Secrets of the Chocolate House

by Paula Brackston

  There was, of course, another possible outcome, and one which must have been much on the mind of Fairfax as the executioner placed the noose around his neck. What if he failed to trigger the device? What if this time he was unable to spin time at all? Was she about to stand there and watch him hang? Could she do that, knowing that it was she who brought him to this point? And what could she do to stop it? How long dare she leave things before trying to help him? And how would she get close enough to be able to help him? And might that not, after all, be the surest way of keeping Samuel safe: to let him hang? No, that was not an option she could seriously entertain. In any event, Xanthe decided, she needed to be closer. She squeezed and elbowed her way through the crowd, who were, helpfully, far too focused on Fairfax to notice anything out of the ordinary about the girl threading her way toward the scaffolding. As Xanthe slipped around the back of the platform she could hear prayers being read out, a final act of stamping the king’s rule over his subjects, imposing his choice of religion upon the hapless prisoner. The rear of the dais was not guarded, as there were no steps on that side and it would have been difficult for anyone to get up onto the platform and interfere with the proceedings. Xanthe scurried across the dry, grassless stretch of earth and dropped to her hands and knees, quickly crawling beneath the wooden planks. She waited to see if anyone had noticed and would raise the alarm, but all were far too intent on witnessing Fairfax’s suffering. From where she crouched, Xanthe could see up through the gaps in the boards. She could see figures moving about; the shuffling feet of Fairfax as he was manhandled, his wrists bound, the slow pad of the priest as he stepped behind him, the heavy thud of the hooded executioner’s boots as he tightened the knot of the noose at the nape of his prisoner’s neck and then went to stand to one side, ready to kick the stool from beneath Fairfax’s feet. There was a pause. The crowd fell silent. Xanthe felt sure the drumming of her own heart was loud enough to be heard. She thought she sensed Fairfax’s thoughts, those of a Spinner summoning the ability to move through time, inexpert and garbled, tangled with voices of others sensitive to another journey being made. The air was filled with the pungent stench of hot urine.

  And then there came a scream. Not from Fairfax. A woman at the front of the crowd was the first to react to the shocking sight of a man vanishing before her eyes. Pandemonium ensued. The priest called on God to protect them from the devil’s magic. The executioner exclaimed and shouted at the guards. Men in the crowd shouted their anger; they had been tricked, duped, justice denied them. Women screamed and ushered their children away. The guards rushed this way and that in a fruitless search, during which Xanthe feared she herself might be found. She patted the earth around her in the half-light, checking for the astrolabe. She had not noticed it fall, but she had to be certain. She could hear footsteps coming nearer. The searchers would soon discover her, and then what? If they took the chocolate pot from her she might not be able to travel back to Samuel, and if they took away her locket she would be completely trapped. There was no sign of the astrolabe. Satisfied that Fairfax must have succeeded in taking it with him this time, she took the pot from her bag, held it close, closed her eyes, uttered the words she had been taught, and focused her mind with all her strength and concentration upon Samuel. She was aware of the shouts and curses of the guards as they discovered her at the very moment she spun time and went hurtling through the years once more.

  * * *

  Xanthe found it frustrating, but not surprising, to discover she had arrived yet again in the chocolate house. It was as if the pot would always insist on taking her there. As she moved groggily through the cellar of the old building she wondered if it would now consider she had completed her task. Into these muddled thoughts came the voice of Mistress Flyte.

  “I am pleased to see you, but what of Fairfax? Tell me, what has become of him?” The old woman held a lamp high, meeting Xanthe on the stairs and taking her arm, searching her face for an answer.

  Xanthe rubbed her eyes and when she spoke her own voice was hoarse and weak.

  “He escaped the hangman a second time,” she confirmed.

  “And the astrolabe?”

  “He has it. Or at least he didn’t leave it behind when he traveled from the scaffold.” Xanthe’s legs suddenly gave way beneath her and she stumbled against the steps.

  “You are fatigued by the spinning.” Mistress Flyte helped her up. “Come, I will have Edmund fetch brandied chocolate and beef stew. As you eat you can tell me all that has occurred.”

  Once settled in the comfort and safety of Mistress Flyte’s sitting room, and revived by the supper Edmund brought her, Xanthe did indeed recount the story of her journey with Fairfax, step by step. She did her best to give a detailed account, but even so the old woman probed for every moment, every aspect of their time spent traveling. She asked so many questions and Xanthe was still weary from such a risky and bewildering journey.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have all the answers you want,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment. “All I can tell you is that I believe it worked. I think I did what I needed to do and fulfilled my part of the deal.”

  “Assuming Fairfax has safely returned. Of course you must have come to realize by now that such a man will not settle. Once he has the device in his possession he will want to use it, and it will not take him many days to discover he is untalented and clumsy. He is a Spinner of the most basic nature, and this conclusion will not sit well with him. It will also lead him to the conclusion that his wishes could be better served if he had both the astrolabe and you.”

  Xanthe nodded. “I had thought of that.”

  “Do you still believe he will honor his side of the agreement and let the Applebys alone? He is slippery as a buttered eel.”

  “I believe the document he signed will prevent him going back on his word. But no, I don’t trust him. He will try his best to wriggle out of the bargain. Or at least he would have tried, if I hadn’t made it just a tiny bit more difficult for him.”

  “Ah, the coin! You succeeded in making sure he had it with him when he traveled?”

  “I slipped it into his pocket. I double-checked it hadn’t got mixed up with the money you gave me. It was definitely the right coin.”

  “The one dated a year from now.”

  “That’s right. I made him empty his pockets before we traveled, so that he didn’t have anything personal to connect him with this date. I figured the observatory and the pull of his own character would draw him back to the right place, but that coin was in good condition, made of silver, with the date clearly readable. With nothing else to locate him in the exact date I felt sure it would take him to its own time.”

  “The abbey, then, but in a time not yet come? One year hence. Ingenious!”

  “I reckon he’ll figure out how to use the astrolabe more accurately when he has to, so he’ll return to this time soon. But it will take him a while. For all his bluster and ambition, he was never good at spinning time when he had the thing before. I can’t see him risking using it straightaway, not until he is certain he can do so accurately. I wanted to buy Samuel some time of his own. Time to restore the reputation of his family, shore up a few allegiances, before Fairfax can get back here and try to cause trouble for him. And of course,” she hesitated, taking a moment to study Mistress Flyte’s face as she went on, “I will be long gone by then. Out of his reach.”

  The old woman said nothing. Xanthe tried to fathom what it was she wasn’t saying. What secret was she keeping in that silence? She had already begun to suspect that Mistress Flyte was holding things back, things to do with the Spinners. She was a hard woman to read, and Xanthe knew she had little chance of getting anything from her that she did not want to share. Why, for instance, had she been so interested in the journey she and Fairfax had made together? Her insistence on knowing every detail seemed to suggest an interest beyond just wanting to know that Fairfax would not present a threat, and even further than simply being the curiosity
of a fellow Spinner, particularly a retired one. Xanthe was not surprised to see that her host did not like the thought of her returning to her own time. She wanted her to stay at the chocolate house. But what for? She needed to get her to explain.

  “I’m sure you’ll find yourself another serving girl, mistress. Bradford must have plenty to choose from. Nice warm work, with free chocolate, after all. I’m sure there are girls would jump at the chance.”

  The old woman sighed and leaned back in her chair, turning to gaze into the fire as she had done before, the shadow of sadness clouding her eyes. Xanthe recalled her looking just so during an earlier conversation. Another time when they had talked about Fairfax. Was she still frightened of him, perhaps? Was she afraid he would take his anger out on her if he returned and found Xanthe gone and Samuel safely beyond the reach of his influence?

  “He will be too busy using his precious new toy to bother you,” Xanthe told her. “By the time he makes his way back to this time he will have plenty to do explaining his absence to the king too, and making sure he doesn’t end up on that scaffold for a third time. I don’t think you have any reason to be fearful of him.”

  Mistress Flyte shook her head and when she spoke there was a slight tremor in her voice. For once, instead of an elegant mature woman with a powerful secret knowledge and a thriving business that kept her in touch with the mood of the country, she looked to Xanthe like an old woman struggling to manage on her own, beaten down by the experiences life had dealt her.

  “You are a Spinner of rare ability, child. You have a singular gift, yet you are innocent in the dark ways in which this world works. You show promise in your thinking, for not many would so much as attempt to outwit Benedict Fairfax. And you have courage, that is plain to see. But you know not how great your talent could be, nor how much envy such a gift provokes in others!” She paused, composing herself, sitting straight backed once again, mustering her more customary control and poise. “You have been called, I believe you understand that now, at least. Has not the book finding its way to you convinced you of that? A Spinner of such caliber as yours cannot turn her back on that calling. You may have completed this task, but there will be others who need your help. Others for whom perhaps their only hope of justice is through the art of the Spinner and counting one as their ally.”

  “And this is Spinner central, I suppose? I know you want me to stay, but I’ve explained…”

  “Not I! Foolish girl. Do you consider the wishes of an old woman of any importance? My duty is to keep the chocolate house so that free thinkers and those who would defend the innocent against such men as Fairfax, they have a place of safety in which to meet. In which to form true alliances. But such a haven has its limitations. What is more important is that I keep my home open to Spinners who are called that they might have a point of entry and exit for their travels. Do you not see that you have found your true place of belonging?”

  “And what of my life? My mother?”

  “Alas, such sacrifices are often asked of us. You will come to see where your duty lies.”

  Xanthe got to her feet, shaking her head.

  “Look, I’m grateful for how you’ve helped me, really I am. But as I think I’ve said before, I didn’t ask for any of this. I’ve done what I came to do. And now I’m going home. I’m sorry I can’t do what you want. I can’t be what you want. That’s just the way it is.” She got to her feet, buttoning up her coat once more. “I’ll take my book now,” she said.

  The old woman got up and fetched it from her desk. As she handed it to Xanthe she said, “There is something you have forgotten, is there not?”

  “Sorry?”

  “The chocolate pot. You borrowed it.”

  Instinctively Xanthe put her hand in her leather bag, but it was empty. Confused, she thought aloud. “I used it to travel safely. That’s why I took it with me to Fairfax’s execution: so I could come back here. And it worked. It brought me back, right to the chocolate house.” She frowned, trying to make sense of it all.

  “You know an object cannot be brought back from the future to a time and place where it exists. If it did, that would result in two identical things inhabiting the same moment. That cannot happen. The pot traveled forward with you.…”

  “Oh my God, have I left it there?”

  “No, it will be at the point of your recent departure.”

  “Fairfax’s observatory.”

  “Correct. It belongs here. With me. In the chocolate house. It must be returned here, you understand that, do you not?”

  Xanthe experienced a momentary panic. She needed to return home as quickly as possible after seeing Samuel. Traveling back to Bradford once again would take up valuable time, and yet she knew that Mistress Flyte was right; the pot belonged in the chocolate house. It had to be returned. After some thought she said, “I will see that it is brought back,” even though she was, at that moment, uncertain how she was going to make this happen. “When I go to see Samuel and tell him what has happened I will retrieve the pot.” She tucked the Spinners book carefully back into her bag and fastened the straps.

  “It is of the utmost importance that these things are left as they should be. A Spinner must recognize and take on such responsibilities. All found things are to be treated with respect and kept safe. Though, of course, you will not find Master Appleby at the abbey.”

  “I won’t?”

  “I am reliably informed that he has returned to the family home at Marlborough.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. He must be so happy to be free to come and go as he pleases. I know he will complete his work at the abbey—he won’t want to give Fairfax any excuse to damage his reputation as an architect—but he has been a prisoner. At least now he will be working as a free man.”

  As Xanthe prepared to leave, Mistress Flyte put a hand on her arm. The old woman had recovered from her injuries remarkably well, so that Xanthe could see once again the spark of life and wisdom in those bright blue eyes.

  “You have proved yourself a true Spinner, child.”

  “I could not have done it without your help.”

  “And without your assistance I should not be here at all.”

  “That’s what we are here for after all, isn’t it? To help each other.”

  “Spinners and less gifted travelers all,” Mistress Flyte agreed.

  “Tell me one more thing.” Xanthe hitched her bag over her shoulder. “Who do you think it was who attacked you? Do you still remember nothing of that night?”

  “There is a darkness in my mind from the moment before the attack until I awoke, broken and bruised, in my own bed days later. And yet…”

  “Yes?”

  “I would not have drawn back the bolt on that door, would not have ventured forth into the alleyway alone at night unless I believed I knew who it was who called my name.” She sighed. “It is not uncommon to make enemies when one supports those some consider dangerous. Dangerous, that is, to the accepted order. I must accept it as part of my lot in life. As must you.”

  With that thought, Xanthe gave the old woman a light peck on the cheek and set out once more for the stage, this time not to Laybrook, but to Marlborough.

  18

  On the stage journey to Marlborough Xanthe had the chance to think about her conversation with Mistress Flyte. She had been grateful for the old woman’s support and help, and had begun to feel she knew the woman, but now she had the sense that there was a great deal hidden. That her life held many secrets, and that some of them concerned not only the Spinners in general, but Fairfax in particular. Now that she knew she had once been a Spinner and turned her back on what she clearly considered a calling, Xanthe had so many questions, and she believed Mistress Flyte could provide answers. If only there was time. And assuming she was ready to trust Xanthe with the secrets of her past. She evidently loathed Fairfax and was frightened of him, that much was clear. But Xanthe could not quite work out what Mistress Flyte had been hoping for when she had hea
rd of her plan to retrieve the astrolabe for him. Had she secretly hoped the mission would fail and that Fairfax would be hanged? She certainly seemed dissatisfied with the outcome of him being at least temporarily stranded and out of the way. And there was something else that nagged away at Xanthe: if she was so taken up with the business of working as a time traveler, why had she given it up?

  At last the stagecoach began to descend the hill into Marlborough. A nervousness assailed Xanthe. In part it was due to the way seeing the town in its earlier state, without her own home existing in it, unsettled her and made her feel homesick. More than that, though, it was the proximity to Samuel. Yet again she had come to say goodbye to him. However often she had to do it, it never seemed to become less painful. Would this be the final time she saw him? It was likely, and the thought hurt her more than it should have. She recalled how the last time she had spoken to him he had been with Henrietta. Xanthe had to accept that the future she had won for him included his fiancée, not herself.

  The day was fading into late afternoon, the light already failing, as the driver pulled the blowing horses to a halt outside the Quills Inn. As she stepped from the carriage, shivering in the east wind that raced along the broad high street, Xanthe attempted to cheer herself up by imagining what Harley would make of seeing his beloved pub in its youthful incarnation. It failed to lift her mood. She could not keep subjecting herself to this manner of emotional turmoil. This would have to be the last farewell she said to Samuel; there was no other way. She shouldered her bag and marched toward the Appleby house, determined to keep her feelings in check. She had done what she came to do. All that remained was to tell Samuel he would be free from Fairfax at least for a while, and then she could go home. Even as she formed this thought she had to stop herself glancing down the alleyway where her own house, and the shop, were not yet built. And would not be for another two centuries. The idea still caused her head to knot, her thoughts to fight against the impossibility of what she was doing.