by Sandra Heath
She wished she understood why all this was happening to her, but when she was with him it didn’t matter why, only that it went on and on without end. But it would end, for at dawn on Lammas Day, he and Thomas Denham would face each other because of her—no, because of Rosalind—and that would only happen because Dane found out once and for all that his suspicions were well founded. What hope would there be then for Kathryn Vansomeren to retain his love? Even presuming she could still come back to this former self...
Tears sprang to her eyes and she sat up, reaching out impulsively to him. “Hold me, please ...”
His fingers were firm and reassuring as he caught her hands. “What is it, sweetheart? What’s wrong?” he asked concernedly.
“I love you with all my heart, you must always believe that,” she whispered.
She wanted him to say the same in return, but he didn’t. He moved closer to her, though, cradling her head against his waist and twining his hand in her hair. She wrapped her arms around his hips and closed her eyes as tears welled down her cheeks.
He tilted her face anxiously. “Tell me why you’re so sad. If it’s something I’ve said or done ...”
She strove to collect herself, wanting desperately to tell him the truth, but knowing she couldn’t. “It’s nothing, I... I’m being foolish.”
“But if there’s something wrong ...”
“No. Nothing’s wrong.”
“Are you sure?”
She gazed up into his eyes. “Quite sure.”
He released her then. “I must go now, for I have a veritable plethora of pressing matters to attend to, from bickering between tenants about closed sluice gates, to stolen cheeses, a deliberately damaged wagon, and, would you believe, a potentially violent dispute about rustled hens! A landlord’s load is varied indeed, but while I’m engaged upon all this intolerable excitement, you must rest. You are to be the belle of tonight’s ball.” He smiled and bent to kiss her nose, and then left.
She watched the door close behind him. Which twin could attend the ball with him tonight? Warm, passionate Kathryn? Or cold, unloving Rosalind? She prayed it would be the former, for she longed to go to such a glittering occasion as Lady Marchwood, but she feared she’d have returned to her own time again by then.
Something made her get up and dress. She wanted to lie back and savor the warmth of the sheets where he’d lain, but was prevented by a strange urge to return to the great hall. Her golden hair was tangled and untidy, so she went through to her own apartment to use a brush and select a ribbon from the drawer.
Looking neat again, she went to the top of the grand staircase, where the first person she saw was Alice.
Chapter Twelve
The old nurse was standing on the half-landing, almost as if waiting for her, and looked up with a smile.
“Ah, there you are, my dear. Did I not promise you more passion than you’d ever known before?”
The stonemason and his apprentice were at work on the fireplace again, but were so engrossed in the intricacies of a corner that they didn’t even glance around.
Kathryn went slowly down to the landing, and faced the nurse. “Yes, you promised me.”
“And is he not everything you could ever want in a man?”
“Yes, he is.” There was something Kathryn had to know. “Am I Rosalind’s reincarnation?” she asked bluntly.
“If by that you mean has she been born again in you, the answer is no. You are two very separate persons, with nothing to link you except circumstance. When the moment is right, I will explain everything. In the meantime I must return you to your own time again.”
“No! Please! I want to ask so much. I... I know the day after tomorrow Thomas Denham is going to die at a duel with Dane.”
Alice hesitated and lowered her glance for a moment. “Yes, it would seem that on Lammas Day he will breathe his last.”
“Can’t you stop it happening?”
“No. Dane will find out about Rosalind and Thomas, nothing can prevent that.”
Kathryn was desperate to find out all she could before she suddenly found herself in the future again. “What’s all this really about, Alice? I’ve gone through all the possibilities, from books and movies, to hallucinations on account of jet lag, and ending up with reincarnation, but—”
“I don’t understand. Movies? Jet lag?” The old woman looked mystified.
“Oh, there’s no time to explain, all you have to do is tell me what’s going on.”
“It concerns a quest for happiness, my dear, and commenced with two people, but has now spread to four. You are one of them, and have the chance to bring about the change that will bring joy to all four. You are the key, Kathryn; only through you can the door to happiness be opened.”
What mumbo jumbo, Kathryn thought, but then she looked into the old woman’s bright eyes and changed her mind. There was clearly much more to this than seemed possible right now. Her thoughts hurtled swiftly on. Okay, so let’s assume it’s all genuine. Alice talked of four people being involved. The other three were clearly Rosalind, Thomas, and Dane, but Thomas didn’t have a future, he was set to die on Lammas Day. She spoke at last. “Maybe I’m being stupid, but what good is this going to do Thomas Denham? You’ve just said nothing can stop the duel, so presumably Dane’s going to kill him no matter what?”
“Yes.”
“Then I fail to see—”
“Trust me, Kathryn.”
“That’s a lot to ask under the circumstances.”
“I know, but you have a lot to gain.”
“Do I?’“
Alice nodded. “If fate is kind, yes.”
“So there’s a catch,” Kathryn observed dryly.
“Nothing is certain in this life. Or any other life.”
“Except that Dane is about to kill Thomas Denham because of Rosalind.”
Alice didn’t reply.
Kathryn eyed her. “You’re Rosalind’s nurse, and so know her very well indeed, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve been helping her conduct this affair with Thomas. Oh, don’t deny it, for she met him in your cottage!”
“I wasn’t going to deny it, Kathryn.”
“Okay, so you admit you’re in on all she does?”
Alice nodded.
“And she’s supposed to be deeply in love with Thomas?”
“She is.”
Kathryn shook her head firmly. “She can’t be.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, if you know all about the duel and Thomas’s death, so does she, and if she loved him like you say, she’d do all she could to stop the duel happening. In short, she’d give Thomas up to save his life. I’d give Dane up; there’s no way I’d carry on seeing him if it meant his death.”
Alice smiled. “If only it were that simple, my dear; but Rosalind is powerless to change events here in this time. She, Dane, and Thomas are bound by their stars, but you are different.”
“How?”
“You have powers, oh, maybe not as strongly as mine, but you do have them. That is how I know you across the years. I have the sight.”
“The sight? Second sight, you mean? Being able to see into the future?” Kathryn paused. “Well, I can tell you right now, I don’t have the sight. I’ve never even had a premonition!”
Alice studied her intently. “Are you sure of that? Your powers are there, my dear, they just have yet to be fully realized. My gifts are fading now, soon they will be gone, but I am using the strength I have left to try to bring happiness to four people to whom it is due. Maybe I’m reaching beyond my capabilities, maybe it’s far too audacious a plan to ever succeed, but I believe it can be done.”
Kathryn was dumbfounded. Whatever she’d expected, it hadn’t been this. She tried to keep a hold on her wits. “What exactly are my powers supposed to be?” she asked after a moment.
“Among them you may count intuition, my dear. We all have it to a certain extent, but in you it
is very strong indeed, and you may always rely upon it.”
“Alice, I—”
“Don’t ask me more now, Kathryn, for it’s time to return you to your own time. If you wish to attend the ball tonight, and thus see Dane one more time before tomorrow, when at the departure of the Lady Marchwood on her maiden voyage he will find out about Rosalind and Thomas, you must be in Cheltenham at ten o’clock this evening. Be at the Royal Well. It’s easy to find because it’s the reason for Cheltenham’s fame.” Alice put a hand on her arm. “Now look at Dane’s portrait again, my dear, and think well on how much you love him. And remember, trust your intuition.”
Kathryn started to obey, but then looked swiftly back at the nurse. Instead of the old woman from the past, she saw the guide she’d spoken to in the castle restaurant.
The woman was concerned. “I didn’t mean to startle you, my dear, it’s just that I spoke three times and you didn’t answer. Are you sure you’re all right, my dear?”
Kathryn’s heart pounded. She was her modern self again! She looked past the woman at the great hall. Another tour was just beginning, and the stonemason and apprentice of the past had vanished. How long had she been standing here? Had the outer shell of Kathryn Vansomeren been gazing at Dane’s portrait for well over two hours, while her inner self went back in time to become Rosalind?
She summoned a weak smile. “I... I’m quite all right. I was so engrossed in the portrait I just didn’t hear you.”
“Well, I saw you drive away earlier, but when you came back again a few moments ago, I knew you were smitten with Marchwood, and with Sir Dane in particular, if I’m not mistaken.”
She’d driven away and come back? Kathryn tried not to show she didn’t know what the woman was talking about.
The guide looked at the portrait. “I told you he was handsome.”
“A girl could give way to wicked fantasies,” Kathryn replied, recovering sufficiently to try to joke.
The woman laughed. “A girl could indeed,” she agreed.
There was much Kathryn needed to find out, and the Marchwood archives seemed the best bet. “Is it possible to see the castle records? Maybe there’s a library or something?”
“I’m afraid not. Everything was sent to the public library in Gloucester. Do you know Gloucester at all?”
“I’m staying there.”
“Anyone will be able to direct you to the library in Brunswick Road. When you get there you’ll see a sign directing you to the Gloucester Collection on the upper floor. It’s all reference, so you won’t be able to take anything home with you, but you can examine most things at your leisure on the premises.”
“Thank you, I’ll do that. I want to find out more about the duel,” Kathryn explained, glancing again at Dane’s portrait.
The guide smiled. “Well, I’m afraid there isn’t a trustworthy account in existence. The only so-called authority is the diary of a prominent local citizen of the time, a man named Jeremiah Pendle, and he’s biased to say the least.”
Kathryn’s lips parted. “Jeremiah Pendle? The banker?”
“You’ve heard of him? Yes, the same, and as odious a slug as ever lived. If it weren’t for him, Sir Dane’s reputation might never have suffered, for the diary contains the only description of the duel, and therefore the only reference to the business of the pistol’s being tampered with. Pendle died of a heart attack the night after the duel, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s a pity he didn’t do so a day before. I would much have preferred Sir Dane’s character not to have been sullied by charges of dishonorable and shameful conduct, even if he might indeed have done the despicable deed.”
Jeremiah Pendle! Kathryn remembered how instinctively she’d disliked and distrusted the banker. Alice had told her she could rely on her intuition, and in this it had certainly served her well! Now it told her that something very untoward indeed had gone on at the duel. What, though? Had the pistol been meddled with? Or was it taken for gospel because of Pendle’s diary?
The guide smiled at her. “I can see you’re eager to find out all you can.”
“Yes. I’ll go back to Gloucester right now.”
“Good luck.”
Kathryn smiled and then hurried from the courtyard. Her steps were lighter than they’d been when she’d arrived. She’d been with Dane again, and knew she’d see him tonight as well. What Alice had told her still didn’t really make sense, but she’d go along with it anyway. All that stuff about audacious plans, happiness, and mystic powers was a bit deep—or crazy—but it was the only explanation on offer right now.
She still couldn’t see the logic of including Thomas Denham in any quest for happiness, because come hell or high water, he was going to die at dawn the day after tomorrow. As for Dane and Rosalind, there didn’t seem much hope there either. Tomorrow, Lammas Eve, he was going to find out about his wife’s affair.
She drove quickly back to the Gloucester apartments, where Jack was tending the climbing roses. He was listening to classical music on his portable radio and gave a start when the car suddenly appeared. Then he grinned and turned the radio down a little. “I was miles away, miss.”
“I didn’t mean to make you jump.” She glanced uncertainly at the radio, for there seemed an odd sort of stereo echo, as if someone else was tuned in to the same station.
Jack didn’t notice anything amiss. “I should keep my wits about me, but I can’t resist a little bit of Beethoven or Mozart. Nothing better to soothe the savage breast, eh?”
“I guess so. Anyway, I won’t keep you. If you could just tell me how to get to the library?”
“Certainly, miss.” He told her exactly how to get there. “It’s about a quarter of a mile from here,” he added.
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Any time, miss. Any time.”
At the end of the alley from the apartments, she examined the menu outside the Monk’s Retreat. Maybe she’d eat there this evening. Jack promised good plain food, so she should try it. The British weren’t renowned for their cuisine, but they all looked healthy enough, so some of it must be okay.
She walked on toward the crossroad in the center of the city, and suddenly saw Jeremiah Pendle’s bank. At least, it was the same building, but it was now a stylish modern bar called Jeremiah’s Cellars. There were tables and chairs outside, and its impressive half-timbered facade spilled over with hanging baskets of flowers. Music and laughter echoed into the street, which she couldn’t help thinking was singularly inappropriate for anyplace boasting a connection with a sour apple like Jeremiah Pendle.
She walked quickly past, for in spite of the modern trappings, she still felt the banker’s presence. If he suddenly appeared in the doorway now, mopping his forehead with that damned spotted handkerchief, she wouldn’t be at all surprised.
The library was a gray Victorian building without a great deal to commend it. Richard wouldn’t care for it much, she thought as she went into the vestibule. The reference section was on the upper floor, and the noise of the street faded behind as she went up the stairs. Signs directed her to the Gloucester Collection, which was housed in a tall-windowed room at the end of a long corridor. It was very quiet. Several people were seated at tables with notepads and piles of old books assembled before them, and the only sound was made by someone using a copying machine in a corner. The electric whir was out of place in such Dickensian surroundings.
A woman librarian was seated at a large desk close to the door. She was matronly, with gray hair tugged back into a tight bun, and smiled pleasantly as Kathryn approached.
“May I help you?”
“Yes, I hope so. I’ve been told this is the place to come to find out about events in the Gloucester area at the end of July, beginning of August, 1815.”
“It certainly is.” The woman got up. “What is it you’re particularly interested in?”
Kathryn didn’t have to think long. “The Waterloo ball in Cheltenham, the maiden voyage of the Lady Marchwood from Gloucester
docks, the duel between Sir Dane Marchwood and Thomas Denham, and the death of Jeremiah Pendle. Oh, and his diary, of course.”
“Well, we can accommodate you. We have a recent edition of the Pendle diary, so you won’t have to struggle with Jeremiah’s old-fashioned handwriting, and everything else will be on microfilm of the Gloucester Journal newspaper. I’m afraid all the old print can be very hard on the eyes, they didn’t believe in wasting space in those days, but if you’re prepared to plow through...?”
“I am.”
“Follow me. You’re in luck, there’s a machine free. Usually they have to be booked in advance.” She led Kathryn through into a small darkened side room, where large-screened consoles were placed at desks around the walls. The screens were difficult to read, hence the dark room, and the only unoccupied machine was in the darkest corner of all. The woman switched the screen on and then went into another adjoining room to find the appropriate microfilm.
She placed it on the machine and showed Kathryn how to wind it to and fro. “It’s all very antiquated, I’m afraid, but at least it’s simple to operate. Now then, everything’s arranged in months, so I’ll start you off at the beginning of July. Ah, there it is. I’ll leave you to it, then. If you need me, I’ll be at my desk.”
“Thanks.”
Alone by the console, Kathryn gazed at the screen. Small print? The woman hadn’t been joking! Thank God the screen enlarged it a little, otherwise she’d need a magnifying glass. Right, she’d take things in chronological order, which meant starting with the Waterloo ball. She wound the microfilm to the end of the month and began to scan the columns.
Chapter Thirteen