Charlock's Secret

by Leah Moyes

  “I’m not laughing at you,” he said, apparently aware of my insecurity. “I skipped breakfast this morning so you could eat in peace.” He continued to laugh, but mostly to himself. Although I didn’t think it was that funny, it brought a smile to my face once I imagined Helen's confusion.

  After a few moments of total silence, Trenton cleared his throat and spoke, “Kat, may I ask you something without you getting angry?”

  I shrugged, “You may not believe this, but I’m normally a pretty easy-going person, but for some reason, you seem to bring out the worst in me.” Evidently, I had no trouble being brash with him.

  “That is not my intention.”

  My eyebrows rose doubtfully.

  He ignored my skepticism. “All the years I worked with Ms. Campbell, I knew she cherished my family, but for the brief time you have been here—” Trenton shook his head baffled, “the knowledge you have and the passion—” I followed his words intently; surprised to hear him speak so openly. “How do you know all that about my family? I mean, those were very specific items you listed yesterday in the library, and—” He rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. “—some of those experiences I’ve never found in print and believe me I spent most of the night looking. I knew of a few you mentioned because of family stories and journals, but the details on Abagale, Elizabeth, Merritt, and Johnna, even Peter or the slaves. How did you know all that?”

  I stood upright and let go of the saggy pant leg. I avoided his face as I gazed back towards the water. I’ll sound like a complete mental case if I told him the truth. I didn't even think he deserved to hear the truth, though he was at least being decent this time. I held strong.

  “I can't explain it, I just know.” The answer came forth less than satisfactory, but his stance relaxed. I seized the chance to take advantage of this almost ordinary conversation. “Can I ask you a question?” He nodded. “Why are you asking if you care so little of your past?”

  His lips came together in a crooked line, much like an awkward smile. He angled his chin towards the sun and let out a simple breath. I could tell by the way he hesitated he contemplated his words carefully. No doubt, his intention was to avoid my reaction from yesterday, but now when he spoke, he almost appeared human.

  “I know how I must seem to you, but I’m not entirely ignorant of my birthright.” His hands clasped behind him. “The Gilford family name has long carried a tradition of honor and integrity. It’s an ideal that has been ingrained since childhood.” He continued, “it’s actually in that custom that we fostered a boldness in the business world.” He paused as if he expected a snide remark from me. My nose crinkled, but I remained silent. This was by far our most diplomatic conversation yet. “I know traditions differ from country to country, family to family, but here . . . for me, it’s a duty.” I waited, curious to what he believed that all-encompassing obligation entailed. “It is my responsibility to maintain the purity of our wealth. I’m the sole heir to the Gilford line. I must not be the weak link.”

  I rolled my eyes. Here we go again. Money, money, money. My dramatic sigh answered for me.

  Trenton ignored it and tried hard to sell his conviction. “I have an enormous responsibility to bear. Kat. I’m the last male Gilford.”

  A light breeze had picked up and slapped a few of my wayward strands of hair across my face. When I tucked them behind my ear, I failed to hide my sneer. “If you’re looking for someone to accept your justification, or ease your guilt, you’ve come to the wrong place.”

  Trenton’s face shot up in complete surprise. “Why so apathetic?”

  “Me? Apathetic?” My voice escalated, challenging him. “. . . and you’re the one selling this place?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “No, no, I don’t.” I shook my head. “Please enlighten me, Mr. Gilford, because you spout honor and integrity, but you’re selling the one place it originated because it no longer provides a satisfactory income. That’s not simply a house.” I pointed back to the manor with fervency. “That’s a lifetime of memories!” My response chilled the air.

  His eyes darted around. “I didn’t come here to quarrel.”

  Though I tarried next to the riverbank, I still faced him. “Why did you come here?” I referred to this exact spot—my spot, as if he trespassed on my sacred corner of the land, even though he owned it.

  He moved towards the grassy inlet, the very place I slept the night of the ball. I wanted to reach out and stop him, but I remained stationary. When he smiled, it curled faintly. Like one that triggered a memory. My forehead wrinkled in frustration. Does he think this is a game?

  “I was six when I ran away for the first time.” My jaw tightened, but he wasn’t looking at me. He picked up a rock and tossed it in the water. “I didn’t want to take piano lessons any longer.” His smile widened at the thought of leaving over something so menial. I’d never seen him smile like that, and it caught me off-guard. “So, I ran away from home. I prepared a small knapsack of food and a blanket and came here, right here.” He pointed to my personal oasis.

  An eerie silence hovered for a few minutes as I battled my desire to leave. I hesitated, unsure of what his angle was here or even if he had one, but every time we started a normal conversation, they ended badly.

  A breeze picked up again, and the leaves whooshed in unison overhead. Even the water took a ride on the invisible breath of Mother Nature and broke against the rocks, making the only sounds around us.

  “How long were you gone?” I whispered. His face brightened when I spoke. I even shocked myself at the lack of malice in my tone.

  “About twenty minutes.” He chuckled. I peered closer, astonished at the fluctuating color of his eyes when he laughed. They nearly glowed.

  I grinned back. I could picture the entire household in a panic. The golden child is missing.

  He continued, “I was frightened.” He laughed again. “Terrified of all the sounds, the wind, the river, the bugs. A grasshopper bounced on my leg, and I ran back home in tears.”

  I imagined the sight, and it made me want to laugh too, but I resisted. That would send the message that I actually tolerated him momentarily, and although his story calmed the tension fairly well, silence resumed until he spoke up again.

  “Kat, I’m sorry for any aggravation I may have caused you.”

  Except for the swift fluttering of my eyelashes, I held frighteningly still. Did I hear him correctly?

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.” He added.

  Lightheaded, my hands moved to the sides of my face, as if that might keep the world from spinning. The trees swayed chaotically. “Air, I need air!” Déjà vu struck again! Here, in this very place, Merritt apologized for his actions at the ball. It was the last night I spent with him, only a few nights ago. Now I stood here with his third-generation grandson in the process of his own apology. The moment emerged much too surreal.

  “Are you all right?” Trenton reached out to steady my arms. “You’re shaking. Is it your head?”

  “I . . . uh, I,” My choppy breaths tangled my words.

  “Please, please come sit down.” Trenton led me to the grass. The most common expression I’d seen on Trenton’s face since we met was uncertainty . . . uncertainty about my sanity, most likely. He guided me to sit with one hand cupping my elbow. My mind flashed to Merritt. I missed him immensely. I closed my eyes tightly and wished that he were the one by my side when I opened them. I stared, disappointed.

  I studied his hand touching my skin, his warmth transferred easily. This should’ve been comforting, but he was not Merritt. I took several deep breaths then jumped to my feet. Imbalanced at first, I poised myself long enough for a curtsy and ran back to the house.

  A curtsy? I screamed in my head. Seriously? What was I thinking? Obviously, I wasn’t. I only wanted to get out of there. The need to run from such painful memories superseded logic. Once I reached the edge of the gardens, I dropped to my knees. Why am I always running away? It seem
ed that no matter where I went, whether it’s 1878 or 2010, I was running! And what did it actually do for me . . . nothing . . . absolutely nothing.

  I pressed my palms weightily against my chest and forced my pounding heart to a purr. I knew I came across unstable, but in reality, my mind has been opened. My experience presented a unique perspective, a clarity that allowed me to view history, unlike anyone else. And how dare he take such a beautiful place, a cherished memory, away from me and spoil it! A treasured moment with someone who truly cared for me and me for him.

  Trenton, of course, was unaware of this. I doubted he deliberately tried to cause harm, but once again, as I rushed inside and down the hall, I fought the urge to be on a plane by nightfall.

  Alone in my room, I contemplated my dilemma. Mr. Chill’s schedule fell precisely into a three-day window. After tonight’s dinner party, he would have no reason to stay and tomorrow he could leave as planned. Nothing should keep him from this arrangement, but the more I thought about it the more I realized how wrong I was.

  I instantly recognized my oversight. The night of the fall, I had one more box to finish. Trenton never rushed my return and in his allowance for me to recover, the completion had been overlooked. I scolded myself. This, being the main reason for his visit, might cause delay. I suddenly felt foolish. At any moment, he could have reminded me of that responsibility but chose not to.

  Okay, I stood a little straighter. If he’s waiting for me, I’ll get it done. At the very most his departure would be postponed by one or two days. Until then, I can avoid him. The tours were canceled this week because of my injuries, and with only a wedding on Saturday, there would be no other reason to meet up. If I planned this correctly, I could take my meals in my bedroom versus the dining room. I could avoid all the usual places he occupied and spend most of my time in the rooms he cared little about. This might possibly work. Then we go our separate ways . . . and forget we ever met.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Later that afternoon, I maneuvered the halls like a spy, watching for Trenton to make sure we didn’t cross paths. Although I didn’t see him, preparations ensued for the swanky dinner party he arranged. I recalled the acceptance letters. A dozen titled names would be here tonight. Not that I cared, I had seen the adverse results of entitlement in the nineteenth century.

  Eager to stick to my plan, I hustled to the storage room and retrieved the box. Since the bulk of the papers were in the library, I contemplated working there instead of my bedroom. It would be more convenient, and Trenton was sure to be busy with his guests and have no need to disturb me.

  I set the box down on the floor and got comfortable. Once again, the chaos that met me, from Pauline’s organization skills, left me dumbfounded. After six months in the past, this was the one thing I surely didn’t miss from the future.

  13 July 2008. Wedding contract goes here . . .5 September 2002 Welcome to England tour contract here . . . 25 August 2001, Wedding contract here . . .

  When the sounds from the party grew louder, I put my earbuds in and listened to Coldplay. An hour later, a dozen different piles separated by event and year, laid before me. Twisting my body, I stretched. Then remembered why my legs went to sleep in the first place that fateful night, and especially what happened after that. I stood up and bent over, extending forward and backward, staying far from the cellar.

  A few minutes later, a tap on my shoulder sent me shrieking to the far corner. I turned around and ripped one of my earbuds out of my ear. “Oh, freak—” I cried. “You scared me!”

  “Forgive me.” Trenton stood before me with both palms up, chest high. “I called your name from the door, but you didn’t answer.”

  “I had music,” lifting the cord up to show him, “playing,” I muttered, stealing slight breaths.

  “What are you doing?” He pointed to my newly formed piles.

  “I, uh, knew that I hadn’t finished the last box . . . for your paperwork. I wanted to get it done.”

  “Tonight?” He glanced at his watch. “It’s late. Have you eaten?”

  “Um, no.” I realized I had skipped that meal entirely. If Helen hadn’t been so involved with his dinner, she might’ve been in here shoving biscuits down my throat.

  “Let me get you something.”

  “No, really, I’m fine.” My eyes caught sight of his sharp black dinner jacket and the tie he wore brought out the green in his eyes. I turned away. “I’m fine. I will finish this up and get to bed. Thanks.”

  “Very well.” He nodded and left the room.

  I peered around. I hadn’t even paid attention to the descending sun and the darkness that ensued. I went to the fireplace and lit the log. Staring at the fire as it grew, reminded me of all those nights, I spent here waiting out another miserable wedding. My eyes flew to the window. Six months ago, this glass was a noose around my neck. Today, somehow, it’s just glass. I squeezed my folded arms and went back to work.

  Thankfully, the scanner, I’d brought in for my earlier work, still sat upon the side table where I had left it. Taking one pile at a time, I began copying. An hour later, there was a tap on the door. This time. I heard it. I had been too spooked to keep both earbuds in and let one dangle down my neck.

  “I know you said, you weren’t hungry, but when I mentioned where you were to Helen—”

  “She insisted.” I said, nodding with understanding.

  Trenton set the plate and a glass on the desk. It smelled delicious. “Helen said you like to drink water, but if you want, I can get you something else.”

  I eyed him suspiciously. Why is he being so nice?

  “No, thank you. This is perfect.” I pointed to the food. “Thanks again.”

  Trenton glanced around. “How many boxes did you have to sort through?” He pointed to the remaining piles.

  “Tonight, or all together?”

  His eyebrow raised.

  My mouth gaped open at the next thought. He doesn’t know what it took to get his paperwork done.

  “Both.” He shrugged his shoulders.

  “Well, tonight, I only had one, but before you arrived, there were twenty-seven.”

  “Twenty-seven boxes?”

  “Are you telling me that you really had no idea Ms. Campbell—” I stopped. She was too nice of a person to defame now that she wasn’t here.

  “Trenton, love.” A woman appeared behind him. Her blonde hair perfectly bobbed barely below her chin. Not one strand fell out of place. Her striking eyes burst with color, and her red lips were full and pouty. A blue cocktail dress hugged her figure flawlessly. Draping one arm casually across his shoulders, she held a glass of wine in the other hand and sipped slowly. She studied me, but only spoke to him. “Come join us, Trenton, I’m lonely.” Her words stretched out into a whine.

  I rolled my eyes and walked back to the scanner.

  “I’ll be there soon, Justine.” Trenton’s voice turned towards me. “Kat, do you . . . would you like to join us?”

  I whipped around. My open mouth matched hers. What did he say?

  “Oh, darling,” The woman put her most flattering form in between us and commanded his attention. “She’s working, she’s your . . . uh house manager, right?”

  “Curator. And no thanks, I am working. I need to get this finished.”

  “Why tonight?”

  “So, you don’t need to worry about Charlock anymore, and—”

  “And what?”

  “You can get back to your life.”

  Trenton stepped around her and faced me again. “Not worry about it? Is that what you think?”

  “Oh Trenton, she doesn’t want to come, leave it be, she’s occupied.” The woman whined again. “Let’s go.”

  “Yes, go. Get back to your shin-dig” I turned my back and continued working. If he had been any closer, he would’ve seen smoke coming out of my ears. 132 years later and another Gilford man is seduced by a devil dressed as a goddess, in this very room just like when Margaret appeared t
he night of the ball.

  Ugh, I groaned, I don’t even like him! Why would this whole thing get under my skin?

  When I was sure they had finally departed, I placed the two remaining piles aside for the morning and put the fire out. I didn’t want to take any more chances of additional disruptions. I’d had my fair share of phony tonight and took my plate to eat dinner in my room.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  “So, this is where you hide?” Trenton's face appeared next to the ripe glow of the fire. Caught up in my latest book, I didn't hear him enter the library.

  Startled initially by the interruption, I recovered nicely. “I'm not hiding.” I insisted defensively. Even though I knew I had been all week.

  Trenton's mouth curved into a slight grin. He seemed to always know how to irritate me, and I barely knew him. I tried not to look his direction very long, but even in casual dress, he had that handsome Gilford gene.

  “You don't join the festivities?” He pointed to the crowd celebrating in the gardens. While Trenton canceled all the tours for the week during my recuperation, he felt it would be unfair to cancel the wedding considering the happy couple booked so far in advance. I felt the same way. Despite my personal bypass of the events, I wasn’t completely cold and heartless to others’ emotions.

  “No, I don't.” I didn't elaborate or move to put my book down, suggesting an invitation for conversation. A thick awkwardness lingered. Regardless of the impression I developed of Trenton, he was brought up properly and surely sensed when his presence was not valued.

  He motioned out the window and spoke candidly, “Looks like the affair is all under control, Miss Shelton—”

  “Kat.”

  “Kat. It appears you have an effective system here, and if you don't mind, I’ll retire to my room.” His hand went to the front of his shirt in a very subtle bow—so 'Merritt like' it instantly shook me. Like the night Merritt took my hand before we danced, flashes of his graciousness materialized. I missed him. I missed our walks and talks, our games, and our bond. A friend like that is hard to find in any century.