by Helen Peters
“What? What’s happened?”
“Alice is dying!”
“Dying?” I stared at her, horrified.
“And… Oh, Evie…” Polly looked at me with huge, frightened eyes. “She says… She says you have killed her.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Witchcraft
I stared at Polly, uncomprehending. “Killed her? What do you mean?”
Polly started to speak but at that moment Mrs Hardwick appeared and gave me a tremendous slap across the side of the face. I cried out and staggered sideways.
“Get off me!” I yelled, beside myself now. “Will you just stop hitting me!”
She responded by gripping my shoulders and shaking me. “Ever since you arrived in this house, young lady, you’ve been nothing but trouble. And now you send the kitchen maid into hysterics and turn the household into chaos. I tell you—”
“What are you talking about? What have I done? I haven’t done anything to Alice.”
Mrs Hardwick snorted. “Well, she’s writhing on her bed, screaming in agony, in such a state that no one can get near, saying you’ve bewitched her.”
“Bewitched her?”
“You surely don’t believe that, missus,” said Polly. “Alice is just saying it because she hates Evie.”
“Witchcraft or no witchcraft,” said Mrs Hardwick, “I’ll put up with it no longer. Fetch your box and leave this instant.”
I turned cold with dread. “What? No!”
I couldn’t leave the house. I just couldn’t. If I wasn’t at Charlbury, how would I ever find my way home?
Mrs Hardwick raised her arm again. “You’ll do what I tell you, missy, and none of your chat.”
“You can hit me all you like but I’m not going.”
“Oh, please, missus,” said Polly, “have some mercy. You can’t send her away at night, into the rain, with nowhere to go.”
But Mrs Hardwick gave me a look that showed no mercy. “Get up to your room and fetch your things. I want you out of this house in five minutes flat.”
I almost told her I had no things, but then I realised that going up to the attic would at least give me the chance to talk to Polly, and I shut my mouth.
“Polly, I have to stay,” I said as we walked up the back stairs. “I can’t leave this house.”
“I wish you could,” she said, “but I know Hardwitch. Once her mind’s made up, there’s nothing anybody can do to change it.”
I wished I could tell Polly everything. I wished I could tell her that my real life was two hundred years in the future, and that the only way I knew how to get back to that life was through the magic in this house. But if I said that to Polly, then she would think I was a witch too.
But I had to stay here. I had to help Sophia escape and I had to get back to my own time.
Even before we reached the attic corridor, I could hear Alice’s hysterical sobbing.
“Do you think she’s really dying?” I asked Polly.
“I don’t know. I would have said she’s putting it on to get rid of you, but that’s quite a performance if it’s not real.”
I marched down the corridor and knocked on Alice’s door. The moaning and wailing continued. I knocked harder but there was still no answer.
“Alice,” I called. “It’s me. Evie. Let me in. I need to talk to you.”
Alice screamed.
I tried to open the door but it was locked. I pleaded again through the keyhole but she screamed even more hysterically. I turned to Polly in despair. “I don’t understand. How can she be dying when she was perfectly fine a couple of hours ago?”
“I’ve no idea,” Polly said, “but if you value your life you’d better get away as quickly as you can.”
I stared at her. “What do you mean? Nobody will really believe I bewitched her, will they?”
Polly looked uncomfortable. “She says she saw you gathering herbs and muttering to yourself.”
“What?” I slipped my hand in my pocket and felt the limp leaves. “I did pick herbs. They smelled nice.” The meaning of Polly’s words dawned on me and I laughed at the sheer craziness of it. “Is she saying I was making a potion or something?”
“She says you’ve poisoned her. And she says she’s seen three portents of death since you came here.”
“Portents of death?”
“She says a coal flew out of the fire and landed at her feet in the shape of a coffin.”
“And she thinks that’s a sign of death?”
“And then she said the tallow rose up the wick of her candle that night, which is supposed to foretell a death in the family. And when the chimney sweep’s dog howled while we were at breakfast, that was the third portent.”
“But surely people don’t really believe that stuff?”
“I don’t. But some do.”
I remembered Mary, Betty and Alice huddled together in the servants’ hall, shushing each other as I came in. Then I thought of the malicious looks Alice was always giving me, and of how she jogged my elbow and kicked my sweepings down the stairs.
“I don’t think Alice believes it herself,” I said. “She’s just saying it to get me in trouble. She wants me out of here. And she’s succeeded.”
From along the corridor, Alice gave a particularly piercing scream.
“Or maybe she actually is ill,” I said, “and she thinks blaming me is a good way to get me sacked. Then she can work with you, like she’s always wanted.”
“But where will you go, Evie? What will you do?”
“I’m not going,” I said, panic rising inside me. “I can’t. Polly, you’ve got to help me. Persuade Mrs Hardwick to let me stay. I can’t leave. I’ve got nothing.”
Polly’s face was full of concern. “I wish I could,” she said, “but I won’t be able to change her mind. She never budges once her mind’s set on a thing. But you could try to get work in the silk factory in the village. And the weather’s not too cold, at least. That’s a blessing. It won’t be so bad if you have to sleep out for a while, until you get your first wages and you can find lodgings.”
I stared at Polly, speechless. I couldn’t believe this was actually happening.
The door at the end of the corridor opened, and Nell came scampering along the passage.
“Excuse me,” she said, not meeting my eye, “but Mrs Hardwick says you’re to be out of the house in five minutes flat or she’ll have you whipped.”
“You must go, Evie,” said Polly with fear in her eyes. “They hang folks for poisoning.” She put a hand in the small of my back and hurried me down the corridor, Nell scuttling behind us. I felt numb.
“I shall miss you,” Polly said. “Write to me if you get the chance. I’ll get George to read it to me. I’ve never had a letter.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Shut Out
In the basement hall, George was shrugging off his jacket. His camp bed lay across the doorway.
“Sorry to hear you’re leaving,” he said. “Bad business, that.” He pushed the bed aside and slid back the bolts. “When you get to the gates, knock on the lodgekeeper’s door. He’ll open up for you.”
He shut the door behind me and I heard the bolts being drawn across.
It was pitch dark. The rain had stopped and water dripped from the roofs and the trees. I walked slowly up the drive, wondering how I was able even to put one foot in front of the other. I had no money, no spare clothes, not a single possession. And outside these gates, I didn’t know a soul in this world.
I felt hollow inside. An outline of a person, with no substance. A ghost of my former self. My past was in another world and I was walking towards an unknown future.
I turned to take one last look back at the moonlit house. Most of the windows were in darkness or had their curtains drawn so that only a few chinks of light were visible at the edges. But there was one window on the second floor that had no curtain drawn across it. A candlelit figure stood at the window. A figure in a white nightdress, wi
th long dark hair. Sophia, locked in her room.
I had failed to help her and now I was trapped in the past. How was I ever going to get back?
The lodgekeeper shut the gate behind me and I squelched along the muddy track. Was I the only person ever to have travelled in time, I wondered, or were there other people like me in the world? Other lost and lonely time travellers who couldn’t tell anybody what was happening to them because they would be thought crazy?
Overwhelmed with misery, I trudged on towards the village. The only option seemed to be to beg for work in the silk factory. But how long would it be before I got paid? How would I buy food until then? Where would I sleep? And what if I couldn’t get a job at all? Would I end up in the workhouse?
Through the fog of despair in my head, I gradually became aware of the thud and splash of hooves behind me. I turned, and recognised the rider. It was George.
“Evie!” he called.
He drew level with me and brought the horse to a stop. “I’ve been sent to fetch you. Hop up behind me. You’re to come back to Charlbury.”
My insides leapt with hope, then contracted with terror. “Why? Who sent you? Why do they want me back?”
Was I going to be whipped? Or even … hanged?
If I bolted through the hedge and ran into those woods, would I have a chance of escape?
“Hardwitch sent me,” said George. “And don’t try to make a run for it,” he added, reading my thoughts. “I’m a champion runner, and Rufus here ain’t bad either. Come on, put your foot in that stirrup and I’ll give you a hand up.”
He took my hand in a firm grip. I had no choice.
“Why has she sent for me?” I asked, scrambling on to the horse’s back.
“Put your arms round me and hold on,” said George, flicking the reins. “I don’t know why. That was all she said – ‘Go and fetch Evie back’. I know better than to question Hardwitch.”
“But how did she say it? Did she sound angry?”
“As angry as she generally does. Now quit asking me questions.”
So the questions buzzed around my head instead. Horrible, terrifying questions. Had Alice died? Would I be arrested for murder?
Back at the house, George handed me over to William’s charge. William led me up the back stairs and knocked on the door of the housekeeper’s room. I felt as though my insides were dissolving.
Mrs Hardwick was standing by the fireplace, her face grim, her body rigid. Mrs Winter sat at the table, glaring at me, her enormous backside spilling over the edges of a dining chair.
I gripped the back of a chair for support.
“You may go, William,” said Mrs Hardwick.
William left the room. The housekeeper cleared her throat. I realised I was shivering.
“Evie,” said Mrs Hardwick, “it appears that there has been a misunderstanding.”
She paused. I tried to stop shivering, but I couldn’t.
She cleared her throat again. She looked uncomfortable.
“Alice is not dying,” she said. “She thought she was dying, but in fact she has merely started her monthlies. It appears she had no idea what to expect.”
Her monthlies?
Oh. Her periods.
“The stupid girl convinced herself she was at death’s door. And it seems she had taken a dislike to you for some reason and had been spreading rumours that you were practising witchcraft.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” said Mrs Hardwick.
The door opened. Polly was standing there with Alice, whose head was lowered so much that I couldn’t see her expression.
“Here’s Alice to see you, missus,” said Polly, and as she turned to go, she gave me a broad smile and a wink. A huge weight lifted from my shoulders. If Polly was grinning like that, then things must be all right. I felt weak with relief. My legs buckled. If I hadn’t been gripping the back of the chair, I would have collapsed.
Alice shuffled into the room, her head down.
“Well, what have you got to say to Evie?” demanded Mrs Hardwick.
“I am very sorry,” muttered Alice, her eyes fixed on the floor.
“I should think so,” snapped Mrs Winter, suddenly coming to venomous life. “Of all the stupid, hysterical, dim-witted kitchen maids I have ever had the misfortune to be saddled with, you are the very worst. Now, pack your bags and go.”
Alice gave the cook a single miserable look, then turned without a word. “Oh, please don’t sack her,” I burst out.
Alice wheeled round and stared at me, her eyes huge with amazement.
Mrs Hardwick gave me an incredulous look. “Don’t be ridiculous. I certainly can’t have the pair of you working together, so one of you will have to go.”
“Mrs Hardwick, Mrs Winter, please let Alice stay. It was just a misunderstanding. Alice knows now that I don’t mean her any harm, don’t you, Alice? We’ll both get on with our jobs and we won’t cause you any more trouble.”
Alice’s mouth gaped open and her eyes were wide with wonder.
Mrs Hardwick sighed with impatience. She turned to the cook. “What is your opinion, Mrs Winter?”
Mrs Winter huffed. “She’s a lazy useless slattern, but every kitchen maid I’ve ever had is a lazy useless slattern, and at least she’s trained up. I suppose it beats training up another.”
Mrs Hardwick glared at me, at Alice and at Mrs Winter. Then she gave an exasperated sigh. “Very well then, Alice, you may stay. But this incident will never be mentioned again. There will be no gossiping and no rumour-mongering, do you hear me? If I have another shred of trouble from either of you, you’ll be straight out without a backward glance. Is that clear?”
“Yes, missus,” we chorused.
“Now, get to bed, the pair of you. We’ve wasted quite enough time on this ridiculous business as it is.”
“That was good of you, to want her to stay,” said Polly as she took out her hairpins.
I sat on the bed to unlace my boots. “I just felt so sorry for her. Imagine how scary it must have been, to start bleeding and have no idea what was happening. I looked at her standing in front of that mean old cook, and I just thought how lonely and miserable she must be. And imagine being thrown out of here and having nowhere to go. I mean, it nearly happened to me, and I know how horrible it feels. I wouldn’t want it to happen to anyone else.”
“Well, it was very kind of you. It is pretty miserable for her here, but at least she gets her bed and board. She could have it a lot worse.”
As I sank into bed, I was overwhelmed with relief. I was back at Charlbury!
But was I just kidding myself, to imagine that I could help Sophia escape? Tomorrow would be the twenty-seventh of April, the date scratched into the glass. Sophia had been locked up for the rest of her life. Was it really possible to change the past?
But if it wasn’t, then why was I here?
Then, like a blow to the chest, a terrible thought struck me. Could this be some horrific supernatural punishment because I’d been so horrible to Mum lately? Anna had said these things were passed down in families. Would I be separated from Mum forever, just as she had been separated from her mother, and Sophia’s child had been separated from her?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Plan
When I woke up it was still pitch dark. But even though I couldn’t see anything, I could tell I was still in the attic room with Polly, in 1814.
I closed my eyes and lay motionless, feeling so heavy with hopelessness that I didn’t think I would ever be able to move again.
Polly, whose internal alarm clock never seemed to fail, sprang upright in bed as the stable clock struck five.
“Up you get, Evie.”
I opened my eyes to see her smiling at me. “I’m proper glad that business with Alice was sorted out,” she said. “You’re a shocking housemaid, but at least I shan’t be working alone all day. You can teach me to read some more too.”
And as she spoke I found
myself, to my complete surprise, filled with a sudden surge of determination. I had promised to help Sophia, so that was what I must do. If there was any hope at all of getting back to my own life, in my own time, I was going to have to sort out this situation. Everything about it was strange and terrifying, not to mention completely barking mad, but, as far as I could see, there was only one hope, and that was to get Sophia and Robbie out of here and give their story a happy ending.
How was I going to do it though? I couldn’t put a foot out of line, that much was clear. Mrs Hardwick wasn’t going to give me any more chances, and there was no way I was going to risk being thrown out of the house again. So I would have to act the part of the perfect housemaid, while coming up with a foolproof plan to help Sophia escape.
All I needed now was a foolproof plan.
When Polly and I walked into the servants’ hall for breakfast, everybody else was already at the table. The girls looked at me curiously, but nobody said anything. I wondered if Mrs Hardwick had had a word with them.
As we sat down, Alice walked in through the other door, carrying a wooden tray laid with a white linen cloth. On the cloth stood a teapot, a cup and saucer and two slices of bread on a plate. Alice set the tray down at the end of the long table.
“You’re to take this to Miss Fane’s room, Polly,” she said, keeping her eyes on the tray.
“Is that all she’s having?” asked Polly, as Alice left the room.
“Mrs Bailey’s orders,” said Mrs Hardwick. She took a key from the bunch at her waist and placed it on the tray. “Unlock the door with this, place the tray just inside the room and leave immediately, locking the door behind you. Return the key to me.”
“What about cleaning her room?”
“Nobody is to enter for any purpose but to take and collect trays and chamber pots,” said Mrs Hardwick, rising from the table and smoothing down her skirts. “Mrs Bailey’s orders.”
