Threaded Through Time, Book One

by Sarah Ettritch

  She couldn’t marry Jasper. She wouldn’t marry him.

  *****

  Margaret knocked on the guest house door and opened it in response to a muffled invitation to enter. Pam looked past her. “Jasper not with you?”

  “No, I came on my own.” This wasn’t her first visit of the day, despite the morning hour.

  She caught Robin’s eye and nodded, then refocused on Pam. “You look ready to go.”

  “I am.” Pam turned to Robin. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? I doubt we’ll be back for lunch. It won’t take me long to get you into a dress.” Smiling mischievously, she ran her fingers through Robin’s short locks. “And do your hair.” Robin slapped Pam’s hand away. “I hate shopping at home. Do you think I want to shop all day here—for clothes? And in a dress?” She grimaced. “And I don’t want to take any chances.” Pam tutted. “What do you think will happen, you’ll get trampled by a horse and carriage?” Robin folded her arms. “No, more like I’ll end up in jail for ripping the balls off the first guy that treats me like an idiot woman.”

  “On second thought, you’re better off here,” Pam said with a laugh. She patted Robin’s shoulder. “Not that I expected you to come.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll have tea with you when we return,” Margaret said, wishing she could run her fingers through Robin’s hair.

  Robin’s mouth turned up at the corners and she dropped her arms to her sides. “I’d like that.”

  Her response gave Margaret a much needed energy boost. She’d felt as if she were swaying on her feet. Since her epiphany while at the dinner table that night with Jasper, she’d barely slept.

  How would she extricate herself from their engagement without embarrassing him, provoking her parents’ wrath, and making everyone close to her believe that she’d lost her mind?

  Ruminating about that would have been enough to deprive her of sleep, but there was also Robin’s imminent departure from her life. Consoling herself with platitudes—that at least she’d experienced love, truly knew herself, wouldn’t be trapped in a loveless marriage—did little to stem the darkness that eclipsed more of her soul each day.

  However, she had come up with a plan to break her engagement, and had taken her first concrete step toward that end with her earlier visit that morning. It wouldn’t banish her sleepless nights—she still faced living out her life without the woman she loved—but it was a start.

  Chapter Twelve

  Pam lifted a glass of wine from the tray a white-gloved waiter extended and clinked glasses with Jasper before taking a sip. “I feel like I’m in a movie,” she squealed. Everyone was dressed to the nines, and oh-so polite. She waved away the smoke blown her way by a gentleman puffing on a cigarette. Okay, there were downsides, like everyone’s apparent wish to die of cancer. But she felt more comfortable here than she ever had in chic nightclubs with their flashing lights and too-loud-to-talk music. Not worrying about anyone spiking her drink when she wasn’t looking was a bonus.

  This time period must have its share of noisy clubs and obnoxious patrons, but not here, among society’s elite. If she’d belonged to this time, she was sure she would have been in the upper classes. Was it surprising that, back in 2010, she lived in a home that formerly belonged to an upper middle class family? And the book had summoned two refined residents of 1910, not foul-mouthed sailors off the docks. Though she had no idea why the rhyme had brought Jasper and Margaret into her life. Why tease her with Jasper? Why give her the knowledge of what she could never have?

  Jasper nudged her arm. “Margaret’s parents,” he murmured.

  She tensed and gulped down more wine. They’d practised what to say to the Wiltons, but she was still nervous. Since arriving, she’d feared that someone might ask her a question that she didn’t understand or would inadvertently answer in a way that only made sense in her time. Her appreciation for how well Jasper had handled himself at Brenda’s party deepened. He’d carried on conversations without her at his side, something she wasn’t brave enough to do. When he visited the men’s room, she’d hide, despite not having committed any gaffes thus far.

  A couple that looked to be in their late forties approached. “Jasper,” the woman crowed.

  Pam resisted the urge to hang onto him. Not a good idea when Margaret’s parents were standing right in front of them. If Jasper hadn’t warned her, she would have known anyway; Margaret was the spitting image of her mother.

  “I’m so sorry Margaret left you in the lurch. What a time for her tummy to act up! Oh, but where are my manners? Mr. and Mrs. James Wilton,” Margaret’s mother announced.

  Pam inclined her head. “Miss Pamela Holden. A pleasure to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” Mr. Wilton said.

  “Margaret said you and Jasper are old friends?” Mrs. Wilton’s eyes were alight with curiosity.

  Jasper stepped in. “Not exactly. Miss Holden is the daughter of a longstanding client of mine. I was lunching with him when Margaret telephoned about her condition. I intended to send my regrets to the host committee, but Gerald asked if I’d consider escorting his daughter.” Mrs. Wilton’s brows lifted. “I don’t know a Gerald Holden.”

  “We’re from Kingston,” Pam said. “My father has investments here.”

  “I see. So you’re visiting?”

  “Yes. I suppose my father didn’t want to see me cooped up in a hotel room for another night, but it’s unfortunate that I’m here because your daughter is ill.”

  “Girl’s too fragile,” Mr. Wilton growled. “This is one of the premiere balls of the year, and she’s at home in bed.”

  Not if Margaret had gone to the guest house as she’d intended. What did she and Robin spend all their time talking about? Robin didn’t open up to people easily, and Pam wouldn’t have pegged Margaret as someone with whom Robin would forge a close bond. Of course, Margaret hadn’t faked a bad stomach so she could spend time with Robin; she’d done it for Jasper. Once Pam was out of the picture, Margaret would have Jasper to herself and in her debt. Bravo, Margaret. Well played.

  “A bit of fresh air and dancing would have done her a world of good,” Mr. Wilton continued. “Once she was here, she would have forgotten about her tummy ache.”

  “I’m sure Margaret would have come, if she was able,” Jasper said.

  Mrs. Wilton’s attention remained on Pam. “When will you return to Kingston?”

  “This week,” Pam said. If the rhyme worked, they’d be gone Tuesday night. She inwardly, then visibly, sighed. “I miss my fiancé. Jasper’s a lovely man, but we’re both acting as poor substitutes for others.”

  A relieved smile spread across Mrs. Wilton’s face. Apparently Pam had said the magic words that translated to, “I won’t steal your daughter’s betrothed.”

  “Well, we won’t keep you,” Mrs. Wilton said. “Shall I tell Margaret to expect a visit from you tomorrow, Jasper?”

  He nodded. “I’m sure her condition will have improved by then.” Pam stifled a giggle, then exhaled slowly as she watched the Wiltons walk over to another couple. “Glad that’s done.” Now she’d met both sets of parents. Jasper’s father had been nothing like she’d imagined. Based on the story Jasper had told about his lost love, she’d expected an overbearing, gruff man, not the mild-mannered gentleman who’d let his wife do all the talking.

  One could never tell what went on behind closed doors.

  “Poor substitutes?” Jasper said with feigned indignation.

  “It just popped into my head, and it worked. She’s not worried about me now.”

  “She’d have reason to worry, if circumstances were different.” That was the third time he’d implied as much since they’d arrived, but with Tuesday night looming, his repeated referrals to what could have been didn’t warm her heart. She appreciated what he was trying to tell her, but she wished he’d stop, so she could forget, just for tonight, that the fairy tale was almost at its end. Her irritation with him quickly died. Tuesday night
was hanging over him too; he probably kept reminding her because he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  She lightly touched his arm, but only for a second, aware of Margaret’s parents nearby. “Jasper

  —”

  A loud crash and the sound of shattering glass drowned out her words. A collective gasp rose around her. The music petered out. Pam jerked her head in the direction of the ruckus. A waiter lay sprawled on his back in the middle of broken glasses and spilled wine; an overturned silver tray lay next to him. A dishevelled man with an unkempt beard peered down at the waiter, then raised a glass and smiled toothily. “My invitation must have been lost in the post!” He downed the wine in one go and plunked the empty glass on a table, then glanced around, probably looking for another waiter.

  The man in coattails who’d greeted Pam and Jasper when they’d arrived at the ball glared at him, his hands clenched at his sides. “Tillman! I swear—”

  “Victor, what in the hell are you doing?” a woman shouted, striding up to him. Her thin coat, threadbare stockings, and worn boots clearly labelled her as another interloper.

  “For god’s sake, Elenora, get him out of here,” someone said.

  Pam’s hand went to her mouth. Oh. My. God. “Robin’s great-grandparents,” she hissed to Jasper, then pulled him away from the crowd until they were behind a pillar. “I can’t go anywhere near them. I don’t even want them to see me.” She wasn’t supposed to be here and didn’t want to risk altering future events. What if Robin winked out of existence because Pam’s presence delayed the Tillmans from leaving the building and they were run down by a crazed runaway horse, as a result?

  When she whispered her fear to Jasper, he shook his head. “Whatever is happening now had already happened in 2010, and Robin existed then.”

  Yes, but they hadn’t travelled to 1910 yet. Or had they? She rubbed her temples. This time travel stuff gave her a headache.

  “So they’re Robin’s ancestors on her father’s side,” Jasper murmured.

  “No, her mother’s. When she was nineteen, she changed her last name to her mother’s maiden name.” And her father hadn’t cared. Bastard.

  The crowd had closed in around the Tillmans; Pam could no longer see them from her vantage point. After a great deal more shouting and the sounds of scuffling, several backs parted to allow those in the middle of the throng to leave. “Just throw him onto the pavement,” Elenora bellowed, her face hard. As several men dragged Victor toward the hall’s entrance, she turned to those gawking. “Oh, what are you all looking at? Thank the Lord I no longer have to suffer through these parties. They always bored me to tears!” She whipped around and stomped after her husband.

  Pam chuckled. Fortunately Robin didn’t closely resemble either of them, or the entire incident would have felt surreal. Everyone drifted back to wherever they’d rushed from. Music filled the hall again. The man in coattails fussed around the mess, waving his arms and barking orders to his underlings, while the poor waiter who’d ended up on the floor retrieved the tray and did his best to make a dignified exit, despite his wine-soaked ass and back. He’d probably have to pick glass shards out of his trousers, too.

  Jasper lifted Pam’s empty glass from her hand. “Let’s dance.”

  “Are you sure? I won’t know what I’m doing.”

  “Nobody will notice. Just follow me.”

  He’d meant on the dance floor, but she trailed after him as he carried their glasses to a table and set them down. Only when he offered her his arm did she step to his side. Feeling like the princess at the ball, she swept onto the dance floor, and smiled up at him as he gently positioned her hands. If she could find that elusive rhyme that could stop time, she’d use it now to freeze this moment and remain in this blissful state forever. Returning to 2010 would be hard to take; the future would be a bleak and lonely place. If only her future could be here, in the past, with Jasper.

  When the morning sun once again held promise and she could laugh at a joke, she’d find out what had happened to the vibrant man holding her, visit his gravesite, and weep for what could never have been.

  *****

  Margaret stared miserably into the fire and marvelled at how naive she’d been to expect her last evening with Robin to be anything but depressing. They’d pushed the two chairs together and sat with their shoulders touching, their interlocked hands resting on the chair arms that formed a barrier between them. To Margaret, their physical arrangement mirrored her inner state. She wanted to be close to Robin, but there were lines she wouldn’t cross, not when Robin would soon be gone and with years of religious and moral teachings to overcome. If they had more time

  . . . Margaret bowed her head, brought Robin’s hand to her lips, and kissed it. If she could, she’d never let her go. She’d be quite happy to spend her life gazing into the fire with Robin at her side. “What will you do first when you return?” she asked, to fill the dull silence and dispel the fantasy.

  “Take a long shower,” Robin said.

  Margaret had enjoyed her morning showers, one of the more practical improvements in 2010. “To wash away the dust and grime of 1910, I suppose.”

  “No. So I can have a nice, long, private cry and maybe not look like I’ve been beaten up afterward.” She snorted softly. “I expect I’ll be taking quite a few long showers, actually.”

  “I will weep too,” Margaret said mournfully. How would she fulfill all those engagements she’d rescheduled without anyone sensing her grief? What would Mother think if she spent all her time shut away in her bedroom?

  “Be careful,” Robin said, as if reading Margaret’s mind. “You just got engaged, remember.” Yes, and rather than hiding her distress, perhaps allowing her family and friends to see it would work in her favour when it came time to put her plan into motion. “Oh, now we know why she was upset,” they’d say. It might help them to more readily accept what would initially sound like madness, or at least to believe that she was sincere. Margaret had vacillated between telling Robin that she would break her engagement with Jasper, and allowing Robin to imagine that she’d married him and built some semblance of a happy life. But did she want Robin to believe a lie? What if Robin decided to find out what had happened to her? Would she look for the record of their marriage and try to find their descendants? What if she discovered that Margaret had died as Margaret Wilton, not Margaret Bainbridge? Would she wonder if Margaret had changed her mind at the last minute or known all along? Would she ask why, knowing the question could never be answered?

  Well, it could be answered, but only if Margaret explained herself now, not only for Robin’s sake, but so she could receive Robin’s blessing. As she lived out her life, she’d feel closer to her, knowing that Robin knew the truth. It shouldn’t matter; Margaret could never stop what she was doing and imagine Robin thinking of her at that moment, since she’d be long dead in Robin’s time. But somehow, the knowledge that Robin knew the truth and would look back in honesty would comfort Margaret when she despaired. She tightened her grip on Robin’s hand. “I’m not going to marry Jasper.”

  Robin whipped toward her. “What?”

  “I’m not marrying him.”

  “No!” Robin pulled her hand from Margaret’s and leaped to her feet. “You have to marry him!”Shocked, Margaret looked up at her. “You don’t care that I’ll marry him?”

  “I’m not thrilled by the idea, but I understand this is a different time. I don’t want you to throw your life away.”

  “I won’t.”

  “No? What will happen when you break the engagement? What will Jasper think, and your family? People will want to know why.”

  “And I’ll tell them,” Margaret said evenly.

  Robin gaped at her.

  “I’ll tell them I want to become a nun.”

  “What?” Robin shrieked. Her hands went to her hips. “No! No way! I won’t let you do it. I don’t want this responsibility hanging over me.”

  Margaret pushed herself up from
the chair so she could more easily meet Robin’s eyes.

  “What responsibility?”

  Robin thrust out her hands. “Ruining your life!”

  “So you’d rather I enter a loveless marriage? You’d condemn both Jasper and I to that?”

  “At least you’d be free to have a life.”

  “A lie, Robin! I’d have a lie.”

  Robin glared at her. Margaret could sense the turmoil seething beneath the surface and wouldn’t have been surprised if Robin suddenly picked up the nearby vase and threw it against the wall. “Would you marry a man?” she asked, hoping her quiet voice would calm Robin.

  Robin’s nostrils flared. “No.”

  “Then don’t make me do what you wouldn’t do.”

  “But—”

  “And don’t tell me I have no choice. I do have a choice, and I’ve made it.” They stared at each other. Robin raised her hands in surrender. “Okay. But a religious order?

  You’re not even Catholic!”

  “There are Anglican nuns. I’ve already made inquiries.”

  “What will your family think?”

  “They’ll be upset, but it’s difficult to argue against God’s will.”

  “But it’s not God’s will. It’s yours.”

  Margaret clenched her hands and strove to keep her irritation from her voice. “My will is not to lie, not to trap myself and someone else in a bad marriage, but to live my life in honesty. In this case, I’d say my will coincides with His.”