by Speer, Flora
“A generous heart would seem to be a family trait,” Lady Augusta noted.
“Not on my side of the family,’ Carol said. “I was deliberately rude to her, and to her husband.”
“You can rectify your previous behavior,” Lady Augusta said. “An apology coupled with an offer of help will surely be accepted.”
“I could donate some time, at least until I find another job here in London, or decide whether I am going to return to New York or not. Why don’t you make me visible right now, so I can talk to her?”
“As I have explained to you, Carol, you may not take any action that would change the present until all of your lessons are learned.”
Carol did not have a chance to make any objection, for the scene around her changed again and she discovered that she and Lady Augusta were back inside Saint Fiacre’s Church. The candles were all lit, dozens of them in old brass candlesticks that were a legacy from the days when the church could boast of wealthy patrons who could afford to make such gifts in memory of dead relatives, or to commemorate a recovery from serious illness, or in thanksgiving for the birth of a long-awaited child.
By the golden candlelight Carol could see that the church held a finely carved walnut reredos screen behind the altar, and there was a matching pulpit. Both of these furnishings gleamed from a recent polishing by the ladies of the altar guild, and the rest of the church was swept and neat. The linen on both altar and credence table was spotless and crisply ironed. But the poverty of the parish was evident in the few evergreen branches that decorated the altar in place of flowers, and in two places along the nave there were boards covering the holes where stained-glass windows once had been set. Carol could feel in the damp coldness the absence of an adequate heating system.
“This must have been a lovely little church once,” she said.
“And could be again,” added Lady Augusta. “All it needs is some decent restoration work.”
“Restoration takes money,” Carol replied. “These people don’t have any to spare, and if they did have extra cash they would probably use it to feed more of the hungry.”
Lady Augusta did not speak again, for the midnight service was about to begin. Mrs. Kincaid arrived with her sleepy children in tow and took her place in the second pew. The smallest of the children, who looked as if he would fall asleep as soon as he dared, curled up on the wooden seat next to his mother. She put a loving arm around his shoulders while his brother and sister found their places in the hymn book.
There were only six people in the choir, and three of them were drawn from among the poor folk who had eaten their holiday dinner in the hall a few hours earlier. Their choir robes were darned and patched here and there, but were freshly washed and ironed in honor of the occasion. After what Lady Augusta had told her about Abigail Kincaid’s industriousness, Carol suspected that this was her distant cousin’s doing.
All the members of St. Fiacre’s little choir sang out at the top of their voices as they marched into the church behind the youthful crucifer who carried an antique and ornate brass cross, and every one of them sang on key without the help of an organ. The three dozen or so souls who made up the congregation added their own volume to the old hymns until the sweet, joyful sounds rose to the very roof.
Lucius Kincaid’s sermon was brief. There was little, he told his listeners, that needed to be said beyond the beautiful prayer book service for that most blessed of nights. He read the Gospel in a deep and resonant voice, and said the prayers, and then he sent his little congregation home with his blessing. Afterward, Carol stood shivering in the dark and empty church.
“Lady Augusta?” Her companion was gone. Carol was alone.
Chapter 9
“Lady Augusta, where are you?” Carol cried. “This is no time to play games. You can’t expect me to find my way back to Marlowe House by myself in the middle of the night.” She turned around twice, searching for Lady Augusta, only to discover that she was still alone in an empty church.
Then, suddenly, without any sense of having crossed the city blocks that lay between house and church, she found herself back in her own room. The fire Nell had built up earlier in the evening had burned down into cold ashes, and Carol’s waiting dinner was also cold. Shivering violently now, Carol stripped off her clothes and found her warm flannel nightgown. Pulling it on, she got into bed, but she could not stop shaking.
“It’s not from fear,” she said to herself, “because I am actually beginning to get used to being transported all over creation by a ghost. No, Lady Augusta left me to freeze in that unheated old church. Does she want me to die? What good would my death do for her in her quest to earn the place she wants in the afterlife? I thought the idea was to change me, not to kill me.
“Maybe,” Carol decided after a few more minutes of thought, “just possibly, Lady Augusta was called away. Perhaps she had to make a report on her progress with me. I hope the People Upstairs tell her to give up her mission and leave me alone.” On that fantastic thought, Carol slipped into a deep sleep from which she did not awaken until Nell arrived with her breakfast tray.
The following afternoon found Carol back at Saint Fiacre’s Church. This time she came to it on her own two feet, but once there she discovered that she could not go inside. The doors were locked, perhaps as a precaution against the group of half-dozen or so unsavory-looking men who were loitering nearby.
“They look as if they’d steal the very candlesticks off the altar,” Carol said to herself. “I’d better keep moving or one of them may hit me over the head and snatch my purse.”
Keeping an eye upon the men until she was out of their sight, she walked around the corner of the church to the street behind it. There she found the entrance of the hall where she and Lady Augusta had observed the Christmas Eve dinner being served. This door was open and there were signs of activity, with people carrying bags of groceries into the building. Carol thought she recognized a few of the workers from the previous night. Since a glance at the morning paper before leaving Marlowe House had assured her that this was the day before Christmas Eve Day, Carol decided the people going into the hall must be starting the early preparations for the meal.
She wanted to join them, but again something stopped her from entering the building. It was not a physical barrier this time. She simply could not bring herself to walk inside the hall and introduce herself, to apologize to the Reverend Mr. Kincaid and his wife if they were there, and then to offer her help.
“There really isn’t anything I can do for them,” she said. “I would only get in the way. And I would be embarrassed after I was so nasty to them the last time we talked. Besides, I’m not sure I could meet Penelope’s descendant without saying something that would make her think I am stark, staring mad.”
Carol knew perfectly well that these were only excuses, yet she turned away from the hall and from Saint Fiacre’s Church. Once more she walked through the busy streets of London, scarcely noticing the holiday decorations or the people who hurried past her on their Christmas errands. Her thoughts were all turned inward, and they were not comfortable. To her hopeless longing for Nicholas now was added a fearful concern for the welfare of Hettie and Nell, and guilt over the way in which she had treated the Kincaids on the day of Lady Augusta’s funeral.
One reason why she was feeling depressed, she decided as the afternoon wore on toward tea time, was because she hadn’t been eating properly. She needed a decent meal, but Lady Augusta had prevented her from eating dinner for two nights, and she would very likely do the same thing tonight.
“Oh, Lord, I wonder what horrors she has in store for me this time?” Carol muttered.
Still, compared to her other recent trials, food seemed a minor problem that she could easily resolve. Before returning to Marlowe House, she stopped in a pub to eat a large roast beef sandwich and drink a pot of strong tea. Thus fortified against Lady Augusta’s unknown plans for the evening to come, she continued along the darkening streets un
til she reached the far side of the square where Marlowe House stood. The day had been cloudy, and now fog was drifting between the buildings and into the square. The lights of the Christmas tree in the middle of the tiny park shone with a peculiar haziness.
Usually, there were at least a few people walking in the square and several cars parked. in front of the houses. On this evening Carol saw neither cars nor people, and it was remarkably quiet. The noises of city traffic beyond the square were apparently muffled by the ever-thickening fog.
As she started along the path that cut across the square, her footsteps crunching on the gravel sounded loud in comparison to the growing silence around her. When she reached the decorated fir tree she stopped, thinking she heard someone just behind her. She spun around, but no one was there. The silence was deeper now, and somehow more menacing. Carol thought the fog was thicker, too. In fact, the fog was making it difficult for her to breathe, and she could hear the pounding of her own heart.
In the gloom she could just make out the shape of Marlowe House directly ahead of her. There were no welcoming lights in the windows, or at the front door, nor even a hint of the electric bulb she knew ought to be glowing at the servants’ entrance, but Carol was familiar with the way into the house.
“I will probably trip getting down those steep side steps,” she muttered, moving forward again. “I’ll have a few words with Crampton as soon as I get in. Just because Lady Augusta is gone, there is no excuse for him not to turn on the lights. The house looks deserted, and that’s bad security.
“Oh, good heavens.” She stopped on a sudden thought and stood squinting through the mist. “What if they’ve all gone off somewhere to a movie or shopping? Am I going to have to go into that big old place all by myself? Perhaps I ought to go through the front door. The light switch in the main hall will be easier for me to find than the one downstairs. But why did they turn off every light in the house?”
The words were barely out of her mouth when the lights on the Christmas tree behind her went out. The fog was now remarkably cold and wet. Carol could feel beads of moisture on her face.
“A fuse must have blown,” she decided. “I refuse to be frightened. There is nothing unusual about a fuse failing. I’ll report it to Crampton and he will know who to call about repairing it. At least the street lamps are still on, not that they’re doing much good in this pea soup fog.”
The street lamps went dark.
Carol caught her breath, telling herself to stay calm.
“It must be a general blackout,” she said aloud. She took a cautious step in the direction of Marlowe House. “If he is at home, Crampton will light the candles right away. I’ll just work my way down the steps as carefully as I can and. then bang on the servants’ door and someone will hear me and let me in.”
The thought of Nell’s pleasant face, or even Mrs. Marks’s sour one, was encouraging. The night was unbelievably dark, and the fog made it easy to imagine there was someone, or something, waiting just a few steps away to clutch at unwary pedestrians. Most unnerving of all was the total absence of sound. Carol could still hear nothing except her own breathing.
“You’d think somebody would be outside walking around, trying to figure out what’s wrong,” she muttered. “Why isn’t there a policeman? For that matter, why aren’t there any burglars taking advantage of the situation? At this point, I think I might welcome a nice, friendly burglar, as long as he was carrying a flashlight.”
Stepping carefully, she kept moving. She thought she was still heading toward Marlowe House, but she could not be absolutely sure. She was vaguely aware of a large, solid shape ahead of her, and this she assumed was her destination. Or perhaps it was one of the other houses.
“It doesn’t matter if I find the wrong house. I know them all, and once I reach one, I should be able to get home without any trouble.”
For all her attempts to stay calm, the silence and the darkness were beginning to wear away her courage. Never had Carol experienced such a terrible and frightening blackness, or so profound a silence. She did not understand what was happening. She knew there were people living in the other houses around the square, so there should have been candlelight by now, or the glow of flashlights. There ought to be voices questioning the loss of electricity. Fighting the urge to hurry, to try to flee toward a familiar place where she would be safe, she felt with one toe, searching the ground in front of her, and then with the other toe.
She was certain the temperature had dropped by at least ten degrees. Her hands were freezing and the mist on her face seemed turned to ice.
“I thought I was cold last night,” she said, “but it was nothing compared to this. I hope the gas is still on so I can make a pot of tea.” She knew she was talking to herself out loud so she wouldn’t start screaming or crying. If she admitted to herself how frightened she was, she would not be able to control her descent into complete panic.
By the feel of the ground beneath her feet she could tell when she came to the end of the gravel walk and reached the paved street. She kept moving, walking cautiously, knowing that now she did not have very far to go. The comforting bulk looming in front of her was closer, proof that soon she would be warm and safe inside Marlowe House.
Something moved. A shape detached itself from the darkness and came toward her. Carol could make out a faint difference between the shape and the black night.
“Who is it?” she called. Immediately she was ashamed of the quavering of her voice. She tried again. “Are you a policeman? Or someone who lives in one of these houses? Do you happen to have a flashlight?”
“If I were a neighbor with a flashlight, would I be walking around in the darkness?”
“Lady Augusta!” Carol nearly fainted with relief at hearing a familiar voice. Then she got angry. “What do you mean frightening me like that? Are you responsible for this blackout? If you are, turn on the lights at once. Have you thought about the harm you could cause? There will be automobile accidents, and people stuck in elevators, and others wandering around lost and possibly hurting themselves in the dark.”
“This is an improvement,” Lady Augusta interrupted. “Only a day or two ago, you would have been worrying about your own inconvenience. I assure you, the other citizens of London will notice nothing amiss.”
“Is this darkness supposed to be for my enlightenment?” Carol demanded.
“You are growing more witty, too.”
“Why have you chosen to appear outside the house, instead of in my bedroom?”
“But you do persist in asking the wrong questions.”
“Perhaps that is because you are driving me crazy. At least I’ve had something to eat this time. What’s your plan for tonight?”
“I intend to show you the future,” Lady Augusta said. “As it will be if you do not take steps to change it.”
“What future? Next month? Next Christmas?”
“I began by showing you the past as it was one hundred and seventy-five years ago,” said Lady Augusta. “On this night you will see Marlowe House as it will be one hundred and seventy-five years in the future.”
“You expect me to change what will happen a hundred and seventy-five years from now? That’s impossible,” Carol scoffed. “I’m not important enough to make any difference at all to the future. Especially not if I decide to go back to New York to look for work.”
“Your decision whether to leave London or to stay will make a difference,” Lady Augusta pointed out.
“You may not feel the cold,” Carol said, “but I am freezing. Could we go inside where I can get warm? I would also like to see you while we argue about this.”
“You will not find it warm in Marlowe House. However, I can arrange for a bit more light.”
Carol sensed a motion from the dark shape that was Lady Augusta. Around the shape a faint white glow appeared. By its light Carol could see Lady Augusta’s face and hands. Both were pale as ashes. There were dark circles beneath Lady Augusta’s eyes, a
nd her face and hands were much thinner than on her previous appearances, as if the flesh were wasting away from her bones. Under a black scarf thrown loosely over her head, her hair was a dirty shade of gray-white, hanging in lank strands around her face. She wore a long, plain black robe with a heavy gray shawl wrapped over it.
“You do not find my appearance pleasing.” Lady Augusta sighed. “Neither do I. Nonetheless, it is suitable for what I must show you tonight.”
“Is the future so grim?” Carol asked. She thought, but did not say, that Lady Augusta looked ready to attend a funeral.
“You may find it grim,” came the sad answer.
“Are we to be observers this time, or will the people we meet be able to see and speak with us?”
“For the few days during which we are there, we will belong to that future time as though we were born into it. Your ability to alter the future exists only in the present, so you will not cause any harm. However, I hope that what you will experience will complete your conversion into a new person.”
“I think I have already changed enough for two lifetimes, but if it’s your opinion—or the opinion of your superiors—that I need more experience, then let’s get this over with.” Carol took a deep breath, bracing herself for what was to come. “Take me where you want me to be.”
This time Lady Augusta did not embrace Carol, or grasp her hand. She simply rested her pale, bony fingers on Carol’s shoulder. Instantly, the dim light emanating from Lady Augusta faded, and the silent darkness closed in around Carol once more. It was like being smothered in wet black velvet. Carol felt something move. It was not the ground, for that remained steady beneath her feet, but she was aware of a dull, heaving sensation that came from the very bowels of the earth and transferred itself to her body. She suffered a momentary dizziness, and then her head cleared. Lady Augusta removed her hand from Carol’s shoulder, leaving her to stand alone.
