Shadows in the Moonlight

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

After I watch Cordelia leave through the priest hole, I return to my bedroom. I lie in bed, but I can’t for the life of me sleep. My heart is a frantic cricket, throwing itself against my ribcage. I am certain that Felix is spirited away through the priest hole in the library. It’s the only way anyone can come in or out of the house besides using the doors or windows, which are always locked at that hour, and I have no reason to suspect Mr Pengower or Symons who are the only people to hold keys. I’d like to know who else is aware of the priest hole besides Cordelia. Might one of the groundsmen know of it? Has someone gossiped in the pub in town, or been overheard talking about it? I’m pretty sure now that whoever takes the child, does so by that route. But who can it be and why?

I must have drifted to sleep eventually because I wake up and it’s dawn. I begin my daily routine of washing myself with the jug of water and china basin as if on autopilot. I’m getting a little sick of living this way. It was a novelty at the beginning, but now I’m missing things I usually take for granted, like electricity, a hairdryer, shampoo and conditioner, an electric toothbrush, pants, a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. What I would give for some chocolate raisins!

I put on my chemise and corset and marvel at how quickly one gets used to things that were at first strange. Everything about this world was strange when I first found myself in it. But now it doesn’t feel strange at all, and I don’t feel like a stranger any longer; I feel as if I belong. But I don’t belong, and I mustn’t forget that. I shake my head and try to get this voice out of my mind. It is not mine.

I have been here seven days, but the present seems very far away, like another universe, and I am aware that I am beginning to think like Hermione Swift. I am sinking into this dimension and immersing myself in it to such an extent that I am forgetting who I am. If I am not careful, I will get lost. I will get lost in the dream.

I say every swear word I can think of out loud to connect me to my world, to who I really am. I stare at myself in the mirror and repeat them many times. No Victorian lady would ever be so vulgar.

I pull my skirt over my head and fasten it at the waist. I’m used to the mode of dress now, the chemise and corset, the drawers and stockings and the lace-up boots. I’m used to the smell of gas lamps and the golden quality of the candlelight, and I no longer reach for the light switch and find nothing but the wall. I’m used to the way they speak and to the formal way they interact. I’m even used to being Hermione Swift and speaking like her. But in five days I will have to give her up and be myself again. Me, Pixie. Pixie Tate.

I wonder whether Gwen and John Snathe have had a fight. Her eyes are pink from crying, and there’s a shifty look about them, for she doesn’t meet mine but fusses unnecessarily about Felix so that she does not have to look at me directly. I ask her how she’s feeling, and she gives me her usual answer: tired. However, Felix makes her smile. He has the power to drag her out of her pessimistic thoughts, for she truly loves him and every little thing he does delights her. I suggest she take him into the garden to play hide-and-seek. I tell her that the fresh air will do them both good. She nods in agreement. Hide-and-seek, she tells me, is his favourite game.

I see them a little later from the window of the schoolroom where I’m teaching Robert his French lessons. They are at the stables. John Snathe is picking up Felix and putting him on a pony. The pony has no saddle, but Felix is secure there in the curve of its back. He grabs its mane and John leads the pony slowly around the yard. Gwen walks along beside them, telling Felix to hold on tightly, but the boy is fearless and doesn’t appear at all anxious. They are laughing. Gwen is no longer tired or upset so I imagine they’ve made up. From where I’m standing the three of them look like a family. It’s a heartwarming sight, for they’re enjoying themselves immensely. I wish that John would give Gwen what she wants and ask her to marry him without delay. But I don’t imagine his intentions are honourable. I sense he’s exploiting her na?vety for his own gratification.

That afternoon, we set off to celebrate Mrs James’s birthday on the beach. Mr Grantly brings the carriage round to the front of the house for Mr and Mrs Pengower, Cavill and Robert. John comes with the pony and trap for Gwen, Felix and me. Symons has gone on ahead with Mr Roskelley the valet, and Rose the housemaid, to set up the picnic. Mrs Moyle has baked cakes and made meat pies for the men, who are always hungry. It’s another hot day, in spite of the wind. I wonder when this streak of unusually hot weather will break. The air seems to be getting thicker with every day that passes. I know it will eventually collapse into a storm. But when?

A few clouds waft across the sky but the sun is fierce, and we open our parasols so that it doesn’t burn our skin. Cordelia is in a powder-blue dress with a matching hat adorned with white flowers. Beneath her hat her flaxen hair is curled and pinned, which emphasises the angles of her lovely face. Her parasol is the same colour as her dress and must have been made especially. She’s as pretty as a picture, sitting in the carriage with the top down, shading herself from the sun. She smiles at Cavill and then laughs at something Mr Pengower says, and the atmosphere is jolly and carefree. Once again my thoughts are pulled into the darkness, which is closing in on this merry family scene. They do not know that shortly the sun will go out and their summer will be over, and every summer after that. I glance at Gwen, who is sitting between myself and John up on the box. Her eyes are no longer stained with tears. She is cheerful, as well she might be. Although she and John are both careful not to give away their secret, it is obvious to me, in every peal of laughter and gentle teasing.

I turn my eyes away and watch the countryside, focusing on the light and keeping my thoughts away from the shadow. It is a curse to know and to be prevented from doing anything with that knowledge. It is better to be like them, blissful in their ignorance.

Today I intend to advance my friendship with Cordelia. The better I get to know her now, the more equipped I will be in the future to encourage her to move on. I will hopefully discover what happens to Felix; that shouldn’t be hard. I know the night. I will simply lie in wait and see who shows up. I will enlighten her to his fate, but I sense it will take more than simply giving her the information to get her to leave St Sidwell and cross over into the light. She’s a mother whose son is stolen right out of her nest. It’s natural that she will blame herself.

The ride is pleasant. Felix sits on Gwen’s knee and points out the things that thrill him. He’s a curious child, delighted by everything. He loves the sheep, who graze in the fields, the donkeys that nod at us over the fence, and the seagulls that circle above, hoping for scraps upon which to feast.

We arrive at the beach and Mr Grantly and John pull up the horses on the sand dunes a short distance from where the picnic is laid out, further down the beach in the shelter of rocks. Mrs James’s carriage is already here, and her footman waits with it. Down on the beach I can see Mr Bray, in a straw hat and white jacket, attending her.

Robert and Felix run on ahead, while Cavill offers me his arm so that I do not trip on the dunes. I slip my hand around his sleeve and take the opportunity to lean my body against his. I’m certain that the energy between us is plain for everyone to see, but no one pays us any attention. Cordelia walks in front of us with Mr Pengower. There is a jaunty swish in her gait that reveals her happiness. She has clearly forgotten her concerns of the day before or she is burying them. I glance back to see Gwen talking to John. They are hidden from Mr Grantly’s keen eye by the pony that stands conveniently between them. John sweeps a tendril of hair off her face. I look away. It’s nice to see Gwen so much happier than she was this morning. Right now, in this moment, we are all happy. I focus on that and try not to be drawn into the tragedy that is imminent and unavoidable.

We reach the rocks where the picnic has been set up. Symons and his two helpers have put out four folding chairs, a large parasol, and spread blankets upon the ground. The picnic baskets are open. There’s enough food for a banquet: lobster, fish, meats, bread and goodness knows what else. The children, like gulls, hover about the cakes, but Gwen hurries down to shoo them away. She takes Felix’s hand and leads him to the water to paddle. Robert goes with them. I notice a scrawny dog in the distance, sniffing about the sand. There doesn’t appear to be anyone with it, so I assume that it’s a stray. Perhaps it will come over and we can offer it some of our leftovers.

I greet Mrs James, who smiles sweetly and thanks me for wishing her a happy birthday. ‘Every year I go down a number, not up,’ she says, blue eyes gleaming with mischief. ‘That was a decision I made a long time ago, so really, I am in my prime.’ Everyone laughs, for her girlish delight is winning.

I greet Mr Bray and he bows formally. We don’t speak for long for he is quick to turn to Cordelia and offer his hand so that she can sit down beside her mother-in-law. Mr Pengower takes the third chair beside his mother. Mr Bray offers me the fourth, but I don’t accept it. ‘Thank you very much, Mr Bray, but I am perfectly content sitting on the blanket,’ I reply, and watch him sit on Cordelia’s right. She turns to him and smiles softly, and they engage in quiet conversation. I am pleased that there is nowhere else for me to go, but to join Cavill on the blanket. We are immediately separated into two groups. The four on the chairs and the two of us on the blanket. Symons passes around drinks while Rose and Mr Roskelley serve the food. I notice that I am served last and with a certain derision, as if they are keen for me not to forget my place. If they were not beneath the gazes of Cordelia and Cavill, I’m sure they would leave me to help myself.

Gwen returns with the children and my conversation with Cavill has to be curtailed. She plonks herself on a rock a short distance from where we are seated and forms a third group with Robert and Felix. Cordelia is deep in conversation with Mr Bray. As we eat, gulls begin to drop onto the sand nearby. The children find much amusement in them, for their beady black eyes are on the fish and they are determined to steal one. Every now and then Symons shoos them away and they flap their wings and rise a few feet, before dropping a little further down the beach. Gradually they edge their way back, only to be shooed away again. Felix thinks this is tremendous fun. When he has finished eating, he jumps up and rushes at them with his arms outstretched. They are not afraid of him and only bounce out of his reach. Felix bubbles with laughter and does not tire of the game. Neither do the birds.

We finish our meal and sit chatting in the sun. A peaceful languor falls over the group. It is mid-afternoon. The sun has turned mellow, and a softness has settled over the sea. Silver spangles jump and dance on the water. The gentle rhythm of the waves breaking onto the beach is hypnotic. Slowly the tide inches its way out, leaving small creatures in the sand for the birds, who turn their attention away from the picnic, which does not reward them so well as the sea.

Cavill lowers his voice. ‘I enjoyed meeting you in the garden last night,’ he says, and he furtively brushes my hand with his little finger.

I glance at Cordelia and then at Gwen. They are neither listening to us nor watching us. Cordelia is engrossed in the conversation she is having with Mr Bray and Mr Pengower is talking to his mother.

‘I enjoyed meeting you, too,’ I whisper back.

‘Did you go out on purpose, just so that I could follow you?’

I smile coyly. ‘Perhaps.’

He smiles too and holds my gaze with his. ‘I was hoping that was the case.’

‘It is not easy to be alone together, is it?’ I say. ‘Maybe the garden at night is the only place we can meet safely without being caught.’

‘If I may be so bold, Hermione.’ He shifts his eyes to the four chairs, then back to me. His voice is so quiet I have to lean in to hear. ‘Might I find you in your room?’

I catch my breath and glance once again at the others. They are now discussing a scandal. Cordelia looks positively appalled. Her mother-in-law simply laughs as if she has heard it all before. She appears not to be the sort of woman who is easily shocked. ‘You may,’ I reply, and the thought of him coming to my room gives me such a strong feeling of desire that I have to turn my face to the water so that the others do not see me blushing. In a moment of awareness, I chuckle inwardly at myself. How far I have sunk into this reality that I blush at the mere suggestion of intimacy. I would never blush at such a suggestion in the present. I realise that I’m turning into a proper Victorian woman and losing myself in the process.

We continue to talk in this way. I forget where I am and who I am with and withdraw into a bubble where it is just me and Cavill, removed from the world, absorbed in each other. His voice is sweet in my ears, his scent powerful in my nostrils; even his eyes give the sensation of caresses upon my skin. I am consumed by him, until, suddenly, Cordelia speaks, and the bubble is burst.

‘Where is Felix?’

I’m brought back to my senses with a jolt. I turn to Gwen. She clearly nodded off because she’s blinking furiously and looking around her as if she, too, has been far away and is reminded now of where she is. We all look about for Felix. Robert is contentedly playing beside a rockpool a short way off. I scan the surf. Felix is not there. Gwen scrambles to her feet. It does not take long for panic to set in.

I am panicked. I question whether I somehow got the date of his disappearance wrong. Could it be that he disappears today, never to be seen again? Have I missed my moment? Was I so distracted by Cavill that I failed to watch Felix? But I never expected him to vanish here. Not with Gwen and his parents nearby.

I feel guilty because I should have been keeping an eye on him too. He’s Gwen’s responsibility, of course, but I’m also employed to look after the children. I put a hand to my chest and take a deep breath. Have I failed them? Have I failed Cordelia Pengower? The emotion rises into my throat and squeezes it hard. I kick myself for indulging in a romance when I should have been doing my job.

Cavill looks at me, his face grave. ‘Come, let us scour the beach.’ I lift my skirts and follow his long strides over the sand. Mr and Mrs Pengower and Mr Bray are setting off too in search of the child. ‘I will never forgive myself if he has got lost,’ I say as I struggle to keep up with Cavill.

‘He will be somewhere. Children don’t simply vanish,’ he says, but he does not know what I know.

We head towards the sea.

‘He was chasing seagulls when I last saw him,’ I say, trying to be helpful. Trying to remember some small detail that might at least push us in the right direction.

‘It is always prudent to check the water first,’ Cavill replies. My heart contracts as tightly as a fist. Is that what happens? Does Felix drown? Has history got it wrong? Does he in fact, vanish today? My mind whirrs with possibilities. I stand beside Cavill and sweep my eyes over the water. There is no sign of Felix.

‘Let us look about those rocks,’ I say, pointing hopefully. ‘You know how he likes to make dens. Perhaps he’s playing in one of those caves.’ Mr Bray and Cordelia have gone in the other direction and Mr Pengower is heading up the dunes to the carriages to get Symons and the others to help. Gwen is standing with Robert, gazing about her like a bewildered sheep. The beach is not very long, but there are lots of dunes and rocks and it’s perfectly possible that Felix is playing quietly behind one of them. A moment ago we were enjoying the pleasant languor of a sunny afternoon, but now the beach appears dark and menacing, as if the sun has turned her face away because she cannot bear to look. How quickly life can change. Am I now witnessing that change in the Pengowers’ fate?

Cavill calls Felix’s name. I hear it echoed by his father and then by his mother. Her voice is tight. It breaks and then she begins to cry and can shout no more. Mr Bray puts his arm around her shoulders.

I want to cry too. I can’t have let them down. I just can’t have.

When I think all is lost, I see, coming round from behind a large peninsular of rock, a gypsy woman leading little Felix by the hand, followed by the dog I saw earlier. Relief washes over me and I jubilantly call out. ‘He’s here!’ I spot the small shape of Cordelia break into a run from the other side of the beach. She lifts her skirts and races over the sand towards us, her face radiant with joy. Mr Pengower and Mr Bray follow at a brisk walk. The relief is tangible. It is as if the sun has turned back and is shining on us again.

Cavill and I reach the woman first. I recognise her at once as being one of the mothers who was pinching Felix’s cheek and cooing over him the other day at the gypsy camp. Felix clings to her skirts, perfectly happy to be with her. Cavill lifts him into his arms and holds him tightly. ‘Where did you get to, you little devil?’ he asks, but he looks to the woman for the answer.

‘He wandered round with the dog,’ she explains. I notice that she only has a few yellowed teeth. Her strong foreign accent makes her hard to understand. ‘He wanted to play with it, bless him.’

‘Thank you for bringing him back,’ Cavill says. The woman pulls something out of her pocket and takes Felix gently by the wrist. The boy lets her hold him as she ties a leather strap with a blue-and-white bead about him. ‘To keep you safe,’ she says. ‘To ward off the evil eye.’ I’m struck by those words. Does she know something terrible is going to happen? Can she sense it? Or is this just an extraordinary coincidence?

Before I can think any more about it, Cordelia reaches us. She takes her son out of Cavill’s arms and presses her face into his neck, closing her eyes and sighing with relief. ‘I thought we had lost you, my darling.’ She inhales him, as if she wants to consume him.

Felix is bewildered by the attention. He puts his finger in his mouth and replies, ‘I found a dog.’

‘And you followed it?’ Cordelia asks, spotting the dog who is now trotting down to the water.

‘Please, Mama, can we have a dog?’

Cordelia is so happy, I think she’ll agree to anything. ‘Perhaps,’ she replies.

Gwen and Robert finally reach us. She’s panting, her hair has come out of its pins and is sticking to her sweating face. The moment Felix sees her he puts out his arms and whines that he wants to be with her. Cordelia reluctantly hands him over. She looks at Gwen and for the first time I see that beautiful, serene face harden. ‘You and I will have words later,’ she says, and Gwen’s eyes fill with tears.

She nods. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

My heart is finally slowing from its frantic beating and I feel a strange sense of relief, but I know it will be short-lived. Today was only a taster of the disaster yet to befall this family. On Saturday night he will be lost for good and I’m suddenly afraid of what happens to him, for I cannot bear for this little boy to suffer. I ache to save him from his terrible fate but know that it would break all rules of timesliding to do so and possibly instigate a tidal wave of change that would engulf future generations. No, I cannot save him, but I must find out the truth. I look at Cordelia, her cheeks flushed, her hands still shaking. I have a few days yet to rescue her, to find a way to settle her soul, but time is running out and I feel I’m no nearer to discovering who takes her child and why.

As she fusses over Felix, Mr Pengower tips the gypsy woman to thank her for her trouble. By the curl on his lip he does not want to remain in her company a moment longer than he has to. He drops the coins into her outstretched palm, taking care not to touch her skin, and turns quickly on his heel. The fact that she brought Felix back has in no way elevated her, or her people, in his eyes. They are gypsies and cannot be trusted. As we walk up the dunes towards the carriages, he turns to his wife. ‘I will have words with Felix when we get home,’ he says crossly. ‘It is unacceptable to run off like that. He could have drowned. He could have been taken. Anything could have happened. I will talk to Robert too. This is an opportune moment to teach them both a lesson. They need to learn to be vigilant and wise.’

‘Felix is but a curious and fearless little boy,’ says Cordelia. ‘You should be proud of him, Ivan. I know I am.’

‘Teach them when they’re young,’ her husband replies in that habitual tone of voice that carries authority. It is the tone of a man who, as undisputed head of the family, is not to be questioned or contradicted. ‘The world is not a safe place, Cordelia, my dear. Clearly, I cannot count on you, or your servants, to be their guide in this matter, therefore I will take care of it myself.’ He sighs and shakes his head. ‘If it wasn’t for me, they would both be as undisciplined as monkeys.’

Cordelia catches my eye and gives me a weary look. It is not an unhappy look, however, more a look of resignation and amusement. Nothing can dampen her mood now that Felix is safe.

The picnic is over. Mrs James is driven off in her carriage, escorted by Mr Bray who will see her to her house, and we head home in the same manner as that in which we came. I do not join in the conversation with Gwen and John, but turn my eyes to the countryside. I have been gravely rattled. The job of a timeslider is to remain detached and objective. It’s not to get involved with the players in the game, but to watch from the sidelines. But here I am, involved with Cavill – in love with Cavill – and fond of Cordelia, Gwen and Felix. I’m much too close. I shut my eyes, feel the warm wind on my face and the hot sun on my skin, and try to restore balance to my shaken spirit. I must try to focus on my purpose. There are many pieces in this puzzle; I need to find out how they all fit together. I have four days in which to do it.

We arrive at the house and John jumps down to help me and Gwen descend. I catch his eye as he offers me his hand. I don’t want to take it, but I have no choice. I can’t step down without it. I suspect he knows I don’t like him. I can see the animosity in his black eyes and with it a certain disdain.

It’s not long before Gwen is summoned to Cordelia’s sitting room. We are in the middle of tea in the nursery when the housemaid, Rose, appears in the doorway with the command. Felix and Robert are tucking into eggs and toast – they’re both ravenous after the drama, and Gwen and I are drinking cups of tea and processing the afternoon. Gwen blanches. I’m sure she believes she’s about to be dismissed. Stifling a sob behind a white handkerchief, she takes a deep breath, as one might before plunging into cold water, and then leaves the nursery.

Soon after, I’m summoned with the children to see their father in the library. Rose appears again, breathless but excited by the goings on. ‘He’s in one of those moods,’ she tells me with a grin.

‘I am beginning to get used to those,’ I reply and follow her down the corridor with the boys.

‘He likes his soapbox,’ she says, lowering her voice. ‘If he wasn’t lord of the manor, I think he’d be a vicar.’

I laugh and prepare myself for another soliloquy of rubbish.

Mr Pengower is in the library at his desk when I knock. He puts down the paper he’s reading and gesticulates for us to come in. Then he stands up and walks round to position himself in front of the fireplace. The boys sit dutifully on the leather sofa. I’m about to leave when Mr Pengower asks me to sit down. He tells me that he wants me to hear his speech so that I can enforce it. I wonder whether he just wants an audience.

Robert and Felix sit as still as a pair of marble putti. Robert is attentive, Felix, however, is fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. His father notices and reprimands him. ‘Now you listen to me, young man,’ he says. ‘You ran off today and that was not clever. You could have been swept away by the sea or stolen by gypsies. What do you have to say for yourself?’

Felix smiles. It is a smile that can mollify the hardest heart, but it does not mollify his father’s. Mr Pengower glares at him. ‘Eh? What do you have to say for yourself?’ he repeats.

‘I found a dog,’ Felix replies. ‘Can we have a dog, please, Papa?’

His father frowns impatiently. ‘Absolutely not. Whatever do we want a dog for? Now, I don’t care whether it was a dog or a dragon, you will not run off like that again, do you understand?’ Felix’s face falls and he nods solemnly. ‘You have to be wise, Felix, and you too, Robert,’ Mr Pengower continues. ‘You have to be on your guard. You’re Pengowers. People are always going to want something from you, but you’re not to trust anyone. You can trust your own family and, if you choose wisely, you can trust your friends. But you cannot trust gypsies. You cannot trust people who have nothing because they will always resent you for your wealth and your name and for your standing in the world.’ I sense he is on a roll now and there will be no stopping him. He lifts his chin, rocks on his heels, puffs out his chest. He goes on and on, about the importance of being a Pengower and the responsibility that comes with it. Robert listens dutifully, but Felix’s attention is drifting. Mr Pengower points his finger at Felix and jabs the air in rhythm with the words. ‘No more running off,’ he says. ‘Is that understood?’

Felix nods. ‘Yes, Papa.’

‘And you, too, Robert. You must look out for your brother.’

‘Yes, Papa,’ Robert replies, pleased to be given responsibility by his father.

‘Good. I think I have made myself clear.’ He turns to me. ‘You may take them back to the nursery, Miss Swift.’

I get up and reach for Felix’s hand as he slips off the sofa. It is then that Mr Pengower notices the bracelet on the child’s wrist. ‘What is that?’ he asks, pointing to it and frowning in disgust. ‘Did they give that to you?’ He turns to me. ‘What is it, Miss Swift?’

‘The gypsy lady gave him the bracelet to keep him safe, sir,’ I reply.

‘Why, goddamn it!’ Mr Pengower explodes and his face goes as red as a tomato. ‘Take it off at once. I will not have my son wearing such a thing.’

Felix’s bottom lip wobbles. His eyes well with tears. ‘But I like it, Papa.’

Mr Pengower strides over and pulls it so hard that it comes undone. Felix squeals and nurses his hurt wrist. His father throws the bracelet onto the carpet at the child’s feet. Felix scoops it up and clutches it to his chest.

I lead Felix towards the door. He’s keen to get away from his father and comes quickly, his small shoulders hunched, his head bowed.

‘And young men don’t cry,’ Mr Pengower calls after him. Felix takes a deep breath to hold his emotions in check, and my heart breaks for him. He’s only a child.

‘Come on, my dear,’ I say. ‘Let’s go and have some tea.’ I usher both boys through the door.

As I turn to close it, Mr Pengower gives me a wry smile. ‘I don’t think we’ll have any more vanishings,’ he says with satisfaction.

He does not know how very wrong he is.