‘Yes you will,’ Nat assured her and then he nudged her outstretched foot, ‘You didn’t tell me any of this!’
‘Told you about the Hall. Goes with the title. It’s a bit of a pain, to be honest. Even took my father’s name through uni. People react differently to you when they know.’
‘I’ll bet they do—your ladyship!’
‘Don’t. Don’t Nat. Really.’
They locked eyes with one another lost in wine and lust.
Edward thought that the evening was taking a difficult turn, ‘So, you…er…didn’t come through the portal together?’
‘No. I came through nearly a year earlier—the Fat Belly Oak in the Savernake.’ Over the next few minutes, he added to his tale: Royal Marine officer with a love of music—and carpentry; his father a vicar in Marlborough and his mother a retired head-teacher; surviving as a carpenter and his relief at finding another like him—Florence.’
Nat was honest about what Denzil Moorcroft had done to him while he’d been his captive and how Florence had rescued him with the help of Prudence Southey. It was a dark and difficult memory and he wanted to change direction. ‘The thing is Edward, what we need you to tell us is if you can show us how to go home?’
‘I believe so. Yes.’ Edward watched the joy spread across their faces. ‘I have discovered how to move between times. It is the result of some research and practical calculation and I believe that there is no reason why you should not be able to go home if you wish to.’
‘Oh I wish!’ Nat was heavy with emphasis and a little slurred. He’d taken everything that this century had thrown at him and had even made his peace with remaining here if he had to—but only because he’d thought he had to. Now he had a chance to be gone from it and back to everything that he knew, where people loved him and where their lives weren’t always in danger. God, yes. He wanted to go home and he wanted to go home with Florence. He found that he was breathing heavily, that he felt elated and excited. If he could have stepped into the tree right now he would. And then he saw both Florence’s and Edward’s expressions. What was he missing?
‘Where will we go, Nat?’ she asked softly. And there it was. They were from two different times, thirty-three years apart. She wasn’t born in 1987 and he would be 65 in 2020. Was that how it worked? Cruel.
Edward came to the rescue. ‘Ah. I have an idea about this. Interestingly, I have found that no matter where I travel, I am no older when I see myself in a mirror. I have no explanation for this except that it makes sense that time travellers must necessarily remain outside of the time stream. Otherwise, we would become decrepit old people if we travelled into the future and we would shrivel into non-existence in the past. Somehow, we exist beyond time itself.’
Florence nodded. That made sense. ‘So, no matter where we go to, we’ll be the age we are now—grow older from now on no matter what the year?’
‘Ah, of that I am not so sure.’ He stood and faced the fire, uncomfortable in looking directly at them. ‘May I ask an impertinent question?’ It was rhetorical. ‘Have you noticed any physiological changes since you have been in this century?’ Edward watched them thinking.
‘My hair and beard barely grow,’ Nat offered tentatively. It had puzzled him.
‘Indeed. My observation also,’ Edward was glad to confirm it and turned around. He wished he hadn’t.
‘My cycle has stopped,’ Florence announced. Both men focused on something else. ‘Oh for goodness sake! Fifty percent of the world!’ she snapped. ‘It’s important. More important than shaving.’ She had the gratifying sight of them steeling themselves to discuss the implications with her. ‘I thought—at first—that it was just shock but the periods haven’t returned. Can’t say that I miss them but I do think that it is significant if all women time travellers don’t have periods. Don’t you think?’
‘That you can’t get pregnant?’ Nat asked gently, a question spoken aloud that he often wondered about.
‘Possibly. But what about you two? If my no periods make me infertile aren’t you rather assuming that it’s just women?’
‘Edward has a daughter.’
‘Ah,’ Edward sighed.
‘Margaret?’
‘Margaret is my daughter in every way that matters—but I did not sire her,’ he could see that only the full explanation would do.
‘Esther, was carrying Margaret when we married.’
Florence checked the door to be sure that Margaret wasn’t there.
‘Have no fear. Margaret knows this. She knew from being a small child when she was old enough to understand not to speak of it to anyone. Buskette knows, of course, and now you know. I trust that you will be discreet.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Nat was surprised. He wanted to ask how Margaret had been ‘sired’.
Edward was determined not to be irked by the man’s rude curiosity.‘You came through by accident, as did I, although I am most interested in the separation of your times and your revelation that Moorcroft has found others who’ve travelled so. No doubt all of us step into those trees having no idea what they are or what we are.
‘I was sheltering from a heavy rain storm in the centre of an oak, renown as a mystical place by the elders of my village. I, of course, dismissed such nonsense as folk lore. When I awoke, I was in the New Forest in 1631, mightily confused, terrified and perhaps a little excited. I had a number of adventures—a tale for another time—until I arrived here at Burcroft and found a home. Sir Henry, Esther’s father, was a fine man, an honourable man, but the family’s wealth was greatly diminished after a series of poor investment in tulips and the family had fallen on hard times. He had seen but one solution to the dilemma and that was to marry his only child, Esther, to a wealthy wool merchant.
‘Let me guess. A decrepit old man.’ Florence was appalled.
‘Actually, he was a young man and although Esther did not love him, she did not abhor him. They became friends. There was a certain complication, however. You will have heard of the now ancient tradition of bedding a woman to ensure fertility and suitability?’
They shook their heads. ‘Indeed, it is an arcane tradition even now. However, some of the more traditional families count a betrothal as a legal precursor to marriage itself and a betrothed man often partakes of his conjugal rights before the ceremony itself. It confirms the maiden-head of the bride and…’
‘How useful—for the man!’ Florence sniped.
‘Quite. Esther’s intended asserted his rights and a consummation of their relationship occurred. And conception it would seem. The young man, having confirmed that his betrothed was . . . suitable, then departed a few days before the wedding, in order to hunt in the New Forest. He was wounded by a boar which gouged his buttock and despite the best efforts of the physicians, he died of blood poisoning within six days. Naturally, Esther begged his family to allow her to return home. She had no inclination to remain with them and they were happy to release her from any obligations to their family. None of them knew that she carried his child—not even Esther. Upon arriving home, her father embraced her happily and swore never to be without her again.
‘I worked the fields here and saw immediately that the land was rich in coal which marked the earth itself with black stripes. You will recall that I had been a mining engineer. I begged to speak to Sir Henry and persuaded him that there was profit for him to take the coal which was within easy reach. He was desperate for a solution to their penury and so he heard me, allowing me to begin to mine the land, sinking bore holes and shafts and taking valuable iron ore and coal. We sold the product in the larger towns and Sir Henry’s financial difficulty began to ease. I have long been curious if indeed our early industry in some way supported the development of heavy industry in my own time.’
Nat caught Florence’s eye. They both recalled how she had reacted when he’d suggested that they set up their own coal merchant business. It hadn’t ended well. He resisted looking smug.
‘And Esther?’ Floren
ce wanted to return to the topic, needing to avoid that line of conversation with Nat.
‘I had seen her, of course. After a little while, Sir Henry did me the courtesy of inviting me to dine with them. I had become his business partner. Esther and I . . . it was not difficult to love sweet Esther and one evening she tearfully confided to me her condition. I supported her when she told her father. Naturally, he was distraught. You must understand that Esther could not have inherited the estate and Sir Henry had no male heir. The child, would be illegitimate with no rights of inheritance. It seemed that destitution was their ultimate destiny.
‘The germ of an idea began to form. Sir Henry knew of one sole relative—a puritan gentleman who had gone to Barbados many years before and Sir Henry did not know if he still lived or if he had issue. The estate would have reverted to the Crown and my dear Esther—and her child— would have had nothing.’ Nat thought that he was beginning to get the gist of this story and the source of Edward’s discomfiture.
‘So you became the relative returned from Barbados?’ Nat smirked at Edward. It was good to see the man squirm—just a little. ‘Clever. It would explain any quirks.’
‘Mm. That is perhaps a little . . . simplistic, Nathanial. My endeavours with Sir Henry were making him a rich man again and he was equally reluctant to bestow that wealth upon the Crown. You will remember that the King is . . . was somewhat profligate at the time with notions of divinity. He was ravaging the forests for his fleet—for self-aggrandisement. Sir Henry was delighted that his daughter had found a good husband and to have me as a son-in-law.’ He paused and a strange look passed across his face. ‘He wanted to ensure that continued security after his death. He saw that I could provide for Esther and declared me his heir. I had fallen in love with sweet Esther and she consented to marry me.’
‘But your title?’ Nat wasn’t going to let him go that easily.
‘Ah, yes. I returned to Somerset House and researched the lineage of the house. It was fairly straightforward to find a skilled . . . artist who drew up documents.’
‘A forger. You forged it?’
‘Yes.’
‘I see…’ drawled Nat in such a fine imitation of Edward’s own voice that even Florence’s lips twitched.
‘I had discovered that in this time, the line did end with Sir Henry and that on his death the whole of the property passed to the Crown. Understand, I did not disinherit anyone!’
‘But of course,’ Nat was very smooth.
‘It is not entirely as you think, Nat Haslet. At the same time, I arranged a very complex trust for Esther so that she inherited a great deal of the estate in her own right and I inherited a different portion—the land holding the mining. If something had happened to me, my wife and my child would be secure. And so I married, Esther and shortly afterwards Margaret was delivered to us. Make no mistake: Margaret is my daughter.’
They could all attest to that.
‘For a few years, life was good. Sir Henry died knowing his daughter and grand-daughter were protected and loved. I inherited his title with Esther inheriting much of his land and property. Our small family was complete. The deed ensures that Margaret will be protected by that same trust—in law. It is not dis-similar I think, to your hereditary title, Florence. What began as a mutually beneficial arrangement, became a bond of honour and respect between us. I greatly admired the man and we grew close—like a son to father.’
‘Did you ever tell them? Did they know?’ Florence asked.
‘Yes. I considered that it was time to share my secret with them. In truth, despite the risk, keeping such a secret was a terrible burden and I was glad to open my heart.’
‘Quite a risk. How did they react?’ Nat said.
‘They locked me up in a room and thought me mad!’ He laughed loudly. ‘Oh, yes. There was a hurried conference between them and they decided not to tell anyone of what I’d said for fear of the consequences to my person. They had the servants lock me in my chamber—for my own safety they believed. Each day, one of them would visit me and sit, asking me to tell them further details of my lunatic assertions. Of course, they thought that they would uncover inconsistencies and find the cause of the insanity. They didn’t. One afternoon, they came to my room together and said that despite still thinking me disturbed, they no longer thought me possessed—which was a great comfort as you can imagine. They had cross-referenced their conversations with me and discovered that I was consistent in the tale I told and so we sat together, long in to the night and by morning, I had convinced them that I was indeed from the future.’
‘What convinced them?’ queried Nat.
‘They asked if the King was indeed a Catholic as it was rumoured and so I told them what was about to happen to him—and to England. Sir Henry, it seems, had met Oliver Cromwell, in London, and thought him a boor—if keenly intelligent. The idea of him ruling England appalled him but made sense to him as he heard how the King’s weaknesses would unravel him. He knew that the faction that wanted an end to the monarchy was growing in strength but they were both devastated by the thought of the execution of a King. My dear Esther believed me but my prophecies frightened her from then on, I think.’
18
The Scientific Method
Nat had been listening intently trying to understand the implications of Edward’s story. Could it be true? None of the travellers could be parents? No. None of them could sire or conceive. Edward was an excellent parent. Nat blew out his cheeks, trying to process it all. ‘Wow. Interesting,’ was all he could manage.
Florence saw the range of emotions on his face. She was numb. She’d never thought about children but to be told it would never happen. Edward could easily be wrong, she thought. But then she’d never conceived with Denzil. Right now, there were more important considerations.
‘Look, Edward. All Florrie and I want is to go back to a time which we understand—her time, my time—doesn’t matter. Just tell us how and we’ll get out of your hair.’
Edward got to his feet. ‘Then come through into the library and I shall show what I have learned.’
The wine and the conversation had been heavy and they were both a little unsteady as they followed. The small hours of the night were upon them and Buskette had returned declaring that Margaret was soundly asleep.
‘What of Peter?’ asked Edward, moved by thoughts of innocent children.
‘He is watched over by Hephzibah—and Cloud. We must speak of him tomorrow.’
That was as much reassurance as Edward needed.
Florence knew the library well and could not imagine what was in here that she’d not searched out before. They stood back as Edward tipped forward a hefty leather bound volume from a shelf and heard a distinct click as a latch unfastened. Florence was familiar with Edward’s engineering.
Nat might have been a little louder that he’d intended when he said, ‘A bloody secret room! Well, bugger me! Enid Blyton lives here!’
‘Nat! Ssshhh!’ It seemed that Florence wasn’t the only one who was a little giddy.
The book casement swung forward on heavy hinges and created the door for them to walk through. Well-placed candles were lit and the windowless room revealed its secrets. A number of charts and a bulky rotating disk file covered the table. Held on sturdy hooks on the wall hung leather tubular cases and a tripod stood in the corner.
‘Behold! My maps and sun charts,’ beamed Edward.
Suitably impressed but none the wiser, Florence took the offered single stool whilst Edward spread out charts before them. He was in his element. ‘Once I had been transported to this time, I sought an explanation. The trees were the vehicle for sure but for it to be so rare as not to be noted…that needed further explanation. I imagine that, like me, you tried to return through the same tree—perhaps even others?’
They nodded, sadly.
‘I devoted much of my time to considering it and this very collection was the beginning of my enlightenment.’ He paused for an appreci
ation of the pun. ‘Sir Henry was a great collector (although sadly, his obsession with collecting tulips nearly did for him!) and he possessed many old astrology charts—some of which dated back a hundred years or so. It seemed that one of his ancestors had been a mathmatici and kept very careful astrological records together with astronomical data. The lines between the two studies were almost inseparable then you know.
‘These maps were a boon—there are so few accurate maps exist in this time. I’d used Sir Henry’s charts to plot where easy outcroppings of coal might lie and as I used them, I had in my mind the routes that I had walked between towns. Some of these were along very ancient trackways indeed—far older than the Romans who had metalled their surfaces.
‘I had a sense of… patterns in the tracks and it came as no surprise to me to see that the ancient trees themselves were frequently to be found on, or not far from, those paths.’ Edward paused and drew himself up to deliver his true revelation. ‘There are some distinctive markers along those lines! Ancient megalithic structures such as in Avebury, frequently intersected the paths—or again—were very close by.
Less than two years before, Florence and Nat would have scoffed; now they paid attention. In the flickering candlelight, Nat saw how Constantina’s eyes shone as she watched Edward.
Edward was excited by the topic. ‘Consider: much of the natural flora of England is woodland. It is only people who have reduced the forest over the millennia—cleared it for their use. Trees would once have covered the landscape and extraordinary numbers would have grown to a magnificent size and age. Now, what is to say that our very distant ancestors were not also susceptible to the energies of these trees? Indeed, why would they not be? I believe that our forefathers acknowledged this power and, when the trees died or were removed for cultivation, they marked those sites with megalithic structures such as…’
‘Stone circles,’ breathed Florence.
‘Yes!’ Edward became excited that Florence was following his thinking. ‘I do not pretend to understand what the lines linking these sites represent, or what their function is in the process but there is no doubt that many of our ancient trackways follow these lines linking the ancient trees and megalithic sites.’
TAXUS BACCATA: Book Two of the Taxane Chronicles Page 12