The Time of the Clockmaker

by Anna Caltabiano

  “I’m afraid I do not know. I’ve never seen it in my life.”

  I felt stricken. “Maybe another clockmaker made it?”

  “My grandpapa is the only clockmaker in court. There are other clockmakers in town, but no one with handiwork as fine as him. Certainly no one who can do this.”

  “Are you sure you haven’t seen it before?” I asked the old man. “You must have made hundreds of clocks. Surely—”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t forget a single one I make.”

  “He doesn’t forget a single one,” the girl repeated. “But—” The girl stopped herself, and I craned my neck forward.

  “But?”

  “You see this design around the face? That’s a pattern Grandpapa would do . . .”

  “So he has made it?”

  “No.” This time it was the clockmaker himself who answered. “I’ve never seen that clock.”

  “Grandpapa, I really hope no one’s stealing your designs.” The girl turned toward me and Richard. “Where did you get this?”

  I had to think fast. “A friend,” I blurted. “I saw it and just thought it was pretty . . . That’s all.”

  I watched the girl as she studied the drawing, bringing it close to her eyes, then back again. Then I had an idea.

  “Could I commission a clock?” I asked.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  I figured it was worth a shot. I pointed to the drawing I had made. “A clock exactly like this one here.”

  The clockmaker’s head came up at this. “For you?”

  “Yes, for me.”

  It was a long shot, but for now at least, it was the only chance I had.

  SIXTEEN

  I SAT UPRIGHT in my chair, pushing the food around on my plate. I knew the countess would have minded my manners—or more accurately, would have hated my manners—but I didn’t care. Since I was taking breakfast in my room, it was just me this morning. . . . Well, me and Henley.

  You’re making me antsy just looking at you.

  “Then look away. Besides, don’t you get ‘nervous’ but never ‘antsy’?”

  It’s spending all this time around you. It’s making me adopt your young vocabulary.

  His comment would have made me laugh at any other time. But I didn’t respond, and Henley seemed to notice that too.

  What’s eating you?

  Henley using such a modern phrase as “what’s eating you?” would have normally elicited at least a smile, but not today.

  “I don’t know,” I said. I stared into the food on my plate as if it would give me an answer. “It’s just that . . . you’d think there would be more.”

  More?

  “More to go on. More that I could do. More everything. I’ve been here now for more than two weeks and it seems like nothing has progressed. I feel like I’m right where I started.”

  You know that’s not true. Lots of things have happened.

  “Between dinner parties and a near-death experience, nothing important. Nothing I— we could use.”

  We’ve figured out a lot due to that smothering incident.

  “That almost smothering incident,” I corrected.

  We realized that whoever’s after you must be an immortal.

  “Sure. But that’s it. That doesn’t tell us much. I don’t even know how this person got to be immortal. They can’t be one of the Miss Hatfields. They’re all dead, and as dead immortals, they don’t exist in any time anymore.”

  I only know as much as you do, but I wouldn’t rule anything out quite yet.

  “What? Like Miss Hatfield back from the dead, even though I saw her killed with my own eyes?”

  Henley ignored me. You’re just in one of your moods, that’s all.

  “I think anyone who was stuck in 1527, aware that they have the quite probable possibility of going literally raving insane if stuck in one time period too long, would be in one of these so-called moods that you’re talking about.”

  I think you’re the only one in this world who’s in that specific predicament.

  I caught my breath. “Me . . . and maybe, just maybe, one other person.”

  The killer?

  “It would make sense. I’m immortal. He’s immortal. I can travel through time. He can travel through time. I have—or rather had—the clock, so he must have something like that, something that can control time and allows him to time travel. I came to this time because the tussle in the hotel room ended up turning the clock. The killer probably came with me because of the fight, but something had to have brought him to the twenty-first century to murder Miss Hatfield in the first place. He has to have a clock of his own.”

  That does make logical sense, but when did this ever make logical sense? I don’t think you should be fixated on that idea. It’s a good theory, but it’s only a theory.

  “You’re right. But it does show me that I really do need to find . . . or make . . . the clock.”

  You’re worried that it hasn’t been invented yet?

  “It’s a definite possibility. Fifteen twenty-seven is as far back as the clock goes.”

  In that case, I hope it’s invented quickly.

  “I wonder how he does it.”

  How the clockmaker makes a time-traveling device instead of an ordinary clock? I suppose that works in the same way as the waters of Islamorada turning you and my mother immortal. It might be chemicals or some other scientific phenomenon. Maybe it’s completely the opposite and can’t be explained at all. But whichever it is, it happens and that’s our reality.

  I wished it weren’t, but I didn’t say that aloud. I wondered if Henley would have ever freely chosen this new existence of his.

  There was a knock on the door, interrupting my train of thought. Joan peeped her head through.

  “My lady, I wanted to notify you that the dressmaker has just sent your wardrobe. The countess insisted they were made quickly. I could bring them in later, if you would like.”

  “That would be fine, Joan,” I said, but she didn’t disappear. “Was there anything else?”

  “Yes, my lady. The countess has asked if you would accompany her to chapel.”

  “Not this time, Joan,” I said. “Could you tell her I have a bit of a headache?”

  “Should I send for a physician?” Joan genuinely looked concerned.

  “I’m fine. I think I’ll just lie down this morning.” I moved to the bed.

  I wanted to be alone. Of course, that was impossible with Henley always hanging around in his ghostlike state. It was like being watched at every moment, and I had to admit that set me on edge at times, but compared with the deep pain I felt in my chest when I had thought I would never see him again . . . Well, anything would be better than that.

  You know . . . , Henley started.

  I laughed. “No, I don’t know. Unless you tell me, that is.”

  But Henley’s voice remained serious. I couldn’t help but notice recently . . .

  “Henley, spit it out already.”

  You’ve changed.

  His words lingered, as we both stopped to think about what he had just said.

  “I’ve changed?” I tried to muster up a laugh, but nothing came out. “You do realize immortals can’t change or age. At least, that’s what Miss Hatfield said.”

  You know that’s not what I mean.

  I did know what he meant, but I couldn’t admit it. Not to Henley. Not out loud. Perhaps not even to myself. No, admitting it would make it real.

  I’m here for you. I’m always here. And yet . . . you don’t confide in me anymore. And my God, that hurts, Rebecca.

  I didn’t want to see it, but I felt it too.

  It used to be you and me together. But now, you treat me as some sort of “other.” As part of the outside world you’re trying to keep away.

  A tear made its way down my cheek before I could stop it. “It’s different now.”

  It doesn’t have to be.

  “Miss Hatfield’s dead. Th
ere isn’t anyone else—”

  And what about me?

  “Anyone completely immortal, I mean. I don’t have anyone who’s going through what I’m going through anymore. You’re here, but I’m the one people see. I’m the one who needs to blend in but still act. I’m sorry, I’m just trying to find my own way through all this mess.”

  There was a pause, and I sat down to steady myself.

  What am I to you, Rebecca?

  “What do you mean? You know I love you more than anything.”

  Henley’s voice was faint, but I still heard it. Sometimes it feels like you’ve forgotten me.

  There was another knock at the door.

  “Come in.” Even my voice sounded tired.

  “I’m sorry to bother you again, my lady.” It was Joan, and she walked in with a vase of pink flowers. “Only, I just received these flowers, and I thought they might put you in better cheer. They’re for you, of course. Peonies. I didn’t even know they were in season. It seems like an awfully nice gift. Where would you like them, my lady?”

  “How about over there on the bedside table?” I pointed to my left.

  “Very well, my lady. I’ll be off to the chapel now.” Joan put the flowers down and excused herself.

  It did seem like an awfully nice gift, and for a moment, I wondered if it was from Sir Gordon or one of the older men I had met at one of the suppers. After hearing of my father’s—or rather Lady Shelton’s father’s—sizable fur trade in Lithuania, they all suddenly took an interest in me, my thoughts on mink-trimmed cloaks, and of course, in introducing me to their sons.

  I climbed out of bed to see if there was a card.

  To my sun.

  Because I have to try.

  -R

  So that’s what it takes to get you to smile?

  I hadn’t realized that I was smiling until Henley pointed it out.

  You’re not being fair to him.

  I put the card down. “In what way?”

  He’s falling in love with you.

  I laughed. “He’s just being nice,” I said. “You should know the difference.”

  I do know the difference. And this isn’t just nice. You’re leading him on.

  “In what way? I talk to him like I talk to the countess or Lord Empson.”

  I don’t know if you actually believe that.

  I thought I felt Henley’s breath in my ear, but I shook myself out of it. It had to be a breeze.

  “Believe what?”

  You’re blind. And this is dangerous.

  “Do you hear yourself? Richard’s as harmless as can be. You’re jealous and trying to dig up something where there clearly isn’t anything to be found.”

  If you think “harmless” is having scratches on his arm the morning after someone tries to smother you with a pillow, then yes, maybe he is harmless. Those were definitely from a struggle. That’s hard evidence.

  I remembered noticing that, but Henley couldn’t be right. Richard wouldn’t—couldn’t—do something like that. “That wasn’t him.”

  Oh, really? Henley scoffed. And you would know what’s “him” and what’s not “him” after knowing him for only a couple of weeks?

  I hadn’t realized I had said that out loud. “Richard’s not as bad as you think. He’s lost and floundering at times. He’s like me. I don’t know why you think he’s evil, and if he is, why are you worried that I’m leading him on?”

  So that’s what you think?

  I sat down at the edge of my bed. We were both breathing heavily, but only one of our chests heaved. With the countess and Joan at the chapel, there was nothing stopping us from yelling.

  You think that I’m just making this up because I’m petty and jealous? You saw his arm too! I can’t believe you’re ignoring the proof right in front of you!

  “And I can’t believe that you’re letting your jealousy cloud your judgment. He said it was a cat!”

  A cat? Well, that’s convenient. Do you know how improbable that is? Have you ever even seen him with a cat? Besides, those scratches were too deep to be from a cat.

  “No, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a cat. This is court. There must be loads of cats here!” I felt my cheeks go red with all of the shouting. “What I don’t understand is why you have to paint him as the villain.”

  Because he is!

  “You’re just insecure. You’re without a body, without control, and completely reeling.”

  Oh, are you calling me insane now?

  “Sometimes, I just—”

  His voice dropped low. You just what?

  “Sometimes I feel like I don’t know you anymore.”

  Well, for once, that makes two of us.

  I was shocked: at the argument, at Henley, at the situation. I couldn’t process it. I couldn’t think. It was all absurd, and I couldn’t deal with it right now.

  I didn’t want to sit in silence with Henley perpetually looking over me, but I didn’t want to venture out of my room for fear of running into Richard, which would only make things worse between me and Henley. Though Richard always made me feel better, this really wasn’t the time.

  I tried to look busy, and rummaged through the drawers of the bedside table. They were all empty, save for a few scraps of paper. The top drawer had a rosary in it.

  I took it out and began to run my fingers over it. The beads were a dark red like garnets, each one smoothed with what looked like years of use. Maybe it was the countess’s. I could see my face reflected upside down in each bead. Straightening it out, I began to roll each bead through my fingers. I must have looked like I was praying.

  In reality, my head was still racing. So many thoughts ran across the map of my mind that they blurred together, and I could not distinguish one from the other long enough to make sense of any of them. Instead, I forced my eyes down and willed my fingers to continue moving. The rosary beads were a buffer between me, Henley, and the world.

  Henley could see everything, even past the veil of time, into the past and future. However, he couldn’t see into my mind, and for that I had never been more thankful. It was the last place I could retreat back to. The last place that was really mine, and mine alone.

  And so I sat there, and pretended to pray, gripping the rosary tight in my hand. I had to do something—anything other than hearing Henley’s words in my head, continuously reverberating in my thoughts. I must have sat there in that same position for hours, because the next thing I knew, Joan was at the door again, asking this time if I felt well enough for supper in the great hall, or if I wanted her to bring up some food to my room. Figuring that I had to come out of my room sometime, I had her come in.

  “You’re looking a little flushed, my lady. Are you sure you don’t want me to call the physician? He’s supposed to be very good.”

  I assured her that that wouldn’t be necessary, and all I needed was some fresh air and maybe even dancing.

  “Only if you don’t overexert yourself.” Joan laughed. “Those flowers really did put you in good cheer.”

  My lips grew taut. “I’m sure it was lying down that made me feel better.”

  “Whatever the case, I’m glad you’re feeling better and are in better spirits, my lady,” Joan said. “I’ll send Helen in to help dress you for supper.” She dipped into a final curtsey before leaving me.

  I was beginning to see the upside of almost never being left alone—I didn’t have to confront Henley.

  Just as I pulled myself out of bed, a knock sounded at the door.

  “Come in.”

  “I’m sorry to hear you weren’t feeling well, my lady,” Helen said. Of course news traveled fast within the countess’s quarters, especially since she didn’t have as many servants as someone like Lady Sutton.

  “No matter. I’m feeling better now,” I assured her. “Now, what should I wear to supper this evening? Any suggestions?”

  Helen dressed me in a deep crimson gown. It was the color of blood and life. When I stood in fro
nt of the mirror, I almost didn’t recognize myself.

  “The dress looks beautiful, Helen. Thank you.”

  Helen had a sweet smile upon her face. “You do look beautiful, my lady. But I think you’re thanking the wrong person.”

  I fingered the surface of the mirror that held my face.

  “Are you reminded of someone?” Helen asked. “Of course, I don’t mean to pry, my lady. It’s just—”

  “No, it’s not prying,” I said. “You’re right. I am reminded of someone I used to be close to . . . well, as close as anyone was. She was a private person.”

  “I understand. And now, when you look into the mirror, you see her?” Helen raised a necklace to my throat, clasping it behind me.

  “Yes. I see her face instead of mine.”

  “That’s a good thing then, my lady.”

  “Is it really?” I asked. “I feel like I can’t shake her, wherever I go. It makes me feel as though I’m perpetually in her shadow.”

  I watched Helen’s face reflected in the mirror as she responded. “A part of her will always exist in you. You will never be able to shake her, because she is you. That’s what happens when we touch other people’s lives.”

  I nodded. I suppose that was what happened. Lives didn’t exist on their own in a vacuum. They coexist and overlap, so there is no gray space between them. And every touch, every graze, shapes both lives, so even when they move forward, they will never be the same.

  I thanked Helen one final time, and waited for the countess in the sitting room.

  When she appeared, she was dressed all in black as usual. “Ready to go? I see Helen outfitted you with one of my favorite jewels.”

  My hands rushed to my neck.

  “It’s all right,” she said. “Who do you think instructed her to give you it? The diamond and garnet look good with that dress.” She stepped closer to me on her way to the door. “You don’t look too ill. Good.” She pinched my cheeks hard.

  “Ouch.” My hands flew to my face.

  “That’s just for a little more color.” The countess smiled.

  I was beginning to learn my way to the great hall. It was simple; all you had to do was follow the throng of people dripping with jewels. To anyone else, I knew I would look like one of them, but I wondered if any of the other people at court felt as lost as I did.