Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
We had stayed in each other’s arms all night, talking, and fallen asleep just before dawn.
When I finally slept, I dreamed I was in the rose garden.
It was dark. All around me were the ghosts of the dogs that were buried in the garden. Wraith-like, they barked and growled like wolves, but their shapes were like smoke: morphing and twisting into spectral teeth, voracious maws, shadowy legs that skittered and chased.
I was afraid. I remembered the dog that had chased me into the rose garden when I had first travelled to Trevarron House in 1755; it had also appeared from nowhere and tried to attack me, until I climbed up on the wrought-iron fences around the garden and cut my leg as I jumped down onto the other side.
In the dream, I wondered: was that dog a spirit dog too?
Now, in the dream, I saw the shape of a girl, walking among the dogs. She was beautiful: a young teenager with auburn hair in ringlets that reached her waist, dressed in a white shift, like the subject of a pre-Raphaelite painting. She was barefoot, and she seemed to glide along the ground.
With a sense of mounting dread, I saw that the girl held a tiny baby in her arms.
As she walked among the shifting shapes of the spirit dogs, the shadowy teeth and the howling, ghostly half-shapes faded.
They became real dogs again. The girl stroked and fussed the dogs with her right hand, rubbing their ears and talking to them.
In her left hand, she held the child, which was silent and still.
In the dream, I knew that this girl was Mary Elizabeth Favisham Trevarron, and that she haunted the rose garden. Given her body back in death, she was nonetheless somehow trapped there, with the souls of the Trevarron’s dead dogs as her only friends.
She was only a child herself. But, I understood in the dream that she held the baby that had killed her.
I woke up with a heavy heart and tears on my cheeks.
I felt that what I’d seen was one of those dreams that were more than just a random collection of information; this was a message.
It was a horrifying message, but Mary Elizabeth was trying to tell me something.
Whatever it was, I felt even more sure that rescuing Violet and Lady Hermione was important.
The next morning – the day of the escape plan – we returned to Nancy’s cottage.
Over breakfast, we updated her with our information; that we had been to the rose garden, that we quite obviously hadn’t gone through the time portal, that we had met my aunt, who had later lived in this very cottage, and that we now had a rescue to complete.
Nancy also agreed that she could have a carriage ready to transport Lady Hermione and her daughter up north to her family. She took it all quite calmly.
‘Indeed. Another Yew Tree Cottage dweller. You must bring her ’ere,’ she said, thoughtfully. I promised that we would, and, in fact, our plan depended on it.
Over breakfast, I asked her what she knew about Mary Elizabeth.
‘What I know, an’ what I ’eard, are two different things.
’ She raised one eyebrow as she chewed a thick slice of farmhouse bread, thick with butter.
I knew that, like Aunt Bill, Nancy got her milk, cheese and butter from Cullen’s farm.
Despite the bad reputation of the Cullen boys in this time, the food was as good as it had been in my time.
‘Aunt Bill said that Mary Elizabeth was disabled, and that she was kept in one room all her life,’ I said.
‘Yes. She was a poor, feeble thing.’ Nancy took a sip of tea.
I knew that ‘feeble’ was a word that no one in the twenty-first century would use to describe a disabled person, but I also knew that Nancy lived in the Victorian era, so that was a normal thing for her to say.
‘I ’eard some ’orrible rumours, though.’ She made a face.
‘I can barely bring myself to repeat ’em. ’
‘What rumours?’ William asked. I could tell that he was still brooding over what Aunt Bill had told us about Albert and Violet.
That subject was especially difficult for him, because of his own family history.
I knew that he carried terrible guilt over not protecting his sister Edith from their father.
‘Oh, William. It’s so early in the day for this, but I suppose you should know, bein’ related.
’ Nancy sighed. ‘The rumours say that Lord Albert got a baby on Miss Mary Elizabeth. An’ either that the poor thing died in childbed, or that the pregnancy killed ’er.
It would, of course. Bein’ so young, so weak an’ deformed.
’ Nancy took a moment to take a breath. ‘An’ then, of course, there’s the even worse rumours.
That Lord Albert ’ad her killed, or killed ’er ’imself, when it got obvious what ’ee’d done. ’
‘Oh, no.’ I was so shocked that I actually didn’t know what to say. ‘What? Surely not.’
I thought about my dream: of Mary Elizabeth, who held a tiny baby, trapped forever in the rose garden. I shuddered. Was this what she had been trying to tell me? It seemed too great of a coincidence that I should dream of her having a baby with her, and then hearing this from Nancy.
‘That’s the rumour.’ Nancy shrugged. ‘We’ll never know. But I wouldn’t put it past Lord Albert. Evil runs in his veins.’ She shuddered.
William got up from the table, pushing his chair away with a screech. His face was white.
‘I cannot…’ He shook his head and turned away, going out of the front door of the cottage and walking out into the garden. I got up to go after him, but Nancy put a hand on my arm.
‘Let ’im be, my lover. ’Tis a shock. Sickening, I know.’ She looked so terribly sad. I could understand why. Mary Elizabeth’s story was so awful that I felt it in the bones of my body. ‘Just give ’im a moment.’
‘All right.’ I wanted to pace the room myself now, like William did sometimes. ‘How could anyone do that? To any other human, much less their own, vulnerable daughter? I don’t understand it. How could he feel… desire for her?’ I met Nancy’s eyes. She closed them and shook her head.
‘I don’t know, Tegan. ’Ee is a monster. That’s all that can be said about it.
You know, if you’ve lived in other times than this, some people have monstrousness runnin’ through them like the rings in a tree trunk.
Most of us is decent. Some of us ain’t. Sometimes I think that the more power you ’ave, the more it corrupts.
Maybe that’s true. But I think the truth of it is that when someone’s born a monster, they could be a lord or a pauper.
If they ’appen to be a lord, then they just ’ave more time an’ freedom to indulge their wicked fantasies.
’Tis a terrible part of being alive, ’earin’ tales such as this. ’
I looked out of the widow at William, who was standing in the cottage garden. He had his hands over his face, and I could see that he was weeping. My heart went out to him.
‘’Ee thinks it’s his legacy. ’Ee feels responsible, somehow,’ Nancy observed. ‘But ’ee ain’t. Lord Albert’s a monster all on his own.’
‘I know. But you’re right; he does feel responsible. I’m going out there.’ I set my jaw, stubbornly. Nancy stood aside.
‘I don’t think you’ll ever convince him it’s not his fault.’ She pressed my hand in hers, briefly. ‘I’m glad you’re going to get milady and Miss Trevarron out of there. They deserve better. They deserve a life where they can be free.’
In the garden, it was quiet but for the sound of a falcon overhead. I looked up briefly at the beautiful creature, watching the way it hovered gracefully in the thermals.
This near to the coast, there was a wealth of wildlife to be seen, and I’d always loved the birds.
It wasn’t unusual to see ravens, fulmars, guillemots and razorbills.
Additionally, when I’d been at Trevarron House in 1755 and now, in the Victorian era, looking out to see from the cliffs there, I’d seen choughs: crow-like birds with yellow-brown beaks, which you hardly saw in my time.
Witnessing the same environment at different periods in history was, in many ways, a privilege, even though I’d felt trapped and anxious for much of the time I’d spent in the past. Yet, I had to remember that I, like the falcon, had the freedom to fly away, back to my own time – if I could only work out how to do it.
Mary Elizabeth had not had that privilege, and neither did Violet or Lady Hermione.
I thought of my dream: the sight of Mary Elizabeth, holding that tiny, silent and still child. It was barely bigger than a bird. I choked back a sob in my throat.
‘William. Are you all right?’ I approached him warily; I didn’t want to intrude, but I also felt compelled to comfort him. I couldn’t stand seeing him so upset.
‘No. How could I be all right?’ He turned to me, tears streaming down his cheeks.
‘What that man has done… it’s unspeakable.
And it’s my blood. The girl, Mary, was my family.
Edith’s family. Albert Trevarron is still a Trevarron, despite the intermixing of the Favisham blood.
That evil was in my father, too. I cannot sidestep accountability.
And the thought makes me sick to my stomach. ’
His face twisted in grief and horror. I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him as tight as I could.
‘I know. It’s more terrible than I could ever imagine,’ I said. ‘And, yes, there have been some awful men in your family. But that’s not your fault, William. It isn’t in you.’
‘But what if it is?’ he whispered, and I could hear the fear in his voice. He was terrified. ‘My father. My brother, Charles. Now, Albert. What if I am a monster, too?’
‘You aren’t,’ I said, firmly. ‘Hear me, loud and clear. You are not your family. You are not just a Trevarron. Their blood flows in your veins, yes. But you are not like Albert, or your father, or Charles. You are a good man.’
‘I have doubted it so many times. Why would a good man engage in fighting as I have?’ he said, dully. ‘I am bloodthirsty and evil, just like them. Elspeth died because I insisted on being a smuggler. I was too stubborn. I thought that I was doing it for the good of the estate.’
‘Elspeth’s death was an accident, William.
You need to accept that.’ I held both of his hands and looked up into his eyes.
‘And you fight because you’re angry about all the terrible things that have happened in your life, that you couldn’t stop.
You didn’t have any control over what your father did to Edith and Charles, and you were mourning the death of your wife.
Those things are understandable. Those things were terrible, and they happened to you without your consent.
That’s partly why Mary Elizabeth, and Violet and Lady Hermione’s story hurts you so deeply.
It takes you back to those times when you didn’t have any control. ’
‘No. I didn’t.’ William gazed at me in surprise. ‘You are right. How do you know all this?’
‘Standard trauma response.’ I wiped my eyes. ‘In my time, we’re very aware of all this stuff.’
‘I have so much to learn, clearly.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘You are crying, Tegan. I am sorry. This is horrifying for us all.’
I didn’t tell him about my dream, not then. It would have been too much for him to bear.
‘We both learn from each other. But, my point is that we can help. Maybe that’s why we’re here. We can make a difference to Violet and Lady Hermione. That’s something, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. It is.’ He held me tight. ‘You are a wonder, Tegan Penrose,’ he said, quietly, and kissed the top of my head.
I thought of Mary Elizabeth, who would never have the chance to love anyone, and who had never been loved. My heart broke for her. I hugged William back, as hard as I could.