I sat bolt upright in bed. Had I just dreamed of Jane Everly or was my mind playing tricks on me? Max hadn’t mentioned anything about Hugo Everly having a younger sister, so my overwrought imagination probably just made her up. This place was having a very strange effect on me. I stretched and got out of bed, ready for another day of ironing out details, sending information to my boss, Lawrence Spellman, and conferring with him regarding various minutiae before drawing up the paperwork.
I was just putting on my coat to walk over to the museum when I saw Evan’s car pull into the car park visible from the foyer window. My first impulse was to run out the back door and make for the woods, but that would be immature, not to mention pointless. He’d track me down sooner or later, and the conversation that I didn’t want to have would take place. There was no time like the present, although, in my mind, there was nothing left to say. I said I’d needed time to think, to sort things out, but my heart had sorted things out months ago. Now all I had to do was make Evan understand. Something he had difficulty doing when it wasn’t in line with his own wishes. I zipped up my coat and walked out the door in an effort to prevent the confrontation from happening within hearing distance of the Everlys or their staff. I didn’t like to wash my linen in public, as Lady Everly seemed to enjoy doing, so I walked briskly toward the car, nodding in response to Evan’s greeting.
I hadn’t seen Evan in nearly three months, and was surprised to see that he’d lost weight off his already lanky frame, and there were a few more grays in his sandy hair. His eyes, behind the fashionable rimless glasses, looked anxious as he studied me for a moment, but his lips stretched into a cautious smile as I drew closer.
“Neve, you look great,” Evan said as he leaned in for a kiss which I avoided by turning my head. He kissed my cheek instead and gave me his arm, turning us toward the bleak garden. We walked in silence for a few minutes; each one overcome with deep emotion, but unwilling to speak. Finally, Evan broke the silence.
“Neve, come home. Please. I know I’ve been an absolute shit, but I can’t do without you. The flat feels so empty, and nothing is right. Even Natasha misses you.” He gave me a look of pure misery, which I would have believed had I not seen him use it in court to win over a jury and make them feel sympathy for his client.
“I can’t,” I replied, wishing he’d understand.
“Why? You’ve lost the child, so the problem is gone. We can start again.”
“It wasn’t a ‘problem,’ Evan; it was a human being, one I wanted very badly. It’s clear to me that we want different things, so can we just drop the pretense that we are still a couple? My feelings have changed.” I didn’t want to come straight out and tell him that I no longer loved him, but my meaning was clear.
“I’ll make it up to you. How about Paris in the spring or Tuscany in the summer? You know how you love a holiday. It’ll be like a honeymoon. We’ll have wine-soaked dinners, strolls in moonlit gardens, and nights of making love in some quaint little inn. Think about it.”
“Evan, my feelings will not be soothed by meals or walks. You showed me very clearly what matters to you, and it’s not me or my needs. You never even wanted to discuss the pregnancy; you just wanted me to get rid of it, as if it were a bag of trash. Would you still want to go on holiday if I were pregnant, expecting a baby you don’t want? Would you be there with me when I went into labor or brought home our baby?” I stopped and stared him down, willing him to answer.
“No, I wouldn’t be. I made that clear,” he said, finally dropping the pretense and staring right back.
“Well, let me make this clear — we are finished. I will collect my things from the flat once I come back to London. Until then, please don’t call me or message me. There’s nothing to say, and I don’t want to nurture this animosity between us.” I turned on my heel and strode from the garden, leaving Evan standing among the shriveled flower beds, the frost sparkling like diamonds in the hazy sunshine. He stood there until I’d walked to the museum and disappeared through the door after one last look at the man whom I’d loved for the past four years. I wasn’t happy, but I felt a satisfying sense of closure, which under the circumstances, was all I could hope for.
I was just entering the foyer of the museum when Max emerged from the library looking extremely shamefaced. “Neve, I was looking for you,” he said and beckoned me to join him in the library. “I wanted to apologize for last night. My mother thinks that humiliating me in front of guests will somehow induce me to procreate on demand,” he stated with a mulish expression that nearly made me laugh.
“Would it be so awful to marry and have a family?” It was none of my business, but I was curious why Max still wasn’t married at his age. He was handsome, charming, titled, and presumably wealthy.
“No, it wouldn’t, if I could do it on my own terms. I was engaged to a wonderful girl a few years ago, but Mummy -– he said that with bitter sarcasm that showed plainly how he felt -– didn’t approve. She did everything in her power to break us up and eventually my fiancée left me, saying that marriage was hard enough, and she wasn’t prepared to deal with the interference of my mother in every detail of our life. Can’t say I blame her. I tried to win her back, but she stood firm. She was right, too. My mother would have made her life a misery.”
“I’m sorry. That must have been difficult for you,” I said, secretly siding with the fiancée. I wouldn’t care to deal with Naomi Everly either.
“Well, I’m pushing forty now,” Max stated dramatically, “so, my mother is a little more flexible on my choice of bride, but I just haven’t met anyone I wanted to share my life with since Lauren. By the by, who was that chap I saw you talking to in the garden?”
“That was Evan, my one-time partner. It’s over between us.”
“Poor man. Wouldn’t want to be in his shoes,” Max quipped as he drew a little closer to me. “What had he done to get the boot?”
“It’s a long story. I actually have some work to do, so if you don’t mind…” I didn’t want to be rude, but unbidden tears sprang to my eyes at the thought of Evan and the baby.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. Tactless of me,” Max stammered at seeing my distress. “I do apologize. I seem to be doing that a lot. Would you join me for a drink later? I promise, no personal questions or inappropriate comments of any kind.” He laid his hand on his heart, and I couldn’t help but smile. He really was sweet.
“Sure, a drink would be lovely,” I replied, hoping it was at a pub rather than at Everly Manor.
“Say, around six at the Richard Onslow?” Max asked as he turned toward the door.
“Yes. See you there.”
Chapter 6
I spent the next few days in a flurry of activity, punctuated by meals and walks with Max. His easygoing manner made me feel comfortable and for the first time in months, I felt lighter of spirit. The conversation with Evan actually helped as well; making me feel as if I’d finally reached the end of that chapter in my life and could turn the page without constantly looking back. I still grieved for the baby, but I was coming to terms with my loss and starting to consider the future. Eventually, I’d have to start dating again, which was a daunting prospect, but for now, I didn’t have to make any decisions or commitments; I could just take life day by day and see where it took me. My new resolve was even commented on by Max, who remarked that I seemed happier somehow. I’d noticed a change in my physical appearance as well. The haunted look in my eyes had been replaced by a calmer, more purposeful gaze, and my skin and hair seemed to take on a new glow, whether from my improved mental state or the fact that I was spending time away from the smog of London in the fresh country air of Surrey.
I hadn’t had any more strange dreams, but the one I did have, had stayed with me. I could still feel the anguish of the young woman at the thought of being parted from her child, and wondered if in the psychedelic realm of dreams she represented me, struggling to accept the fact that her baby couldn’t stay with her
. Perhaps my mind was looking for ways to work through the hurt and move on. I hoped so because I was a happy person by nature, and could no longer bear the crippling sadness I’d felt for the past few months.
Thoughts of Hugo Everly often caught me unawares, making me wonder about what happened to the man every time I passed his portrait in the gallery. His dark eyes seemed to follow me, a mixture of amusement and arrogance, so deftly captured by the artist, immortalized on the handsome face that would never age. What had I really seen that day? I believed that what I saw had been real, but my mind couldn’t accept the fact that I might have gone back in time. The notion was absurd, not to mention completely implausible. I did some half-hearted research on time travel and found some theories about ley lines, but nothing concrete, of course, since time travel was scientifically not possible. Or was it?
I’d also tried to research the site of the church. There wasn’t much to be found online, so I decided to ask Vicar Lambert, who was only too happy to oblige. A brand-new packet of chocolate biscuits had been produced for the occasion, the kettle whistling on the hob as the vicar set out the cups and saucers with great ceremony, practically beaming with the desire to help. He was under the false impression that the information would be used in the film somehow, and I decided not to disillusion him since the notion gave him such pleasure. At last the tea was poured, and the vicar settled himself with a cup, leaning back in his chair as he took a dainty bite of the biscuit and surveyed me over the rim of the cup.
“I don’t mind telling you, Neve dear, that this church was built on an ancient Pagan site of worship. I think I might have mentioned that before. That was often the case in medieval times, partially intended to take advantage of the structure and materials that were already there, and also to bring in the Pagan members of the community to the church. I personally think that it was also done with the purpose of obliterating the original holy place in order to discourage people from continuing to frequent it. Some of these ancient beliefs were so deeply rooted that the only way to keep people from continuing to practice them, was to try to wipe them out altogether.”
“Did it work?” I asked, wondering how people reacted to having their place of worship desecrated.
“Not right away, no. There were still those who adhered to the old ways, but eventually Christianity won out, as it always does,” the vicar added pompously, “and the heathens saw the light of Christ, shining so brightly and burning away their past sins. The Good Lord would never punish someone for their ignorance. After all, these poor creatures didn’t know any better, did they, but they knew enough to accept Christ into their hearts, which is all that matters.”
I felt a long sermon coming on and balked at the idea. Clearly, Vicar Lambert was not packing the church on Sundays, so his eloquent preaching was wasted on precious few who still came. I wouldn’t be one of them and needed a way to politely change the subject without offending the good vicar.
“Vicar, please tell me more about the crypt,” I asked, hoping that the vicar would warm up to that theme instead. He did.
“Well, the crypt just happens to be part of the old Pagan structure that was here long before the church was built. The builders cleverly utilized the stone floor and the walls, but added the columns and the vaulted ceiling before building the church itself.”
“Were any alterations made to the crypt since the church was built?” I asked, trying to find some explanation for my experience. Why did I go to the seventeenth century if the crypt dated back to Pictish times? If I tried again, would I end up in the same year? I didn’t know what year I went to, but Hugo vanished in 1685 around the age of thirty-five, which meant that I saw him within a few years of that date, judging by his appearance. He couldn’t have been younger than thirty-three or older than thirty-five.
“As a matter of fact,” Vicar Lambert told me confidentially, leaning in and lowering his voice, as if we might be overheard by some Druids who just happened to be hanging around since the Dark Ages and were just waiting for this little tidbit of information, “the crypt had to be reinforced in mid-seventeenth century. The walls were cracking, from the weight of the church above it, I suppose, so another layer of stone was added on the inside of the crypt, as well as some handsome carvings. I’m sure you’ve seen them. Before that, the walls were just plain unhewn stone.”
“Were any additional exits put in place then, or any tunnels leading outside?” No one could accuse me of giving up easily.
“I don’t believe so. Why do you ask?” The Vicar’s face suddenly lit up, understanding dawning, although it wasn’t at all what I had meant. “Is there a scene in the film where someone escapes the church by means of a secret tunnel?”
“Not as far as I know, but if there was a tunnel, it might be written in. Viewers just love the romance such scenes create,” I improvised, feeling a trifle guilty for misleading the poor vicar.
“I’ll tell you what; you have another cup of tea, and I will look for the original blueprints of the church. I’m fairly certain that no secret tunnel exits, but we must make sure mustn't we, for the sake of art.”
I raised my teacup in a toast, “For the sake of art,” I repeated as I reached for another biscuit.
To the vicar’s great disappointment, the blueprints didn’t show any secret passages or forgotten exits leading out of the crypt, but he quickly recovered, asking if I might have had an opportunity to speak to the director about his part. I had actually asked Lawrence if he might have use of the vicar, but he emphatically declined, saying that’s what actors were for. I hated to disappoint the jolly old man, but casting really wasn’t up to me. Vicar Lambert looked crestfallen as I thanked him for the tea and left the church, stepping into the deceptively mild March afternoon. I was glad that winter was finally over. I’d always hated winter, and the promise of spring lifted my spirits as I climbed the ridge back to Everly Manor.
Chapter 7
I heard it said that once an idea takes root in the mind it’s very difficult to dislodge it, and this particular idea kept growing in mine for over a week before I finally had to act on it. I needed to know what happened to me that day in the crypt and prove to myself that I hadn’t imagined the whole thing. I reasoned that as long as I could get back to the present as I had before, I was in no danger. I had spent the past few weeks researching the seventeenth century for work, so I thought I could easily blend in for an hour or so and see how things stood for myself before I returned to my own time.
I actually wanted to meet Hugo and talk to him, to know that he was real and not just a figment of my imagination. The notion that two people from centuries apart could come together for even a fleeting moment in time, and make a connection where none was possible, was more enticing than I would admit even to myself. I wasn’t looking for validation or glory, and I would tell no one of what I had experienced, but having the ability to do something which no one else had ever done before was too tantalizing to pass up. I had no idea what I would say, and every dialogue that I invented in my mind sounded false and contrived, but I felt a physical need to meet the man, to be in the same room and hear the sound of his voice, to try to find out what happened to him, and to Jane, if she actually existed outside my overwrought imagination.
On Saturday morning, I told Max that I was going to London for the day. It was the weekend, so he’d have no reason to expect me to stay at the house, and as far as I knew he had plans of his own, which suited my needs perfectly. I drove my car to a car park in the village and left it there since I could hardly leave the car at the manor and walk to the church without arousing Max’s suspicions. The rest was easy enough. I’d stopped by the museum the day before and selected a seventeenth-century gown, a chemise and stockings, shoes, and a fur-lined cloak of midnight blue velvet from one of the trunks. I didn’t take one of the elaborate gowns on display, but a simple one of brown damask with an underskirt of the same shade of cream as the slashing in the sleeves. It was the gown of a lady, but it was
n’t pretentious or expensive, so if it got ruined, I wouldn’t feel too guilty. The cloak was a bit extravagant, but it was the only thing warm enough for the chilly weather outside, and I made a promise to myself to take good care of it and bring it back in pristine condition.
I took the hold-all out of the boot, locked the car, and walked the short distance to the church. The morning was sunny but cold, and my breath came out in small white puffs as I hurried along. I grew more nervous now that the moment was at hand, but my feet carried me along, moving even faster now that I was hesitating. Was I mad? I asked myself as I passed through the lichen-covered gate and made for the church porch. Would a sane person do what I was about to do? But my mind demanded answers, and I couldn’t live without learning the truth of what happened to me that day. I stopped in front of the door and counted to ten to calm my racing heart. I could still turn back, but if I were honest with myself, I didn’t want to.
I pushed open the door and entered the church. Sounds of conversation could be heard from the vestry, Vicar Lambert’s voice clearly audible as he made a comment and then chuckled good-naturedly, but I didn’t hear an answering voice, so perhaps the vicar was on a call. The church itself was blessedly empty, the morning light filtering through the stained glass windows and filling the church with a rainbow of color. My footsteps echoed on the stone floor as I made my way down the nave, disrupting the solemn hush of the place. Why was the quiet of a church so different from any other sound? You felt as if you were disturbing God himself if you so much as made a sound. I rushed over to the stairway to the crypt and skipped down before anyone became aware of my presence. The crypt looked much as it had before, but eerier since I didn’t turn on the light. The knight kept his silent vigil over the rest of the residents, his hands gripping the hilt of the sword resting against his breastplate.
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