Time Weaver

by Jacinta Maree

  She slumped against the post. “Doctor Wicker?” He didn’t reply, but she could still hear him breathing. “My mother…”

  “I know. I’m so sorry, Miss Blackmore.” His voice dropped with genuine remorse. Elizabeth waited for him to keep speaking, for him to say something, anything that would give her reason to hope. She folded her lips in to stop herself from shattering. Her eyes rolled upwards, blinking furiously to stop the tears.

  She eventually whispered, “I need your help.”

  He gently sighed, “I truly am sorry,” before hanging up. Numbness took her first, taking her strength as her fingers fumbled with the phone, causing her to drop it. The mouthpiece dangled by the end of the cord as a man hangs from a noose. The world became quiet. Her mind snapped in two, her thoughts running into the ground. That was it, she thought. Game over.

  #

  Lukewarm water filled the bathtub. She sat at the bottom of the drum, water rising past her ribs and pulling the fabric of her dress against the side. In her nimble fingers, she cradled the vial of cyanide. She had popped open the lid but couldn’t bring the tiny bottle to her lips. If she killed herself, her mother’s murderer would get away without justice. Even though she feared life with the Beaumont’s, the rage inside her wouldn’t let her budge. Even if it meant bending to the whims of Arthur Beaumont, she will find the fiend who killed her mother and she would end him. Yet, she did not rise from the water. She did not drop the poison. She studied it. Memorizing it. Imagining the acidic doze tearing up her insides, spewing up red. Imagined dying. Imagined meeting her mother again.

  A loud bang jolted Elizabeth out of her daze. The water had long gone cold. She edged the tap off with her toes, but the water had already overspilled the edge on to the floor. Her wrinkled skin felt frozen as she turned her head toward the front door. The banging continued. Urgently. Wanting her attention. She looked at her numbed, emptied hands. No vial? Below her grip, the broken vial sprawled out across the floor in shards. Poison bubbled and washed away with the tub water. The person knocked three more times before silence followed. Soon, all that was left was the sharp drip of a leaking pipe. Elizabeth eased herself down until the water crept up to her chin and pressed against her ear drums. The dripping echoed in the body of the water. Loud, but distant. Without taking a breath, she slipped under the surface.

  Tiny air bubbles escaped her nostrils and lips. It was heavenly tranquil with a low hum rippling across the water from edge to edge. It could be coming from the churning pipes underneath her or the traffic right outside her window. Her vision was hazy through the water and clouded by strands of white hair floating in suspended space. As if preparing for sleep, she felt her eyes get heavier and her vision begin to shift. She closed her eyes. Her body softened. Her chest deflated, pushing more bubbles to the surface.

  When she opened them again, a shadow stepped over and drove a hand down, hoisting her up. As she rose, water spraying everywhere, she inhaled a long and frightened gasp.

  “What are you doing?” Sara leant over the bath edge, running her hands over Elizabeth’s face, trying to clear the hair away. Elizabeth coughed and choked on the inhaled water.

  “Sara?” she spluttered. Sara jumped up to grab a towel. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve been so worried. I haven’t heard anything from you in days.” She helped ease Elizabeth to a stand before she hugged the towel around Elizabeth’s body, helping her climb out of her drenched gown. Elizabeth wasn’t sure if Sara hadn’t noticed the broken bottle or elected to ignore the disturbing thought her friend could have already drunken the deathly dose. She ducked in and out in moments, returning to the bathroom with a dry clean outfit.

  “I don’t want to get dressed.”

  “You can’t sit there in the nude.” Elizabeth turned her face away as Sara stepped around her, bringing out a brush. She started to comb through Elizabeth’s hair, yanking at her scalp as the bristles got caught in the knots. There was more knocking on the door. Sara called out over her shoulder, “We’re coming.”

  “Who’s that?” Elizabeth clenched her towel closer to her body.

  “Mr. Beaumont is waiting.” Sara tucked a loose strand behind Elizabeth’s ear. “You’ve been purchased.”

  Elizabeth didn’t remember getting dressed, only Sara’s rough hands as she forced Elizabeth into a long skirt and cream blouse. And as she passed the front window, she caught sight of Harold Beaumont standing by the front threshold with his car parked on the curb. She jerked her head away as Sara took her to the lounge. Sara invited Harold in while Elizabeth waited on the couch in front of the fireplace.

  “Thank you for helping me, Miss Coven.” Harold Beaumont nodded toward Sara as she curtsied in reply. She glanced wearily over at Elizabeth, who hadn’t turned her gaze away from the ash pile.

  “Miss Blackmore, let me just say how truly sorry I am for your loss. Your mother was such a beautiful and wonderful woman. I know how much she meant to you, and how much you meant to her. Ana truly was loved.”

  Elizabeth took a deep breath. Hearing him say her name curled her hands into fists. Stay calm, you can do this. You can do this. He stepped around to face her and tugged his hand out of his pocket, pulling out his pocket watch.

  Elizabeth rolled her gaze upwards, her face tightening into a scowl. “Are you here about the bidding?” Even her voice strained with loathing.

  “Yes, actually.” He tucked his watch back in. “And quite the bidding war it was, very spectacular. Arthur placed his last bid just this morning for a price that was far out of reason. I would have to sell half my staff just to pay his debt. I came here to withdraw the bid, but your head mistress has informed me it was unnecessary.”

  “Wait, unnecessary?”

  Harold glanced down at her, eyes unfamiliarly gentle for a Beaumont and a soft tilt of a smile. “Someone had already outmatched the bid. Doctor Wicker, if my information is correct.”

  Elizabeth bolted upright. “He did?”

  “Ah, Sir William.”

  She spun around as Doctor William Wicker stepped out from around the corner, his soft but full grey hair combed back into a stiff, ashy flame. He looked older, but in a good way, as wine ages with grace and value. Though he seemed tired, William kept his posture straight and his blue eyes calm.

  “Governor Beaumont,” he greeted with a nod. Harold chuckled and clapped him on the back.

  “None of this Governor business. I just wanted to ensure that our young Miss Blackmore is holding up okay.”

  Her eyes shot up to meet William’s, and though she could hear them talking, the connections weren’t being made in her head. She glanced over at Sara for confirmation that this wasn’t a dream. Sara’s eyes were just as large, her cheeks pinched pink in happiness. She gave her a brisk nod, biting back her laughter.

  “Thank you for your concern, Governor Beaumont, and please pass on my apology to your son, Arthur. I understand the news will be upsetting for him.”

  Harold cleared his throat with a cough. “It’ll do that boy some good to hear no once in a while.”

  William gently reached out to take Elizabeth’s elbow. “If you don’t mind, Miss Elizabeth, we should get going. I’ll have my men return for your things.”

  Elizabeth almost couldn’t stand. He called her by her name. It was incredibly personal, incredibly foreign. But this whole thing felt unreal. She must be dead. It was the only possible solution. She was dead, and this was her version of heaven. But then, where was Ana?

  As William helped her stand, her knees wobbled and her head felt stuffed with stones. She felt too heavy to be a spirit. Too angry to be in heaven. She looked up at William, unsure of her own feelings. Why didn’t he tell me earlier? Why wait until the last minute? She jerked her head away from his gaze in fear he’d read her inner turmoil and change his mind. She didn’t even look at Sara or turn to grab her more personal things. She went straight out to the car, suddenly sick that she had been within two seconds of killing
herself. If he had said something sooner and not led her to believe she was deserted, the notion of suicide would never had crossed her mind. And for that, Elizabeth’s knuckles curled, she blamed him.

  Chapter Five:

  Sitting in the car, Elizabeth couldn’t break her looping thoughts. When am I going to wake up? When am I going to get to the front door and find Arthur standing there, slapping bundles of money against his palm as if he had won the lottery? How can this be happening?

  They drove out of the disease-infested Pitts, along the blue sea caressing the docks, up through Rosefire and past the line of golden statues, through the large emporium gates and into the high society of the Golden City. It had gotten its nickname from the synthetic golden trees plotted throughout the streets.

  “Miss Elizabeth?”

  She jerked her head upwards. From the large, iron black gates the Wicker mansion was separated by fresh, cut grass and a lone water fountain in the middle of the circular drive way. Yards of garden beds distanced Doctor Wicker’s estate from his neighbours. Though every mansion was impressive in structure, Doctor Wicker’s stood out as the largest. At the threshold of William’s manor waited the butler. Elizabeth accepted William’s hand as he helped her out of the car and took her inside. She took a breath. The air was clearer and lighter, even the sun felt warmer on her cheeks. In the Pitts, the sunlight couldn’t reach the ground through the bulk of the over-packed houses.

  “This is Mr. Harry Smith. He has been with us for the past few decades.” He took her through the main foyer as Elizabeth felt her head tilt back. She had been to his clinic many times, but never to his actual house. The ceiling arched upwards like a dome, mimicking a church’s gracious rounded halls.

  “I apologise. I don’t have the time to give you a grand tour, so feel free to wander. But please keep in mind that only my personal quarters are off limits. If you need me, you can find me in the east library; though it’s preferred that you don’t disturb me unless it’s an emergency. We dine over in the west wing; Harry will collect you when it’s time. Until then, Harry, can you please show Miss Elizabeth to her room?”

  He turned to leave as Elizabeth reached out. “Wait? What about my duties? You haven’t given me any orders.” He looked confused. “You bought me, remember? I am a maid, not a guest.”

  “Oh, right.” He signalled to Harry as he pulled out a scrolled parchment and a pen. “Sign here.”

  Reluctantly, Elizabeth picked up the pen. “What is it?”

  “Legal documents.” He urged her to be quick as she signed her name at the bottom. As soon as her pen lifted, William took the scroll away. “Tomorrow morning we’ll start you off with your studies.”

  “Studies?”

  “Harry will tutor you from eight until one, and then you will continue on your own with private study.” William continued speaking over his shoulder. “We’ll have weekly tests, to ensure you are understanding all the material properly. All standard procedures.”

  She ran to catch up with him. “Wait, what studies?”

  “For your future, of course.”

  “My future?”

  “Unless you intend to remain a servant for the rest of your life…” William quickly glanced at Harry, “which is fine, but I thought you would like the chance to broaden your horizon. It’s a big world out there, and we need bright minds to illuminate it.”

  #

  Harry took Elizabeth up the curved staircase to the next storey, and then down the hall where her room was positioned next to a large portrait of a white-haired woman dressed in jewels and an elegant gown. She was surprised to see William displaying pictures of his family, be it thanks to his cold and detached reputation out in the public, she had suspected he had no living relatives left. Similar to William, the woman wore the family crest on her clothing, and her white hair was pulled back into curls, sitting underneath a large brimmed hat. She was also stunningly beautiful.

  Harry stepped to the side, allowing Elizabeth space to walk in front of him. When she opened the door, she was welcomed by a large, exquisite room with a king-size, four-poster bed attached to the roof like a chandelier, dangling inches off the carpeted floor. The motorized bed posts would lower the bed closer to the ground for her to climb on, before bringing it back up off the ground so it could rock gently during the night. There were four fat cushioned chairs sitting around a table with a motorised chess game set up by the windows. In the back corner were two large cupboards and at least three floor-to-ceiling windows, all with separate curtains tied back by velvet rope.

  “This can’t be right. Is this for me?” Elizabeth turned back to find Harry had left.

  She walked to the dresser where a collection of lace collars and bracelets were sorted across the desk. In the centre, made of a pearl wax, was the symbol of the Wicker crest, the feather-tail quill. She picked one up and measured it against herself. They were slightly too small so she put it back down. She headed outside and started to roam the hallways, lightly touching the golden framework of the portraits lining the walls.

  Only one-sixth of the Wicker family members carried the white hair gene. She was quick to notice that unlike their brunette and blonde siblings, the white-haired Wickers didn’t have children, or even a spouse. In every picture, they stood alone and serious. It was through their siblings’ marriages that the white gene sprouted out like weeds among flowers. The only picture of William was when he was sixteen years old standing next to his younger sister. He was very handsome with a small, cocked smile, dressed in dark brown hunting gear with his arm resting on the chairs arm rest. This was what she had wanted, yet Elizabeth couldn’t shake the anger that swirled from her stomach.

  “Is something the matter, young miss?” Harry was at the bottom of the stairs looking up. His black attire was kept impossibly wrinkle free; the exact opposite to the aged lines worn into his face. The white collar was pinched right under his chin, so that every time he gulped his Adam’s apple got wedged. Elizabeth huffed and crossed her arms.

  “Something doesn’t feel right.”

  “You are welcome to take a nap if you feel unwell.”

  “That’s not it.”

  “I can send up some warm tea?”

  “No, thank you. I just—”

  “I’ll get the bath running. You must be exhausted.”

  “Just stop!” She felt herself shout and push off the railing to face Harry directly. He flinched at her outburst as Elizabeth quickly covered her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout, but right now, all I want is to speak to Doctor Wicker.”

  Harry’s constant dry lips trembled at her request. “I’m sorry, miss. He’s working.”

  “This is important.” She lowered her hands. “Please?”

  #

  Harry took her to the front door leading into the east library, but didn’t follow her in. The library was no doubt the largest part of the house, aside, of course, from the main foyer. William placed himself in one of the corners, a low, oil-burning lamp illuminating the disarray of heavy text books across the desk. He was nose deep in the pages and didn’t glance up at her approach, his hand cupping his chin as the other flipped through pages feverishly.

  Elizabeth approached. She had so many burning questions, but there was one in particular she felt boiling away inside of her. “Why didn’t you come back for us?”

  He tilted back, surprised, before snapping the book closed and taking his glasses off. “Miss Elizabeth, I didn’t hear you come in.” He pushed back his chair and walked over. He cupped her cheeks, tilting her chin up. “I’ve been meaning to check your heart. Have you been keeping up with your medications?”

  There he goes again, always the doctor, nothing more. If they didn’t share such facial similarities, she could have accepted that all she ever could be. She had parts of Ana in her, in how her cheeks curved softly, the crisp, blue eyes and her lips puffed out with natural pink squeezed into them. Her ashy-blonde locks were still slightly damp from her bath
, curling around her face in limp twists. Though their hair was naturally very light, their eyebrows were dark and full with a dominant arch. She jerked her chin out of his palms, repeating herself, “Why didn’t you come back for us?”

  Did she even have a right to be mad? Even though he was her biological father, it had been Michael who kicked her out onto the streets. William had always extended a helping hand, but he acted as a doctor treats a patient. Not a father to a child.

  William put both hands in his pockets, his dark brown vest and matching tie curved against his lean body. “I had to find someone first.”

  “May I ask who?”

  “It’s not important,” he dismissed her and turned away, which only breathed more fuel onto Elizabeth’s spitfire rage.

  She stepped around the table to follow him. “It must’ve been important if you abandoned us for them. Was it a second family? A lover? A job or a chance to make more money?”

  “You really don’t think highly of me?”

  “I thought the world of you, but that world chipped away every year you didn’t come back for us. You didn’t help us even though we had nothing. All those cold nights, all those missed meals because we couldn’t… I know you didn’t ask for me, but—” She clenched her teeth together making her jaw ache. She didn’t dare say. She didn’t dare call herself his child. “My mother is dead.”

  “You think that’s my fault?” he asked calmly.

  “You can take some of the blame,” she snapped. “If we had some protection, then maybe he never would’ve gotten into our house. She would still be here with me.”