An Earl In Time

by Ruth Ann Nordin

  “You’ll have to walk a little over two hours. The road going to the main highway is almost an hour long.” He gestured to the path covered with trees. “We’d be better off having the mechanic take care of this car after he sees to the car in the garage.”

  She didn’t feel like waiting all that time. After a moment, she asked, “Would you mind if I walked toward town now? You can pick me up after you get this car fixed.”

  He winced. “I can’t guarantee this car will be able to run. I mean, it was working just fine this morning. I had no trouble getting here. This happened so suddenly.”

  “Then you can get me when Violet and her company leave. I just don’t feel like sitting around and waiting. Besides, I haven’t walked for a while. It’ll be nice to get some exercise. I really don’t mind.”

  He hesitated but nodded. “Okay. I’ll pick you up on my way out.”

  Relieved, she hurried to the back of the car and took her suitcase.

  “I don’t mind bringing that with me,” he told her.

  “I know, but my things are in here, and I feel better not leaving them. The road is smooth,” she continued when she noted the uncertainty on his face. “I won’t have any trouble rolling it behind me.”

  “It’s your suitcase,” he replied. “I’m in no position to tell you what to do.”

  Great. That settled, she took her suitcase and put it on the ground. Then she pulled the handle and headed for the bridge. “I’ll see you when you head down there.” She pointed to the row of trees.

  He nodded, and she walked down to the bridge. She made it halfway across the bridge when something zapped her. She jumped back. It didn’t hurt, but it did shock her. She made another attempt to step forward, but she was zapped again.

  What on earth…?

  She reached out and tapped the invisible wall. A trace of purple and pink swirl rippled through the air.

  Her eyes grew wide.

  She had to be seeing things.

  She reached out again, and once more, the ripple went out across the air.

  Holding her breath, she pressed her hand to the air and felt the zap go up her arm.

  She stepped to her right and pushed against the barrier. The ripple went out all around her, and she saw the moat glow with purple and pink swirling colors.

  Something strange was going on, and she didn’t have the slightest idea what was causing it.

  The car behind her started up. Startled, she turned. Mr. Thompson waved for her to get back into his vehicle.

  She glanced at the invisible barrier. She didn’t know if she could go past it, but now she had to see if she was the reason the car had stalled.

  She returned to the car and got in as he put the suitcase back into the trunk. As soon as she sat in the seat, the engine died.

  Without shutting the trunk, Mr. Thompson hurried over to the driver’s side and tried starting the car.

  Sure it would start back up once she got out, she tested her theory, and sure enough, the engine started. Mr. Thompson muttered something about how strange his car was acting, but she ignored him and went back to the middle of the bridge. For some reason, she wasn’t able to leave. There was nothing wrong with that car in the garage.

  This invisible barrier that surrounded the property was going to keep her here. She touched the barrier again, and the pink and purple colors rippled out and vibrated across the moat. The moat circled the entire property. She was, essentially, a prisoner here. And she would continue to be one until she figured a way out of this mess.

  She returned to Mr. Thompson. “Would you drive across the bridge and come back?”

  His eyebrows furrowed. “I can turn around here if you want me to take you back to Nightingale Hall. I don’t blame you for not trusting my car to get you to the city.”

  She shook her head. “I just want to see if you can go over that bridge and come back.”

  He waited for her to explain, but there was no way she could do that. He’d think she was insane! She hardly believed it herself.

  After a moment, he shrugged, closed the trunk, and returned to his driver seat. She stepped back and watched as he drove across the bridge. She didn’t see any colors ripple out, and the moat didn’t glow with colors, either. She directed her attention back to the car. Mr. Thompson turned his vehicle around on the other side of the bridge and drove back over it. Again, nothing.

  She supposed she should be panicking, but she was too stunned to fully grasp everything that was happening.

  He pulled to a stop when he reached her. “Would you like me to take you to the city? I think the car will make it.”

  “No. I’ll just return to the house.” She got into the car and waited for a few seconds to speak. “All the other people who inherited this place came and left whenever they wanted, didn’t they?”

  “Yes. I was the one who handled the will when Greg Westmore inherited this place.” He smiled. “I was in my early twenties back then. It’s hard to believe. It feels like I first came to this place yesterday.”

  “And Greg said he wasn’t able to sell it?”

  “Silly, I know, but maybe he had a sentimental fondness for it.”

  She had a feeling that wasn’t the case. She bet, for whatever reason, Greg could not physically sell it. If this estate had the ability to physically prevent her from leaving, it could prevent someone from selling it. She wasn’t sure how, but it had to be the case.

  Could it be magic?

  She hadn’t believed in magic before. Was she going to believe in it now?

  Could she afford not to believe in it in light of the fact that the invisible barrier only held her here?

  But why her? What made her so special that the place didn’t want her to go?

  She wondered what would happen if she tried to sign the contract to sell this place. She glanced at Mr. Thompson’s briefcase.

  “When we get back, I’ll sign the contract,” she told him.

  He nodded and continued driving in silence. Once he came to a stop in front of the mansion, the mechanic came out of the garage and went over to them.

  “Everything looks fine to me, Miss Knudson,” he told her. “But to be sure, I did some adjustments to the engine, and then I emptied the fluids and put new fluids in. Sometimes cars are temperamental things.” He took his hat off and wiped his forehead.

  The only reason Willow noticed the white streak in his hair was that the white was such a strong contrast to the rest of his hair which was pitch black.

  He put the hat back on and held the key out to her. “Would you like to drive it to test it out?”

  “No thanks,” Willow said as she took the key. What was the point? The property wasn’t going to let her leave. She already knew the car would stall out at the bridge. “I appreciate you taking a look at it.”

  He smiled. “Happy to do it. I love tinkering with things.” He pulled out an apple from his pocket and bit into it as he went to the van.

  Mr. Thompson came to her with her suitcase. “We can go into the sitting room to take care of the contract. Before I leave, I’ll make sure there’s no intruder in the house. I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here without making sure you’ll be safe.”

  She appreciated that. If she had to be stuck here, she’d like to make sure she was safe, too.

  When they were back in the house, one of Violet’s crewmen approached them.

  “We just finished checking the place, and there’s no one here. Whoever was here is long gone now,” he told Willow and Mr. Thompson. “To be sure no one is able to get back in, I made sure everything is locked, and I put a new lock on the front door.” He held out the key to Willow. “This is for the door.”

  “Thank you,” Willow replied and took it from him. She made eye contact with him. She had seen people with green eyes before, but his were a brighter shade of green than she recalled seeing before.

  “Think nothing of it,” he replied. “I love working with locks and checking to make sure ever
ything is as it should be.”

  She relaxed. It was nice to know the intruder was long gone. That made her feel much better about staying here all by herself.

  She followed Mr. Thompson to the sitting room.

  “You should sit here since you’re the mistress of the estate,” Mr. Thompson said as he pulled the chair out from behind the desk.

  Without meaning to, she looked up at the portrait of Lord Blackwell and wondered what he would think of her trying to sell this estate. Again, she couldn’t help but feel that he never intended for someone to come along and sell it. It was meant to be in the family line forever.

  But then, she might not be able to sell it, so this whole thing would be moot. She sat in the chair and Mr. Thompson opened his briefcase.

  He took about ten minutes to explain what was in the contract. They got to the last page when another one of Violet’s crewmen came into the room. Like the others, he wore a white uniform, but he was shorter than the others and had a round face with a nose that looked as if someone had smushed it in.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said. “I’ll come back.”

  “You haven’t interrupted anything,” Mr. Thompson replied. “You can come in.”

  The man glanced from Mr. Thompson to Willow, and since she nodded, he took off his hat, revealing light-brown hair that had a feathered look to it.

  “I haven’t seen any signs of rodents,” he said.

  “Rodents? Does that mean there’s mice here?” Willow asked.

  “Not anymore,” he replied. “I set out traps the last time I was here, and I found two. I found the openings they were using to get in and covered them up. You don’t have anything to worry about now.”

  She hid the urge to let him and Mr. Thompson know how grossed out this made her. If she had thought there might be rodents slipping into this mansion when she first arrived, she would have insisted on staying at a hotel.

  Not that it would have done any good. The invisible barrier wouldn’t have let her leave. As soon as she came here, she was trapped.

  Just who had put that barrier there? And why? And, more importantly, could she ever leave?

  “That’s good news,” Mr. Thompson said, interrupting her thoughts. “It’s nice to have everything in tip-top shape.”

  Willow forced out an agreement. If she had to be stuck here, it was nice to know a bunch of mice, or a human intruder, weren’t going to be with her.

  The man left, and Mr. Thompson turned back to the contract.

  When it came time for her to sign it to give him permission to sell the estate, the pen ran out of ink.

  “That’s funny,” Mr. Thompson said. “It was working just fine earlier today.”

  As he rummaged in his briefcase for another pen, a sense of unease crept over her. This was going to be just like the barrier at the bridge. She wasn’t going to be able to sign the contract. She just knew it.

  She studied the air around her. There were no pink or purple colors rippling anywhere.

  Mr. Thompson gave her another pen. “Try this one.”

  She did, and the same thing happened.

  “Huh. This is strange.” He pulled out a piece of blank paper from his briefcase and scribbled on it. The pen worked just fine. “There. Now it works.”

  He gave the pen back to her.

  Sure it wasn’t going to work, she tried to sign her name, but, as she expected, the ink wouldn’t cooperate.

  “I don’t understand this,” he said, not hiding his shock.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him if the same thing had happened to Greg.

  “Try this one,” Mr. Thompson said as he gave her a third pen. “This one is brand new. It has to work.”

  Yeah, right. Instead of voicing her sarcastic reply, she took the pen and made another attempt to sign her name. Not surprising, this time wasn’t any more successful than the others had been.

  “Those are the only pens I brought with me,” Mr. Thompson said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she replied. “None of them will work.”

  “That can’t be true. It’s not logical.” He put the contract and the pens back into his briefcase. “I have a couple of other clients I need to take care of over the next two days. Do you mind waiting for me to return to sign the contract?”

  “No, I don’t mind.” She was doubtful Thursday would be any different from today, but a part of her needed to find out. If for no other reason than to know she was going to be trapped here for the rest of her life or if this was a temporary situation.

  “I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” he said as he closed the suitcase. “I know you were hoping this would be a smooth and quick process.”

  “I don’t have to fly back to the US until later this week. I’ll be fine.”

  Since there was no point in staying at the desk, she stood up. She glanced at the portrait of Lord Blackwell. Did he have something to do with all of this?

  “You have more than enough to get you by for another month if you have to stay here longer,” Mr. Thompson told her.

  She frowned. She hadn’t thought of what would happen long term. If she was doomed to spend the rest of her life here, how would she get food? She understood the money wrapped up in the estate was being handled by Mr. Thompson, so that would take care of the utilities, maintenance, and taxes. But food and toiletries were another problem.

  “If I need to stay here longer than that, can someone bring me food and things like soap and toilet paper?” she asked.

  Mr. Thompson thought over the question for a moment. “I suppose if you decided to live here permanently, then something could be arranged. Greg left the estate in good standing. We could always discuss investing most of the money to make sure you don’t run out.”

  That might be the path she would have to take.

  She didn’t understand why Greg and all of the other ancestors were able to leave this place while she couldn’t.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?” Mr. Thompson asked.

  Recalling her iPhone, she replied, “Do you have a cord to power something like an iPhone?”

  “I do, as a matter of fact.” He opened his briefcase again. “I got it for my son, but I can always get another one when I get back to town.” He took an unopened package and showed it to her. “Will this work for the one you have?”

  “Yes. That’s perfect.” She took the cord. “Thanks. I have a couple of pounds in my wallet.”

  “It’s on me,” he told her before she could reach into her jeans’ pocket. “Considering everything that’s happened, it’s the least I can do.” He closed the briefcase and glanced around the room. “I don’t think there’s anything else for now. If you run into any emergencies, call me.”

  “I will.”

  It’d be great to get her phone working again. At least with all this craziness, there would be some sense of normalcy to hold onto.

  She walked with Mr. Thompson to the front door. The only car in the driveway belonged to Mr. Thompson. Violet’s van was already gone.

  “I’ll be back at eight o’clock Thursday morning,” Mr. Thompson told her. “To be safe, you should lock the door after I leave.”

  “I’ll do that,” Willow replied.

  When he left, she shut the door and locked it. She grabbed her suitcase and carried it back upstairs.

  Her gaze went to the mirror in the hallway as she went to her bedroom. Her steps slowed as she looked at it. Nothing was out of the ordinary. There was no flickering light coming from the wrong bedroom. There was no one but her in the reflection. She glanced around the hall and then back at the mirror. Everything looked exactly as it was in the hall she was standing in.

  She released her breath. After all the weird stuff going on, it wouldn’t surprise her if something jumped out at her from that thing.

  She went into her bedroom and put the suitcase back on the chair that was against the wall. She scanned the room. It looked just as disheveled
as she’d left it.

  She unzipped the suitcase and pulled out her iPhone. After she got the cord out of the package, she plugged it into the outlet and then plugged her phone in. Nothing happened to let her know the battery was charging.

  Maybe after she had something to eat, she would see evidence of the battery charging. She went back downstairs and took her time in making an omelet. She supposed if there was somewhere she had to be trapped in for the rest of her life, this would be the ideal place for it.

  But surely, there had to be a way out of here. This couldn’t be something she’d be stuck with forever. Even Greg and all of the others got to leave.

  She almost ate outside on the porch in the back, but after a moment, she decided to eat in the kitchen. It would probably take her a day or two before she felt comfortable going outside all alone.

  Once she was done eating, she returned to her bedroom and checked the iPhone. It wasn’t charging. She tried plugging it back in. Nothing.

  She put the cord into an outlet one of the lamps was plugged into. Nothing there, either. Though the lamp worked just fine, the outlet didn’t work for the cord.

  She couldn’t believe it was the phone. It’d been working just fine the morning she arrived here.

  Was it possible that in addition to not being able to leave this place or sign the contract, she was unable to access anything that would give her a connection to the outside world?

  No. That was ridiculous. Something like that could never happen.

  And yet, you can’t physically leave here or sign a piece of paper agreeing to sell the estate.

  She stared at the iPhone for a long moment. What could she do? She was stuck here. She set the phone into her suitcase and sat on the bed.

  Just what was she supposed to do now?

  Chapter Five

  June 17, 1817

  Julian Azazel, the Earl of Blackwell, woke up late on this particular morning. Not that it mattered when he woke up. Every day was the same. Ever since he first woke up on June 17, 1817 over two centuries ago, he’d been stuck in an endless cycle of repeating the same day over and over. He knew he wasn’t stuck in Hell, but it sure felt like it.