Chapter 11
ELEVEN
We walked back to Nancy’s cottage in silence.
I pondered what William had said. I didn’t want to leave Edith with Simon Favisham either.
He’d already assaulted her at the ball we’d attended together, and then proposed to her, intending to steal her fortune and disinherit William as lord by accusing him of assault and murder.
The knowledge that Edith was now dead was also strange.
I’d just seen her, a few days ago, but in the time I was in now, more than a hundred years had passed since. It was hard to process.
Nancy let us in and ushered us to the fireplace to get warm. I explained, briefly, where we’d been. She clearly knew what William and I had been up to – why else would we spend the night away in a freezing cold gamekeeper’s hut?
‘There’s ’ot water, if you want it,’ she commented, drily. ‘Tin bath, behind the curtain.’
‘You take it,’ William said to me; I wondered if Nancy would perceive the cold distance between us.
‘Thank you,’ I replied, politely. I wondered how long we would be in this state of truce.
As I went behind the curtain and started to remove my clothes, I mused that William didn’t understand all this because he had never been in a situation where he’d had to protect his identity from anyone or risk harm.
When I accidentally travelled to 1755, I had to lie about who I was, otherwise I would have found myself unprotected, hungry and at the mercy of the elements.
William had never faced that kind of hardship before.
William had never had to lie about who he was to survive.
Until now.
I unpinned my hair and got into the warm bathwater, involuntarily letting out a long sigh.
I could tell that Nancy had used the bathwater before me, but, at this point, I didn’t care.
It was such a relief to be warm again, and the water was comforting.
I submerged my head under the water and came up again, taking in a breath.
I wondered whether William would start to understand who he was, aside from his title.
I reached for the bar of soap Nancy had left in a dish on the stone floor. It looked handmade, and smelt pleasingly herbal, like rosemary or bay. I rubbed it over my skin and my hair, lathering it as best I could before submerging myself again and rinsing the soap out.
As I washed, I suddenly heard the sound of a piano playing. I sat still, listening, a tingle of pleasure and surprise under my skin.
It was a strange sensation, hearing music.
In all the time I’d been away from my own time, I’d hardly heard any, apart from the ball I’d attended with Edith and the songs I’d hummed under my breath.
Music was such a huge part of being a person living in the twenty-first century; we could access whatever music we liked at the touch of a button, and music was everywhere: adverts, film, memes.
Yet, in the past, music was an event, not a background soundtrack.
I finished my bath, got dressed and ducked back past the curtain to find William sitting at the piano, playing a simple tune and singing along in a surprisingly pleasing baritone. I didn’t know what he was playing, but it sounded like a simple folk song of some kind.
He caught my eye as he played, and nodded. He didn’t smile, but I felt something – what? A kind of temporary accord? – between us.
Nancy busied herself with making some breakfast. A delicious smell filled the room; I could make out frying potatoes and saw a crock of eggs next to her. My stomach grumbled. I’d hardly eaten, and last night with William had been quite a workout.
I was dressed in a warm skirt and bodice borrowed from Nancy, woollen socks and a knitted shawl. My hair was drying around my shoulders. It felt good to be clean. I felt as though if I ate something, I might start to feel vaguely human and be able to plan what to do next.
‘You can play,’ Nancy called out from the other side of the room, where she stood at the stove.
William stopped singing. ‘Yes. I had lessons as a child. I used to play for my mother, when she was still alive.’
William had experienced so much hurt in his life; I knew that he’d lost his mother when he was young – she’d died in childbirth with his sister, Edith.
And, after that, his father had begun to be abusive with the children.
William had lost his young wife to a terrible accident, and now he had lost Edith and, we had to assume, left her to endure a horrible life, alone.
For as long as I’d known him, William had held a darkness in him.
I wondered how soon it would be until his darkness returned, and he would be drawn to bare-knuckle boxing again; sneaking out to beat some local lad bloody. That was what he did to temporarily forget the things that had hurt him.
‘Play something again,’ I said, encouragingly. I wanted to try and guide him away from his dark mood. ‘It’s nice to hear. Isn’t it, Nancy?’
‘Indeed. Not often I ’as a guest ’oo can play.’ She nodded.
‘As you wish.’ He pressed his lips together in a frown, as if Nancy had asked him to do something unpleasant.
He started playing a popular song I’d heard the maids singing at Trevarron House. He had a beautiful baritone voice, deep and resonant, and he could hold a tune very well. I joined in, with what I could remember of it.
It was lovely, singing together, but there was a sadness in William, too. I could feel it as I stood next to him. I wanted to hold him; I wanted to tell him that everything would be all right. But I didn’t know that it would.
‘You two should be on the stage!’ Nancy clapped us, chuckling. ‘Lovely harmonies. It’s like you were born to sing together.’
I felt colour rise to my cheeks. For some reason, that suggestion felt more exposing than any lewd activities William and I had engaged in.
‘Perhaps we were,’ William said, letting his hands fall in his lap, dejectedly. ‘Although, if we were, I must say that the gods have a fine way of making it difficult for us. They could have made us born in the same century, at least.’
I wondered if he was making a joke, but he seemed as low-spirited as before.
‘I had no idea you were so talented. Pray, Tegan, play us something from your time. A song of the twenty-first century,’ Nancy said, as if trying to lighten the mood.
‘But I don’t play the piano,’ I protested.
‘Sing, then, and William can play along. Breakfast is almost ready,’ Nancy called out.
‘Oh. All right…’ I thought about it for a moment, and began singing a Beatles song – one that Aunt Bill and I had often sung together.
As I started to sing, my voice wavered, but I carried on.
It felt almost like a tribute to my aunt to sing it, in her cottage, even if she wasn’t there.
A way to remember her. A way to infuse the stone cottage walls with the feeling of her.
William started to pick up the melody on the piano, and accompanied me quite well. I sang the song all the way to the end, with my eyes closed, remembering Aunt Bill. And when the tears rolled down my cheeks, I didn’t wipe them away.
Finally, I opened my eyes. Nancy and William were both staring at me. There were tears in Nancy’s eyes, too.
‘That was the most beautiful song I think I’ve ever ’eard,’ Nancy said, quietly. ‘Thank you, Tegan.’
‘You’re welcome.’ I nodded, and wiped my eyes. ‘Sorry. That song’s an emotional one for me.’
‘Don’t apologise. It was beautiful, like she said.’ William laid a hand on my shoulder.
‘I wish I could see my aunt again.’ I sighed. ‘We used to sing that together. She was – is – a wonderful person. You’d like her, William.’ I thought about Aunt Bill in this very kitchen, baking a pie. Listening to the radio and tutting at the news. Reading a book on the sofa wearing her glasses.
‘I’m sorry, Tegan.’ William still had his hand on my shoulder. ‘I forget that this is difficult for you, too. You must miss your aunt. As I miss Edith.’
‘Yes. I do. I want to get home as badly as you do,’ I replied, in a low voice.
‘I know that you do.’ He nodded.
‘Breakfast is ready,’ Nancy called from the stove, filling plates with bacon, eggs and potatoes. My stomach rumbled again.
‘Thank you, Miss Willcock,’ William said, formally.
‘Oh, you’ll make me curtsey if you’re not careful, milord.’ She clucked. ‘Call me Nancy, please.’
‘Nancy, then. And you must call me William, then. You are most kind.’
Despite his difficulty with taking everything on board – and I didn’t blame him, not at all – I smiled to myself, noting that William would always be polite to a lady, even in the most trying of circumstances.
We sat down at the wooden table and began to eat. I tried not to wolf everything down, but I was ravenous. For a while, no one spoke, but as I ate, my mind was working at a hundred miles per hour.
‘Nancy? Did Nettie say that there was a party happening at Trevarron House soon?’ I remembered them mentioning it, in their local gossip. I do ’ope ’ee don’t lose ’is temper at poor Miss Violet’s birthday party. That’s what she’d said.
A plan was forming in my mind. It’s like you were born to sing together, Nancy had said.
‘Aye. Miss Violet’s birthday. Twelve, she is.’ Nancy tutted. ‘I remember when she was born. I ’elped at the birth. Poor Lady ’Ermione had such a time of it.’
‘Oh. I didn’t know you were a midwife, too.’ I was surprised, but I was coming to realise there wasn’t much that Nancy couldn’t do when she set her mind to something.
‘Ah, well. A pellar ’elps in the ways that she can, an’ my mother showed me ’ow to do it. Childbirth should be with the women, not those male doctors what wants to chuck us in asylums just for bleedin’ or darin’ to suggest we might be in a bit o’ pain,’ Nancy said, disapprovingly.
She reminded me a lot of Aunt Bill in the way she was strident, protective of women, no-nonsense but with a sense of humour. Perhaps the cottage did have an effect on the people that lived in it.
‘Hm. I want to go to Trevarron. I want to take William to the rose garden with me, and see if we can make the time slippage happen. Evelyn said in her book that she thought it might be possible at any time, with two people. I don’t think it’s ever been tried before.’
‘All right, maid. You’ll need a reason for both of you to go.’
‘Well, that’s what I’m thinking. Could you get us in as entertainers, perhaps?
Could we pretend that William is my husband and he’s come to visit…
and we both sing and play instruments? That way, we could get access to Trevarron and sneak away to the rose garden while the party’s still on.
’ I bit my lip, working it all out in my mind.
I turned to William. ‘I know you want to get back to Edith. That’s how we do it.
That’s the only thing I can think of to do. ’
‘The time portal? But there’s no way of knowing where we will end up.
’ William looked doubtful. ‘I was lucky that I came here with you. Is there a chance that we might not go back to 1755? Or that we might get separated? Or end up in ancient times? Or dead?’ he shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Tegan.’
‘All those possibilities are real. I can’t pretend that they’re not…’ I wondered what else to say. ‘We are in a dangerous situation, William. I can’t change that. But we can at least try this.’
William stared at me for a long moment, then nodded.
‘All right. I said I would do anything to help Edith, and I meant it. I will sing at a party if that helps us. Even though…’ He exhaled, looking chagrined.
‘I really do not like the prospect of returning to Trevarron House unless it’s as master.
In fact, some of the butlers and footmen that work there now might recognise me, since they expelled me from the premises so ignominiously the other day. ’ He ate his food moodily.
‘Hm. That’s a good point.’ I looked over at the pellar. ‘Nancy, what do you think? Could we disguise William?’
‘I s’pose, maid. We can find ‘im new clothes and barber ‘im a little. A change from a bearded gentleman to a clean-shaven one might be enough, and…’ She held up a finger, got up and went to her sideboard.
She returned with some wire-rimmed glasses.
‘He could wear these. Spectacles do change the face.’
I thought wryly to myself about the famous superhero whose ingenious wearing of glasses had apparently rendered him unrecognisable.
‘Perfect. Thank you, Nancy. And, you know, I think there’s a lot to be said for no one expecting to see you again.
’ I turned to William. ‘The point is that those butlers will remember a bedraggled, injured man who was rude to them, and who they thought was a mad tramp. They won’t look at you, a piano-playing singer, who is neat and clean and has a different beard, and think you’re the same person.
Because they aren’t expecting to see the tramp.
So, they won’t. And, if anyone does stumble upon us in the rose garden, we can say we’re taking a stroll after the show.
It gives us a reason to be there on the day of the party. ’
‘I see.’ William blinked a few times. ‘Yes. An event like a ball or a party means that all the staff are busy. The lord and lady and their family will be otherwise engaged. It is a good plan. And I hope Nancy is right; that they will not recognise me.’
‘If they do say something, we just deny it. It’s simple.’ I shrugged. ‘You’re my husband, and I’m Nancy’s cousin from Penzance. We’re visiting, and Nancy has offered our services for free, because she is the good and kind-hearted local pellar.’
‘What if someone’s there who knows that we rescued William from the gaol, as your ’usband?
’ Nancy asked. ‘I mean, that’s our story.
We ’ave to stick to that. If they know about ’im rantin’ ’ee’s lord of the manor, they might put two and two together an’ work out ’ee was the same fella that was found in the grounds at Trevarron. ’
‘Hm. Well, I suppose we just hope there isn’t anyone there that knows that.
It would really only be a policeman that was at the gaol, or anyone that was in the tavern that day.
It seems relatively unlikely that either one would be invited to the birthday party of Lord Trevarron’s daughter.
’ I shrugged. ‘We’ll just have to take that risk. ’
William looked down at his hands, and nodded.
‘But, if you don’t want to go, we won’t go. We’ll find another way,’ I said. ‘We both have to be in this for it to work, William.’
He looked up and met my eyes with his. His expression was dark and unfathomable.
‘I am willing. We will do it.’