Secrets of the Chocolate House

by Paula Brackston

  When she returned to the shop, Xanthe was greeted by the sound of Flora belting out Christmas carols as she rubbed down a small table in her workshop. Xanthe paused for a moment, listening, enjoying every flat note and improvised lyric, knowing that this was a sure sign her mother’s spirits and health were improving. A fact which went some way to assuaging the guilt that had taken up residence in the pit of her stomach again. Flora was delighted with the treasures Xanthe had found and full of ideas for restoration and repairs. The distraction of the new pieces could not have been better timed. Xanthe had prepared her first necessary lie on the drive home and quickly told her mother that Harley wanted to see her about a singing gig so she was going to see him after the shop shut but before the bar got busy. The rest of the day was spent manning the shop while secretly gathering the things she would need for another trip back in time. Xanthe felt growing tension at the thought of making another journey. Although she had moved the chocolate pot to her bedroom, she had hardly dared touch it since her accidental return, doing her best to ignore its plaintive singing. Now she allowed herself to listen to its call again. She put together her collection of clothes that would pass as seventeenth century, including the two pieces which actually did date from that time. She held Samuel’s cloak up to the light and examined it closely. There was some fraying at the seams and edges, and a slight fading of the color, but otherwise it was still wearable, not yet degraded beyond use. Rose’s blouse was similarly dulled, somehow, but wearable. Next, she packed her leather shoulder bag with useful items, putting in painkillers, a hip flask of brandy, a small LED torch, and another silver thimble for currency. She also spent a whole hour searching through their collection of coins until she found one very specific one that was a vital part of her plan. She tied a wide-brimmed felt hat to the straps of her bag. She had found the one Adam lent her a Godsend, but she had left it at the abbey. She thought longingly of her army greatcoat, which she had been forced to abandon at the abbey. She would do her best to retrieve it. Until then, Samuel’s cape would serve.

  When at last she was sitting opposite Harley in the small sitting room of his flat above the public rooms of the pub, Xanthe realized she was at a loss as to how to start to ask him for what she needed. The room was warm and inviting, with a wood-burning stove glowing in the hearth and soft leather sofas to flop onto. Harley’s eclectic collection of biker memorabilia and local history prints and maps gave the place a friendly level of clutter, but still she found it hard to relax. They had left Annie downstairs manning the bar so knew that they would not be disturbed. Xanthe also knew she didn’t have long, didn’t have the luxury of taking her time to work up to the impossible subject she needed to talk to Harley about. Nor did she, on this occasion, have the assistance of vintage brandy to give her a little courage. Mercifully, Harley, who had evidently been thinking of little else since she showed him the book on Spinners, cut straight to the heart of the matter.

  “You’re planning a journey then, are ye, hen?” It was more of a statement than a question. Harley sat forward on the edge of the sofa opposite Xanthe, his expression intense. Xanthe was slightly thrown by the boldness of what he was saying. She was so used to covering up what she had been doing that to just come straight out and discuss it with someone felt both strange and risky. But she had to trust Harley. She needed his help.

  “I have to. There is someone I have been helping.…”

  “You mentioned a guy before.”

  “His name is … was … Samuel Appleby. When I left him last time, when I traveled home without meaning to … I left him in danger. I convinced myself he was better off without my meddling and because it’s not a simple matter, to leave my life here and now and go back to him…”

  “So what’s changed?”

  Xanthe looked at him and struggled to keep the panic out of her voice. “I saw his grave,” she said. “If I don’t go back he will die very soon.”

  Harley was silent for a moment, taking in what she had said, clearly trying to imagine what it must be like to see the resting place of a person who had been dead for three hundred years but who you had spoken to only days ago.

  “I suppose there’s no use me pointing out just how bloody dangerous flinging yourself back and fore through the centuries must be?”

  “If he dies before he’s supposed to it has consequences. Things that he’s supposed to do, the life he’s meant to live … they have to happen. I’ve got to go, Harley.”

  “Aye, I can see that you do. So,” he slapped his thighs, sitting up straight, his manner suddenly businesslike, “how can I help? Tell me what it is you need me to do.”

  “You have no idea how much it helps just to be able to share all this with someone. Just to talk about it, out loud, without feeling I am losing my mind.”

  “Tch, you’re one of the sanest people I know.”

  “You still think that? After all I told you last time?”

  “Well, I confess, I did spend a wee while wondering if we’d a lunatic for a new neighbor, but then I got to thinking of how damn brilliant the whole thing is. And then there’s that incredible book of yours—we both saw what we saw, and I like to think of myself as of sound mind, at least most of the time. Although next to you I feel like a shining example of normality myself, which is rare, I don’t mind telling you.”

  “I hoped you’d understand.”

  “I don’t know about understanding, but I am fascinated. And I want to understand. I want to know how it all works, how it’s even possible.”

  “It’s not an easy thing.”

  “But to travel though time! To actually be there, be then…”

  “… and get close to people who are then in danger, and you just make things worse for them.” She couldn’t keep the tremble out of her voice.

  “Och, hen, you’re too hard on yourself. I’m sure that’s not the case.”

  “It is. Which is why I have to go back.”

  “You’re a canny lass. And determined, that’s obvious. I’m sure this friend, whoever he is, he’d be grateful for your help,” Harley told her. “But…”

  “But…”

  “Well, if it was me heading off into the past I’d be bloody sure I had a plan. I’d arm myself if needs be.”

  “I don’t think that’d work for me, do you?”

  “Or, I don’t know, take stuff that could be useful, helpful.”

  “It’s impossible to know what that would look like. I try to take things like a torch, some money, though even that is problematic, so I just take valuable things I can barter if I have to.”

  “And your book hasn’t helped?”

  “I still haven’t figured half of it out. There’s definitely no list of what to pack!” She managed a smile, despite the stress she was having to manage. A thought occurred to her then, something that gave her a glimmer of hope. “There is someone who could unravel the secrets in Spinners, though. Of course! Why didn’t I think of it before? I’ll take it to Mistress Flyte. She was so excited when she knew I’d found it. She’ll be able to show me how to make sense of it.”

  “Well, that’s a good place to start. With your natural pluck and the old woman to help you, it strikes me you’ve a fair chance of success. All you need now is a plan.”

  Xanthe nodded slowly, her stomach tightening at the thought of what she had decided she must do; of the only way she could think of that would guarantee Fairfax’s cooperation. “Oh, I have a plan all right,” she said. “I most definitely have a plan.”

  “Care to share?”

  Xanthe sighed, pushing her heavy hair off her face. “It’s a lot to explain, and honestly, I don’t have time. I keep having to lie to my mum about what I’m doing and where I’m going as it is. I need to get home, spend some time with her, try to explain why I have to go away. Again. When she’s only just over being unwell. Let’s just say there’s someone in the past who wants something really badly, and I think I might have found a way to give it to him.” When she
saw Harley’s expression of alarm she added, “It’s not what you think.”

  “Lassie, at this point, even I don’t know what I think! But, if you tell me you’ve got it sorted in your own mind that’s good enough for me. What worries me more is the actual … traveling. From what the fella who used to come into the pub and talk about Spinners told me, it is far from safe, and from what you’ve told me yourself, what you’re attempting to do is not without very real risks.”

  “I have done it before. Quite a few times.”

  “Oh aye, and are ye telling me it never felt dangerous?”

  Xanthe hesitated, and that brief silence told Harley all he needed to know.

  He nodded slowly. “Is there nothing you can do to protect yourself more?” he asked.

  “Not that I know of. I prepare as best I can. I think about my clothes, about what I can take with me. I’ve got a bit better at landing up where I want to, at least once I’ve got used to where each found thing is trying to send me. It always pulls me to a spot that’s relevant in some way to what I’m supposed to be doing. Or to the person I’m supposed to be helping.”

  “That’s something, I suppose. But how can you be certain you’ll end up in the right time, never mind the right place?”

  “I can’t be. Not completely. All I know is that as long as the object, in this case the chocolate pot, as long as it’s still calling me, it will take me to where I need to be as well as when I need to be there. Except that…”

  “What?”

  “Well, sometimes it’s not where I’m expecting exactly, and that can cause problems. But the most worrying thing is I never know how much time will have passed. I mean, I thought I’d worked it out, when I made my first journeys.”

  “Meaning?”

  “There seemed to be a fixed order to the way time moved in the distant past and in my own era. Ten minutes here equated to ten hours back then. Roughly. But this time, well, that doesn’t seem to hold true. It’s as if it’s not actually fixed at all, that ratio. So, I never know if I’m going to get there and find months have passed instead of days or weeks. And the same goes for returning home. So far the time I’ve been away has stayed moving at the same speed as it did the first time I went, so I can spend days at a time in the seventeenth century and be missing from here only hours or a couple of days at most.”

  “What can I do to help, lassie? Just ask. Anything.”

  “It’s something I’m going to have to figure out on my own, I’m afraid, and mostly just by the doing of it. There is something else you can help me with, though. It’s not very nice, and I don’t feel good about asking you to do it, but…”

  “Ask away. I’m ready. I’m up for it. Consider me your stalwart companion in any and all matters of time travel!”

  “I need you to lie to my mother.”

  Once Harley had recovered from his disappointment Xanthe explained. She would tell Flora that a friend of Harley’s who lived in London and also ran a pub had heard of Xanthe singing at The Feathers and asked if she could go and do a couple of nights in his establishment. It would mean going to London for a couple of days. It was short notice, but Harley was to back her up, saying the friend had good connections, and it was an excellent opportunity for Xanthe to get her singing noticed again.

  Harley agreed to do what she asked. “I’m a wee bit concerned at the deviousness of your mind, I’ll tell you that,” he said. “But I can see you need to reassure Flora. It’s a story that could hold water.” He got up and searched for pen and paper. “Best get our facts straight and not leave the details to my addled brain. Now,” he sat down again, the sofa sighing under the weight of him. “What’s the name of this lifelong friend of mine, and what shall we call his pub, eh?”

  Together they thrashed out the necessary facts. It was also agreed that Harley would invite Flora to join him and Annie in the pub for a drink and supper at the moment when Xanthe would be leaving, meaning she would not have to go through the charade of pretending to head off to catch a train. It also meant she could get changed and get to the blind house with the chocolate pot without Flora seeing her. Already Xanthe felt a seismic shift in the way she was going to be making her journeys through time now that she had Harley to help. She noticed that the panic she was at constant war with regarding what might be happening to Samuel lessened a fraction now that she did not have to face doing everything alone.

  When she got home Xanthe found her mother brighter, if tired from her activities in the workshop, and still with the slightly glassy, bright-eyed look of someone under the influence of painkillers. She was on the sofa in the sitting room watching a celebrities and antiques program.

  “So,” she asked, clicking the TV to mute, “what did Harley want? Has he got another singing date for you?”

  “Yes and no,” Xanthe said, sitting on the Queen Anne chair that had somehow not yet found its way into the workshop.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, he has a date, but no, he doesn’t want me to sing in The Feathers.” She hurried on before she could lose her nerve. “He has a friend in London, Richard, runs a pub in Hackney called The Fox. Well, he wants me to go there and do a two-nighter.”

  “Hey, word is getting around at last; you’re in demand. Two nights, you say? When does he want you to do it?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “What? Xanthe, love, what about Christmas? What about the stock for the shop?”

  “I know, but he’s been let down. He apologizes for the short notice.…”

  “Short…!”

  “But he’ll pay really well. And Harley says it’s a nice pub. The music there is known to be good.” She picked at a loose thread in her skirt, unable to meet her mother’s eye. She could hardly believe the lies were tripping off her tongue so easily. She plowed on. “Actually, according to Harley, they get talent spotters in. You know, record producers, people like that.”

  “Oh?” Flora shifted slightly on the soft cushions.

  Xanthe hated herself but there was no turning back. “Yes. Singers get noticed there sometimes.”

  “Really? You never sang there when we lived in London, did you?”

  “I think it’s quite new, the live music part. But it’s really taken off.”

  “What if Marcus is there?”

  “What?”

  “Well, you said he wanted you to sing with him again, and that he was getting the band back together. What if he goes there? You’ve only just got rid of him again. I don’t think it’s a good idea to be moving in the same circles as him again, do you?”

  Xanthe had been doing her best to forget about Marcus. “Actually, Mum, he’s still here in Marlborough.”

  “Still? I thought you and Harley sent him packing. How long have you known about this? Why do you keep things from me? It isn’t helpful, really it isn’t.”

  “OK, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to think about him. I guess I was hoping if I ignored him long enough he’d give up and go away. Hasn’t worked yet.” Xanthe slid off her chair and knelt in front of her mother, taking her hands in her own, looking up at her now. “Not brilliant timing I know, but at least I’d still be out of Marcus’s reach. And it’s only for a couple of days, Mum. I’ll be back before you know it. And besides, this is what you wanted, isn’t it? I mean, you’ve been nagging me for ages to take up my singing properly again. To prioritize it. This could be a really great opportunity.…”

  Flora nodded. “It does sound like a good gig. And you want to go, don’t you?” She leaned forward and stroked her daughter’s hair.

  Xanthe did not trust herself to answer. She nodded, smiling, wishing there was another way.

  Flora leaned back against the faded velvet of the sofa. “Of course you must go. In fact, I bloody insist on it.” She laughed lightly then. “To be honest, I’ve had enough of you fussing round me. I’m OK, love. Sometimes you have to trust me to know how to get through these blips. Because that’s all they are; temporary setbacks. And we are not going to l
et them stop you singing or me running this business, OK?”

  “You’ll be all right?” Xanthe could not stop herself asking the pointless question.

  “I’ll be perfectly fine. Without you around to distract me I’ll probably get more repairs done. And you won’t be able to flap about me going back to bell-ringing practice tomorrow.” She held up her hands to ward off any resistance to the idea. “Sheila says I have a natural ear for the rounds. See, being subjected to your singing practice all these years is finally paying off. I have a natural ear,” she said, theatrically indicating her head. “I wonder which one it is?” she added, making Xanthe laugh. “That’s better. And I can get on with some Christmas cooking without you under my feet in the kitchen.”

  “OK … What are you going to try this year? Just so I can prepare myself.…”

  “Never you mind. You’re not the only one can pull off surprises. I have my ideas.… Now, before you go you can help me position some of Mr. Morris’s mirrors along the passageway so that I can see who’s coming into the shop. That way it won’t matter if I take a few seconds to emerge from my workshop.”

  “You’re a star, Mum. Oh, and Harley has invited you over for supper with him and Annie at The Feathers tomorrow evening.”