Charlock's Secret

by Leah Moyes

  “You jaded me!” He wailed.

  I laughed aloud. “Yes, yes, I did.”

  He tried to act miffed, but his countenance betrayed him. He seemed to enjoy the twist.

  “So, Miss Kat . . .” He acknowledged. I loved how he naturally fell into that chivalrous role that long existed in his genes, and surprisingly, when he said the miss this time, it didn’t come across as crisp as it had in the past.

  “Yes, Mr. Trenton?” I responded as effortlessly as possible, though my heart sprinted irritatingly.

  “What's your secret?” he said as he finished his bread.

  “Secret?” I questioned, wondering if he referred to my lawless win with the staring contest.

  “Where does your passion for Charlock come from?” Trenton slid back in his chair casually. He pulled one foot up to rest on the other knee; he seemed quite comfortable here with me now.

  In the last three days, he followed each of my tours from start to finish, and I’d grown used to his presence. After each group, we visited on the veranda for hours. I hated to think of the coming months, the pending sale, and how everything would change.

  I shrugged innocently. “I love history.” I presumed this wasn't what he meant, but I continued. “I love to wonder what stories aren't told. What really happened, you know, the unwritten words in record books?” I glanced at him; he appeared to enjoy my response, so I continued. “I love to research connections, who belonged to who and what would have happened had they gone a different direction.” He remained quiet, “and what would happen if someone changed all that in one moment of stupidity, chance, reservation, courage . . . and that thin thread of time was altered.” Oh, there I go again. When am I ever going to learn to shut up!

  Trenton leaned forward; his foot dropped to the ground with a slight thud. His eyes captivated and confused at the same time. “See?” He grinned. “Passion.”

  “It's not unlike the passion you have for business.” I pointed out. “You and your family have been successful because you took your passion and positioned it in the most effective way. I just haven't quite figured out how to get my passion to pay off monetarily.” I laughed.

  Trenton smiled, but several wrinkles emerged on his forehead. “Kat?”

  “Yes?”

  “I really am curious how you know all that stuff about my family. Stuff that has never been written, like you say—the untold story. Is all that you share on the tours really true?”

  “Like what?” I fidgeted with my napkin. Allowing this conversation to proceed was dangerous. I knew since my return, that my descriptions were much more involved, even to the point I forgot there were patrons present. I only expressed what I remembered, but maybe I did go too far.

  “Like the story of Abagale and how she hid her dolls, I’ve never heard that before, or that Merritt didn’t really like going to church. Or your description of the family sitting for the portrait . . . and I knew Peter drowned, but I didn’t know he followed Merritt to the river and fell off a log. I’ve read Merritt’s journals and his mother’s journal as well. Nothing that specific has been documented.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. “Do you think I could see those journals sometime?” I changed the subject.

  “Sure.” Trenton’s smile only reached halfway. “You’re avoiding my question, though.”

  My bite went from my cheek to my bottom lip. How will we ever get past this? He seemed determined to find out. “Let’s make a deal,” he added as the half-smile swelled to a full one, “the journals for your source.”

  I fell silent while my spirit toyed with temptation. He asked me several times before how I came to this knowledge, and I have always evaded a direct answer every time. Have we reached a point comfortable enough to tell him the truth? I’d be crazy to confess. In my head, I believe I lived it. I was only gone one night here when I supposedly lived six months in 1878. How do you even begin to explain that to a rational person without them thinking you’re nuts? Maybe I am? Maybe I finally went off the deep end and lost my mind for half a year?

  “Kat?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You still with me?”

  “Yes.” I took a deep breath. “Trenton, I’ve wanted to tell you something for a while.”

  I couldn’t believe I veered down this path. When he reached for my hand, I was sure he could feel me trembling. A raindrop hit my nose. I peered up to see a few more join it. The day started out beautifully; I hoped this was not a forewarning on how it would end. Yes, I’m superstitious.

  The sky suddenly opened, and the rain came down in sheets. Trenton didn’t let go as we scrambled to run inside. Chuckling at our sudden diversion, we shook the rain from our drenched clothes before he led me to the entry hall.

  “Would you like to change into something dry first?” Trenton asked as I squeezed the excess water from my hair. Hennessey promptly appeared with towels. His nose curled in slight disgust towards the puddle I created on the marble floor.

  “No,” I declined, knowing full well if I went upstairs, I’d talk myself out of coming down ever again. “Let’s talk here.” I pointed to a settee and sat down. Trenton followed me over and sat quite close, close enough to hear my breath become labored. A reaction partly due to what I was about to tell him and partly because of his proximity. I tried to remain focused. I really wanted to talk to someone about this but was petrified that someone would be Trenton.

  “I'm not sure how to say this.” I wiped the rain still drizzling down my chin. I glanced around the room, everywhere but Trenton’s face. He will think I’m crazy. I can’t do this! I parted my lips to allow another long inhale to enter, then paused.

  Trenton patted my hand and waited until my eyes met his. “Is it about your fiancé, Jeff?”

  Heat instantly warmed my cheeks. “Wh—what?” I muttered, completely taken back. My heart beat in twos, the raindrops that settled at the top of my forehead now mixed with budding perspiration. “What do you know about Jeff?” The tone emerged defensively.

  “I—I'm sorry,” He stumbled. “I overheard you on the phone with your mom one night in the library. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but you were crying.” Concern materialized on his face. “Gretchen told me he died last year.”

  I choked. No words came out. My hand pressed against my chest as if I needed compressions to get air into my lungs. I don’t want to talk about this.

  “I'm sorry for your loss, Kat.” Trenton's voice carried a sadness to it.

  My mind continued to tussle for understanding or . . . acceptance. Part of me felt relieved that he knew, but most of me wanted to keep that buried.

  “Was the necklace you lost from him?”

  Muddled, I tried to find a balance. Everything felt amiss. Should I just go for it and lay it all out there, or do I let it go? “Uh, yes, um . . . ”

  “I’m sorry you lost it. I went down there and scoured the space, it’s not there.”

  I peeked up to see regret in his eyes, “Um, thank you.” A coat of sweat now covered the bridge of my nose. “It—it’s been a hard year and a half.” My lips pressed together as doubt crept in. My wet hair and clothes dripped to the floor beneath us. I could hear each drop connect with acute awareness. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something else.” It came out awkwardly. What could be more important than Jeff? He seemed to brace for bad news.

  “but . . .” I murmured, “it’s not the right time.”

  “I understand.” Although I just seemed to notice, Trenton’s hand remained over mine this entire time. “I want you to know that you can tell me anything.” He reassured.

  I gnawed on the inside of my cheek again. Everything in my head screamed for me to run, but I knew if I didn’t try now, I never would again. And he’d continue to push for answers.

  “Do you remember the night you found me after I fell?”

  “Yes,” he recalled. “How could I forget it . . . you hit your head significantly hard. The first thing I thought was that you
would sue me.”

  I smiled with that thought. I could see him thinking that first. “Well, I was dressed different, remember?”

  “Yes, the costume, the one you wear for the tours.”

  “It’s not really a costume.”

  “What do you mean?” His fingers rubbed against my skin tenderly. Focus, Kat! “The dress is authentic. Joanne gave it to me.”

  “Joanne? Joanne who?”

  “Joanne Wadsworth Gilford”

  “Wadsworth? From Wadsworth Hall?”

  “Well, yes, the same Wadsworth family but . . .” I shook my head. This was much more difficult than anticipated.

  “I'm sorry. I’m not following you.” Lines appeared between his eyes. “Should I know who this Joanne is?”

  My head bobbed up and down.

  “Who is she?”

  With hesitance, I pointed to the portrait above the stairs. It was angled a bit from our position, but his eyes followed my finger.

  “Merritt’s wife,” I whispered.

  He took a double take, “That Merritt?”

  I nodded again.

  His face tipped sideways. “I’m sorry, Kat. I still don’t understand what you’re trying to say. How could she have given you a dress?” He gave me the look that rivaled all others, but it was too late to turn back now. Everything had to come out.

  “Fine,” I snapped. “Here it is. I met her in 1878.”

  “1878? Like the year, 1878?”

  “Yes.” My tone elevated with agitation, “1878, Trenton.” I brushed it off and continued, “The night before you arrived, I was working late in the library . . . on the paperwork you needed, and I fell. Previously to when you found me. I fell down the stairs, hit my head, and woke up in 1878.”

  His eyes shifted nervously. He must’ve realized I wasn’t joking because his hand now slipped from mine to his lap.

  “I was stuck in 1878 for six months, and I lived here,” I stood up and shook both hands around. “Here in this house. My room was the one upstairs, on the left end corner. I was Lizzy and Abby's governess until the maggot, Margaret, the woman Merritt was under contract to marry, made my life a living hell. She was selfish, mean, and manipulating. Her lies managed to have me thrown out. That is until Merritt realized I really didn’t try to kill him.” I took a quick breath and kept going, “I actually performed CPR on him, can you believe it, CPR and saved his life. Although, I was the one who also caused Captain to buck, but we don't talk about that. Joanne found me in desolate conditions and helped me get a job at the Attwood’s near Kemble. Come to find out she was actually Johnna, the woman Merritt secretly loved since childhood, but couldn't marry because when her parents died, she had no fortune. I spent countless hours trying to knock some sense into Merritt, and out of the blue once again fell down those bloody cellar stairs when you found me.” I hadn't looked at Trenton directly that entire time. “I know this sounds completely crazy. I know it comes across like I should be committed, but it’s true. How could I possibly know all those intimate details if I hadn't been there and witnessed it all myself?”

  Trenton stood up slowly and walked towards a window. The rain fell steadily and pooled effortlessly on the grounds. The thunder cracked the silence and caused me to jump, but he still didn’t move. My hands shook, and the burn behind my eyes spread to my nose. I slid behind him. “Say something, Trenton.” My heart pounded. “Please?”

  He remained fixed with his back to me. He seemed to be engaged in each individual splatter on the pane. “Trenton?” My voice cracked.

  “What am I supposed to say?” He whispered.

  I suddenly realized what was happening—the very thing I feared. He doesn't believe me. How could he? It was the most absurd thing anyone has ever heard of. If it hadn't happened to me, I wouldn't believe it myself. How could I be this stupid!

  “Yeah,” I wiped a stray tear. “You know . . .” my cheeks filled, and I blew out a lengthy breath, “I'm sorry I said anything.” My speech slurred, although the substance didn't matter, since it seemed to fall upon deaf ears. “It must’ve been a dream or something.”

  While Trenton was present in body, his mind remained far from me. I maneuvered towards the base of the stairs and stared longingly at the portrait. Was it real? I centered on Merritt’s eyes. Was it?

  I rotated my head in Trenton’s direction and spoke with a weakness in my voice. “Mr. Gilford.” I whispered, straining to make sure he heard me. “Please forget I ever said anything. I . . . uh, my mind is scrambled right now, most likely since birth, I assume.” This was my faint attempt at humor under the severe awkwardness. It was if I addressed a Greek statue. He never moved or spoke. He said nothing. “Excuse me.” I choked the words out halfway down the hall.

  How come you never learn? I screamed at myself once I reached my room. I knew in my heart that this was something that no matter what I felt should’ve never left my lips. How could I have been so caught up that I could’ve possibly thought someone else would understand? I don't even understand!

  I didn't come out of my room for the rest of the day. Even when Hennessey came to retrieve me for dinner, I refused and spent the night in reflection. I tried to find a way to fix it, unsure if it could be. How will Trenton look at me? Will he look at me? Does it really matter now? Now that the task at hand was complete, he might no longer want my help with his other projects and leave for London immediately. My name will be nothing more than faulty hiring in his mind.

  The ring of my cell phone startled me. “Mom?” I whimpered. I tried hard to not let her hear me cry. I failed.

  Early the next morning, I found Trenton at work in the office focused diligently on some paperwork. Determined to carry on as if yesterday never happened, I hoped he didn't see the bags underneath my eyes or the swelling that had settled into my eyelids.

  “Good morning, Mr. Gilford,” I announced upon entry. He didn’t look up.

  “Morning, Miss Shelton.” So bloody stiff again. I countered his frosty greeting with business, the one thing we could both hide behind effectively.

  “Did you look over the proposal I drafted for the new security contract?”

  “I did. It was precisely what I needed, thank you.”

  Still, no eye contact. “Do you want me to fax it this morning?”

  “I already did.” He was still grossly engaged in his reports as he spoke. Of course, he did . . . I thought. He’s tying up all the loose ends to leave.

  “I realize this is bad timing,” I announced. “I know you have pressing business in London, but I have some things I need to take care of back in New York. I can return in two weeks and see the sale of Charlock through until the deal is complete . . . or longer if the buyers need a management overlap.” I bit my bottom lip to keep myself from crying and continued. “We only have three tours scheduled, and I can reschedule them or send them to Hemsworth,” I paused, “unless you feel my return is unnecessary.”

  He continued to type uninterrupted on his laptop. “When do you leave?”

  “I have a flight out this afternoon.”

  “Do you have a ride to the airport?”

  “Yes,” I lied. I planned to ring a cab.

  “Could you return by July 16th?”

  “I could.”

  “Very well, enjoy your holiday.”

  And that was that. When I boarded my plane less than four hours later, I took comfort in knowing that despite all of my many faults, my family loved me. While my trip to New York wasn't exactly urgent in nature, I was desperate to feel the loving arms of my family around me. I needed to go home.

  Chapter Forty-two

  Two weeks later, when I stepped off the jetway and into the Heathrow Airport, a small nagging feeling reminded me of the last conversation I engaged in here. I exposed a most vulnerable side when I revealed to Trenton, my time travel journey. While I can't blame him for the doubtful response, it was hard to shake.

  I replayed the moment over and over in my mind a thousand t
imes in my absence and wished I had had an ounce of sense to have stopped myself before it happened. With no contact during my leave, and only a brief text yesterday about my flight, I wasn't sure how to face Trenton now.

  I was determined—regardless of his impression of me—that this was one commitment I would not run from. I intended to complete my end of the contract, at least until the sale of Charlock is finalized regardless of what Mr. Gilford presumed of me.

  As I wound around through the terminal and towards baggage reclaim, I reflected on how wonderful my visit had been back in the states with my family. Mom and Dad were still busy running the deli but picked up a few employees since my brothers and I left home. I still jumped behind the counter and helped while I was there because nothing compared to the smell of freshly baked bread, aged cheeses, and crisp veggies all in one place.

  While I vowed to never again tell anyone about my time travel ordeal, I still shared story after story about the Gilfords and for all my parents knew I had learned all about them through research. They grew to love the family as much as I did. I heartily wished I could bring them over here to see Charlock Manor someday in person; unfortunately, the new buyers were not clear on whether they would continue the tours and weddings or maintain it as a private residence.

  I quickly neared the baggage carousel to retrieve my suitcase and hail a taxi. This time, as I passed embracing couples, I hardly glanced at their direction. It surprised me a little, even scared me a bit that I no longer felt the instant rage and anger from other’s happiness. I stood still for a moment as I relished the feeling. My breathing was normal, my hands calm, and my face relaxed. I almost felt like a normal bystander. Once past security, a gentleman in a sharp black suit with matching hat held out a sign with my name on it.

  “I’m Katharine Shelton,” I confirmed, bewildered. He smiled and introduced himself as my driver.

  “I didn't make reservations for a car.”

  “It was at the request of the estate, Miss Shelton. I hope you had a comfortable flight.”