Timeless Falcon 1

by Phillipa Vincent-Connolly

  “Who said anything about eloping?” She laughs, clutching her side. “Oh, Beth, you fret too much. What of you, dancing with my brother?” She smirks, takes a sip of wine, and tucks her feet beneath the hem of her shift.

  “I only danced with him and shared a cup of wine.” The longer I am here, the easier it is to lie, and blatantly. I concentrate on the way the firelight plays upon her face and try not to think of George.

  “You like him, I can tell. Never have I seen your cheeks blush beneath a fellow’s gaze. He will be betrothed soon, I am certain. Father will see that he makes a good match, especially now Mary is married. Hmm, perhaps I could suggest to Father that George marries you.”

  “What?” I look at her in disbelief. “You know marriage in your time would be impossible, Anne. I do not know why you are making such a fuss about George, anyway – it was only a dance.” I pick up my glass of wine from a nearby table and raise it to my lips, take a sip, then close my eyes to remember again the softness of George’s hand brushing mine, the excellent cut of his leg, the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he laughs, and the infuriating way he stares at my breasts. I have no idea why I’m deceiving Anne, who is party to some, though not all my secrets.

  Anne is aware of the effect she has on men since we’ve arrived at court. She seems pensive tonight as we sit discussing her life.

  “Beth, I find myself with more suitors than I expected. Men did not leave me alone tonight.”

  “My Lady, surely it is nothing you cannot handle?”

  She looks up and flutters her eyelashes. “Tom Wyatt lusts after me. I have known him for years – since childhood. He and I are neighbours in Kent.”

  “Do you like him?” I ask innocently, as if I know nothing about him.

  “He has a desperately handsome face.” She giggles, her hand covering her mouth. “And he writes beautiful poetry. But I am not attracted to him – not in the same way that I am drawn to Henry Percy.”

  I rest my hands in my lap. “Isn’t Thomas Wyatt a married man?”

  “Yes, he is,” she answers.

  “How is Henry Percy different?”

  “When I am with him, he makes me feel alive. When I am close to him, it is as if my blood runs faster in my veins.”

  “I wish you didn’t feel that way, Mistress.”

  “Why ever not?” she asks, her voice almost inaudible. “Am I in love?”

  “Only you know whether you are in love, Anne.” I smile and pat the back of her hand, trying to think of something that might take her mind off Henry Percy. From what she’s shared over the previous weeks, I know love isn’t something she’s felt before.

  She questions me, wondering what it feels to be in love. I share with her how I’ve fancied Rob for ages, but friendship is all he seems to want. I can’t say I love him – I’d not go that far, but…

  Anne chatters into the night about Percy, yet I haven’t the heart to tell her it will all be to no avail. I daren’t mention the king, as she will read far too much into my comments, and her future will be out.

  As much as I’m tempted, I can’t put thoughts into her mind that could potentially change her life path. To mess with history could be disastrous, and I shudder to think of what might happen. I don’t want to think about it, the same way I don’t want to think about May 1536, and her appearance on the scaffold. The thought horrifies me. Could I prevent her death? What would happen if I did? What will happen if I stay here? My head hurts as these questions whirl around my brain. Maybe I should blame the wine. It’s doing more than making me feel dizzy.

  “Of course,” Anne continues, “should his betrothal with Mary Talbot be broken, he would be as fine a match as I could ask for or my father could arrange. But I fear such an arrangement will never be revoked.”

  Henry Percy will one day come into a vast inheritance, despite his debts. A prize indeed if he were to ask for Anne’s hand, but I know – we both know – that such a thing is impossible, for such bonds cannot be broken. Besides, her cause is doubly hopeless since they are both promised elsewhere.

  I place my glass on the table, gather myself, and turn to Anne. “You know it has been months since I arrived at Hever.”

  “Indeed,” she says, “I remember it well.”

  “As do I. And it has been an amazing experience. But…it has been so long now. What if I cannot get home?”

  “You mean, to your time?”

  “Yes.” I turn the cypher ring. “I…think this ring has something to do with it.”

  “Really?” She leans closer and studies it. “I have seen you fiddling with it. Where did it come from?”

  I explain how I came to have it, and how once the ring was on my finger, the metal of it heated up, as it did again each time I tried the door back to the passage. I’ve concealed the nature of it from her since I arrived, purely because I didn’t want to broadcast too much about myself, in case my mouth ran away with me. But it seems apt to show the ring to her now because she may be able to shed some light on its origin.

  This must be the only ring of its kind, as it’s so unique – dated 1532 – and she couldn’t possibly have the original in her jewellery box. Maybe it will be a gift from the king – but in this future, that might mean two rings existing at the same time. How could that be possible? I rub my forehead, feeling the blood pumping hard – the wine and the stress are bringing a migraine on.

  “I know this ring has something to do with you, Anne, because of the initials.” I continue turning it.

  She stretches out her hand. “Let me see it.” Something inside warns me against showing her, but I push it back and slip the ring off. She takes it and gives it close scrutiny. The jewels twinkle in the low firelight as she places it on her finger, opening her hand out and admiring it.

  I stare at the small extra nail on the side of her little finger of her right hand. She catches me looking and tries to hide it in the cuff of her shift.

  “It is a fine ring, Beth. Father has not given me a present of a ring such as this. Do you think this is meant to belong to me in the future, seeing as it has my initials on it?”

  “Maybe,” is all I can think to reply. She takes it off and studies the engraving inside.

  “Fifteen-thirty-two.” She looks into the shadows as if trying to catch a glimpse of her future. “I wonder what that signifies.” Her brow creases and her mouth purses as the cogs of her mind whir.

  Of course, I have some idea what the date means, but it’s not my place to suggest or meddle.

  “I have no clue,” I lie. “The ring will come into your possession at some point, but who gives it to you, I do not know. All I know is that I have been away from my family for a long time and they must think I am dead.”

  “Dead?” she says, her hand at her mouth. “We cannot have your family suffering so.” She touches my hand, a welcome gesture of support. “You must endeavour to return to your time. I will be fine – George will look after me. I will tell him you have been summoned home.”

  “But what if I cannot open the portal. I have tried so many times, always without success.”

  “Well, Beth, we shall keep trying until we achieve that result you are searching for.”

  My stomach is swirling so much I fear I may get sick. What if I can’t get back? What if I can? How will I explain my absence? My head throbs with the migraine. “I am going to bed, Mistress Anne. I will think about the best way forward. We need sleep, it is very late. Where is Mary? Have you seen her?”

  “She entertains the King, no doubt.” She gets up, placing the ring back in my hand.

  “Perhaps the King has gone to the Queen,” I say, “out of duty, rather than be with Mary?”

  “The Boleyns tread carefully at Court, Beth. We will fare well whatever the King does, but if you go, I will miss you. George will miss you.”

  “Shush now. Do not c
oncern yourself. Let’s get some sleep.”

  We enter the dormitory, trying not to disturb the other girls. Agnes is snoring on a pallet bed, and Anne doesn’t want to wake her as she dumps her dressing gown at the end of our bed. I remove my own dressing gown and drape it over the back of a chair, after snuffing out any remaining candles. The sheets are cold, and my linen smock gives me no warmth as I clamber into bed and, once Anne and I are settled, we wish each other sweet dreams.

  The trouble is, I can’t sleep. My mind is racing ten to the dozen, fretting about how I need to get home. I twist and press the cypher ring as it sits on my middle finger, and as I do so, the metal begins to warm up. I keep my eyes closed, visualizing the professor’s study and wish for all I’m worth that I could be back there.

  Present Day

  Whoa! I can’t believe it as I stare down at my bare feet. Shivering, I realise I’ve somehow managed to transport myself back to the professor’s study, with the use of the ring. I blink at the fluorescent lights, unaccustomed to their brightness. I’m feeling giddy, the whole experience shocking and disorientating. The professor is sitting at his desk, scribbling red pen across a thesis, dragging on a cigarette. He turns to me nonchalantly, as if my appearance is nothing out of the ordinary.

  “So, you found the ring then?”

  “Erm, yes,” I reply coyly, my shoulders shuddering with the cold. I look down at myself and realise the reason I’m shivering is that I’m standing in his office with my body covered in only a linen shift, and a very thin one at that. I hope he can’t see through it – that would be embarrassing.

  I can’t believe I’ve discovered the secret of the ring. All I had to do was rub on the cypher, wishing myself in a specific place, at a particular time. It is the key to creating the time slips and my way to transport myself between centuries and locations. I stand here now, back in the professor’s study, somewhat bemused at the modern surroundings, as it seems a lifetime ago since I was in the twenty-first century.

  My shift feels like a second skin, familiar yet uncomfortable. My teeth chatter. Realising that I’ve left my holdall at Richmond, and all the rest of my belongings, including my mobile phone at Hever, but back in the sixteenth century, my heart pounds at the thought of who might find the books and papers, as well as all my modern stuff. I already hid it as best I could, and can only hope that Anne has the good sense to keep it all hidden and not look through any of it. What a problem that would cause, if she did!

  “I stare at the professor as I turn the ring, worried that I have done something terribly wrong.

  “I guessed as much when you missed this afternoon’s first lecture. Professor Hughes was visiting today.”

  For a moment, I wonder if I might have misheard him. ‘I’m sorry, Professor, but how long have I been away?”

  He looks over to the bookcase – the entrance to the portal. “Oh, a few hours.”

  I have to lean against his desk, not sure my trembling legs will hold me upright. How can this be? “Are you sure, Professor?”

  “Positive,” he says, his brows knitted as he studies my attire.

  I self-consciously cross my arms over myself. “Am I…in a lot of trouble?”

  “What? No, no, not at all. I deliberately allowed you to find the ring and use it to travel back in time, as I knew you would learn so much from the experience.”

  “You’re not kidding,” I say, knowing it to be the understatement of the century, though I’m not too sure which. I stare at him and wonder why he chose me. I’m hardly his best student. Or am I? I stifle a nervous giggle.

  “You can’t travel into the future, though.” His tone is cautionary. My hand brushes against a bunch of keys on the table, and I realise they’re mine. I grab them up, knowing they are a physical link to home.

  “My interest lies only in the past, Professor.” A thought occurs to me. “Have you also travelled back in time?”

  He watches me turning the bunch of keys, his focus sharp, waiting, probably pondering whether he should answer my question or not.

  “Absolutely,” he says, after what feels like ages, “but I can only travel between the period Elizabeth the First was born and died. I can’t shag Lady Godiva or Marie Antoinette!” He chuckles at his own joke. I don’t.

  My mind spins, struggling to grasp the disturbing reality that I haven’t been missing for months, or that my family and friends haven’t been driven to despair over my unexplained absence.

  “How is it possible that I’ve only been gone a few hours, when I’ve spent the last few months living with Mistress Anne Boleyn?”

  “All I can say is that the bearer of the ring’s relationship with time works differently. I cannot fully explain it. Also, the ring chooses where to send the holder.”

  I twist the ring and pull it off my finger. Its rubies sparkle in the overhead light. “I have no control over it?”

  “Yes, you do. Well, to an extent, but the ring does most of the work.”

  “I… I kept pressing on the cypher, and rubbing the stones, wishing I could be standing here. So how does the ring make it happen?”

  “How is the easy bit. You go into a dark space, like a wardrobe, or an alcove, then twist the ring and think about a specific time in Anne Boleyn’s lifetime you’d like to return to.” He wiggles his eyebrows, smiles, then shrugs. “That’s it. Well, there’s a bit of a rumble and a tumble with this method of travel if you don’t come directly through the portal, but trust me, it works.”

  “That’s what happened, just now.” I sigh, my shoulders dropping. “But how did my love of history send me to Anne at Hever after her return from France?”

  He nods. “Ah, so that’s how far back you went. Good. To answer your question, your desire to seek the truth of history, and of Anne Boleyn, drew the ring to you.”

  I realise my mouth is open. “My…?”

  “Your desire to learn,” he continues, “to understand. The power within the ring picked up on your admiration of and passion for Anne’s life. For me, the phoenix ring has taken me to Elizabeth, Anne’s daughter.”

  “You mean you have the Chequers’ ring in your possession?”

  “Once, or twice.”

  To my disappointment, he doesn’t seem to want to divulge any further information on it. He sits in his chair and leans forward, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as he looks at me intently for a long moment, until my face flushes under the heat of his scrutiny.

  “I hope you have not divulged anything of Anne’s future to her?”

  “Oh, my goodness, I struggled so much to ensure that didn’t happen. To be responsible for a change in her life and future – for changing history – I must tell you, it wasn’t easy. The more I learnt of her and got to know her, the more difficult I found it to allow her destiny to play out.”

  I collapse into a chair opposite the professor, a jumble of questions tumbling through my mind. “I wasn’t sure how it worked. What about the butterfly effect?”

  He opens his hands, their heels together, framing his face. “I don’t seem to have messed up civilisation yet.”

  “It’s scary. I’m finding it a tad difficult believing that up to a few minutes ago, I had lived almost six months of my life in sixteenth-century Tudor England, yet now I’m here, with you, and only a few hours have actually passed.”

  He takes a deep breath and nods again. “Yes, my dear, I understand how…troublesome that might be. And if you decide to continue this path of discovery, it’s going to be something of a complicated time for you.”

  I lean towards him, eager to understand. “How have you coped with it?”

  “I’ve soaked up every experience of Elizabeth’s reign that I can. Listened to every conversation. Learnt things about her that no one knows.”

  “So…what should I do?”

  “You must observe, Beth. Use the experience
to help you understand history as it happens. You cannot save Anne from her fate – you mustn’t even try. You have the Tudor dynasty to consider in Edward, Mary, and Elizabeth. Don’t let Anne stray from her path or you may interfere or change things so much that you could completely transform our reality.”

  My mind races through a flurry of memories, trying to pinpoint any time I may have contravened this regulation. “Though the temptation and opportunity were there, I told Anne nothing of her fate. She was gracious at giving me the liberty to speak boldly with her, and I advised her to the best of my ability, allowing her to make her own choices.”

  “Hmm, she is a stubborn woman,” the professor says, crossing his legs at the ankles. “Intelligent for sure, but her only saviour is the love the King has for her. Once that is gone, I’m afraid there will be nothing left for poor Anne, nor anything you or her faction can do.”

  My stomach lurches at the truth of his words. “Professor, I have grown to love her, for all her stubbornness and strong will – her ideas on religion inspire me. Her love of life compels me to wish she will be around to see her daughter crowned.”

  “You know that won’t happen, Beth. All you can do is support her and advise her to curb her sharp tongue, especially once she is queen, because she will find it difficult to make the transition from mistress to monarch. Guide her as best you can and no more. Above all, conceal your real identity from all, especially from the King and from Cromwell.” He leans forward, his eyes staring directly at me. “I do not want to have to come and save you from the Tower, or from the Swordsman of Calais!”

  I wince, tugging at the cuff of my shift. “Surely it wouldn’t come to that?”

  He wiggles his eyebrows again.

  “Oh, Professor, I can’t believe I will soon be able to recount and witness one of the most sensational episodes in English history. Anne seems such a courageous, determined woman, it’s such a disaster that she will run headlong into tragedy. I so want to help change the outcome.”