by Ada Bright
Tears filled Christopher’s eyes, and he raised a hand to touch her cheek. ‘My sweet Rosie. You were such a darling child, the light of my life.’ He ducked his head, then dashed his arm across his eyes before raising it again. ‘The more time passed, the more desperate I became to get back home. To you, to my version of reality. But how could I, when I had no notion of how I came to be there? I was a stranger in the strangest land anyone ever landed in.’ He shook his head at the memories. ‘Eventually, I was well enough to leave the care of Drusilla, and everyday needs and everyday life ousted my confusion and anxiety. I had to eat, find a way of supporting myself.’
‘What did you do?’
To her relief, his smile returned. ‘I began with fishing, trying to sell my catch at the local market. It sufficed to feed me, but I had no roof over my head.’ The smile faded. ‘Sometimes I would walk to a local rocky outcrop and throw myself into the waves, letting the water close over my head, hoping and praying that when I surfaced, I would be back in my time. To no avail.’
Sadness consumed Rose at his desperation. ‘And then?’
‘You have no notion, Rose, how I wished I had paid more attention in my maths and science lessons! What use was my love of books and literature in my situation? Perchance I might have been able to invent something, create something I knew existed in our time. It would have done so much good.’ He paused, then grinned. ‘And lined my pockets well. But it was not to be. It was mere chance that made me realise I did have some knowledge that could benefit others in this world and, like most things that go well for us, it gave me an occupation, a purpose in life.’
‘What was it?’
He smiled at the eagerness in her voice. ‘An everyday awareness in advance of most people here… even those who professed to be medical men.’
Rose’s eyes widened. ‘You pretended to be a doctor?’
‘Not entirely, no! I merely professed to some knowledge. You cannot appreciate how poor the living conditions were for many in Gibraltar then. Infection and disease were rife.’
Rose’s wariness must have been reflected in her face, because he took her other hand and said gently, ‘Do not judge me, Rose. It was a small subterfuge, and I never professed to being medically trained.’ He shrugged. ‘In all truth, it does not require a qualification to advise people away from certain practices later known to be detrimental to one’s health, such as keeping someone with a fever warm, away from fresh air rather than the opposite; to tell people to avoid excessive use of leeches; to boil bandages in hot water, to wash their hands even, to aid in the prevention of infection.’
‘Or to limit one’s use of arsenic.’
‘Indeed.’ Christopher shrugged. ‘It sufficed to allow me a roof over my head, a purpose. Then, one day, a disturbance occurred in the street near where I was attending a sick child. A gentleman was held to ransom and I intervened. I thought little enough of it, but some months later, the gentleman sought me out. He was adamant I had saved his life.’
‘That’s wonderful!’
‘More so than you imagine. He was a man of extensive property, and he wished to express his gratitude. I was invited to stay with him and his family for as long as I wished, a most fortuitous offer, for during that time, I made the acquaintance of his eldest daughter, the beautiful human being I am proud to call my wife. Upon our marriage, he not only bestowed his blessing but also a settlement which enables me to live as a gentleman and raise my family as such. The rest is history.’ He grinned. ‘No pun intended.’
Rose was touched by his obvious deep affection for his family. ‘It must have been strange to return to an England that was so different from the one you left. How did you—?’
She stopped as Christopher raised a hand. ‘No, no. I have said sufficient for now. I wish to hear your story. What have you done for the last twenty-five years? Did you enjoy school? What do you do for a living?’ He paled suddenly. ‘Do I have grandchildren?’
Rose could not help but laugh as she shook her head. ‘No! To be honest, my life has been, until very recently, pretty devoid of anything like the adventure in yours. I did well in school, I’ve always been an avid reader…’
‘As are Anne and Olivia.’
Rose smirked. ‘I know. I spoke to Olivia briefly. I work for a small, but successful letting company. I love it and…’ With a pang, her thoughts fled through time to what James might be doing in preparation for the week ahead – a week when she should have returned to her desk from her holiday.
‘You are missing it?’
‘Yes! No!’ Rose summoned a smile. ‘I’m good at my job, I think. My boss and I get on well.’ It probably wasn’t the right time to mention James’ brief foray into the early nineteenth century. ‘I did get engaged a few years ago, but it didn’t work out. It was a mistake, it just took me a while to realise it.’
‘Did he break your heart?’ Christopher was bristling at her side. ‘I would have given him a piece of my mind if I had only had the chance. How dare he—’
‘Shh.’ It was both sweet and a little amusing to have her father up in arms in such a way. ‘I came to my senses, walked away from him. But there is someone…’ Her thoughts drifted to Aiden, to the memory of their al fresco lunch in this very churchyard but days ago in her other life.
‘Someone, Rose?’
‘Yes, it is very recent. I mean, I don’t know what is going to happen.’ I want to marry him. And have his babies. Rose silenced the voice in her head and rushed on. ‘I like him very much. He’s an archaeologist. A much admired one.’ Especially by me.
‘And you like him?’
‘I like him… very much.’
Warmth filled Rose’s cheeks under her father’s assessing gaze. Then, he smiled. ‘He will be a simpleton if he does not return your admiration, Rosie.’
Reflecting on the past few days, the stolen kisses, the intensity of Aiden’s stare across a room, Rose could feel the heat in her cheeks intensifying. How strange it was to speak of such a thing with her father!
‘Tell me about—’
‘Forgive the interruption, sir. Miss Wallace.’
They both spun around in their seat. Aiden was just a few paces away from them.
Chapter 18
Rose had no idea how long Aiden had been there, but hoped fervently he hadn’t heard anything she’d said. It was a good thing he couldn’t hear anything she’d thought!
Aiden looked uncomfortable, and Rose suspected he had not been overly willing to intrude, but he also seemed quite fascinated with the deepening of the colour in Rose’s cheeks, and she ducked her head.
Christopher, in the meantime, got to his feet. ‘Mr Trevellyan. How may we assist you?’
‘I am bid by Mr Knight to collect you, sir. The guests are returning to the house to drink tea prior to their departure.’
Rose got to her feet. ‘We had best do as requested, sir.’
They both fell into step beside Aiden and nothing was said as they made their way out of the churchyard and began their descent of the driveway. Rose’s mind was trying to grapple with the fact Aiden knew Christopher Wallace was her father, but her father had no idea who Aiden was. Ought she to take this opportunity to reveal the truth?
Before she could decide how to even begin such a conversation, however, Christopher turned to Aiden. ‘And whence do you hail, my good sir?’
Aiden threw Rose a glance and, realising it was the answer, she nodded.
‘The twenty-first century, sir.’
Christopher’s eyes widened and he stopped walking. ‘You…’ He turned to Rose in astonishment. ‘I am not sure I…’
‘Mr Trevellyan is a…’ She bit her lip. ‘A friend of mine. He accompanied me here a few days ago. I think you begin to understand where from.’
His gaze narrowing, Christopher stared from Rose to Aiden. ‘By chance, sir, would your profession be in archaeology?’
Aiden blinked. ‘Er, yes indeed, Mr Wallace.’
‘All is wel
l, then.’ He held out his arm to Rose. ‘I assume you know who I am?’
‘I do, sir.’
‘Good, good.’ Christopher’s gaze drifted up the drive to where the picnic party was gathering at the front of the house. ‘Pleased though I am to comprehend who you are, forgive me for saying I am thankful all other faces here are familiar to me, else I might suppose there are others yet to reveal themselves!’
‘There were,’ muttered Rose, thinking of Morgan and James.
* * *
The following morning, Rose woke eager to meet with her father again. They had managed barely a word as everyone took tea before departing on the previous afternoon, though Mrs Wallace had sat beside her for a while.
Thankfully, Anne had joined them, so there was no opportunity for her to quiz Rose about anything she might have found challenging, such as how her father had thought her dead when she wasn’t and where she had been all these years or, more pertinently, how she had now found him. Had he already touched on that with his wife?
She had risen early, having asked the maid if there was any chance she could bathe, and Rose looked over expectantly as the door to the servants’ stairs opened, then felt horribly guilty at the number of servants required to bring the necessary hot water. The maid ushered her into the dressing room adjacent to her bedroom and as soon as the servants trooped out of the room, Rose lowered herself into the rather small tin bath, feeling both relieved and conspicuous.
It took some time for her hair to dry, and despite washing it with the lotion provided – which she’d been told contained egg white to enhance the shine – it felt unnaturally heavy.
The maid had stayed to help her to dress and put her hair up, but as soon as she left the room, Rose wandered over to the window, which overlooked the fields stretching away to the south of the house, and she leaned forward as she saw a rider on horseback come round from the stable block and set his horse in motion.
Her heart did its usual dance as she realised it was Aiden, and she watched him race across the fields, scaling the far wall and disappearing into the distance. He seemed to be relishing his time here, and Rose turned her back on the scene with a sigh. Despite everything she missed about her old life, was she in danger of feeling the same? How was she ever to leave her father now they were reunited?
A tapping on the door drew her attention, and she was relieved when Jane put her head around it.
‘Good morning, Rose. I trust you slept well?’
‘I did, thank you.’ With a smile, Rose pointed to Jane’s hand. ‘Has Morgan written?’
Jane held out the letter to her. ‘She is a most prolific correspondent. I did not expect it of her.’
‘Why not?’
Rose studied the folded paper. Morgan had addressed it to ‘Miss Rose Wallace, Care of the Mistress of the Hole Under the Floorboard’.
‘Your friend has such immediacy. I have seen her communicating through her phone and on her—’ Jane paused, frowning. ‘Folding machine. The flat one she had those likenesses on.’
‘Laptop.’
Jane smiled. ‘The speed with which she formed the words astounded me. I did not expect her to tolerate the slowness of quill and ink.’ She walked over to the window, then turned to face Rose. ‘I believe it to be testament to her dedication to you.’
The reminder of Morgan, of the ease of their friendship and how often they would email, text or video chat brought a wave of homesickness beyond what Rose had felt before. Her old life had almost seemed distant after being with her father. She’d barely given a thought to it being Monday morning, that she should have been back at her desk at Luxury Lettings of Bath, doing her best to make James’ life easier.
‘I will leave you to read your letter.’ Jane opened the door, then turned on the threshold. ‘I happened upon your father when I was at the cottage this morning.’
Rose frowned. ‘You were about very early, Jane.’
Her expression became evasive. ‘There was something I needed to do.’ She waved a hand airily. ‘And it gave me an opportunity to retrieve your letter. Your father wishes to spend some time with you, if you can spare it. I assured him you could.’
‘How am I to achieve that?’
‘Cassandra is walking down to the village directly. She has a basket to distribute. If you go with her, I think you will find your father is hovering near the orchard opposite the cottage in hopes of seeing you.’
Jane left, and Rose tucked the letter into her reticule, grabbed a shawl and bonnet and hurried out of the room. She would read Morgan’s letter as she walked to meet her father. How comforting both those things sounded!
Cassandra left Rose to peruse her letter as they walked, humming softly under her breath, and Rose quickly unfolded the sheet, then smiled. Morgan’s ability with the quill was improving a little. There were far less blots of ink and only two words crossed out this time.
Rose! I’m so happy for you. You’re right – words can’t really cover it. So I won’t, I’ll wait until you get back! James came over from Bath last night, and we walked to the great house together. It was beautiful… so different to how we saw it last; at least, it was once I was warm enough from walking that I wasn’t distracted by the arctic winds. Is it always this cold at night in the fall?
It was a bit surreal, looking at Chawton House and knowing you were there, only 200 years at some other time! You know – we were there at the same moment, but not really? I’m thinking of you constantly and your situation. I’m so glad you have friends around you, but it’s lonely without you here. James is too smart (and too busy) to try to fill the void. You aren’t going to leave me here alone are you? Do you really think England can survive me without you to curb the shock?
Hugs, M xx
P.S. I saw Jane being led around by one of the regulars. I think she was in training, but I was on my way out and didn’t dare blow her cover. I laughed the entire way home to my lovely B&B. Will she let me come with her to get you and Aiden, d’you think? I’ll come as soon as you tell me when! Enjoy yourself, take your time, but also… hurry home!
P.P.S. Sure I saw James’ missing suit in the window of a thrift store in Alton!
With a smile, Rose returned the letter to her reticule. She would have to reply to Morgan as soon as she got back to the house.
‘You are pleased with your correspondence?’ Cassandra moved the heavy basket from one arm to the other, smiling at Rose.
‘Yes, thank you. Morgan is, well, you saw. Just so full of life, even through the written word. I can almost feel her hugging me.’
‘Such are my feelings when I am separated from my sister. Jane’s voice carries so clearly through her letters to me, I feel we are close despite the distance.’
Rose smiled and glanced at the lady walking by her side. ‘Even when writing to each other across a few hundred years?’
‘Indeed! Ah, and here is your father, Miss Wallace.’
Looking up, Rose saw Christopher Wallace leaning against the stone wall bounding the orchard opposite the cottage, and he straightened and raised his hat, bowing as they both reached him.
‘Miss Austen, Miss Wallace. Well met.’
‘Good day, sir.’ Cassandra smiled warmly, then touched Rose lightly on the arm. ‘I must call upon Mama before I attend to my duties. Enjoy your walk.’
She paused, letting a horse and cart pass before picking her way across the road, and Rose took the arm of her father as he led her into the orchard. The bees were swarming around the hives in the far corner, birds were singing in the treetops and although it was not sunny, the weather was mild and Rose sighed happily as they strolled through the long grasses.
‘How long do we have until you will be thought inappropriately missing?’
Christopher laughed. ‘We are quite at liberty. My reputation as an inveterate conversationalist is well known hereabouts. I am considered to have difficulty curbing my words and am always behind my time.’ He smirked at Rose. ‘In more sense than on
e! I have never been known to pass up an opportunity to expound on any variety of subjects. Now, let us not worry about the seconds passing. Tell me more about you.’
Rose blushed but couldn’t think of a single thing to say about herself that wasn’t inane. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Everything, anything. Dearest Rose.’ He stopped walking and turned her to face him. ‘Can you not imagine the height of my curiosity? When I last had the pleasure of beholding you, you were barely knee-high, speaking few words. You have lived five and twenty years since, and I will find aught of interest!’
Rose smiled as they resumed their walk. ‘But twenty-five years is a long time. Where would you have me begin?’
‘With minutiae. Do you like liquorice? Can you curl your tongue? Did you have to suffer braces? Have you ever broken a bone or had your wisdom teeth removed?’ He grimaced. ‘You would not wish for a tooth extraction in this century, I assure you.’
Rose laughed. This was easier. ‘Yes, yes, no, no and yes. May I ask you the same?’
The conversation continued thus as they enjoyed learning of both the similarities and differences in their experiences, certainly in the modern world, but eventually, they knew they could linger no longer and turned their steps for the centre of the village once more.
As they reached the road again, however, the sound of a dog yapping could be heard, and Rose shook her head as they emerged from the orchard.
‘Typical Prancer! I’m sure no other dog has caused as much mayhem in two different centuries!’
Her father came to stand beside her, his gaze following Rose’s to where the dog was barking at the ducks on the pond. They were paying him absolutely no attention.
‘Prancer? That is not his name, I assure you. That is Link, though you may be correct in what you say. He is forever running off, and is as likely to be found in our garden as his own.’
Rose turned to her father. ‘Do you remember what I told you yesterday, of how Jane – Miss Austen – became trapped in the future?’
Christopher’s eyes widened as he slowly turned to look back at the dog. Cassandra had emerged from one of the labourer’s cottages nearby, a basket on her arm, and she called Link to heel. With a lingering look at the ducks, he reluctantly trotted over to his mistress, who smiled over at them before opening the gate to the next cottage in the row and urging the hound inside.
