Across the Sands of Time

by Kavanagh, Pamela

  Jessica Platt’s mouth tightened.

  ‘What you say doesn’t surprise me one jot. I make no secret of it, John Royle. Words cannot express how often my brother-by-marriage has been reminded of his indiscretion in these matters. But there you have it. The man’s a fool and a drunken one at that.’ She lifted her chin.

  ‘What happens to him is no more than he deserves. However, my sister is a different case. Rest assured, should anything untoward occur at the tavern, her well-being will be taken care of. I hope with all my heart that this visit you saw was not an official one. Marion is in extremely poor health. Such trauma would do her absolutely no good at all.’

  ‘But – begging your pardon, ma’am – it looked uncommon official to me.’

  ‘Then we shall have to hope and pray that you are mistaken! It could well be that they were passing and felt in need of some liquid refreshment. If not, there is nothing can be done about the excise men in their working capacity. It might be best to forget what you saw, John Royle.’

  John’s deep-grey eyes narrowed. He felt he could be treading troubled waters here. How much did the lady of Fernlea really know of the illicit trading that went on in the dark of the moon? Was she involved herself? He wouldn’t have been at all surprised.

  Jessica Platt cleared her throat.

  ‘You mentioned another matter. Am I to know what it was about?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. I wish to speak of your niece. Polly and I have a – a fondness for each other. I wanted to ask for her hand, but unhappily the move was thwarted.’

  ‘Well put, man. So what now?’

  ‘I think you may know of Polly’s whereabouts.’

  ‘I?’ The strong black brows rose archly. ‘Fie, sir. What gives you that idea?’

  ‘I know how Polly confided in you. Her removal was too swift to have been done under normal circumstances. Someone who could pull strings had to have had a hand in it. Begging your pardon, ma’am, but that someone could only be yourself.’

  In his need, John unwittingly twisted his cap in his salt-roughened hands.

  ‘I love Polly and want her for my wife. Please, ma’am. Could you let me have her current address.’

  For a few trying seconds Jessica hesitated. Then she gave a little shrug and turned back to her desk. Taking up a sheet of writing vellum, she dipped the quill into the inkwell and wrote what he requested, sanding it lightly to dry the ink.

  ‘There you are, young man. You will find Polly at this house. I must add that she is settled in her new life and not unhappy. Giving it all up will not be undertaken lightly. But then mayhap true love will prevail.’

  Her tone was wry and slightly mocking. Taking the sheet of paper, John folded it neatly and stowed it away in his trouser pocket.

  ‘My thanks, ma’am. I assure you that in this case, it will.’

  She smiled at that, her fine dark eyes twinkling.

  ‘I believe you, John Royle. May God go with you. Mind you give Polly my deepest regards when you see her.’

  Next instant she had summoned the maid and John was being shown out.

  He put a fair distance between himself and the house before glancing at what she had given him.

  Polly Dakin, c/o Jerome Kendrick Esquire, 3, Stanley Place, Chester.

  The elegant copperplate danced before his gaze. So that’s where Polly had vanished to! She had gone into service with one of the Chester gentry and would be working all hours as a kitchen maid, or perhaps a nursemaid if she were lucky. At least he could now go and seek her out.

  All thought of the running tide and the catch that awaited fled. First he would go home and spruce himself up, then he would hire a horse from the livery yard and be on his way.

  Within the hour he was doing just that, trotting the hired hack smartly down the village street. Passing the Harbour House, he ranged the yard for any signs of upheaval. All seemed undisturbed. Mollified, since he had a certain affection for the old rogue of an innkeeper, John applied his heels to the horse’s sides and pressed on.

  He was approaching the Chester Road when a fellow rider came cantering towards him, pulling up sharply in a cloud of dust from the unmade country lane.

  ‘Ho, there, John! Where are you bound in such a hurry?’

  The rider was Edward Dakin.

  John and Edward had been boyhood pals. As youths their way had parted somewhat. John had had a living to make and the hardship of battling with tide and weather had swiftly made a man of him, whilst Edward, the only son of a thriving establishment and never short of a coin or two in his pocket, had enjoyed the sort of freedom most young men could only dream of.

  Until Susanna Marsdon had come along. Edward’s enchantment with the parson’s pretty daughter had pulled him up short and the drinking and carousing had stopped. Now Edward, by all accounts, was joining the rigid ranks of the legal profession.

  John reined in his horse.

  ‘Edward – good day to you. Your horse is in a lather. Is all well?’

  ‘Aye, but there’s been a spot of bother at the tavern. I had to ride into Neston to check out some details at the firm of solicitors I’m with. All sorted now, fortunately.’

  ‘I’m glad. Would it have been to do with a certain visit from the authorities? I chanced on them earlier.’

  ‘Did you, indeed? Well, it stands to reason you won’t be blind to what goes on there. Nobody is. Father’s got away with it this time. By the skin of his teeth, I might add.’ Edward lowered his voice. ‘The cellar had been cleared of certain goods only last night, happily for all concerned. Father must watch his tongue, though. That’s how there came to be an inspection.’

  ‘I did try to warn him.’

  ‘Did you? You’re a good man, John. Polly missed her chance with you.’

  ‘Not entirely.’ John’s eyes glimmered. ‘I’ve just come from Fernlea.’

  ‘What – you bearded the lioness in her den?’ Edward gave a shout of laughter. ‘Brave man! Jessica’s a woman one doesn’t care to cross. Though she’s not a bad sort once you get to know her. What happened?’

  ‘I wanted to know where Polly was biding.’

  ‘And?’

  John patted his top pocket, where the sheet of paper giving Polly’s abode rested.

  ‘I’m on my way to see her.’

  Edward looked impressed.

  ‘Well, I’d best not hold you up any longer. Just one more thing.…’ His face sobered. ‘Mama is failing fast. When you see Polly, you might tell her not to linger.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Edward.’

  ‘Yes, well, Mama never was strong.’ Edward gathered up his reins. ‘Best of luck, John! Give Polly my fondest love and tell her I hope to see her soon.’

  A farewell salute, and they went their separate ways. John’s heart sang as he spurred his horse along the open highway to Chester. Not long now and he would see his Polly again.

  He was not to know that Polly was trudging homewards, weary and footsore, having left the main route with its many hazards for the unwary traveller, and was taking instead the quieter sandy lanes that wove across country towards Parkgate.

  ‘Oh, no! You’ll miss each other! You must turn back!’

  Thea jerked awake, her cry strangled in her throat, the rattle of iron-shod hooves on the gritty road becoming the strident buzzing of a telephone at her elbow. Fogged with sleep, it took a moment or two to realize where she was. The phone rang on. Thea reached out to answer it.

  ‘Miss Partington?’ The broad Irish brogue of the hotel night attendant was harsh in her ear. ‘Sure then, if there isn’t a Mr Shane here, asking to see you. Hold on a minute, please. I’ll put him on the line.’

  It was pitch dark. Pushing her heavy weight of hair back from her face, Thea struggled up in the bed and switched on the bedside lamp. The room sprang into brightness. Squinting, she saw with a groan that her small travel clock indicated five-twenty in the morning. Next instant, Dominic’s voice came over the line.

  ‘Thea, are yo
u there?’

  ‘What? Yes, of course but … Dominic, what’s going on? Have you any idea what time it is?’

  ‘Getting on for six, I should imagine. Thea, I need to speak with you and I don’t have much time to spare. The hotel is rustling up coffee and something to eat. Could you come down? I’ll be in the foyer.’

  ‘Oh but … oh, very well. How did you find me?’

  ‘You left a message at the airport, remember? I came straight over here. Thea, this is urgent. I need to get back but I must see you first.’

  ‘Give me five minutes to get dressed and I’ll be there.’

  She rang off, feeling horribly disoriented and uncharacteristically out of sorts. She never had been one for dramatics and Dominic, with his impulsive ways and apparent knack for landing himself in the thick of trouble, really was pushing his luck this time.

  But he had made an effort to see her, a small inner voice reminded. And emergencies could crop up in any place and at any time. The least she could do was go and hear him out.

  Leaving the still-tempting comfort of the bed, she splashed her face with cold water to wake herself up, scrambled into some clothes and left the room.

  Dominic was seated in a secluded corner of the hotel foyer, a tray of steaming coffee and hot toast on the table beside him. He rose as she appeared and went to greet her, taking her hands. His face was unshaven, his hair tousled, his eyes troubled and shadowed, and some of Thea’s exasperation dispersed.

  ‘So there you are.’ He gave her an eager smile. ‘Thea, I’m sorry about yesterday. Something cropped up and—Come and have breakfast and I’ll explain.’

  Without a word she sat down and let him pour the coffee. Dominic helped himself to toast, spreading butter and marmalade, eating hungrily, whilst she sipped the hot, reviving beverage and felt its warmth spreading through her veins.

  ‘It’s Murty,’ Dominic began. ‘Murty Miles the jockey? I was on my way to meet you yesterday as usual when I had a call from the hospice. He’d taken a turn for the worse and wanted to see me. What else could I do but double back?’

  ‘You never thought to put a word through to the airport? Text me? Ring as soon as you had the chance?’ All Thea’s indignation rose once more. ‘I was worried sick. I thought you’d had an accident or something.’

  ‘Thea, I can’t apologize enough. I did try and get in touch but you know me. By the time I’d reached the hospice the wretched phone needed charging, and then it was all systems go and I didn’t get the chance again to ring. I’ve been with Murty most of the night.’

  ‘Is he…?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. He passed away peacefully just after three this morning.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

  ‘He just slipped away, Thea. I promised him I’d make the necessary arrangements. He’s no folks of his own so what else could I do? Had no folks of his own, I should say.’

  Dominic pushed the plate of toast away as if it suddenly tasted of cardboard, burying his face in his hands.

  ‘What a dreadful end for a rider like Murty! I keep seeing him at the track, going all out for the winning post, the crowd roaring fit to burst your eardrums and the horse doing its utmost for him. Murty was like that. He could get the best out of the most difficult ride of the bunch.’

  With mute sympathy, Thea pushed his coffee closer. Rubbing his face wearily with his hands, Dominic sent her a brief smile and picked up the cup.

  ‘I suppose,’ Thea said slowly, ‘you’ll need to get back and deal with the official side of things. Do you want me to come with you?’

  ‘No, thanks all the same. I’ll manage, It wouldn’t be fair to drag you round with me.’ He sighed. ‘Not the sort of weekend we had planned, is it? I feel bad at having to desert you like this but, being as you’re here, why don’t you join your brother and the band? They were going on to the Midlands, weren’t they? Roscommon, if I remember rightly. You’d love it there.’

  ‘I’m sure, but is it worth the hassle? I’d need to hire a car and I’d have to be back in Dublin tomorrow for the seven o’clock flight to Liverpool.’ Thea shrugged dismissively. ‘It’s not really on. And another thing. Mum isn’t very well. So perhaps it’s best to shelve things for now.’

  ‘Mae’s poorly?’ Dominic was all concern. ‘What’s wrong? Is it serious?’

  ‘I hope not. Mum’s been prone to migraines in the past and this one struck just at her busiest time. I don’t suppose my sister has any idea about it – Bryony’s pretty useless at coping anyway. That leaves just Dad at home to look after everything.’

  ‘Ponies and all?’

  ‘Ponies and all! Initially I was tempted to put this weekend off. I only carried on with the arrangements at Mum’s insistence – and because you’d mentioned having some positive news about the case with the Jockey Club.’

  This provoked a grin, a rueful one.

  ‘Went right out of my head, so it did! It seems the solicitor I’m using believes it should be a cut and dried case. It’s more a matter of putting the record straight, ending with an automatic granting of a pardon on my part, rather than a full scale legal procedure. Good news, isn’t it’

  ‘Excellent! Did he say how long it would take?’

  ‘He thought weeks rather than months. Meantime I’m free to get back to England and carry on as before. Well, there’s nothing to keep me here now Murty’s gone. The old rogue! One heck of a load of trouble he made, and all I can do is anguish over his passing!’

  Dominic looked suddenly bleak again and impulsively Thea reached out and took his hand.

  ‘It’s maybe for the best. Look at it this way. He’ll likely be up there riding his winners!’

  ‘I don’t doubt it for one moment.’ Dominic drew in a long breath and let it out again in a gush. ‘So, what would you like to do? Get an early flight home? I could take you to the airport.’

  ‘It might be best,’ Thea said.

  During the flight back, Thea did a great deal of thinking. Exhausted and upset though he was, there was no doubting Dominic’s feelings for her.

  ‘Thea, I promise I’ll make it up you,’ he had told her at the airport. ‘I’d really wanted to make this weekend special. Perhaps now isn’t the time to say this but I’m going to anyway. Thea, I love you. I think – hope – that you feel the same way about me. No, don’t say anything now. Let’s wait for the right moment.’

  ‘All right.’ Her heart had bumped chaotically. ‘Will you ring me? Soon?’

  ‘Of course I will. Chances are I shall be back at the Neston practice by next weekend. We can talk everything through then.’

  Talk everything through. Now, the words rang in Thea’s head. For her part, there were so many loose ends to tie up she hardly knew where to begin.

  The Harbour House, standing empty and forlorn despite all the thought and hard labour lavished upon it.

  Then there were the awkward rifts in the family – first Richard, then Bryony. Thea still hadn’t made things right between herself and Bryony and, if she were honest, she had no inclination to do so.

  Then there was the matter of the dreams. At some point she would have to tell Dominic the full extent of them – needed, desperately, to take him into her confidence.

  Would he think her deranged if she launched into the pantomime of what had occurred at the Harbour House a couple of centuries earlier?

  She had already touched on the subject. And Dominic had been reassuring.

  How well she remembered his reaction. He hadn’t dismissed the dreams out of hand the way Geoff had done.

  But … and it was a big ‘but’, there were times, like that very morning when she had woken shouting a warning to a man who was long dead and gone, when she truly believed she was out of her mind. So practical, level-headed Thea Partington had, it seemed, been taken over by the past! Or at any rate, her subconscious self had.

  Delving into her bag on her lap where she sat in the narrow seat of the aircraft, she closed her fingers over the small wh
ite pebble she and Dominic had found on the beach that first time she had gone to Ireland. There was comfort in its smooth shape.

  A keepsake, Dominic had said. In the sunlight the surface was shot with crystal and shimmered like a fairy stone. To Thea the object signified a turning point in her life, and she stowed it carefully away again in the side pocket of her bag.

  Over the intercom came the announcement that they would soon be landing and they had made good time. Above flashed the lights telling passengers to fasten their seat-belts. Thea did so, craning her neck to look out as the aircraft broke through drifting cloud in its descent, and the great sprawling metropolis of Liverpool spread out far beneath them.

  Thea had deliberately not contacted Woodhey to tell them of her change of plans. She thought what a pleasant surprise it would be for them to have her turn up unexpectedly and take over the reins.

  Knowing her father, the kitchen would be a tip, dirty pots everywhere, no clean towels, the stove in need of raking out and goodness knows what else. But the smile of welcome on his face would make the homecoming worthwhile.

  Thea couldn’t wait to be there.

  On arrival at Liverpool she was glad to see that the snow had gone from the runways and the sky was clear. Passing through the terminal gates, she collected her luggage and went to pick up her car.

  Presently she was speeding along the ribbon of motorway towards the Wirral peninsula and home, coming off on to the quiet roads of her childhood. Snow still lay here in glistening swathes on the verges and fields on either side.

  Deciding to put extra straw down for the ponies (spoiling them, Dad would grumble) Thea turned in at the unmade drive to Woodhey that was rutted and potholed from the trundling passage of decades of tractor wheels.

  In the yard, all was quiet. Thea parked the car and made for the back door, the two tabby cats streaking up from the barn to be let in. Inside, a shock awaited. Instead of the expected chaos, the kitchen was neat and sweet smelling, lunch dishes dealt with and stacked neatly on the table, saucepans scoured and put away on the rack. Even the floor was pristine from recent mopping.