An Earl In Time

by Ruth Ann Nordin

  Once she left, he sat back down and waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  His patience finally paid off when, just after the sun set on the other side, someone began to walk toward him from the other hallway. It took him a moment to realize he wasn’t imagining her. She wore clothes he’d never seen on a lady before. A shirt that went past her hips, pants, and strange slippers with ties. Her hair was also pulled up into an unusual style.

  Once he overcame his shock, he ran to the object and tapped the glass with the palm of his hand. “Hello! Do you see me?” He tapped the glass again.

  The lady didn’t look at him right away, but she did as she slowed to go to the bedchamber that was next to his.

  Encouraged, he tapped the glass a third time. “I’m Julian. Can you see me?”

  She gasped and ran into the bedchamber.

  “No, wait! Don’t go!” This time he pounded the glass. “I have to talk to you!” He waited for a minute, but she didn’t come back out. “Please! You don’t know what I’ve been through. I’ve waited for two centuries for something new to happen. I won’t hurt you. I just want to talk.”

  Her bedchamber door remained closed.

  He pressed his forehead against the cool glass and felt a sob rise up in his throat. “Please, come back. You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

  He closed his eyes and let the tears fall down his cheeks. After all this time, something different had happened. Something he hadn’t had any control over. And there was nothing he could do about it.

  He didn’t want to wake up tomorrow and find out it was June 17 all over again. He wanted out of this nightmare. He wanted it all to be over.

  All of his strength left him, and he fell to the floor against the object that had given him a sliver of hope from the endless cycle he was stuck in. For the first time since he could remember, he had felt that time was going to finally move forward again.

  Maybe he had died and didn’t realize it. Maybe he was stuck in Hell after all.

  He thought over what he could remember of his past, and he didn’t recall dying. He recalled a childhood spent here with his parents. He’d had picnics with his parents. He’d played with Francis, his cousin, when his uncle and aunt came for visits. Francis had been a childhood friend. When he grew up, he went to London, and they became even better friends.

  The last he recalled, Francis had just gotten betrothed to Lady Kimberly. He and Francis had celebrated the upcoming marriage before word came that Julian’s father died and he had to come here to make sure the estate was in order. He was only supposed to be here for one month.

  But one month had turned into two centuries. If he wasn’t so exhausted, he would have yelled in frustration.

  What had he done to deserve this?

  He heard the sound of footsteps but knew it was on his side of the hall, so he didn’t get up.

  “Are you all right, my lord?” the butler asked. “I thought I heard you screaming up here.”

  What could he say? The butler wouldn’t remember anything that he told him when he woke up the next day. “I’m fine,” he finally said, his voice devoid of emotion.

  The butler hesitated but then replied, “If you need anything, I’ll come back.”

  Julian didn’t respond as the butler went back down the hall.

  ***

  Julian went to his bedchamber well after midnight. He was sure it was still June 17. He would ask one of his servants tomorrow morning to make sure, but he doubted seeing that lady in the other hallway would change anything. It was enough to know that the hallway was still there in that painting-like object after the clock struck midnight. The white sheet hadn’t returned.

  Julian checked the time as he took his pocket watch out. It was 2:35 in the morning. He set the pocket watch on the dresser then glanced outside his bedchamber. The candles still lit up his hallway with plenty of light. He wondered if he should make another attempt at reaching the lady in that other hallway. She’d been scared when she saw him. He hadn’t meant to scare her. But as he thought back on it, a different approach might have worked better.

  After a moment, an idea came to him.

  He returned to the hall and retrieved one of his candles. He brought it back with him into his bedchamber and carried it into the small room where he set it on his desk. He searched through the top drawer for parchment. He hadn’t written anything in so long that he wasn’t sure if the ink in the inkwell would be fresh.

  He paused and took a look at the inkwell. Of course, the ink would be good. The food never rotted. No one aged. Everything was just like it had been on that original morning of June 17 all those years ago.

  Encouraged, he took out a piece of parchment and set it on the desk. He unscrewed the top of the inkwell and dipped the quill into it. When he brought the quill out, the ink was suitable for use. He pressed the quill to the parchment and wrote, Can you read this?

  He paused. No. That wouldn’t do any good. He had to come up with something where he might get a response.

  After a moment, he dug out another piece of parchment and wrote, If you can read this, write back and let me know. I can’t go into your hallway. This is the only way I can communicate with you.

  He reread the sentence. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do.

  He left the room and moved his chair so that it was right in front of the painting-like object. He blew out one of the candles and removed it from the candlestick. Then he propped the parchment up so that it was resting on the candlestick.

  There.

  He took a cautious step back. The parchment didn’t fall over.

  He wasn’t sure if this would work, but it was better than doing nothing. Tomorrow when he woke up, maybe he would see a response on the other side.

  He picked up the other candles and brought them into his bedchamber. Then, after he got ready for bed, he blew them out and went to sleep.

  Chapter Seven

  Willow waited until the sun had been up for a couple of hours before she pushed aside all of the objects she had set up as a barrier to her bedroom. Though she hadn’t heard the man’s footsteps in the hall, she’d seen him coming toward her in that mirror.

  Once she got into her bedroom, she’d secured the doorway and waited for him to try to get in. But nothing happened. The rest of the night had been quiet.

  Eerily quiet.

  She didn’t know what she was supposed to do. Violet’s crew had made sure the entire place was safe. She hadn’t once unlocked any of the doors or windows. She’d even taken the time to search the entire place before coming up here yesterday evening.

  She shivered and retrieved the candlestick. If she could make it to the kitchen, she was going to grab the largest knife she could find. A candlestick just wasn’t enough to defend herself.

  She hated the predicament she was in. She couldn’t make a phone call. She couldn’t leave the property. That invisible barrier wouldn’t let her out. She didn’t feel safe going outside where anyone could be. And she wasn’t safe inside this place, either.

  She had to fight back the urge to cry. The only recourse she had was to kill the intruder if he made another attempt to get to her. She had to get to the kitchen. She couldn’t stay locked away in this bedroom forever.

  She took a deep breath to steady her nerves then slowly opened the door. The hall was vacant. All was quiet. She released her breath. So far, so good. Gripping the candlestick, she took a tentative step into the hall.

  Everything was still okay.

  Despite the fact that she didn’t want to look at the mirror, she forced her gaze in that direction. She gasped when she noticed the chair. There was no chair on her side of the mirror. How on earth could there be one on the other side of it?

  She blinked as she struggled to put all of the pieces of this puzzle together. This place had an invisible barrier keeping her stuck here. She wasn’t able to sign a contract selling the estate. There was nothing like a TV or
computer to connect her to the outside world, and she couldn’t charge her iPhone. So really, was that chair on the other side of the mirror so odd?

  Of course, it was. Mirrors were reflections of the stuff in front of them. They weren’t like windows.

  Except this one was.

  Making sure that the strange man wasn’t anywhere nearby, she tiptoed over to the mirror. The chair didn’t move. Upon inspection she realized there was a piece of paper with cursive writing on it.

  Her steps came to a stop. Did she want to know what was on that paper?

  She waited for a few seconds as she debated whether she should read the message.

  Oh, who was she kidding? She had to check it out. She’d die of curiosity if she didn’t.

  She glanced over her shoulder to make sure she was alone then inched to the mirror so she could read it.

  If you can read this, write back and let me know. I can’t go into your hallway. This is the only way I can communicate with you.

  He couldn’t get into her hallway?

  She turned back. No one was there. She was still alone.

  Or so it seemed.

  She read the message again. The writing had to be from that man, even though the handwriting was far more stylish than anything she’d seen. But then, the historical documents she’d seen had elaborate swirls and loops like this, too.

  If he was telling the truth, then that meant she was safe in this mansion. She didn’t have to worry about an intruder. The intruder was stuck in the mirror.

  Much like she was stuck on this property.

  Could it really be possible?

  Was there any way it could not be possible?

  She paused for a long moment then decided to see what would happen if she did as he asked and wrote back.

  She went to her bedroom and, after shutting the door, sorted through her suitcase until she found her notebook and pen. She opened the notebook to a blank page. Just what did someone write to a person who was on the other side of a mirror?

  She tapped the pen on the notebook for a few minutes then wrote, I read your message. How is it possible you’re on the other side of this mirror?

  She ripped the paper from the notebook and dug through her suitcase until she found her gum. It was a crude way of attaching a message to a mirror, but she had no idea where any tape was.

  Once she chewed on her stick of gum to get it to soften up, she returned to the door and slowly opened it. Again, no one was in the hallway. She began to step out when she noticed a middle-aged man in a dark outfit in the mirror. He was heading toward her. Gasping, she went back into the room and picked up the candlestick. That was a different man from the one she’d seen before. The other one had been younger.

  Just how many intruders was she dealing with?

  She peered out of the doorway. No one was in the hall.

  Surprised, she stuck her head further into the hallway.

  Still no one. And all was quiet.

  She turned her gaze to the mirror. The man stood in front of the bedroom door closest to the mirror.

  She rubbed her eyes and took another look at the mirror. The man was still there. But he was only on the other side of the mirror. He wasn’t in her hallway. Remaining out of sight, she watched as he talked to someone who was in that bedroom.

  “I’m losing my mind,” she whispered. “This can’t be happening.”

  The man grew silent as he waited for someone to answer him. Then the man spoke again. She couldn’t hear him. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t even heard him walking in the hall. The man nodded and turned to go back down the hall.

  She darted back into her room and waited. No one passed in front of her.

  Daring a peek outside the doorway, she could only see him in the mirror, and he was retreating down the other hall.

  What was going on?

  She couldn’t be seeing ghosts. Ghosts didn’t exist. And if they did, they wouldn’t be wandering the halls during the day.

  No. She wasn’t dealing with ghosts.

  But there was something unusual going on.

  She waited until her hallway and the hallway in the mirror were clear of any people before she hurried to the mirror. She took the gum out of her mouth and got ready to pin her message to the mirror when her hands went through it.

  She shrieked and pulled the paper and gum back toward her.

  What had just happened?

  Had her hands really gone through the mirror?

  She shook her head. This was impossible. No one’s hands could go through a mirror.

  Unless what they were looking at wasn’t a mirror.

  After a moment, she brought her hand up to the wall next to the object and touched it. It seemed solid. She hesitated then knocked on it. Yes, it was a regular wall, all right.

  Her gaze went to the mirror.

  Which wasn’t a mirror.

  No mirror on this world would allow her hands to go through it.

  Her hands hadn’t gone through the mirror when she took the sheet down.

  Did you actually touch the mirror when you removed the sheet?

  She thought back to that evening, and she didn’t think she touched the mirror itself. She had touched the sides of it, but not the mirror.

  She inspected the frame holding the object that she had mistaken for a mirror. It was pressed firmly against the wall. There wasn’t even a sliver of space between it and the wall.

  She glanced behind her, reassured when no one was standing in the hall with her. Then she directed her attention back to the other hall.

  What was she looking at? A different dimension? A parallel universe? A portal into another world?

  Ignoring her apprehension, she brought her hand up to the thing and gently pushed her hand forward. It went through the barrier. This time, she noticed the pink and purple ripples that went from her hand to the edges of the object. The ripples stopped at the frame.

  How odd. She’d seen pink and purple ripples at the barrier that prevented her from crossing the bridge, too.

  She pulled her hand back and took a deep breath. She didn’t know what this meant, but she was sure it was significant.

  She wasn’t brave enough to do anything else with the object than what she’d already done, so she decided to do the same thing the man had done and took a chair from her bedroom so she could set her message on it.

  She used the gum to pin the message to the chair so he could read it. Then she took a step away from it and waited to see if he would appear.

  After a half hour of nothing happening, she sighed. She didn’t feel like standing here all day and waiting for something that might—or might not—happen. Now that she was sure there was no one on this side of the house, she could rest assured that she was safe here. He had written that he was unable to cross the barrier separating them. Judging by the way he wasn’t in here with her right now when he could be, she felt much better.

  She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans then decided to get something to eat.

  ***

  Julian held off on checking the painting-like object in the hallway. He was scared nothing would be different about it. He’d spent so many mornings hoping something would change, and after every single morning revealing that every single thing was the same, he was afraid to hope that this morning might be different.

  It was still June 17. When his valet had come to see if he wanted help getting dressed, Julian had asked him what day it was, and the valet had told him.

  June 17, 1817.

  Again.

  Julian took his time getting ready for the day. When he couldn’t think of anything else to do to delay the inevitable, he took a step out into the hall and took a tentative look at the painting-like object. His chair was still in front of it, just as it’d been last night when he went to bed. He had expected that since he’d placed it there at two in the morning. But…he thought he saw something different in the other hall.

  His heart leapt with a spar
k of excitement, and he hurried over to it.

  Yes! There was something different from what he’d seen yesterday! Right in front of him was a different chair. He recognized that chair. It was the same one that was in the bedchamber adjoining his. On the chair was a message.

  He leaned forward so he could read it.

  I read your message. How is it possible you’re on the other side of this mirror?

  Mirror? Had the lady not inspected this object close enough to realize it wasn’t a mirror? Even this morning, he couldn’t see his reflection in it. But to be sure, he put his hand right up to the glass and waved. He didn’t see his hand waving back at him. There wasn’t even a trace of his fingers visible on the other side.

  Well, that didn’t matter. What mattered was that she’d been able to read his message and she had written back. He didn’t know what this meant, except that it was different, and anything different was good.

  He hurried back to the small room in his bedchamber and wrote her another message.

  Please don’t be afraid of me. I am Julian Azazel, the earl of this estate.

  This isn’t a mirror. I can only see things in your hallway through this object. It seems to be a doorway. I have touched it, and it’s solid. It feels like glass. I am unable to pass through it.

  Tell me, what is the date over there? I want to know the month, the day, and the year. I’ve been trapped in June 17, 1817 for two centuries. Every day since the first June 17, 1817 dawned, I’ve been in the same day.

  Is the same true for you? Are you stuck in the same day? Or do your days change?

  And if you don’t mind my asking, who are you?

  He knew it was a lengthy message, but he had no guarantee he’d be able to communicate with her again. He left his bedchamber and replaced this message with the old one.

  Then, since he had nothing to do, he grabbed the chair from the bedchamber adjoining his and set it in the hallway.

  “My lord,” the butler said as he approached him, “it’s time to eat.”