It prompted Florence to think about the her own studies. The knowledge that trees communicated, linking up with one another, passing information about conditions and nutrients. And could Edward possibly be talking about ley lines? There was no truth to the mystical idea of lines of energy crisscrossing the land, of course. She’d once attended a conference about ancient trees which was peppered with Druids who banged on constantly about the power of ley-lines while she and the other scientists had sniggered into their screens. Christ! Now she’d travelled through time! Her certainty about physics and the mechanics of the universe had been turned on its head. Could the bloody Druids might have a point?
Edward was waxing lyrical. ‘And so I researched what I could. Sir Henry was generous in acquiring as many volumes of ancient texts as he could without raising suspicions. He had contacts amongst book sellers in London who specialised in selling off the libraries of those great houses that needed funds and I was able to plot these lines from those texts.’ He stopped abruptly.
‘And . . . ’ prompted Nat.
‘And so I set out to another of the great trees, believing that I could navigate my way back to my century. I returned twenty-five years adrift—too early. Somewhere in that time, I may have existed as a child. I must tell you that it is very disconcerting. It was 1859.’ He looked at them to see if the date registered. Nat’s eyes narrowed.
‘I knew where I needed to be. Richard Carrington had reported his new observations in The Times—an amateur astronomer with a great interest in the sun. It had happened that as he had been projecting an image of the Sun onto his paper. He was blinded by two extraordinary spurts of intense light—flares shooting from the Sun’s surface. I thought that my arrival in that time must surely be linked to such a significant event. The lines of power are important, but equally so, in terms of distance, are the solar flares. If one can predict these, one can navigate the time-line—to an extent.’ Edward’s voice was low and his eyes sparkled. ‘It is not an exact calculation but if one has a record of when these sun flames happen…’
‘But you’ve still got to be…?’ Florence didn’t know the word.
‘Yes. One has to be susceptible to the energies. As I full-well know, few are.’ He smiled ruefully at them. Sir Edward would stay in this time because it was Margaret’s only time.
He pressed on, ‘I have brought back as much information as I can from my own era but there is nothing detailed from before 1923.’
Florence’s thoughts turned to her far away family, ‘Did you search for any records of yourself while you were there?’
Edward smiled at her, his own curiosity acknowledged. ‘Somerset House had no record of me beyond my disappearance. I could find no newspaper article in the libraries noting it.’ he was hesitant. ‘I asked Gilbert once but he gave me a cryptic answer about some mysteries best left alone.’
Florence’s question could not be contained. ‘And Margaret?’
‘Yes. I had to know. My daughter, dies at a great age. She marries, has children and is dearly loved. I know where she will be buried,’ he sighed.
‘Please don’t! I can’t think of it. She’s thirteen!’ Florence gasped.
‘I know,’ he smiled gently. ‘but it gives me comfort to know that her future is a happy one.’ I have… ’ his voice caught, ‘visited her resting place.’
Nat’s feelings churned. Shit! How did someone stand by the grave of their child—an old woman. He didn’t know what to say but managed to stammer, ‘I’m sorry. I can’t imagine… ’
‘No. No one can. Needless to say, Margaret must never know of this.’
‘Of course… we’d never…’ they promised.
‘Has she never asked?’ said Florence, thinking of the enquiring mind that Margaret had.
‘It may have crossed her mind but she has not asked. The surety of the young you know; they think that they will live forever!’ They raised their glasses to that.
Realising that sleep would not come to her, Constantina went out to the stable carrying some of Hephzibah’s plum pudding, with a generous dollop of cream. Peter had barely eaten and he refused to leave Cloud’s side. It was strange to see such a huge boy with tears and snot running down his face. At first, the tearful man-child had refused the dish, pushing it away but Buskette took a small spoonful herself and made much of the pudding’s virtues by the noises she made. It encouraged Peter to leave Cloud’s side and to take the bowl and taste it for himself. He looked up, his mouth full of pudding, and the tears ran into his mouth, his nose dripping into the cream. ‘Si, Pietro. Enjoy the thick pudding. All will be well, il mio ragazzo. Your mamma would want you to eat.’ She sat with the lad as he finished the dish.
What was she to do? Hugh Gilbert was dead and could give her no advice. She’d released the pigeon carrying her message, which she hoped would reach the Taxane Enclave but there’d been no reply yet. It was her sworn duty to inform them that Florence Brock and this Nat Haslet were at Burcroft. Had she said nothing, she would have risked Margaret’s life. She had no doubt that someone was on their way to relieve the household of the burden of protecting them—already a little late, she thought, given yesterday’s events.
She wondered if she should speak to Sir Edward about detaining them until the Taxanes arrived. He was no fool; he suspected that she was still in touch with the Order but she didn’t want him to think of her like that—with torn loyalties. It was hard enough that he saw her as only Margaret’s body-guard and the military general for this gaggle of farm-hands. He would never see her as she wanted to be seen.
Constantina Buskette wished that she’d never been given this mission. She fought an endless battle with Sir Edward about Margaret’s education, her forthright openness and the freedoms which he allowed her. She warned him constantly about the danger he placed the girl in, how he was shaping her life so that she would always be an anomaly in her own era, how she would never be accepted. Constantina only reported as much of it all to the Enclave as would keep them satisfied. She knew that they would surely would put an end to it all if they suspected how much Margaret actually knew and she would not see her dear girl harmed in any way—nor Edward.
Still, no word came back from the Taxane Enclave. If riders were on their way, they would arrive too late to prevent Florence Brock from slipping back into another time with her lover. She had done her duty.
Constantina sighed heavily, envying the woman; to have the love of the man you love must be sweet. But Edward Cavendish cared for nothing beyond his dead wife and his fine daughter. She doubted that he even saw her as a woman.
Peter saw the very unusual sight of Constantina Buskette’s tears falling.
19
Together
Nat awoke knowing exactly what this was: the morning after the night before. He groaned as his head began to throb and his mouth felt like parched sand. A cool, slim hand slid onto his brow.
‘Don’t suppose you’ve got any paracetamol?’ he groaned.
‘Don’t suppose I have. The nearest you’ll get is steeped willow bark in the kitchen and it’s not that effective—believe me.’
Through the regular thuds of his pain, he saw Florence lying next to him. Dishevelled, dark circles under her eyes and squinting at the sunlight. She was a vision. Nat tried to remember how she’d got here, getting through the security that was Buskette. They’d been billeted in separate chambers so that the household had no further concerns about their relationship and was protected from their shocking debauchery. Last night he’d kissed Florrie so thoroughly at the door to her room that the notion of leaving her there, never crossed his mind. He pressed her into the door which opened and they glided in together still locked in an embrace. Nat remembered Florrie mumbling something about Buskette but the woman wasn’t in her usual stealth mode and couldn’t be seen. Perhaps she was cutting them some slack? He doubted it. Something else must have occupied her.
Something else was occupying him.
‘You taste of
wine,’ Florence breathed as her lips parted from his.
‘So do you.’
‘Do you want breakfast yet?’
‘Yes please,’ he grinned into her ear as she squirmed.
Sometime later, entering the hall separately to a furious scowl from Buskette that clearly said she would have words, Nat felt that something had changed. They had shared something momentous and put their trust in one another. Sir Edward had already broken his fast and greeted them by announcing that he wanted to oversee the business in the clearing and he swept out with Buskette in his wake. The thought of clearing all of those bodies—and parts—almost put Nat off his breakfast.
Margaret was still eating heartedly and through a mouthful of beef said, ‘Hephzibah keeps some steeped willow bark, should you require it.’ She did not understand why they both laughed. Some quip pertinent to a later century no doubt. She thought it rude.
They both asserted their health and alertness and demonstrated great surprise that she could think that they had need.
Margaret kept on grinning. Father has asked me to send some more suitable attire to your room this morning. I was told that the garments had been laid out on your bed. Perhaps you missed them?’ she said to Nat. a
The little minx knew exactly why he’d missed them.
‘I…’
‘He’ll put them on after breakfast I’m sure,’ intercepted Florence with a reproving glance at the young girl. They ate their food quickly and Nat disappeared.
‘Very inappropriate Mistress Cavendish,’ smiled Florence.
‘Inappropriate Mistress Moorcro . . . ?’ the look Florence gave stopped her mid sentence. ‘My apologies, Florence. A foolish slip.’ Margaret blushed, her eyes on her plate.
‘Accepted,’ said Florence, taking the girl’s arm as they left the hall together. Nothing could dent Florence’s joy this morning.
Nat put the jacket on, over a shirt that was far finer than he was used to and headed out into the yard. Edward was riding off with a group of men huddled together in a cart. They had gruesome work ahead of them. He strode up to Buskette. ‘What progress, signorina?’ He thought that the title might charm her out of delivering a stern rebuke to him about a night spent with Florence. Actually, anything was worth a night spent with Florrie.
She frowned and leaned towards him. ‘I do not emphasise my Italian nature here. For these people, it means Popery. They are not fond of Roman Catholics.’
‘Sorry. I didn’t think . . . ’
‘You speak the truth this morning, Master Haslet. Your night’s sleep has refreshed you, I see.’
‘Look. We’ll be gone very soon. We’d had drink last night, Moorcroft’s . . . gone. You understand.’
She surprised him, ‘I do. Be cautious, please. The house needs no further notoriety.’
‘We will be circumspect. I swear.’
‘Good. With luck you will soon be gone.’ She turned her back on him, surveying the grounds. ‘We all have our duties. Those of us here are re-setting the defences—if you would care to help?’
‘Glad to,’ Nat was removing his fine jacket and looking for a group to work with.
He was rewarded with something like a smile of approval. Nat thought that Constantina Buskette was really was a fine woman. He wondered why Edward had not already seen that.
Edward and his men all returned caked in ash. None spoke and he swept past Buskette and Nat without acknowledging them and disappeared into the house. He needed to bathe.
The men took their turn at the well and Nat walked over to them. ‘All is done?’ he began.
‘Burned to cinders—but the reek…’ The man spat to the side, his stomach heaving. Hephzibah was doling out tankards of strong ale. When Nat found Edward, he was in the Library, taking a deep draught from his own ale. He waved that Nat should help himself.
‘A little early for me . . . ’
‘But necessary for me. In any case, it’s healthier than the water!’ Edward’s smooth polish had gone. ‘They’d already razed most of the bodies by the time I got there!’ He took another deep swallow, ‘God’s truth, I can’t really blame them. The stench . . . ’ He shook his head slowly. ‘I’d wanted to take a better look at the body but . . . ’
‘They burned it.’
He nodded. ‘You know my doubts—they are yours. Moorcroft did not strike me as a man who would enter the melee; others would do his dirty work. Can we be sure that the man is dead . . . ?’
‘No. His face was gone. And no sign of Holless?’ added Nat. ‘That man would not have left Denzil’s side—dead or alive.’
‘Damn!’ The consequences for Edward and Margaret were as profound as for Nat and Florence. If Denzil wasn’t dead, then it wasn’t over and the shadow of Matthew Hopkins loomed.
When Nat found Florence she was sanguine, ‘Are you surprised? That man has a pact with the devil or perhaps he’s got nine lives? It doesn’t matter. For now, he’s gone and we’re about to find a way home. Then, he can’t touch us.’ She’d climbed out of that abyss of fear. She knew that once you’ve looked terror in the face, you don’t have to be filled with the fear of it—just cold-blooded courage.
She was right and Nat wrapped his arms around her and felt her relaxed into their warmth. She buried her face in his neck and hair. They left Burcroft to Buskette and strolled hand in hand across to a hay bale and took a seat. Florence rolled her eyes. She knew by the grin on his face, what was coming.
‘So, I’m speaking to Lady Florence then! When were you going to tell me that one!’
‘I’m just an honourable.’ She dug her elbow into his ribs. ‘And I didn’t tell you exactly because of that reaction.’
‘Must have been a real burden,’ Nat dodged the elbow this time.
‘Funny! It’s why I went to Nottingham and it’s probably why I didn’t do Fine Arts at bloody Edinburgh.’
‘You’re not doing the poor-little-rich-girl-thing are you?’
She gave him a look. ‘Just so that you know: we aren’t rich. Most of our stuff is mortgaged to the hilt, the land is rented out, and the repairs to the house cost a King’s ransom. I worked throughout Uni—Cafe Nero.’ She thumped his arm playfully. ‘I am an excellent barista!’
He had no idea what any of that meant. ‘Just one question,’
Florence narrowed her eyes at him and sharpened her elbow.
‘How many royals d’you know?’ It was a joke but as he said it, he watched her face and a faint blush began to glow.
‘I wouldn’t say that I actually know any but I may have met one or two.’
‘Ah. So not so difficult for you to play lady-of-the-manor?’
That hurt. Her mock petulance was gone. She took his hand. ‘I’ve not been the best person I could have been since we’ve been here. Honestly, I’ve never been so terrified or helpless in my life as when we were on the road—even before Montebray. I’d just never been that . . . exposed before. My decisions were selfish because I was so afraid. I should never have thought that I’d fooled him—you were right about that—but by the time I knew that, it was too late. He had me. The marriage was to keep you safe—not me.’
‘I know. One of the bravest things I’ve ever seen—that and rescuing me from a dungeon,’ he shook his head. ‘George Cross stuff.’
‘We rescued each other.’
Nat’s head stayed down. There was something that he needed to say. When he looked up into her face she couldn’t read him. ‘Before . . . my life was OK. Some problems. My marriage . . . ’ This was difficult for him. ‘Well, it didn’t end well and I’m sorry for that.’
Florence stared at him. She didn’t want to hear. Didn’t want to think about it. ‘Sorry that it ended?’
‘No. How it ended. I should have been better.’
She was still tense.
‘I’ve done things I’m not proud of, you know? Maybe that’s why I found it so hard to tell you how I actually felt for you—what I wanted us to be— but now, we’ve a chance of
going back and I want to take that chance—with you.’
‘Me too. Home. Can you imagine?’ she laughed, ‘You’ll have bog roll again!’ It was a game that they’d played about what they missed most.
He managed to smile, ‘I want to go home almost more than anything. But Florence, I don’t want to go back if it’s without you. I have never felt more alive than I have with you. I’d stay here for ever if it was the only way to stay with you. Even when we were freezing or starving or bone tired—or I thought that I would die in that bastard’s cellar, I wanted you. I thought that I’d never get the chance to see you again and say the things that I should have said. What happened to you is my fault as well. You made those choices because I couldn’t say what I should have said. I love you Lady Florence.’
His eyes filled and she hugged him as hard. ‘Me you too,’ and then she understood what he was so afraid of. ‘Together. That’s it isn’t it? Edward doesn’t know if we can travel together or whether we’ll still be as we are if—when—we get there. God, Nat.’
Then he looked at her because that was exactly it. Could they be together if the trees actually did transport them back into the future? And which future would it be? The seconds ticked away.
‘We have to try, you know,’ she told him.
‘Yeah.’
‘Let’s deal with what happens when it happens, eh?’
‘I will if you will.’
‘Deal.’
They began to walk back towards the house where they were determined to pin down Edward Cavendish and make him tell them exactly how it worked. Florence added, ‘I’m still only an Honourable.’
20
The Solar Dance
TAXUS BACCATA: Book Two of the Taxane Chronicles Page 13