find a way to use what Fairfax wanted from her to secure his safety.
She took a step forward.
Samuel gasped, putting himself in her way.
“No. You cannot!”
“I must, Samuel. It is the only way.”
“We will find another. I will not have you in danger for my sake.”
“Let her decide her path, Appleby. You are not, I think we have established, her master.”
“And no more are you!” Samuel shouted, his anger at his own situation and his fear for Xanthe finally getting the better of him. He lunged at Fairfax, taking hold of him and forcing him back against the doorjamb. “Leave now, Xanthe!” he called over his shoulder.
“Appleby, you will regret this!” Fairfax promised him.
“I regret ever agreeing to come to this place. I regret letting fear for my family govern my actions. I regret that I ever allowed my talents to be used for your advantage. I will never regret doing whatever I can for the woman who once claimed my heart!”
What Samuel had not noticed, but Xanthe had seen, was that Fairfax was taking a knife from the belt at his hip. It was small, but lethal; a stiletto carried for self-defense or attack.
“Samuel, look out!” Xanthe cried, instinctively rushing forward to help him. Just as instinctively, she clutched the locket tighter in her hand. This action, the extra pressure of her palm upon the gold, coupled with her heightened state of anxiety and the agitated state of her thoughts, triggered the locket. Before she could stop it, she felt the charm working to send her back to her own time.
“No!” she shouted, doing her best to drop the locket, but the gold chain was wrapped around her fingers and already it was too late. The room seemed to spin, her balance disturbed, her vision blurred. As she watched, powerless to help, she saw Fairfax raise the dagger, saw Samuel grab his wrist, saw them struggle, and then the darkness descended, the pair were lost to view, and Xanthe plunged through the centuries once again.
12
This time Xanthe fought against what was happening to her. She tried to resist the transition, tried to turn back. She even tried to let go of the locket she had risked so much to retrieve. She shut thoughts of home and of Flora from her mind and thought only of Samuel.
“No, no, no, I have to stay!” she shouted into the void. It was all pointless. It seemed however much she liked to think she had gained some control over when and where she spun time, once a journey was triggered she was unable to stop it. She arrived breathless and bewildered, slamming hard against the gritty floor of the blind house. She tried to marshal her thoughts, to see if she couldn’t simply leap back again. In the darkness of the little stone building she felt around for the locket, found it, and put it on, tucking it beneath her blouse. Then she searched further, feeling around in a wider circle, seeking the chocolate pot. She needed it to make the jump back again. It had to be there somewhere. Like any other object, it could not return to the time when it originally existed, so as she stepped back, even though she would have been holding it, it would have fallen to the floor. Xanthe crept further across the uneven ground, the dirt damp beneath her hands as she frantically searched. It wasn’t there! How could that be? It couldn’t have journeyed with her, so that meant someone must have come into the jail and taken it. Without thinking, she clambered to her feet and pushed the door open, stumbling out into the dazzling light of a bright November morning.
And there, standing in the middle of the untidy lawn, leaning on her sticks, was Flora.
“Xanthe! Good grief, where on earth did you spring from?” Without waiting for an answer she hurried across the damp grass and gave her daughter a hug. “I didn’t hear you come home.”
Xanthe did her best to hide her own surprise and to come up with a convincing explanation for her sudden appearance. It was hard to know the right thing to say without being entirely sure of the time, or even of wha
t day it was. Her mind was still in turmoil, everything telling her that she should go back to Samuel. How could she leave him to face Fairfax alone? Who could say what such a man would do if he believed he had been tricked out of having what he wanted? She had to go back, but at that moment her main concern was making sense to her mother. Which meant thinking up yet more lies. And, above everything because so much depended on it, finding out what had happened to the chocolate pot.
“Oh, I didn’t want to disturb you when I came in,” she said vaguely, playing for time, hoping for clues.
Flora laughed lightly. “I know I get engrossed in my restoration projects, but I’ve always got time to say hello to my only daughter, silly.” From this reply Xanthe decided it sounded as if she had at least returned on the day her mother was expecting her, as she hadn’t said otherwise. She was just processing this fact when the next question threw her. “What on earth were you doing in that filthy shed?” Flora asked, taking a step toward it.
“Don’t go in there!” The words were out of her mouth before she could think.
Her mother looked at her quizzically. “Why ever not?”
Xanthe grasped at a flimsy idea. “You’ll spoil the surprise.”
“Surprise? Oh, does it have anything to do with the copper chocolate pot?”
“What?”
“I went in there yesterday looking for the garden fork and I found your special chocolate pot.”
“You went in there?”
“Yes, I just said that.”
“And you didn’t notice anything … strange?”
“Only that you’d left your precious pot in there.”
“Did you move it?”
“Well, yes, I don’t think it’s a good idea keeping it in such a damp place. You spent ages cleaning it and it’ll just tarnish. Copper’s the worst for that you know, worse even than silver. Can’t see why you’d want to put it in there in the first place.”
“I wanted to try a quiet place, to let it sing to me. I thought it might be easier to hear its story away from, I dunno, lights and other sounds.”
Secrets of the Chocolate House Page 18