Endless Time

by Frances Burke

  His parody of comical dismay drew only a brief smile from her. ‘It’s serious, Antony. It concerns your… your secret work.’

  His expression did not alter and she gave him full marks for performance. Perhaps he’d learned to school his features to save his life.

  ‘What do you know of a secret work?’

  ‘I overheard you one day speaking to Charles. The library door was ajar and I heard enough to know that your so-called journeys into the country are actually across the Channel on business for the government. Oh, my dear, I have worried about you.’

  ‘I see. I have been criminally careless.’ He seemed more vexed with himself than her. ‘Have you told anyone about this?’

  ‘Of course not! I’d never endanger you. Your life is too precious to risk. Must you continue with this dangerous work?’

  He leaned forward and cupped her face. “Can you really ask that of me? With our country assailed from every quarter?’

  ‘No. You must do what is right for you.’ She attempted a smile. ‘Just remember that it’s my life too, as well as yours. You have relinquished it into my care.’

  ‘I will remember.’ His lips sought hers, and they lay embraced in the moving shadows of the chestnut leaves, outside of the world and time.

  Hoof beats on the ride coming from the east wing disturbed them. Karen looked up to see a lone horseman following the freshly scythed avenue between the trees. He sat wearily, and his mount could be roused to little more than a plodding walk.

  Antony came to his feet, drawing her with him. ‘’Tis Charles. I know that awkward mare. Why he will not let me mount him decently…’

  ‘He is proud.’ Karen studied the approaching silhouette against the harsh afternoon light. It was almost too bright. There was a storm in the wings. ‘Do you suppose he has urgent news?’ Her throat tightened. ‘Dear God!’ Not another journey so soon!’

  He squeezed her waist then released her and went to meet Charles. ‘What brings you from town? Has Boney sailed up the Thames and taken the Tower?’ He grasped Charles’ shoulder as he slid to the turf and swayed. ‘By thunder, you must have ridden hard, man! What’s to do?’

  Charles slapped dust from his coat and tried to speak and could not for the dryness of his tongue.

  Karen came running with the last of the wine. ‘Did you not stop at the house, Charles?’

  He drained the bottle gratefully, then nodded. ‘Aye. They told me where you would be found. I did not tarry. I have letters for you, Antony, and… a word in your ear, if you please.’ He glanced significantly at his employer.

  ‘You are asleep on your feet. Take that breakdown of yours to the stable and we shall meet in the library within twenty minutes.’

  Too weary to react to the slight upon his mare, Charles hauled himself back into the saddle and trotted off.

  Karen watched him go, frowning. ‘He is worried, Antony. Do you suppose it really is bad news of the war?’ She saw that he was lost in thought.

  ‘We shall know soon enough. Come, love. Leave these things for the servants. My curiosity is as large as Charles’ thirst.’

  In the library Karen would not be dismissed. Charles, fortified with a glass or two of Madeira, stood just inside the door, an uneasy spectator of a battle of wills. Karen’s chin was up. She had no doubt she looked about as impressive as a terrier bearding a mountain lion, but it didn’t move her.

  ‘I have a right to know if you are going into danger, Antony. It’s far worse to have to fall back on the imagination. Can’t you understand?’ Now she had him by the lapels of his coat, emphasizing each sentence with a tug.

  Half-laughing, he pulled her hands away and held them in his clasp. ‘Would you strip me, woman? Have done. You know I dare not share these secret matters, my dear. They are not mine to divulge.’

  ‘What rubbish! I dare say I could tell you more about what’s going to happen than you and all your informants and master planners together.’ She released herself and sat down in the nearest chair, saying more calmly, ‘The problem is that although you have accepted intellectually that I do indeed have knowledge of future events, you cannot believe it in your heart.’

  Charles made a sound, something between a gulp and a snort.

  She rounded on him. ‘Yes, it’s true. Whether you want to think so makes no difference. I do come from the future, and if you will only bend your minds – you, too, Antony – to the possibilities, you will see that I can be a help to you. I know roughly the sequence of events, the major battles, for instance, that will take place in Europe within the next four years. What’s more, I know who wins!’

  There was silence in the room. Outside the day had darkened as clouds scudded up from the south, bayed by the gusty voice of the storm. Karen felt a drop in temperature as the heavy floor-length curtains lifted and fell, ushering in the wind. Papers rose off the desk. A set of Chinese bells on the chimneypiece chimed sweetly. An eddy of cool air brushed her bare arms, and she clutched them to her. The door opened and a servant slid in, crossed to the window and latched it closed, then departed like a phantom.

  Antony finally spoke. ‘There is much in what you say. Truth to tell, I had not quite absorbed the fullness of it, being more taken up with other matters at the time.’ He smiled at Karen, then turned to his secretary. ‘You must agree, Charles, there is little point in shutting Caro out of our deliberations now that the truth is plain to her.’

  ‘How did she discover it?’

  ‘I did not tell her, if that is what you infer. She overheard us talking carelessly one night. Is that not so, my dear? As to the matter of her spying into the future for us, it would be difficult to overestimate the value of such information.’

  Charles looked as if he’d very much prefer to do without this form of assistance, but he nodded obediently, and Antony went on, ‘Caro has proved to me beyond doubt that she has existed in another time. No matter that you do not understand how. Please be assured that I am not mistaken in this. Now, I should be glad to see those letters.’ He held out his hand for them, and seated himself at the desk.

  Karen rose. ‘I will send for candles. It is growing quite dark in here.’ Having won her point, she was prepared to give Charles the chance for private speech with Antony, as he clearly wanted this. She would give him ten minutes, and then come back to hear what plans were being made.

  Also, with an extra person at table she wanted to make some changes to the dinner menu. Somehow, neither she nor Antony had managed to pay much attention to meals in the past week, while her father-in-law ate sparingly and never made comment upon the food. It was time that she took up her role as mistress of the Manor.

  Having spoken to the housekeeper and conferred with the cook, she returned to the library in the wake of a footman carrying tinderbox and taper. She was thinking of Chloe, and how much better it would be for the child living in the country. A good governess could be lured down with the promise of high wages, while Karen herself wanted to spend so much time with the child, giving her all the love and attention she should expect from her Mama.

  Plus, there were so many others things to do, like learning to ride and muddling in the garden. She could transfer her studio to an unused part of the house, and interest herself in the needs of the rural poor. Did the local borough provide a clinic, she wondered? Or was the poorhouse the only alternative for the sick and needy? Perhaps Amanda could be induced to pay an extended visit and join in her plans.

  Her head buzzing with ideas, she re-entered the library and stopped, aware of an atmosphere that acted like a physical barrier.

  A swift glance at Antony showed her a face smoothly masked against enquiry. Charles looked uncomfortable. She waited until the candles were lit and the fire burning, and when the door closed behind the servant, she spoke.

  ‘I can see something has happened? Are you going away again, Antony? Or is it something else?’

  Charles edged towards the door. ‘I believe I have one or two matters –’
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br />   ‘Stay, Charles.’ The words were rapped out in an iron voice that Karen had not heard before. Charles stood still. Karen didn’t blame him. She looked uncertainly at her husband’s face and wondered whether she knew him, after all. She realized that the mask was a covering for some strong emotion, but couldn’t guess which.

  ‘Caro, it seems that I must return to London within the hour, and alone. Charles will remain to bear you company. And my father, of course.’

  The last words were such an obvious afterthought that Karen picked up immediately on the real message… ‘You need Charles to look after you.’

  ‘Do you think it fair to leave me like that without telling me what is going on? I thought you had more respect for my intelligence.’ She faced the mask and figuratively tore at it. She wanted no falsity between them, no hiding, even if he thought it was for her own good.

  Charles said abruptly, ‘He is going on another mission.’ He faced Antony’s fierce look. ‘She should know, Antony.’

  ‘I see.’ She felt the blood draining from her face, but forced her wits to work. ‘You will be needing Charles. He oversees all your journeys, I know; and there must be a hundred ways in which he can help. I can come back to Rothmoor House until you return.’

  ‘No!’ thundered both men, in unison.

  ‘Well, well. There’s more to this than I thought. You had best tell me, my dear. Are you afraid for me?’

  The mask shifted, and for an instant she saw intense anguish looking out of his eyes. Then he recovered.

  ‘I beg that you will cease this probing, Caro. I do not intend to tell you any more. If you wish to spare me further worry you will obey my wishes and stay here at the Manor with Charles. I shall send Chloe and her nurse, and Bates and some others of the staff also, to see to your comfort.’

  ‘Why not a regiment of troops and a cannon?’ she flashed angrily. ‘It seems I cannot be trusted to look after myself in London.’ It was her bitter disappointment speaking. They’d had just one week together, and now their lovely idyll was shattered. Antony had reverted to the man he used to be. While he might speak of worry for her, his abruptness, his withdrawal into concerns barred to her told another tale. Had she been a mere interlude, after all?

  His hand came out to her, then dropped. ‘My dear, you do not understand.’

  ‘No. And whose fault is that?’ She knew she was behaving badly, but felt too upset to care. She reached the door ahead of him, keeping her face averted. ‘Since you will not trust me, I have nothing more to say. I shall not come down to dinner tonight.’

  Whisking herself out and upstairs to her room, she locked that door against intrusion and gave herself up to an explosion of grief and disappointment.

  Outside the storm dashed itself against the walls of the Manor, building to a crescendo for the next hour, then gradually losing strength. Exhausted by her inner tempest, Karen fell asleep to the sound of water gurgling in the leads and the retreating mutter of thunder in the hills.

  She slept through the dinner hour and most of the night, awakening to find Antony had already left with first light.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Breakfast with Charles began awkwardly, but Karen’s reassurances that she was not going to act out an emotional scene clearly came as a relief to him.

  She had long ago realized that Charles lived most of his life vicariously. Denied the usual outlets of a gentleman of means and birth, he enjoyed nothing more than a little gossip, cornering the inside knowledge that made him appear a man of the world and intimately acquainted with momentous affairs. His connection with Antony’s exploits could be shared with no one – except Karen herself.

  Soon she knew all about the exchange of clandestine correspondence between the Crown Prince of Sweden and the Tsar, and Antony’s part in the secret negotiations between the powers. When she reciprocated with details of imminent British victories under Wellington in Spain, and Napoleon’s first major retreat in Russia, Charles could scarcely contain himself.

  However, they came close to argument over his insistence on guarding Karen. When she found him immoveable, she resorted to cajolery. ‘Come, Charles, are we not friends? Surely, whatever the danger, I should be safer knowing where it lies.’ She could hardly credit her own coaxing tone. Six months earlier she’d have despised the use of feminine wiles; yet now they came easily enough. She was amused at the thought.

  Charles crumbled. ‘Very well, I shall tell you, because I believe you should be warned.’ He paused impressively. ‘There is a plot against your life!’

  ‘Is that all? Stale news, Charles.’

  ‘You could not know, for I overheard the villains plotting the very day you left London!’ His nettled manner gave her even more amusement, but she hid this, sparing his fragile self image.

  ‘Two villains. I wonder… Sybilla and, yes… Basil. Am I right? I see that I am. Well, we have known from some time about Sybilla; and Basil is an obvious choice if only because he’s a nasty specimen of humanity. What were they planning for me?’

  ‘Kidnap and slavery in the West Indies.’ He could be terse, too.

  The bald statement had more effect than any florid descriptions of what was entailed in such a fate. Karen felt her skin come up in goose bumps, and her near-empty stomach turned nauseous, threatening to eject the cup of tea she had just finished.

  ‘How… unpleasant!’

  He nodded, seemingly unaware of how shaken she was. Of course, to a man of his times such a plot was not particularly unusual, nor even reprehensible, had it not threatened a friend.

  She did her best to copy his sangfroid. ‘So, that is why Antony hastened back to town.’

  ‘You will understand that he was most anxious to confront the two and warn them that their villainy is known to him. It is scarcely conceivable that they will attempt to harm you in his absence, but the possibility exists. Hence, you are to be guarded.’

  No wonder he was in such a fury. He was worried about leaving me… and I let him go without healing the breach.’ Karen turned away, speaking to herself, rather than Charles. At that moment she hated herself, and knew that her punishment would be not to know for weeks whether Antony was safe or lying in some prison cell in Europe – or worse, in an unknown grave.

  *

  Concealing her self-inflicted wound, Karen went off to find useful and time-consuming occupation. It had helped to discover a letter and a rose sitting on the chimney-piece of her bedchamber, overlooked in her haste that morning.

  The letter was a quotation she had never come across, and was not attributed. It read:

  ‘Love is many things and all things. It can be a weapon or a tool – an article of usefulness, a grip, a plug, a rope to save a drowning man.

  Love is used by us all. From day to day, by simply being, it enhances life. It has many aspects, and even in the passive form love may accomplish much.

  Love is a force. Truth is its basis, honesty its crown. What or who are we without it? Lower than the animals, less worthy by far because we have chosen to throw away this priceless gift.

  Rejoice in love. Accept it, spend it and use it. Let life be love and live it to the full, and know that it can never die.’

  It was signed, simply, ‘Antony.’

  Karen puzzled over the meaning of the words. Were they meant to chide her for her hasty rejection, or as a reminder that love was impervious to such minor human vagaries? It didn’t matter. At least Antony had not gone off to London angry with her.

  Her next move was towards a better understanding with her father-in-law. While she waited for Chloe and her entourage to arrive, she decided to approach the Earl in his suite, and ask if there were some service she could perform for him, such as reading aloud. Dressed in a becoming jonquil crepe gown, her magnificent hair bound in a matching scarf, and carrying a bouquet of roses she walked to the west wind and knocked at the entrance doors.

  They were opened by a surprised servant dressed in the Earl’s livery of gray and burg
undy.

  ‘Please enquire of his lordship whether this is a convenient time for him to receive me.’ She looked about her at the old-fashioned shabbiness of the furnishings; the books and papers lying in untidy heaps on every available surface; a chess table with a half-finished game; a wine glass with dregs staining the leather desk top. She decided that the old man was either very badly served, or had a penchant for living in a mess.

  While the manservant hesitated, a large, ragged-looking dog rose from beside a wing-backed chair facing the window and came to inspect her. His rheumy eyes revealed his age, but she noted that he was well cared for, despite his peculiar rough coat.

  ‘Hello, boy. You’re an odd-looking one. Where’s your master?’

  He whined and turned his head to the chair. A voice she knew, aged yet with a lifetime of authority in it, said quietly, ‘He is here. Pray enter, madam. Wilkins, a chair for her ladyship.’

  Karen handed the roses to the manservant and took the seat placed for her, with a smile. In his mid-sixties, his lordship looked his age and more, the tell-tale twisted knuckles resting on the chair arms showed why. His voice had the same timbre as his son’s. Although she had no memory of him from her life as Jenny, at their first meeting she’d been struck by the likeness to Antony in the grey-green eyes under frowning brows, and in the set of the chin. His magnificent mane of hair was white as the immaculate linen he wore, and there was nothing old-fashioned about the cut of his plain black coat. Well-kept hands displayed several rings, but he wore no other jewels.

  ‘To what do I owe this honor, Lady Caroline?’ There was no welcome in the words.

  Karen kept her smile in place. ‘I beg your pardon if this seems like an intrusion, but I wished to know you better. We have met only at dinner and you normally retire before we have an opportunity to converse.’