Chapter 5 #2
“You all are aware of the secret Twickenham Manor protects.” Aunt Nellie handed Beatrice’s now-empty cup to the Fae servant.
“Unfortunately, you, Lady Beatrice, were unlucky and caught in an event that occurs only once in a millennium. Rather than sending you to another time, the magic... slipped. And it trapped you between. It appears we must proceed with caution, though, until we are sure you are completely here. Once you are, you need not fear it will happen again, as that is not possible for a very long while.”
Nellie tilted her head thoughtfully. “It is my belief the portrait was never your prison, Lady Beatrice. How could it have been, as I did not paint it until after your disappearance? I painted it as one paints a door, not to mark what was lost, but to give you a way home when the time came.”
Beatrice nodded slowly, seeming to take it in. She already looked more awake and energetic.
When she tried to sit up, Nellie and Evangeline helped straighten the pillows. Beatrice scanned the faces gathered around the bed.
“Do you mind if I try an experiment? I think you should see this.” Reese stepped forward. “Or check if it’s stopped.”
The others watched as she picked up the empty painting... and slowly moved away with it.
“What are you doing?” Beatrice cried, pressing a palm to her chest as though in pain.
Jem wondered too until he realized Reese was testing how far she could hold the portrait until Beatrice phased. It occurred at about eight feet.
“Extraordinary,” Nellie breathed.
“What happens if you drink now?” Reese asked.
Catherine handed the teacup back to Beatrice, but her hand passed through it. Reese stepped closer, and the woman solidified and was able to clasp the cup.
“Don’t do that again,” he warned his wife and Catherine. “What if she’d tried to take it while you were moving?”
Jem thought he might be ill.
Beatrice shuddered, touching the edge of the painting with her solid hand as though to anchor herself. “I could feel myself slipping away, but not falling. It’s as if the painting holds me in this world, but barely.”
Reese immediately set the portrait next to the bed again.
Beatrice relaxed against the pillows. “Where is George?”
“George who?” Michael asked, his voice surprisingly wary.
Beatrice looked at him. “Your grandfather.”
As though summoned, George appeared in the bedroom doorway.
Jem had never seen the man before, but the resemblance to Michael was striking enough to need no introduction.
Still, it wasn’t just the facial features that gave him away.
Jem had heard the old man’s dark history, and his face carried both the weight of past grief and the serenity of a person who had made amends for his part in it.
“George,” Gareth greeted warmly. “Was your trip to the village productive?”
“It was. I mentioned your guests, and the residents are eager to greet them.” His gaze swept the room, probably curious as to why everyone was gathered in a bedroom. “The footman said something about an unexpected visitor?”
“Yes.” Jem stepped forward, prompted to speak, a quiver in his stomach. “But it’s... well, it is one of those complicated Twickenham situations.”
George’s gaze jumped straight to Aunt Nellie, and the color drained from his face. Jem sympathized with the old man. Anyone who spent enough time around Nellie knew that her presence at a Kellworth house party would not be random.
“But this isn’t Twickenham.” Then George’s focus shifted to the woman in the bed, and the change in him was immediate. He paled, then leaned forward a little, his eyes narrowing. “Where have I met this lovely lady before? I’m sure I know her from somewhere.”
Jem glanced at Michael, whose brow furrowed.
“That’s not possible, Granddad,” he said. “She’s been trapped between times for the past forty years.”
George had moved toward the bed but froze mid-step, and for a long moment said nothing. Nellie offered him a cup of tea. Wordlessly, he took it. With the first sip, the tension eased in his shoulders. Still, the intensity in his eyes didn’t fade.
“I know where I’ve seen you,” George said finally. “That portrait at Twickenham.”
“Yes.” Beatrice’s voice came out soft, the careful way she had been holding herself loosening. “I recall how often you studied it.”
“I find this most unsatisfactory,” the Colonel grumbled.
“Maybe Beatrice doesn’t need so many people hanging around in her bedroom,” Reese said to Catherine.
“Of course, you’re right. Gareth?” She glanced at her husband, and they exchanged an entire conversation with a look.
“Come, Colonel,” the earl said, clapping the older man on the shoulder. “It is best that we take our discussion to the front parlor.”
“Will there be port?” Colonel Pritchard asked. “You are asking me to believe a great deal of moonshine, and I require fortification.”
Gareth sent a pleading glance at Michael.
“I’ll join you shortly,” Ellen’s husband said. “But since my grandfather appears to have something to do with this in some way, I have some questions I would like answered.”
Gareth shot Jem a meaningful look, and he knew he was expected to help. And being from the future, he might be just what the earl needed to make his case with the old soldier.
“I’ll come too.” Jem leaned close to Reese. “I’m counting on you to give me a detailed report.”
“You too.” She gave him a quick kiss.
“I cannot leave my sister,” Evangeline said to the Colonel, her eyes bright.
“I understand, my dear.” He bowed to her and did the same to the group, then he, the earl, and Jem left the room.
“Help me make sense of this,” Michael said, arms crossed. “Lady Beatrice, are you saying you watched my grandfather during your time at Twickenham?”
“Yes,” George and Beatrice said in unison. He laughed, looking surprised, while she flushed.
“It was not improper. Most often I could not see clearly, and only occasionally was I able to hear what people said.” She twisted the blanket covering her.
“Ofttimes I would cry out, desperate for someone to notice me.” She looked up and exchanged a glance with George.
“It was upon your return to the past that you seemed to truly perceive me.”
“What’s that?” Reese asked. “I feel like I’m missing something.”
“Likely because you are,” Nellie replied with a sympathetic smile. “George was one of my time travelers and met Michael’s grandmother at Twickenham. When Michael chose to return to this period to be with Ellen, George came with him.”
Reese made the connection and refrained from asking for more details.
She and Ellen exchanged letters through Twickenham travelers when possible, and Reese remembered enough of the particulars now.
The story didn’t paint George in a favorable light, but Ellen insisted repentance was a good thing. And Reese had to agree.
“Do you know what happened to you?” Catherine asked.
“The magic trapped me,” Beatrice said, her voice steady despite the tremor behind it.
“At first, it felt as though I were falling into still water, silent and cold. I thought it would be endless. After a time, I could see there were people around me, but it was as if I observed through a misted window. At times, I could hear the words they were saying, but they were muffled. Often, I concluded I must have slept or been dreaming.”
Forty years. Reese wanted to say something in comfort. She couldn’t. It was like acknowledging when someone lost a loved one and only having lame platitudes to offer.
The thought of what Beatrice had endured settled heavily in Reese’s chest. Her hand went to her abdomen, grateful in a way that she had no words for. Yet.