Marking Time (The Immortal Descendants)

by April White

  Just beyond the painting was a door and on a whim, I tried the doorknob. It opened. Inside was a bedroom, but unlike my own very impersonal room, this one was clearly meant for a young girl.

  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t immediately hope it was my mom’s childhood room, but I also knew the chances of that were slim. The room was clean, like every other room I’d seen in the manor so far, but looked like it hadn’t been used in a very long time. The furniture was all antique and the bedspread on the pretty iron bed was a faded patchwork quilt made with pieces of what looked like very fancy fabric.

  There were still some personal things on the shelves along with old fairy-tale books inscribed to “Emily.” I flipped the lid open on an inlaid wood box and found a collection of colorful pebbles and stones. A jewelry box had hairpins decorated with little fake jewels that would have been pretty tucked into long hair or braids. Everything in the room was really girly and I wondered who Emily was.

  I considered what Millicent had said. In our family we don’t age when we are out of our native time. So life was going on as normal for me right now, but the night I spent back in 1888 stopped the clock for about twelve hours.

  So the converse must be true too. My mom could only age when she went back to her time. I wondered if the aging happened all at once, or only the amount of time a person spent there. During the week she was gone, did she age one week, or did she age two years? Based on how tired and worked she looked when she got back, I guessed it was the whole two years.

  So that explained a lot. It would be pretty weird to people around us if my mom never aged, and I’d probably notice too. Maybe it was voluntary, or maybe keeping in touch with your native time was mandatory for Clockers.

  Note to self: grill Millicent on the rules of time travel before the punishments were handed down, because it was inevitable I’d say something I’d regret after.

  I guess if she was part of this family, the girl who had lived in this room was probably a Clocker too. I wondered what descendants from the other Immortals were called. ‘Trouble,’ most likely.

  Absently, I tried the door on a cabinet. It was locked. I looked around the room, then went to the bed out of habit, and felt around the bottom of the headboard where my mom always hid her keys. One was there, tucked into the frame of the bed. I tried the key in the cabinet lock and it opened. Inside was empty except for an artist’s portfolio, which I carefully removed. I leafed through the charcoal and pencil drawings with hands like a museum curator, holding everything by the edges as I spread them out flat on the bed.

  It was like looking into a secret life of madness. The drawings were beautiful in a dark and disturbing way, depicting snapshots of life in an institution. There were images of hospital beds filled with shackled sleepers, a young woman in a straightjacket staring right at the artist, a group of men playing dice while another man behind them sits alone in a chair staring off into space. The most haunting one was of the outside of a massive stone building, with a long row of barred windows. Behind the glass of each one stood a person in a hospital gown staring out. One of the men had the palm of his hand pressed to the glass as if in greeting.

  The drawings were unmistakably the work of my mother, and one was even signed “C.E.” on the back.

  When had Claire Elian been to a mental institution?

  With questions pinging around in my brain I carefully gathered up the drawings and placed them back inside the portfolio, then locked them in the cabinet. I’d had no problem snooping through Emily’s things, but somehow taking the drawings would require answering questions about my mom I wasn’t really prepared to dig into. They’d obviously been hidden for a reason, and could stay that way as far as I was concerned. I replaced the key in its hiding spot and left the room.

  Finding those drawings had unsettled me and I firmly told my brain to mind its own business on this one. Mental denial in place, I gave myself to the business of finding my way back to the east wing room I’d been assigned. If a daughter of the family slept in the west wing it seemed likely the east wing was reserved for visitors. Ever since I arrived at Elian Manor I’ve felt more like a visitor than family, even with all of Millicent’s talk about clan and responsibility.

  The door to my room was unlocked and the key was back on my dresser. Inside, the room was exactly as I had left it. I pulled my suitcase out from under the bed. Everything seemed to be there, but I could tell it had been gone through. Not a huge surprise, but still annoying.

  I grabbed a clean T-shirt and sweats and went to turn on the bath. The tub was enormous and long enough for me to lay all the way back without bending my knees too far. And surprisingly, considering how old the house was, the hot water didn’t run out before it was comfortably full. I’d been in brand new hotels with my mom that couldn’t fill a tub even half-way. Unbraiding my hair and scrubbing it clean in that tub was the single most relaxing thing I’d done since landing in England. I felt like I was scrubbing off centuries of grime and I probably was.

  Our Venice loft didn’t have a bathtub. Showers were fine for every day, but baths were pure luxury. I wondered if this house had running water in the bathrooms when my mom lived here. I was pretty sure they would have had to heat the water up someplace else for baths, which meant a lot of running around for servants just so some rich person could get clean. I definitely took stuff for granted about my ‘native time,’ and hot running water, flushing toilets and electricity were among them.

  I figured I’d probably fall asleep in the bath if I wasn’t careful, so I braided my wet hair and climbed under the covers. Even the rock hard mattress couldn’t keep me awake though. Within seconds of slipping between soft linen sheets I was out cold.

  Something woke me up hours later; a very light tap at my door. “Yeah.” I managed to croak. The door cracked open and the Hobbit stood there, peering in.

  “I have a dress for ye.” After a night spent listening to Whitechapel English from 1888 the Hobbit’s gravel mouth was easier to understand.

  Immediately I scowled. “My… Millicent sent you?”

  The wizened old woman slipped into the room and laid a simple emerald green sheath dress on the bed. She shook her head. “Twas I went through your things. Ye have no finery and Mistress expects it. Don’t need to add fuel to that fire, eh?”

  I sat up in bed and rubbed my bleary eyes. So, the Hobbit was on my side? “Thank you, Miss—“ I realized I didn’t know her name.

  “I am Sanda. Not a Miss for a long time.”

  I smiled at the wry tone in her voice. Sanda had a sense of humor buried under that Hobbit exterior and I decided I liked her. “Thanks for the dress, Sanda.” She nodded curtly and slipped out of the room. I realized her entrance was probably my cue to get dressed for dinner. I climbed out of the covers and held the dress up that Sanda brought me. It was a rich, green silk and looked like it might be something from the 1920s. Kind of flapper style with a dropped waist. I figured there must be closets full of clothes to choose from in this house and the 20s was probably an appropriate choice for someone my age.

  It also couldn’t have been my mom’s – too new - or even Millicent’s – too old. That was good. I was already in so much trouble with Millicent that raiding her closets would have started the dinner conversation off badly. And to get the information I wanted, I knew I had to avoid as much trouble as I could.

  The dress actually fit pretty well, but I felt like a total fraud in it. I didn’t wear girl clothes because frankly, I didn’t usually feel like a girl. Archer didn’t know how close he’d hit to home when he said I was basically without ‘feminine wiles.’ I stuck with jeans and T-shirts out of self-defense because dresses made me feel too vulnerable. Not the best way to go to a meeting with Millicent, but I didn’t see I had much choice. I was, however, totally screwed in the shoe department. I had combat boots, Keds I had painted myself in art class, and flip flops. I chose the flip flops and hoped I could stay behind the table so Millicent didn’t take
offense.

  I brushed my hair out and tied it back in a knot. No jewelry, no make-up. The eyeliner and chapstick I usually have with me were both in my backpack, currently somewhere in the 19th century. Which made me tense to even think about. It was probably just as well to look as young and innocent as possible around Millicent. Maybe it would help keep her off-guard.

  The flip flops were loud on the bare wood floors of the Manor so I took them off and went barefoot. Cold, but not unpleasant. My feet are pretty tough anyway from summers on the beach. But when I got downstairs the stone floor was freezing. Stealth vs. warmth – a tough call. I chose stealth and made my way down the hall carrying my shoes.

  Just outside the dining room I stopped to slip my shoes back on. The door was open just a crack and I could hear Millicent speaking to someone in the room. Her voice was quiet, but distinct. “See that she’s kept away from the other Descendants. For once I’m grateful that Jane Simpson has allowed ungifteds into our school.” The disgust in Millicent’s voice sounded like pure intolerance to me.

  “If I may be so bold, Ma’am. Why send her there if you don’t want her trained?” That sounded like Jeeves, but the voice was so low it was hard to be sure.

  “That will be Claire’s problem when she returns. I just want her out of this house until then.”

  “Of course, Ma’am.”

  I’ve always thought eavesdropping is sneaky and I was about to push the door open when it was pulled from behind. Jeeves was as startled as I was. I gave him a reflexive smile and a nod before I went into the lion’s den. I think I caught a glimpse of his return smile, but given Millicent’s scowl I didn’t think I should call attention to it.

  “Hello Millicent.”

  The scowl deepened. “Saira. I’m glad to see you can look presentable when you choose to.”

  I was determined to be as nice as possible to get information. “Thank you. That’s a pretty necklace.”

  And in fact, it was. Opals and Moonstones glittered on tiers of gold chains. The whole effect looked like a cascade of milky ice. “It was my grandmother’s.”

  My compliment seemed to mollify her for the moment and I was able to slide into my seat without comment on my inappropriate choice of footwear. The woman had truly stunning jewelry and I can only imagine what she would have thought about the plain bronze choker embedded with a tasseled clock that my mother sometimes wore.

  “You slept well, I presume?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  The scowl was back and I had the thought she was looking for something to criticize, so I headed her off at the pass. “Can you tell me about the other families? We can time-travel, what can they do?”

  Millicent gave a big sigh. It was killing her to tell me anything. “The descendants of Aislin – Fate – are mostly Gypsies, palm readers and fortune-tellers. Nothing to take seriously. Duncan’s brood are hooligans and trouble-makers with no real skill beyond causing chaos. The only Immortal with Descendants of any skill is Goran. A few of them can shape-shift into animal form.”

  “Like werewolves?”

  Millicent looked pained. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course not. The ones with ability can take the form of any animal, usually determined by heredity. They’re not limited to the bigger creatures like were-animals are, though I admit, the men of the Shifter clans like to show off in carnivore form often enough.”

  I stared at her. “So there’s such a thing as werewolves?”

  Another scowl. I switched gears.

  “What about Death? What can his Descendants do?”

  Millicent checked the delicate gold watch at her wrist and rang the tiny silver bell near her plate. “There’s someplace I’d like to take you this evening, but we’ll be late if we don’t get our food quickly.” Mistress Mouse came scurrying out of the kitchen carrying a tray with two bowls of soup and some steaming French bread. Tonight it was a lamb stew that smelled amazing. Still trying not to offend, I waited until Millicent had tasted her stew before I picked up my spoon. It was as delicious as it smelled, but before I’d gotten a second bite into my mouth, Millicent pushed her bowl away. “The carrots are overcooked. Take it away.”

  The ever-scurrying Mistress Mouse whisked the offending stew away from Millicent’s plate. “Sorry, Miss,” she murmured as she stole my lamb stew out from under my spoon.

  “Hey! I wasn’t done with that.”

  “Of course you are, Saira. It’s inedible.” Millicent seemed impatient and on edge, so I let the Mouse take my bowl, even though I was starving for the stew. As much as I tried to keep my mood polite and friendly my stomach was growling and it made me grumpy. I snagged a piece of bread and tore it into pieces, not caring what Millicent thought of my manners anymore.

  “Does my mom have to go back to her native time, or could she just stay in my time and never age?”

  This startled Millicent out of her annoyance for a moment. “We don’t stay out of our native times” she said severely.

  “’Don’t’ or ‘can’t’? There’s a difference.”

  “I’m well aware of the difference, young lady. It just isn’t done.”

  I shrugged. “My mom’s doing it.”

  “And she goes back every few years to reset.”

  “Do you ‘reset’ to the age you should be, or does your clock just start again?”

  Millicent suddenly pushed back from the table. “We’re late and dinner’s taking too long. We’re going.”

  “But I’m starving.”

  Millicent looked at the roll I’d shredded with disdain. “If you ate your food rather than played with it you wouldn’t be.” She strode to the dining room door and beckoned imperiously. “Come. There will be time for dinner later.”

  I felt like my tongue was almost bitten in half with all the things I didn’t say to Millicent Elian.

  Lucky for me there was a wool blanket in the back seat of the Rolls. Because as pretty as the green silk dress was for dinner, it was nearly October and already freezing outside. Jeeves had handed Millicent her own fur coat when we left the house, but he’d had nothing for me except a look I can only describe as pity.

  I had a bad feeling about that look.

  Millicent refused to discuss where we were going except to say that it would give me much more insight into my mother and our family.

  The fading light was completely gone by the time we pulled into the long driveway of a building I call gothic creepy. I thought Elian Manor was big, but this place was like a castle out of a horror film. It was probably really striking in the daytime but at night the shadows made the turrets look like tusks… or fangs.

  Jeeves parked the Rolls in front of the heavy iron gates, and then helped Millicent from the car. When she finally saw my feet she gasped.

  “Saira! Really! Do you own no proper shoes?”

  “I thought the combat boots would clash.”

  Millicent actually huffed. I almost laughed out loud until Jeeves squeezed my hand and shook his head very slightly. When he let go there was something clutched in my palm, something he had slipped to me. I quickly put it into the pocket of my dress and held my blanket around me more tightly. Millicent looked like she wanted to rip the blanket from around my shoulders but I glared at her. She’s the one who made me go out with only a thin silk dress and flip flops on; I didn’t care if it made me look homeless.

  I snuck my hand back into my pocket and touched the object Jeeves and given me. It felt like a key, one of the old-fashioned metal kind that fit the door locks of the manor, but smaller. But a key to what? And why slip it to me, hidden from Millicent? Jeeves didn’t meet my eyes again as we walked up to the massive iron gates. Written above them, in scrolling iron letters, were the words, “St. Brigid’s School.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “I told you I’m not going to your boarding school.”

  “And I told you you’re here to learn about your mother.” Millicent actually grabbed my arm and pulled me forward. I yanked out of her grasp, but
realized resistance was probably futile. There weren’t so many places I could run in flip flops, and I silently cursed Millicent and my footwear once again.

  Millicent pushed the heavy iron gate open with a gothic CREEEEAK! She looked furious. The iron gate banged shut behind me and I was propelled forward by Jeeves’ presence at my elbow. The front door to the mansion was studded with iron and looked like something from a medieval torture device. It opened suddenly and a beam of warm light emerged.

  A small, white-haired woman in slacks and a blouse stepped out to greet us, and I was so surprised I almost stumbled up the steps. It was my alarm-clock lady from the train, and she smiled at me warmly.

  “How delightful to see you again, my dear.”

  Millicent looked from me to the woman. “And how do you know my granddaughter, Jane?”

  “Miss Simpson, thank you.” Anyone who corrected Millicent got points in my book. “I met her on the train from London this morning.” Miss Simpson’s voice was clipped and courteous, but definitely no-nonsense. But she gave me a slight smile and I gave her a bigger one back.

  “Please come in, Lady Elian. Miss Elian?”

  “Saira.” I found myself wanting to make a good impression on Miss Simpson.

  She gestured for us to enter the enormous entry hall, and then closed the door behind Jeeves. “You have a beautiful name. Does it have a meaning?”

  Millicent surprised me when she spoke up. “It means ‘Traveler.’”

  I stared at her. “It does?”

  “At least your mother got that right.”

  “Well, it’s lovely. And I’m sure it suits you very well.” Miss Simpson’s voice was warm and genuine, and the more she annoyed Millicent, the more I liked her. “Let me take your wrap, dear. It’s warm in the library by the fire.” Miss Simpson held out her hand for my blanket and indicated the next room, where the world’s biggest fireplace crackled with yellow, red and orange flames. She was being very gracious to call the old blanket a wrap and I thought that must be what ‘impeccable manners’ were.