Time Weaver

by Jacinta Maree

  “Hang on,” William turned back. “Ana died of a stroke.” Elizabeth bit her tongue and lowered her head. “Right?” he urged.

  “That’s what the reports say.” She spoke under her breath.

  He sighed. “We’ll discuss this later. You should get dressed for supper. Put something warm on before you catch a cold.” He returned to his chair, picking up his glasses and sitting them at the edge of his nose. Elizabeth lingered for a moment, feeling the all-too-real touch of being alone in the world.

  “You still haven’t given me any orders.” She calmed her tone and wiped her hands down her dress, pushing out the creases.

  “You’re not a servant in my house,” he said, his voice directed toward the books.

  “I’m not a guest either.”

  “You are my daughter.”

  A nerve snapped inside her. The word daughter coming out of his mouth felt like a cruel joke. She couldn’t stop herself. The words flew out. “Don’t start treating me like family.” A pain twitched in her chest. She quickly took a step back, resisting the urge to cup where the ache surged.

  William perked his head up, his expression unreadable. “Then I order you to put a coat on and meet me downstairs for supper.”

  Chapter Six:

  She had put on a thick coat over her dress and waited patiently in the dining area. William greeted her as the clock ticked over to eight and a loud ping sounded. Harry followed him in carrying a silver tray. Elizabeth bolted upwards to help him when William ordered her to stop.

  “It’s fine. Sit down.”

  She reluctantly took her seat. As dinner was served, Elizabeth found herself without an appetite. Instead, she pushed her food around the plate glumly.

  “Is it not to your liking?” William, pausing mid-bite, glanced upwards. Their utensils hitting the plates were the only chatter through the eerily quiet hall. Even Harry made sure not to gulp too loudly.

  “The food is fine. It’s just I just don’t feel hungry.”

  “What’s the matter? I thought you wanted this?” he spoke again, his tone always annoyingly calm.

  “My being here doesn’t change the fact my mother is gone.” She meant to whisper but her words carried across the table.

  He hesitated briefly. “Would you rather be with Arthur Beaumont?”

  The mere mention of Arthur Beaumont gave Elizabeth the chills. His cruel smirk flashed and his last words crawled over her. Now she definitely lost her appetite. “No, no of course not. I just feel like…” She slumped a little more in her chair, searching the rafters for an answer. “I feel like I shouldn’t be anywhere.”

  William eased his fork down and picked up his napkin, dabbing it lightly at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t quite understand.”

  She sighed, but how could he? A man living in such a big house for so many years alone. No wife. No close family. Part of her doubted he even had any friends.

  “I know this is tough for you. Money can’t bring your mother back, but I know she would be happy knowing you’re in safe hands. That reminds me…” He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a locket. It was oval shaped with gold plating and a white pearl face. There was a picture of a faint silver outline in the centre of the watch face of their family crest. “This is for you.”

  He reached over and placed it in front of her plate. Elizabeth looked down at it, then back at William, and then back at the locket unsure what to say.

  “The centre plating is made of precious gold. I had a little left over from a project, well, anyway, happy birthday.”

  She gently reached over and picked it up. The locket was sealed shut with a tiny hook; the whole size of it was no larger than two thumbs held side by side. The metal was cool to the touch and very smooth. On the perimeter of the pearl face were the workings of brown, gold, and silver cogs. Whatever pent-up misery she hung onto seemed to dissolve through her fingertips. She even cracked a smile, which she hadn’t been able to do since her mother’s passing.

  “Thank you,” she whispered and brought the locket to her chest. At the front door there were three quick taps. Harry quickly dashed around to answer it. There was a moment of hushed conversation before Harry returned, coughing gently to get William’s attention.

  “Sir, he is here.”

  William immediately pushed back his chair and slipped into his coat. “Please excuse me, Miss Elizabeth.” He briefly nodded before turning to the door. Elizabeth craned her neck from her seat to see who he was talking to, but the door swung shut just as a shadow passed by.

  #

  After her meal, Elizabeth retired to her new chambers. The silence felt unnatural. She couldn’t sleep without the bustle of traffic crossing her window or the churning sewage pipes. The loneliness crept up on her as Elizabeth peered out across the vast space of her room. The walls were too far away and the roof was too high, making Elizabeth squirm under the sheets. Even with all of her belongings in the vacant space, the room still felt like a void.

  She turned over and pressed her head into the smooth cloth of the pillow. In the silence her thoughts became shouts, throwing questions that she didn’t know the answers too. How much did she really know about Doctor Wicker? Not that long ago, Doctor Wicker was nothing more than a pair of barred gates. Elizabeth flipped over for the fifth time. Her reality was living in a house with an unfamiliar man, though he was a favorable choice compared to Arthur, the fact still stood that he was practically a stranger. He even invited mystery guests into his house without so much as an introduction. Elizabeth drew her lips in with unease. Maybe there were answers to his secrets she didn’t want to know.

  Despite her night’s sleep, Elizabeth woke up as though she hadn’t slept for weeks. She squeezed her headache behind her eyes before rolling over and sitting up. Even in the daylight, her new bedroom seemed too large. On eight o’clock, Harry came by her door and set out work for her to tackle. Today’s topic: mathematics. She sat in the music room, a textbook propped open and a blank piece of paper set in front. It took her longer than she’d hoped to understand the equations.

  Despite her embarrassment, Harry never once made her feel inferior. The grip of a pen felt strange in her hand. She wasn’t meant for writing and problem solving, she was meant for cleaning. Outside the window, she noticed an unfamiliar car parked in the courtyard.

  “Harry, who does that vehicle belong to?”

  Harry twisted around in his chair. “Ah, that belongs to your father’s guest.”

  Father? Elizabeth paused on the word. Referring to William as her father felt unnerving and misplaced to her ears. She tried to clear her throat, but the uncomfortable pinch in her voice was still there. “Is he here now?”

  “I do believe so.”

  “Can I meet him?”

  Harry blinked back at her slowly. “I don’t believe that is wise.”

  “Is there a reason why?” she said, but Harry turned back with nothing else to say. His silence fuelled her curiosity. Well…isn’t that just suspicious. Elizabeth settled back into her chair, her eyes turning back to the paper whereas her mind remained stuck somewhere else. “Harry…do you believe it will be okay for me to visit a friend?”

  “I can arrange the driver for you. Which household?”

  “She’s actually at the academy.”

  Harry nodded. “I will collect your pieces then, Miss.”

  “My what?”

  Harry indicated with his head for her to follow as they made their way back to her room. He motioned to her drawer once more to where the lace collar cuffs and bands were lined along the dresser.

  “I can’t wear them.” She flinched back. To wear the Wicker crest in public was as much as an insult as if she paraded around mocking the Queen. The symbols of the noble households were the birth-rights of all the descendants. If Elizabeth wore the Wicker crest, she feared she’d be stoned to death the moment she stepped outside. “I can’t go out in them.”

  “You don’t like them?” She jolte
d as William stepped around the corner.

  “I, well, it’s not that I don’t like them. It’s just, you know, it’s not appropriate.” Flustered, Elizabeth stumbled over her words.

  “Not appropriate?” William stepped around her and walked to the dresser, picking up a few pairs to bring them back. He held them out on a flat palm. She followed his gaze down before delicately picking one up. It was of matching royal blue and black lace, framed around the crest that mimicked a blooming rose. William cleared his throat. “I had them made a while ago. I didn’t know if you would like the colors.”

  “You made them a while ago?”

  “Yes, for when I came to collect you,” he said.

  As she felt the sting of his words surge through her, Elizabeth clenched her jaw and ground her teeth. “You don’t have to force yourself to accept me. I am your servant! That is why I am here. That is it. You definitely don’t have to go around showing everyone I’m your love-affair daughter.” She shoved the band back into his palm.

  “Are you ashamed of me?”

  Elizabeth scoffed as if he had just made a distasteful joke. “Aren’t you ashamed of me? I mean, look at me.” She spun. “I’m not exactly a noble woman.”

  A small smile curled William’s face as it reached his eyes, “You’re a Wicker; you have nobility in your blood.”

  As fast as the anger spiked, her chest deflated, letting the hot air rush out of her. She exhaled her words as though exhausted. “If you had all the intentions of welcoming me into the family, why do it now? Why did you wait so long? We needed you…”

  “You must understand the situation I was in.”

  Unable to help herself, she scoffed. “I do understand. We were imposing on your bachelor lifestyle.”

  William sighed and pinched at the collar near his throat. “Miss Elizabeth, there are certain traits and genes within the Wicker family, especially those carrying mine…our…appearance, that makes childbearing an impossible feat. All my life, I believed I would never father children, and thus when you were born, it was difficult for me to hope you could be from my blood. I approached the situation poorly. In my youth, I couldn’t accept it, but now I wished I had acted differently. For that, I am incredibly sorry.”

  Elizabeth eased back, gently touching her stomach pained by the thought she too could be infertile or William could not be her father. “So I am not—”

  “There are no doubts in my mind that you are of Wicker blood. Your heart condition, your white hair, your face…when I finally came to accept the miracle of you, I knew there was something of dire importance I needed to attend to first.”

  “Like your guest?” Elizabeth pointed out. William stopped, but didn’t turn his gaze to her.

  “Exactly. But, who he is, is none of your concern. You are not to approach him. Do you understand?”

  Elizabeth shifted over onto her other foot. “You make him sound like he is part of the underground mafia.”

  Obviously missing her joke, William only shook his head. “Don’t fret about it. Just please, stay away from him. Promise me you will?”

  He reached out and grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to look up at him. Elizabeth felt guilt pinch at her knowing it was a promise she couldn’t keep. “I promise.”

  #

  Some nights the mysterious car was parked outside, some nights it wasn’t. Every time this guest moved about the house, he was hushed through closed doors and under the veil of shadow. Elizabeth almost tore her hair out with the yearning to see who this man was. She just wanted to catch his face. This man was the reason William stayed away for so long. He was the reason they were never a family, why Ana and herself suffered for years. She needed to know why.

  One night, she accidentally caught him.

  It was past midnight and Elizabeth woke to a scratchy throat and a terrible nightmare. She had been back in her old house, back in the hallway where the sinister man stepped through the shadows with the dagger held above his head. In some dreams, the blade was coated in blood. In others, she could hear her mother’s cries for help. Elizabeth bolted upwards, sweat hemming her hairline as she searched the still unfamiliar room for the light-haired stranger. When she couldn’t sleep, she decided to walk, in hopes of clearing her mind. Most of the curtains were left open through the main foyer and down the halls, allowing the moonlight to paint the rooms in touches of silver and blue. She walked through the west and into the east wing, where against the pitch of shadows, a shimmer of orange under the east library door grabbed her attention.

  The door was left ajar, just wide enough to fit her hand through. She moved forward, placing her hand against the wood before she quietly eased it back. As expected, the library was covered in shadows that were pushed back by the fire coming from the hearth. She craned her head around before pushing the door back just an inch further to get a better look.

  Much to her surprise, inside stood a man, close to her age, pacing the room with an open book in his hand. He was dressed in street brown clothes, simple dark pants with a matching vest and the sleeves rolled up to the elbow on each arm. Without seeing his face, Elizabeth felt her pulse quicken. His back was lean but strong, pushing against the fabric as he hunched in his reading. Something primitive surged through her body. An instinct of danger.

  He slowed his pace and eventually came to a stop, his lowered head ever so slowly arching upwards to glance over his shoulder at her. All she caught was a glimpse of his eye before the door slammed shut right in her face. She gasped and barely controlled the scream that rushed up from her lungs.

  There was no way she was going to sleep tonight.

  Chapter Seven:

  After her session with Harry, Elizabeth wandered back to the library to find a collection of books left unkempt and sprawled out across the desk and on the floor. Most of the books were classic literatures, fairy tales told to children and other mythical folklore. She dared a few minutes inside William’s room to find nothing out of the ordinary. As she snooped through his wing, she came across a lone, back door at the end of the hallway. Inside, she was surprised to find a simple guest room with a bed untouched. The curtains were half drawn, allowing only a shaft of light into the room.

  She walked over and yanked the curtains open. As the shadows were pushed back, she caught sight of a bag stashed underneath the desk. Inside the bag were more books. The books’ contents sparked her interest. Inside one of the books, it spoke of mythical creatures known as Time Collectors. Page after page, there were stories of people’s encounters with these supernatural beings and how they delivered death by temptation. The drawings were unpolished and simple, nothing that gave away much detail about what Time Collectors were or what they looked like. The one thing they all had in common was the shadow of death hovering above their head. They looked more like dark puppets with strings being pulled back and forth. She’d almost dismissed them as mere children’s storybooks when an image of an all too familiar blade caused her to pause.

  She brought the page up closer. It was undoubtedly the same knife she had seen on the night of her mother’s death. The handle was sturdy and thick, the barrel seemingly empty except for a collection of cogs spiralled through the centre like a twisted spine. With more questions burning inside of her, Elizabeth tore the page and folded it into a square, which she stuffed into her pocket.

  #

  Elizabeth wandered back to her room, her fingers teasing the paper in her pocket. Her mind raced. The fabric of her reality pulled at the seams, opening new possibilities she hadn’t considered before. Was it possible? The question grew fat on her tongue. She darted down the west wing hallway and opened the door into her bedroom. A voice stopped her from taking another step.

  “It’s rude to touch other people’s things.” She jumped and clenched her hands to her chest. A lone figure stood by her bedroom window, hands clasped behind his back while he stared out toward the garden. He cocked his head over his shoulder, bearing into her a set of deep, golden-brown e
yes.

  She whispered, “It’s you.”

  As still as stone, the man merely stood there, eyes bearing into her face as Elizabeth slowly stepped up to him. He was taller than her by at least two feet, enough that his head tilted toward his chest to keep eye contact. His fierce eyes sparked in his concentration, looking beyond her into her most private thoughts.

  “We haven’t been introduced yet. My name is Elizabeth Blackmore.” She extended her hand, which he didn’t take.

  “Klaus,” he answered shortly. “But I am not here to talk. You have taken something of mine.” He indicated toward Elizabeth’s pockets. There was definitely some sort of presence in the room, stirring the air with static. Even without moving a muscle, Elizabeth felt herself being pulled into him.

  “Klaus,” she repeated his name. “If you’re not busy this afternoon, I would love to sit down and chat with you over tea? I don’t want us to get off on the wrong foot. Doctor Wicker has been keeping your presence here a secret…it makes a girl wonder.” The muscles in his jaw tightened as he clenched to keep his mouth shut. Every moment sitting under his gaze felt exhausting; his mere presence sucked all the life out of the room. When he didn’t speak, Elizabeth pulled the paper out from her pocket. She unfolded it to have one last look, reassuring herself it was the same blade from her memory. “You have so many books about this thing. What is it?”

  “A tool,” he answered.

  Elizabeth twisted her lips. “What type of tool? It doesn’t look much like the kitchen blades I’ve seen. Is it a decorative piece?”

  “Nein,” he answered again, just as blankly.

  Elizabeth turned the paper in her hands, running a finger along the outline of the blade. “What are those books? Are they children’s stories? It spoke about a creature they refer to as a Time Collector—”

  “They are just stories.” His voice carried a thick foreign accent that slurred his speech.

  Elizabeth dared to take another step forward, closing the gap between them. A thousand things tore through her at once. The loudest thought left a sense of unease, replaying William’s words of warning. There was something unnatural about Klaus, but she couldn’t pinpoint what. It was in the way he slanted his chin and how his eyes tightened before he spoke. He watched with a chilling stillness. Carefully calculating.