The Time of the Clockmaker

by Anna Caltabiano

  It was hard to imagine someone as perpetually refined as the countess throwing a tantrum.

  “You really loved him,” I said.

  “I did. And it hurt all the more for it.”

  “How did you get over it?” I asked.

  “I never did.”

  The countess continued brushing her hair as if we were having a different conversation. To a passerby who couldn’t hear our words, it would have looked like we were discussing the weather.

  “Only, don’t try to prepare yourself for the pain,” the countess said. “You can’t prepare yourself for something like that. It’s unimaginable.”

  The countess’s words resonated with me, and they remained stuck in my mind for the majority of the day.

  I was beginning to learn that there are a handful of people in your life who affect you like no others can. It doesn’t matter how long you have with them. You’ll carry their mark forever. It was as Helen had said when she’d found me staring at the mirror, thinking of Miss Hatfield.

  Richard was one of those people. His intensity and passion were things I could never forget. And I didn’t want to. I wanted to be a living testament that he had existed. I suppose that’s what love is. I loved Richard. But I wasn’t in love with him.

  I wondered why it had taken me so long to realize that, why I hadn’t realized what Henley had been getting at. It seemed so simple now that I knew, but I guess that’s the case with the hardest things to learn. I had fallen in love once, and I knew that because it felt like I couldn’t breathe and the sky had opened up. It was a different love from what I felt for Richard. Not better, or worse—just different.

  You could love more than one person in a lifetime. It didn’t mean you were replacing or comparing them. I wondered if the countess knew that.

  She had looked so happy with Lord Dormer. It was clear to anyone, save herself, how good he seemed for her.

  I laughed, remembering the countess telling me that it was unseemly for any woman to go out alone with a man, when she herself did the same thing with Lord Dormer. Lord Dormer was the kind of man who could get the countess to do anything. It was obvious how he swept her off her feet with the smallest things he did and said. I knew the countess loved her late husband, and that would never change, but she had room to love Lord Dormer too. There wasn’t anything unseemly about that.

  I walked to the countess’s door and knocked.

  “Come in.”

  Ever the picture of propriety, the countess sat still, working on her needlepoint again.

  “I don’t think you’ll like to hear what I have to say,” I began.

  “I don’t think anyone will if you start your conversations that way, Lady Eleanor.”

  Ignoring her, I plunged into what I had come to say. “I think you need to give Lord Dormer a chance. And I mean a real chance.”

  The countess betrayed no emotion at me barging into her room to say something so personal to her.

  “I think it would be a shame for you to let what you have with him disintegrate because you are too cautious to act on it.”

  I paused, waiting for her to say something.

  When she finally spoke, her response was short. “Is that it?”

  I was taken aback, since it wasn’t something small I had just said.

  “I’m guessing that’s all, since you clammed up suddenly,” she said.

  I wondered how someone could be so disengaged from her own life.

  “There are things we’d all like to do in an ideal world. But we don’t live in an ideal world. I’m sorry if you don’t realize that yet.”

  “You can’t live by the rules of society forever,” I said.

  “Spoken like someone who doesn’t know the true consequences of not living by the rules.”

  “I’ve given up more than you know,” I said. “An entire life.”

  “And you expect me to do the same? Not everything is a happy ending, my dear. At some point, we have to learn to be satisfied with something less.”

  “What use is a life you have to be satisfied with? Don’t you want more?” I asked.

  I knew what she was like around him. She couldn’t make me believe that she dreamed of a life without him.

  “Wishful thinking doesn’t do anything—”

  “You’re wrong. Not taking risks is what doesn’t do anything.” I knelt at her feet and chose my next words carefully. I knew she was finally listening. “You’ve seen Lady Empson—”

  “What about her?”

  “She frightens me. Not because of who she is—I obviously don’t know who she is, since she hardly ever talks without echoing someone else—but because she doesn’t have an identity.”

  A smile played at the countess’s lips, and I chuckled.

  “So you’ve seen it too?” she said.

  “It’s hard not to! She’s a shadow of her husband. My point is that she is an example of someone who doesn’t take risks. I don’t think she’s ever taken a single one.”

  “Not even deciding what to eat?” The countess laughed softly.

  “Not even that,” I said. “You don’t want to become that, do you?”

  She smirked. “I’d rather die.”

  “Then don’t always live according to what society says. There’s a time for that, but there are also times when you have to do something.”

  “Like run after Lord Dormer?” The countess looked at me.

  I laughed at the idea of the countess running after anyone. “Like giving this—whatever may be between you and him—a chance.”

  “You sound like an old married woman giving advice,” she said, after a stretch.

  “I feel like one.”

  About an hour of peace went by before I heard a knock at the door. Knowing it was Helen, I called for her to come in. I had been here long enough to grow used to Helen’s soft knock and differentiate it from Joan’s more peremptory rap.

  She curtseyed as always, and I wondered if she ever got sick of doing it.

  “I’m sorry if I was interrupting, my lady,” she said.

  “No, no. Go on.”

  “I was told to tell you that the clock you—or rather, your friend—commissioned is ready.”

  The clock!

  “Oh, yes. I’ll pick it up as soon as I can.” I waved her out of the room, trying to look bored and not reveal how much this sudden pronouncement meant to me.

  Richard had told me he had convinced the clockmaker to create the golden clock. I couldn’t believe he succeeded after my many failed attempts . . . but I was so thankful.

  Though I still needed the clock to escape and survive, the ecstatic feeling I’d had when Richard told me he was able to convince the clockmaker to make the clock was all but gone. It meant almost nothing to me emotionally now that Richard was sick.

  Still, I knew I needed it, and went promptly to the clockmaker’s workshop to pick it up. I didn’t want to jinx anything.

  The clockmaker was there when I arrived.

  “Lady Eleanor,” he said. “I’m pleased you could come so quickly.”

  “I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time,” I said, but I didn’t say anything further to provoke him.

  “I’d ask you if you were still sure you want this clock, but you look very decided.”

  “I am.”

  “Shame about your friend,” he said. “I liked him. Almost better than you.”

  I shook that off as he handed me the clock.

  The golden clock looked practically the same as it had hanging in the hallway across from Miss Hatfield’s kitchen, albeit a bit shinier. There were so many memories that came flooding back to me—memories that didn’t exist in this time period yet.

  The weight of the clock felt so comforting in my arms, and for once, seeing the strange ticks indicating days, months, and years relieved me. I had always viewed the clock as something contrary to the course of nature, so this relief was foreign to me. Funny what a few hundred years, give or take a bit,
could do to a person.

  With my finger, I traced the design around the clock’s face. The familiar design had new meaning for me now that the man who painstakingly created it was in front of me.

  There was a small inscription toward the bottom of the clock’s face. I vaguely remembered that I had seen it when Miss Hatfield had first shown me the clock, but I had never actually read it. I raised it up to my face now to better read the small words.

  “Time is the devourer of all things,” the clockmaker said. “I wrote it for you to remember and think about, but though you look young, I suppose you already know it.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “You have no idea how much this means to me.” And yet somehow I felt as though he did know.

  “I could have it delivered to your room, if you would like. It is rather heavy.”

  I assured him that delivery wouldn’t be necessary. Now that I finally had it, I didn’t want to let the clock out of my hands.

  I said my good-byes and left for my room, running. I passed the countess on the way there.

  She gave me a strange look but didn’t scold me for my running. She was rushing—albeit only shuffling very quickly—herself. When I turned to see where she was going, I saw her meet up with a man in the distance. Lord Dormer, of course. I hoped the conversation we’d had earlier had meant something to her, but there was no real way to tell.

  I hugged the clock to my chest, desperate to never let it out of my sight again.

  When I shut the door to my room behind me, it slammed closed with a sudden bang. I cursed under my breath, hoping Helen or Joan wouldn’t come in to see what the commotion was about.

  I’m not going to pretend that I’m pleased that Richard became involved in getting the clock, but thank God you got the clock back. Now you can finally get away.

  Henley’s words stuck with me in an odd way. Get away. But I didn’t want to get away. I couldn’t get away. Not with what I had tying me here.

  Henley seemed to have sensed my hesitation. What’s wrong?

  “I-I can’t.” I gently placed the clock down onto the bed.

  You came to court to find the clock, and now that you have it, you can escape, he said. I knew he was right, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t done. I know you’ve become attached to the people here, but your life is in danger. That has to come first.

  “I know, but—”

  No, you don’t know. You’re immortal, but not invincible. You have a killer after you. And even without the killer, you can’t stay in one time for too long. I heard you throwing up last night. I know what that was about.

  Henley sounded exactly like Miss Hatfield, and in any other moment that would have made me laugh. I knew he was concerned. I was too, but I was also concerned about other things.

  “Richard—”

  What about Richard?

  “He’s dying.”

  I know he is. I also know how much you’ve been suffering because of it. I’ve seen it in your face. But we can’t do anything about it. No one can.

  Henley was right again, as much as I wished he wasn’t.

  “I can’t leave him,” I said. “I can’t just disappear from his life.”

  This wasn’t only about Richard anymore. This wouldn’t be the first time I had to leave someone I loved.

  When I left Henley in 1904, I had never felt agony like it. I thought it would ease as time went on, and we both continued with our lives. Instead, it was a wound that wouldn’t heal. It festered, reminding me of the pain every day. That was something I had done once, and had sworn I would never do again. It was selfish, but I couldn’t go through that for any reason.

  “I’ve experienced that pain once,” I said. “I can’t . . .”

  I knew Henley was thinking of the same moment when I’d had to walk away from him. He didn’t know the reason then, but even now, after understanding everything, I knew it didn’t lessen the suffering for him.

  “I can’t go now.” My voice started to get stronger. “I just can’t.”

  Rebecca, that’s not a decision you can make. You’re putting your life at risk. And I—I can’t let you do that.

  “You think I don’t understand, but Henley, I really do understand the gravity of the situation. It’s also my life, and my choice. I have to stay with Richard until he . . . dies, and I will do it. I’d just rather do this without fighting you every step of the way.”

  Silence answered me, and I knew I had won.

  At any slight indication—whether it’s the murderer reaching for you or you feeling even worse because you’re staying here too long—you’re getting out of here.

  Henley and I both knew he couldn’t enforce that. He could turn the clock himself, but that would only make him travel in time body-less, not me. Staying with Richard until the end was something I knew I had to do.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  VISITING RICHARD EVERY day, time went by both slowly and quickly. I had taken to bringing the clock with me every time I went to see him. It was large, but easily concealed once I wrapped it in a shawl or cloak. No one had questioned me about it. It had taken so long for me to get my hands on it again that I didn’t want it out of my sight for as much as a minute. Besides, this way the murderer couldn’t steal it either. Even when I slept, I took precautions to hide the clock under a pile of clothing. When I brought it to Richard’s bedside, I placed it on the table next to the bed, where it caught the light of the disappearing sun. It bathed the room in a warm glow, almost making me forget the unabated ticking.

  The hours I spent by Richard’s bedside were long, but they still felt too short every time Lady Sutton would come to escort me out so Richard could get his rest. Day by day, he progressively got worse. It got to a point where the deterioration was so fast that he looked sicker and closer to death every day I saw him.

  “Lady Eleanor,” Lady Sutton said to me one day, when she was walking me out. “Maybe it’s best if you didn’t come any longer. I know you want to be supportive until the very end, but Richard . . . he’s not responding to anyone anymore. You’ve seen him—he seems to be forever caught between his feverish dreams and his delirious reality.”

  It was true that Richard had stopped recognizing me when he woke to see me at the foot of his bed.

  “Perhaps it would be best, for you and him both, if you stopped visiting. You could remember him as he was, and not what he’s become.”

  I swallowed, and shook my head. “I need to see him until the end.”

  “Very well,” she said. And that was the last she ever spoke of me not coming to see him.

  I was there through it all, and to Lady Sutton’s credit, so was she. I was there when Richard started hallucinating; he yelled at something he saw in the corner of the room, and cried during a one-sided conversation he had with his mother. I was there when Lady Sutton couldn’t take it anymore and broke down crying while wiping his damp forehead. I was even there when Lady Sutton called the priest to administer the final rites.

  I waited in Lady Sutton’s sitting room with her, with the clock in my lap, as the priest went straight into the bedroom to hear Richard’s last confession. I held Lady Sutton’s shaking hands in my own as we waited for him to call us in.

  “The family may enter now” we finally heard.

  Without any hesitation, Lady Sutton pulled me in with her.

  “I’m the only family he has here,” I heard Lady Sutton telling the priest. “His parents, his brothers—they started toward court as soon as a letter was dispatched with news of Richard’s fast-declining health . . . but they didn’t arrive in time.”

  The priest, who Lady Sutton had said was visiting from Spain, had anointed Richard with what I guessed to be blessed oil. Lady Sutton remained solemn, and judging from her expression, I guessed the anointing was a standard practice. The priest laid his hands on Richard and continued to pray.

  “Through this holy anointing, may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Ho
ly Spirit.” The priest had a familiar voice that rose and fell, comforting me. “May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up.”

  He placed a wafer into Richard’s half-parted lips, but Richard was too far gone to accept it. The priest had to push it farther in before Richard instinctively swallowed.

  Soon, the priest left. I wished I could have thanked him for administering the last rites and giving Richard some final comfort, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Richard, much less turn them to the priest for conversation.

  Lady Sutton also had to leave the room. She was sobbing too hard, and simply squeezed my hand as she passed.

  Finally, I was alone with Richard. I placed the clock on the bedside table. When I moved to sit down next to him, I felt a weight roll in the pouch at my side. Reaching in, I withdrew the silver pocket watch the clockmaker had made for me and placed it on the table next to the clock. My hands shook, and I wondered if it was because of my body being rejected by this time period, or if it was because of the good-bye I knew I had to say.

  I sat at the edge of the bed and wondered what I would say to Richard. I had just this one chance left.

  “Oh, Richard . . .”

  I had only known him for a short time, but I felt I knew him. Really knew him. I understood the passion that lived within him, and he in turn had recognized what lived inside me.

  I wished I had been able to know him for longer, but I knew him well enough to know that all I had wanted to say to him I had already said. We understood each other, and we didn’t need words for that.

  And so I took his hand, which seemed dwarfed and lonely in mine, and brought it to my lips.

  “Thank you.”

  Richard’s eyes flickered to me and looked confused. My whole body hurt with that one look. Richard was someone who had always been so sure of his place in the world, and here he was, so lost that he couldn’t even find himself.

  Richard coughed violently, barely managing to turn to his left. Blood dripped down his chin. It was the only color on his face now.

  His eyes rolled under his thick lids, as if he were reading something I could not see. His lips mouthed words over and over, but no sound came out. So this was it.