Time Weaver

by Jacinta Maree

“Mother? Mother, I’m home.” Elizabeth arrived to her quiet home after the sun had set. A gentle warmth moved in from the back, and as she did every night, she slipped out of her shoes and unbuckled her petticoat, hanging it on the hook by the door. She hadn’t stopped smiling since the parade. Even as she got back to the school—panting hard and late from lunch—she didn’t let her face drop. She turned to lock the door when she heard muffled voices coming from down the hall. With her hand still on the knob, she twisted back at the noise. Only she and her mother lived in their one-level flat and that muffle belonged to a man. Elizabeth held her breath.

  “Mother? Are you there?” she called just as the voices stopped. The lights were off except for a gentle flicker of orange casting shadows across the hallway. She edged along the walls toward the lounge room, where a man’s silhouette stood in front of the lit fireplace, admiring a family picture.

  “Sir Beaumont?” Elizabeth stopped as Harold Beaumont, the governor to the country and father to Arthur, glanced over his shoulder.

  “Ah, Miss Blackmore, how nice to see you.”

  She curtsied anxiously. “I didn’t know we were expecting company.”

  “My intention was meant to be a quick visit, seems time has gotten away from me.” He stepped up to her and tucked one hand into his pocket, clinking the chains of a pocket watch. The shadows painted black strokes across his face, shielding his expression. “How have your studies been treating you? I’m aware you’ll be eighteen in a week.”

  Elizabeth’s chest squeezed. Is he here about my bidding? Harold Beaumont was the only gentle person in the entire Beaumont family. He had three sons, the youngest, Arthur, was a known bully and thug to most of the girls at the academy. Then there was Jeremy who remained away at war followed by Timothy, the eldest and next in line to take his father’s place. Elizabeth never liked the governor’s wife, Lady Claudia, or the way she would loom her shadow over others. Her head was always tilted, no doubt trying to catch whispers of gossip.

  “Yes, sir.” Elizabeth curtsied again.

  “Arthur has brought it to my attention of his interests. Rest assured you would be welcomed into our household.” Elizabeth didn’t speak. Couldn’t speak. Harold cleared his throat and stepped around the lounge chair separating them. “I should warn you, his intentions are not—”

  “Elizabeth?” Ana stepped out from the hallway with what appeared to be a long black coat folded over her arm. A soft waft of lavender followed her in. “Darling, I was just about to escort Governor Beaumont out.”

  Harold quickly stepped back, acting as though he hadn’t said anything beyond hello and moved back toward the entrance, “Oh, yes, my coat. Thank you. Well, thank you Ms. Blackmore for your time. I hope I haven’t been too much of an inconvenience.”

  “Never, Sir. It was my pleasure. And please, call me Ana.”

  “My lady Ana.” Romantic sparks electrified the air. Uncertainty filled Elizabeth, but she clenched her teeth together to bite back her outburst. Stares lingered. Smiles pinched their flustered cheeks red. Elizabeth felt her own blood boil, but for very different reasons. When Ana returned from leading Harold out, her guilty smile lengthened.

  “Mother?” Elizabeth crossed her arms, unsure what expression she should wear.

  “It’s not what you think, Elizabeth.” Ana held her hand up before easing herself into the chair facing the fire pit. She had her fingertips to her forehead, as if trying to massage out a building headache. Her shoulders slouched with exhaustion.

  “If it is or if it isn’t, you can’t go around with married men. People will talk.”

  “He was looking for someone who can make good pies. It was strictly a business proposition.”

  “And this conversation had to happen so late?” Anger gripped her tone.

  “We had…ahem…” Ana cleared her throat as she turned herself around, picking up the cup of tea that had long gone cold. “We got caught up chatting.”

  “You might be a single woman, but he is not a single man. If Lady Claudia hears her husband is spending his afternoons with you, I fear what wrath she could unleash.” Elizabeth walked over and knelt by her mother’s knees, resting both her hands on the armrest. She let the anger subside quickly as a new thought popped into mind. “I understand you get lonely, but Governor Beaumont is not the right choice. Doctor Wicker, on the other hand, is an excellent suitor. He just arrived back in town and—”

  Ana’s smile dropped for a moment before she turned her face away. “You should go see him, dear. It’s been far too long.”

  “You should accompany me. I know he thinks fondly of you.”

  “Tsk!” Ana snorted. “He didn’t think much of me when Michael had us thrown to the streets. Even after knowing all of that, knowing of your heart condition, never did he seek us out.”

  Elizabeth gently bit her lip. Defeated by her mother’s words, she dropped her hands from the armrest. Sometimes, she thought it would be easier to accept Arthur as her new master, to take his cruelty silently and collect the money to buy a place out of the Pitts. The shaming on her mother had been difficult. Elizabeth was only eight when they were tossed to the streets, but she had grown accustomed to their struggles. Ana took the heavier toll; guilt a vicious rat gnawing her away. It had rained so hard that day; the roads had been swallowed under the rippling black water and the storm clouds darkened the sky into night. Michael was just a shadow in the doorway, arm pointing out, shouting until his voice cracked.

  Neighbours watched with nervous interest as Ana scrambled up and tried to cover eight-year-old Elizabeth from the cold. Her two other children, Sam and Penelope, had watched from the kitchen window crying. Their small frames just dark outlines, only their fists visible as they hammered against the glass. Gossip was faster than any train or airship; news and talk scared Ana into hiding. All she could afford was the hut down in the Pitts. She had fought against it, but the only way to stop starvation was to sell Elizabeth into the Academy. A decision that continued to haunt her.

  Elizabeth lowered her voice. “Arthur Beaumont came again this morning to the academy. He’s already put in his bid. In a week’s time, I will be sold to him. I will get money and send it back; you don’t need to seduce his father…”

  Ana leaned forward, cupping her daughter’s face. “I won’t allow that. I’m not seducing the governor. I have no feelings for the man.”

  Mildly relieved, Elizabeth shook her head. “Doctor Wicker is the only man left who can save me.”

  “Do not look to men. They are not our saviours.” Ana scooted off the chair, crouching down eye-to-eye with Elizabeth. She eased her finger under Elizabeth’s chin, gently tilting her head back as tears swelled. “My beautiful daughter, words cannot express how sorry I am that this has happened. I wish I could make everything right again.”

  “Wishes aren’t real, mother.” Elizabeth whispered, and gently pushed her mother’s hand off.

  Ana exhaled. “You’re becoming more and more like him, such a beautiful face. I’m sure he’ll be so happy to see you’re doing so well. You should go see him tomorrow.”

  The connection between the Doctor and Elizabeth was obvious. Similar to him, she had sickly blonde locks; the tint so pale, it was as if someone had dumped white ash on her head. She was washed with a pale complexion and long clumsy limbs, completing the sickly attire. The final straw was the frail heart condition inherited through the Wicker bloodline. A child bore out of a love affair did not extend the same titles, so although Elizabeth was of Wicker blood, she was not welcomed as a noble woman.

  Doctor Wicker had no other children and never had a wife, so it had confused Elizabeth when he didn’t extend marriage to her mother. Perhaps he never wanted a family? She considered. Perhaps she wasn’t the child he wanted; boys were always much more sought after than girls. Despite being a constant presence when she was younger, he had disappeared for six years, and today was his first appearance since then. Timing couldn’t be any more crucial. If she wante
d to be spared a life with Arthur Beaumont, then Doctor Wicker was her only hope.

  Chapter Three:

  Later than usual, Elizabeth made her way home from the academy the following day, tucking her chin into her chest as her teeth chattered, trying to work the heat back into her body. The days were hot, but the nights were always chillingly cold. The frost would nip her fingers blue and spread ice all across the windshields and windows. Just as she reached out to grab onto the front door, the door was pulled inside, revealing Harold and her mother giggling behind it. Elizabeth stepped backwards as they both halted. Harold corrected his collar before nodding over his shoulder.

  “Thank you for your time, Lady Ana.” He smiled with a tip of his hat.

  “You’re always welcome here, Governor Beaumont.” Ana curtsied and took a step backwards, allowing enough space for Harold to squeeze past.

  “Miss Blackmore,” he greeted Elizabeth as they crossed paths. Elizabeth greeted back and moved inside. She shot Ana a sharp look, one only given with serious scolding. Ana simply shook her head. She closed the door and turned to walk toward the kitchen.

  “Not now, Elizabeth.”

  “Didn’t you listen to anything I said?” Elizabeth growled, stomping out of her shoes and wrenching her coat free. “Why was he here, again? Don’t tell me he wants to talk more about pies?” She followed Ana into the kitchen as she returned to cooking a stew.

  Ana threw her hands up in frustration. “What do you want me to do, Elizabeth? I can’t very well just shoo the governor out of my house.”

  “This is only going to get you into more trouble. Even if it is innocent, rumours will spread and Lady Claudia is not a kind woman. If she thinks you’re having an affair—”

  “Let them speak.” Ana turned to the window, “Their meaningless words can’t hurt me.”

  “No! Stop it! This isn’t just about you anymore.” Elizabeth buried her face into her hands, trying to muffle her frustration. No doubt neighbours watched their doorstep. No doubt Lady Claudia had ears in the Pitts. Elizabeth’s watched the shadows, remembering how fast it tore her world down before. There were always signs of a storm coming. The stares. The gossip. The mistakes of her mother. She grabbed her chest, feeling her panic unleash. “If something were to happen, what am I meant to do?” There remained pieces that were never put back together, not completely. Her mother moved as an incomplete puzzle. One big hole through her chest.

  Ana stopped and looked over at the crack of Elizabeth’s voice. “Elizabeth, no, darling, no.” She quickly pulled her daughter into her arms, cupping her cheeks. Elizabeth weakly tried to steer her face away, embarrassed by her tears. “I’m not going to let that happen again, I promise. We’ll be okay. Nothing bad will happen, sweetheart.”

  Ana pressed her forehead against her daughter’s before kissing her tenderly on the cheek. “I didn’t want to say anything just in case, but it really is business we’re discussing. It turns out the governor loves my dessert pies so much he’s going to help me open my own store. It’ll be in Rosefire, somewhere nice where I can make more money and buy at least half of your wage. You wouldn’t have to be a live-in servant after all.”

  “What?” Elizabeth turned her face up; her cheeks reddened and skimmed with tears. “Is he really going to help you open your own shop?”

  Ana nodded, biting into her smile. “See, your mother knows what she’s doing,” she mocked playfully as Elizabeth snorted, dabbing her eyes with her fingertips. Her cruel and sudden accusation to her mother’s morals pulled at her heart.

  “I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have—”

  “It’s okay. There’s nothing to apologise over. Harold is kind, but there’s nothing more between us.”

  Elizabeth scooted over and took a seat as Ana returned to the pot. “I haven’t given up on Doctor Wicker. I’ll try again tomorrow to speak to him, explain exactly what is happening. I’m sure he’ll bid for me.”

  Ana turned her face over her shoulder, cocking a sly smile. “There’s no doubt in my mind. Any man would want to call you his own, but out of them all, Doctor Wicker will provide the best future for you.”

  #

  During the night, Elizabeth found herself shivering. The cold was so bad it stirred her awake and turned her toes blue. The heavy shadows distorted her room; taking her a moment to adjust her eyes as she rolled herself out of bed and eased her bare feet to the ground. She then took the torch from her bedside and turned it on. Something else stirred within her. A sense, a tingling that didn’t match the quietness of the house.

  Elizabeth poured herself a cup of water from the kitchen and toasted her toes next to the dying embers in the fire pit. The carpet itched the exposed skin on her feet, making them tingle. She settled into her mother’s reclined chair, shutting her eyes briefly. Suddenly, she jerked upward, unaware she had fallen asleep. As she made her way back to her room, she heard a subtly creak in the floorboards. Elizabeth slowed and took a step back. Holding the light forwards, she rounded the corner to where her mother’s room was. The hall was long and empty. Darkness concealed most of it. Until something shifted in the shadows. Just out of sight, an outline of a body stepped up to her mother’s door.

  “Who’s there?” Elizabeth called out. The door creaked open, throwing moonlight across the man’s tall physique. She couldn’t see much beyond a straight nose and glint of blond hair. The man unsheathed a dagger and stepped into Ana’s room. Panic threw Elizabeth forward, making her drop her glass, shattering it across the ground.

  “No! Wait! Don’t!” She ran down the hall only to find the man was gone and the room remained undisturbed. Wait, a dream? She spun around, utterly confused. Rattled, she climbed onto her mother’s bed and shook her. “Mother, wake up.”

  She didn’t respond. A fast, cold nip pinched her finger tips where she brushed them against her mother’s cheek. Elizabeth shook her harder. Ana’s body flopped. Her body rolled limply, her face relaxed in her slumber.

  “Mother?” She then pressed two fingers against the pulse in her mother’s neck. When she couldn’t feel anything, Elizabeth pressed her ear to her chest, hoping to feel her breathing. Silence. Unnatural silence, a silence only present in the vacancy of life. Elizabeth propped her mother’s head up between the smooth of her palms. Color faded from her cheeks. She checked for stab wounds and bloodstains, but there was nothing. Her cold body was the only give away that a human laid in her hands. Impossible. It was impossible.

  “No! Please wake up!”

  Elizabeth shouted and shook her, no longer gentle. It got harder to breathe. Harder to think.

  “Wake up! Mother?”

  “Mother!”

  “Mother!”

  Impossible. It was impossible. It had to be.

  Chapter Four:

  Elizabeth’s chin felt sewn to her chest. Her neck weakened, unable to lift her head. Her body folded over, cradling herself as she huddled in the corner. How is this possible? Am I going crazy? How did this happen? She kept pulling on her memory like a reel of film, revisiting the exact moment the man stepped out of the shadows. She remembered his hand reaching the door knob. She remembered the door glided open at his push. She remembered the blade. She could still see his profile cradled against the moonlight. Yet it didn’t make sense. Was she not fast enough? Where did he go? How did it happen?

  Her mother’s body had been taken away long ago, but she could still see how the sheets fell against her form, leaving a soft imprint on the bed. Elizabeth crunched her fingers through the bulk of her hair, trying to dig up answers. The doctors proclaimed a stroke took her mother’s life, but that’s not what she saw. Ana was murdered. How they did it and left no marks on the body, she couldn’t understand. It had been hours since the funeral, maybe even a whole day, and Elizabeth still couldn’t find the strength to lift herself up. Ana’s friends came to mourn her and help pay for her burial. They looked at Elizabeth with deep remorse, patted her on the shoulder, and passed on their condolences, but it
was wasted breath. Elizabeth was alone now. No amounts of I’m sorry were going to help her.

  #

  With the passing week, Elizabeth’s shattered world only grew darker. Time never stopped even when her reason to live collapsed, turning familiar rooms into unrecognizable spaces, mocking her with her mother’s fading presence. And tomorrow, she was going to be sold. The realization came to her during the blood sunrise. Red warmed the streets, peeling back the ice as time felt both fleeting and unbearably slow. Lack of sleep left her delirious. Everywhere she looked, she saw Ana. Even with all the pictures turned down, the furniture moved to create a lounge that wasn’t hers, a kitchen that wasn’t theirs, but she was still there, in every creak of a floorboard and the catch of her reflection. Ana was there. Haunting her.

  Elizabeth cried so hard the tears felt heaved up from the pit of her stomach. When the sadness hollowed her out, Elizabeth felt like she could not get lower. With nothing left, she ran out into the streets in her sleeping attire and bare feet. Letters piled up outside her door, formal inquests about her absence from the academy. She looked like a ghost amongst the dew; blue veins tattooed her pale skin as white hair unbundled from its messy bun. She reached Doctor Wicker’s house and stormed right up to the intercom by the barred gates. She took the handle and brought it to her lips. As the receiver end was picked up and the sound of someone’s breath tickled against her ear, Elizabeth felt her chest tighten.

  “I need to speak to Doctor William Wicker immediately. Tell him it’s Elizabeth Blackmore. I don’t care if I have to wait all day, I must speak with him.” Her tone didn’t shift despite her knees shaking. The intercom’s heavy breathing continued. Elizabeth stepped around to see the house through the bars of the gate. There were two cars parked there—William’s and another she couldn’t recognize. All the lights were off and the curtains were drawn.

  “This is an emergency—”

  “It’s me.”

  She froze. His voice rang with familiarity, bringing forth a collage of memories. She remembered him walking into her room, big hands combing back her white bangs. He greeted her with a hot tea, a lemon wedged on the side, her favorite. She remembered the first time she disobeyed his instructions against playing tag with the rest of the children, and how he scooped her up when she fell down, unable to collect a breath. She even remembered the moment he confronted Ana; his face soft as he whispered, ‘Is she mine?’