Rosie watches JD’s retreating back sadly, the strength of her love for him threatening to rip her in two. He hasn’t seen their children in months because she doesn’t want them to be afraid of their own father and because she refuses to risk their safety until she knows for certain he isn’t going to flip out again. However she is completely willing to risk herself to help him.
“Do I have to go on pretending I’m a patient here?”
“I think it best. He’s too fragile at the moment to deal with any traumatic recalls, if that is agreeable to you of course?”
“I’ll do anything to help him get well again.”
“He’ll get there but it will take time.”
“Time is one thing I have plenty of,” she murmurs as she watches him being returned to his room on the ward.
Rosie presses a hand to her mouth to stifle the sobs. She’d wait for him forever.
THE END
THE MASQUERADE BALL
The preparations have been finalised, everything is in position and my Georgian ball is about to begin. Although Ravensdale House was built in 1745, this particular event is taking place in August 2012. I’ve just inherited this massive estate from my grandfather who recently died and the weight of its upkeep has landed squarely on my terrified twenty seven year old shoulders. This ball marks the beginning of a new regime and the cream of local society are invited, hence my jangling nerves.
For the twentieth time that evening I look down at my flawless white gown, the vast hooped skirt awkward and walking requires a lot of concentration. Taking a last look in the mirror I admire how my thick chestnut coloured hair has been curled into ringlets and piled atop my head, complementing my green eyes and the tight white bodice curves my figure magnificently. I take a deep breath to steady my nerves and am startled to see how prominent my bosom is. It may prove to be a good distraction should things go wrong.
I stand in the grand hallway at the front door to greet the guests and run a final appraising eye over the place. The gorgeous creamy marble floor shines in the golden light cast by the massive chandelier and electric sconces. The effect complements the colourful wall friezes wonderfully. It will be a grand entrance for my guests. As they arrive I am glad to see how much trouble they have gone to for all their costumes are expensive and authentic, many ladies balancing ridiculously high wigs atop their heads. Just above where I stand is a massive portrait of Lord Carmichael, the fourth earl of the estate who held the masked balls back in the eighteenth century that I have based tonight’s on. He was responsible for most of the dazzling colourful decor. He looks down upon this world with stern black eyes, his face strong and handsome, black hair held back in a coordinating black velvet ribbon and I hope he would approve of my efforts.
Eventually all the guests are ushered into the grand ballroom and appear to be enjoying themselves. I mingle and keep a close eye on the waiters, making sure they keep everyone topped up with champagne.
After three hours of non-stop mixing and small talk I’m exhausted so I retreat from the room for a rest on the pretext of fixing my make-up.
When I return to the ballroom I am elated to see my guests have arranged themselves into an elegant Quadrille and are gracing the dance floor beautifully. I stare at the scene in astonishment because I had no idea this collection of councillors and local business people know how to dance but all are moving naturally and with a poise I didn’t think they possessed. As I watch I realise something is different; the room is darker, more subdued but I can’t think why. Have some of the lights gone out?
Looking up at the ceiling my jaw drops open when I see the electric chandeliers aren’t just off, they aren’t there at all. All the light is coming from candles dotted about the room and the wall sconces, which are entirely different to the ones that were there when I left the room. I look for the light switch, which is by the doorway I have just come through but that has disappeared too. So has the massive Victorian era clock that graced the mantelpiece above the huge fireplace. Sliding my hand into the pocket of my gown, I feel my mobile phone has likewise vanished.
“What the…,” I murmur to myself.
I struggle to reason what is happening. Perhaps I’ve fallen asleep and this is all a dream? I’ve only had two glasses of champagne, I was careful not to overdo it because I want to keep a clear head so I’m not drunk.
I turn, intending to rush from the room in fright and almost collide with the man I had not realised was stood behind me. He too is masked but his eyes are of the blackest black and they are regarding me with definite curiosity. His long jet black hair is held back in place with a black velvet ribbon. I know him instantly.
“Lord Carmichael,” I curtsey. I know how to behave, I‘ve watched Pride and Prejudice.
“Miss…?”
“Hale,” I reply in a shaky voice.
He takes my hand and kisses the top of it. “Miss Hale. May I claim the honour of this dance?”
“Y…yes,” I stammer, not knowing what else to do.
Dumbly I let him lead me to the dance floor, grateful that I took some dance instruction prior to this ball, or rather prior to the one that’s occurring in 2012.
The whole place is a riot of colour, the ladies wearing dazzling gowns of vivid reds, golds, deep blues, greens, every colour of the spectrum. Many have glittering jewels sewn into the material, which catch the candlelight magnificently and hint at the great wealth assembled here. Some of the ladies even wear themed dresses; feathered bird of paradise gowns with coordinating masks, winter-themed gowns with snowflakes sewn to the pure white material, putting my own in the shade. The men wear long velvet jackets with lace at the throat and cuffs. Some sport powdered wigs while a few, like Lord Carmichael wear their hair long and tied back with ribbon, which I infinitely prefer to the powder and patch look. Although it was considered to be masculine at the time I think it looks very effeminate. On the contrary Lord Carmichael is clad all in black, white cuffs and collar the only slash of colour. He’s also tall, well over six foot and looks well-built and strong.
I’m almost shaking with nerves as I take my place among the other dancers opposite Lord Carmichael and pray I wont embarrass myself too much but to my surprise my normally bumbling feet move fluidly, as though independent from my body and I start to enjoy myself. Lord Carmichael‘s black eyes remain fixed on me throughout the dance and rather than make me even more nervous I find myself increasingly drawn to him. His presence radiates strength and power and he seems to pull everyone to him, although he appears only to have eyes for myself, for some inexplicable reason. The feel of his hand upon mine sends pulses of heat racing up my arm, making me tingle all over.
At the end of the dance I expect him to abandon me but he calls for champagne and draws me to one side of the room.
“I have not seen you here before Miss Hale.”
I desperately scramble around for an excuse. “I am new to the area.”
“Where are you from?”
“Bath,” I reply, fixating on an area I know to be fashionable in the Georgian era.
“You do not sound as though you come from Bath,” he frowns suspiciously, although his eyes twinkle with mischief.
“My parents are from err, Devon.” God, I hope Bath isn’t in Devon.
“Ah then that explains the mystery,” he smiles. “I trust you have not come here unchaperoned?”
“N…no,” I stammer again, cursing myself for being such a useless liar. “I am escorted by Mrs Whitfield.”
“Mrs Whitfield,” he repeats. “I do not believe I have had the honour of an introduction.”
“She came with me from Bath.”
“May I meet her?” he says with a knowing grin.
I pretend to look about the room. “I cannot see her at present. There are so many people here.”
“I think you are not telling me the truth Miss Hale.”
I try to act insulted. “How dare you Sir? I am not in the habit of telling untruths to gentlemen.�
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He appears amused. “I think you are a gatecrasher Miss Hale. I drew up the guest list myself but I do not recall penning the names Hale or Whitfield.”
“But…”
However he talks right over me. “I must commend you on your dancing, which is really rather elegant but you speak like no one I have ever heard before, your deportment is as refined as a blacksmith’s and as for that dress, well I have never seen the likes of it before.”
Nerves are replaced by annoyance. “Excuse me?” I scowl. “I paid a lot of money for this.”
“Do not fear my dear Miss Hale I will not give you away, if you will but grant me one favour.”
Now I am seriously insulted. “Listen mate, if you think I’m going to let you take advantage of me then I’ll knock your block off.”
He releases a loud bark of laughter. “That sounds terribly exciting but I was only going to request the pleasure of another dance.”
“Oh, alright then,” I sigh, giving up all pretence. There seems little point continuing with it now.
Once again as we dance and his hand touches mine I feel that same delicious tingle. It’s a strange sensation but as time progresses here my own present begins to recede to the back of my mind and suddenly it doesn’t seem so important that I return right away, not that I know how to do that anyway.
At the end of the dance I’m very hot and grateful for the fan that dangles from my wrist. As I fan myself Lord Carmichael takes my arm and leads me out onto the terrace. The extensive grounds roll away into the distance, not looking that different to how they do in my time. He closes the door behind us, blocking out the noise of the dance and we are entirely alone together.
“Don’t look so nervous,” he says with a gentle smile. “I do not want my block knocking off.”
“Good because that’s what will happen if you touch me,” I say as fervently as I can, although I confess a part of me wants him to touch me. A lot.
“I merely wish to talk with you in private. I have lived in this house all of my life and have seen many strange things, things that I cannot possibly explain.”
“Such as?”
“People wearing clothes I have never seen before. They will suddenly appear before me and the house itself will change before my eyes. Sometimes it lasts mere seconds, other times hours. I think you do not belong here Miss Hale.”
Relief floods through me. “How do I get home?” I say hoarsely, completely overwhelmed.
“Just wait. You will return soon enough. The effect never lasts long.” He moves so he is stood just inches from me. “Do not fear, I will keep you safe until it is time for you to leave.”
He takes my hands and I hold onto him gratefully. “I feel like I’m going mad.”
“As did I. You will grow accustomed to it,” he says softly. “Shall we take a walk until it is time for you to go home?”
I look into the deserted gardens uncertainly and he divines my thoughts.
“You are perfectly safe with me.”
“What about your guests?”
“What about them?”
Gazing into his black eyes I am decided.
“Okay.”
Taking his proffered arm I allow him to lead me down the terrace steps into the gardens.
“Aren’t you curious about where I’ve come from?” I say.
“I realised many years ago that it is unwise to learn of what is to come. It can cause damage.”
“To what?”
“Everything.”
Deciding it would be sensible to heed his advice I nod and mention no more of it.
We talk as we walk, although I’m careful not to give anything away about the future. I find myself increasingly enchanted by this fun and engaging man who is everything I thought he couldn’t possibly be judging from his portrait. He insists I drop his formal title and call him Dominic, which makes everything seem so much more intimate.
We talk for so long the sun sets, casting the gardens into almost complete blackness, which I find almost terrifying. I’m used to exterior lighting and security lights and the lack of any illumination is very unnerving. I cling to his arm and sensing my agitation he pulls me close.
“It’s alright,” he soothes, his voice a whisper coming out of the gloom. “I wont let anything happen to you.”
He pulls me so close I can feel his body against mine, his heat pulsing into me and banishing the fear.
“I feel safe with you,” I say.
His hand brushes a stray ringlet out of my eyes. Then he kisses me.
I lean into him, enjoying the feel of him. He’s the strongest, most masculine man I have ever met and I ache for him. When I realise the kiss I’m giving him is appropriate for my time but not for his I pull back, breathing hard and I see his eyes flick to my heaving bosom.
“Miss Hale, please forgive me my impropriety...”
“Oh shut up,” I breathe, pulling his face back down to mine and we stagger back into the shadows together.
“I find your boldness both shocking and intensely exciting,” he breathes in my ear, pressing me up against the wall.
“I’m not usually like this. You have an effect on me.”
“As you do on me,” he says, cupping my face in his hands.
Suddenly I am overcome with weakness and almost fall but he catches me.
“What’s happening?” I say.
“It’s time for you to leave.” I’m pleased to hear the regret in his voice.
“I don’t want to go.”
“I do not want you to go either but I don’t know how to stop it. I only pray our paths cross again.”
All the energy seems to drain out of me and I go limp in his arms. I hear him speak as my eyes close.
“Please, tell me your Christian name.”
“Shannon,” I breathe, before unconsciousness claims me.
I wake to find myself laid out on the couch in the Red Room, just a couple of doors down from the ballroom. When I see the two figures in Georgian dress stood over me I think I’m still in Dominic‘s time. Then I realise that one of the figures is chewing gum and has a mobile phone pressed to her ear. My younger sister Ellie and her husband Tom. They both live with me in the house.
“Thank God for that, I was just about to call a doctor. You alright?” says Ellie with concern, hanging up the phone.
I sit up slowly, completely disorientated. “Yeah. How long have I been out?”
“Just a few minutes.”
“Is that all? It feels longer.” I could have sworn I was out for hours.
“Yeah. You fainted in the corridor.”
“The guests…”
“Relax. Me and Tom managed to get you in here before anyone saw. The ball’s over. Are you up to saying goodbye to everyone?”
“Yes,” I reply determinedly, climbing to shaky feet.
“I said you were working too hard but would you listen? Oh no,” chides my baby sister.
“Alright, point taken. Now the ball’s over I can spend the next couple of days relaxing.”
As we wander through the house to the front door to see out the guests I realise something has again changed. The house is no longer light and elegant. On the contrary it is dark and a little oppressive, the beautiful creamy marble floor now dark gloomy wood. The gaily papered walls are replaced with thick wood panelling and the furniture is likewise drab and dark. But my confused brain can’t fathom the reason for it.
“What’s happened to the house?” I say.
“How do you mean?” replies Ellie.
“All the wood and the floor. It wasn’t like that earlier.”
“What are you talking about?” she frowns. “It’s always been like that.”
She look as though she’s wondering whether to call the men in white coats so I decide to let the subject drop. I’m completely baffled, shaken up and on top of all that I’m longing for Dominic. I’ve spent just a few hours in his company and I miss him already, if he was real that is.
“Oh, who is that dour-looking fellow?” enquires one of the departing ladies.
The question is directed at me but fortunately Tom takes up the reply, for which I’m grateful because I’m still very much out of sorts.
“That is Lord Carmichael, the fourth Earl, also known as The Wicked Lord.”
My head snaps up and I frown. That’s not the truth at all.
“It seems he was very popular until one night he fell in love with a lady but she inexplicably vanished and his heart was broken,” he explains eagerly in his theatrical way. “He refused to marry any other woman, swearing she would return to him one day but she never did. So he drowned his sorrows in drink and opium and became heartless and cruel. He was the one who installed all the dreary wood. He wanted the house to reflect his pain.”
I stare up at the portrait, horrified. “Oh God what have I done?” I breathe.
“What?” whispers Ellie, the concern back in her eyes.
“Nothing,” I reply, close to tears.
I just want to get away from everyone so I can try and process what has happened. The minute the last guest finally departs I make my excuses and retreat to the sanctuary of my bedroom, which coincidentally used to belong to Dominic two hundred years ago. Then I bury myself under the covers and don’t look out until morning, praying that when I wake the house will be restored and I will find it has all been a dream.
Half Life Page 9
