Edward proved to be elusive. Nat thought that he probably didn’t want company after the trials of his day but Margaret hinted that there would be time for further discussions that night and that they had more to share with them. Nat’s patience was being tried; the scent of home was in his nostrils and he could almost taste it.
Florence thought that she might know why Margaret was being unhelpful. She was probably reluctant to see them leave and happy that her father was too busy to give them the details of how they might travel. Her joy in everything and her insatiable thirst for knowledge, made her very easy to like but now, each time that Florence looked at her, she saw Edward standing before the girl’s tomb. Somethings just shouldn’t be, she realised.
That night at dinner, with the shadow of Denzil’s missing body over them, Florence put down her knife with a clatter. ‘What about his buckles! He wore very distinctive silver buckles. They’d have survived a fire.’ She shivered, remembering their double infinity symbol staring at her as she hid under the bed.
‘Perhaps. Silver would melt at the right temperature but if they didn’t, then they’d be at the bottom of the heap of ashes. I can’t ask my men to rifle through that. In any case, they’d still be too hot.’
Florence was disappointed.
‘Still, you have a point. Perhaps Nat and I might undertake the task?’
Nat agreed—reluctantly. A grisly task but necessary. He’d need a long, sturdy stick.
The meal ended and Edward dismissed the servants for the night and poured a glass of wine for each of them. The look from Constantina made him rethink the glass which Margaret’s expression had asked him to pour for her. ‘No,’ he replied to the girl’s unasked question. A moment’s sulk and Margaret had forgotten it and was busy supplying Florence with a thick blanket.
Nat noticed how Constantina smiled warmly at Edward.
The small group went through to the Library and then into the secret documents room. Margaret positively gleeful as she gave Florence the small lantern to hold and revealed, behind a cupboard door, a narrow spiral staircase. Maggie put her finger to her lips and followed her father up; the household were light sleepers after recent events. Buskette was last.
The trap door at the top led into a small circular room at the top of this blind turret. Edward ushered them towards the circular walls and proceeded to wind a handle which unfolded well-oiled hinged panels, making barely a sound as they opened the space up to the velvet starlit skies. As far as Nat remembered, the turret was wholly roofed and no aperture was visible to the eye from outside the house.
Edward saw the surprise. ‘Recall. There are two taller apexes at this end of the house. This observatory is hidden by them. I suspect that some of the servants know of it but it is as discreet as I can make it. Certainly none of them has even been in here nor would know how to access it.’
‘Please speak in whispers,’ said Margaret. ‘We are at the height of the servants’ attics. Our people are loyal but some still believe that science is the work of the devil. Even the faux science of astrology has more influence than the truths of astronomy—as Galileo sadly discovered.’
Florence saw that Margaret could be in the very same danger as that great man—perhaps more.
Edward smiled indulgently at his daughter. His pride glowed as he patted the very fine wooden telescope on a pivoting stand, at the centre of the space. There was barely room for it to swing within the tiny room, which was little more than a platform at the top of the staircase. Edward whispered, ‘I see you marvel at the nature of the observatory. Remember this age and the one which preceded it, are full of secret alliances and hidden faiths. Many houses and churches have their concealed spaces above and below ground. You need only to recall priest-holes. I cannot claim to have built this place and we have long wondered what its original purpose was. Only Sir Henry knew of its existence—a secret passed from heir to heir! I think that the structure is far older than the house. You noted the stone casing as we climbed? Our present house is built around that far older structure. Perhaps a former resident was a secret star-gazer? In any case, I have repurposed it to that use.’ Maggie was already focusing the lens of the telescope squinting into the night sky.
‘Tell me that you didn’t bring that through piece by piece!’ hissed Nat in astonishment.
‘Now that would be ridiculous! No. I examined the telescopes of my own age and brought the measurements and designs with me so that the device could be made. The casing was made in Birmingham to Buskette’s specifications—there is something of a weapon casing about it you know and the Italians are fine astronomers—but the lens had to be ground in London. I felt it important to spread the tasks beyond local gossip. I wouldn’t want anyone putting two and two together. It is a wonder for any age, eh?’ he breathed softly, as he helped Margaret to focus on Jupiter.
The girl pulled Florence’s sleeve towards her, inviting her to stare into the heavens. Edward leaned towards her and whispered, ‘In my own time, one had to travel out of the cities before a single star could be seen. The suffocating smoke hides all from sight except on very windy nights. It is a blessing to see the universe in all of its glory in this age. Tell me, do people in your time view the stars clearly or are they entirely obscured by the smog?’ he asked sadly.
Florence sighed. ‘Well, it’s not coal smoke that’s the main problem in Europe but we really haven’t solved the pollution problem. Some of the major countries—China, India—they still…’ She watched Edward’s astonishment. ‘Let’s say that we’ve not provided a good example. In terms of star-gazing… you couldn’t see them from a city like London because of the light pollution. You have to go to a dark area like Exmoor. Good star-spotting there.’
‘You should see the stars from the oceans. Nothing short of breath-taking,’ added Nat. He’d done some basic astronomy for navigation purposes during his training. ‘Venus—there—and a little to the left—Pluto. They found it in the 1930s.’ His breath stirred the small hairs on Florence’s neck as she squinted into the eye-piece.
‘Pluto! A ninth planet.’ Edward was impressed.
‘Actually,’ Florence whispered to all of them, ‘Pluto was struck off in 2006. It’s not considered a planet any more but a dwarf planet—smaller than the Moon and only about as wide as the USA.’
It was a special moment where they shared these astonishing discoveries from across the centuries, in one moment in that small turret, these people from across time sharing the secrets of worlds unknown.
‘USA?’ Margaret quizzed.
‘Ah, the New World, Margaret,’ her father helped. ‘The United States of America. One of our former colonies.’ He beamed at her. ‘Close allies. Divided only by a common language, as they say.’ He chortled.
Florence was silent.
Nat found a receptive audience in the Cavendish family. He gave them a quick history of the world in the twentieth century, explaining the European Union. Florence felt she had to tell him about Brexit. The concepts were beyond Maggie who would never live to see such things and who was therefore, far more interested in the eternal nature of the stars.
It was companionable, sitting around the narrow ledge on the rim of the small turret, sharing biscuits which Maggie uncovered from a box beneath the telescope. It seemed that she was prepared for long nights star-gazing with her father.
‘We know so much more, Edward,’ Nat began, his voice emotional. ‘We have seen constellations from outside the Earth’s atmosphere and stars billions of years from Earth. We have satellites in space, circling our planet.’
Once Nat had explained the idea of satellites, Edward clutched his daughter’s hand as she gasped, ‘Father, beyond our world! It is miraculous!’
Gathered there around the telescope with the skies open to them, Nat told them of NASA, of the moon landings and the Hubble telescope—of Voyager.’
Florence picked up the narrative. She told them about dark matter, exo-planets which might hold life and plans
for the early landings on Mars. Nat was thrilled by that. The list seemed endless and they were rapt as they listened to her and she was conscious that they would hardly grasp the magnitude of recent explorations. ‘As I left my time,’ she smiled wanly, ‘there were plans for a manned voyage to Mars—a European-Russian-Chinese expedition.’
Even Nat was open mouthed. ’The Americans?’
‘Too preoccupied. Believe me.’
Margaret looked puzzled. ‘But how do these ships sail the heavens? Is there matter upon which they may float? That mankind should achieve so much. It is humbling. O Brave new world that has such people in’t.’
‘Mostly . . . but some are still monsters; that never seems to change.’ They shivered in the crisp night air.
21
Through A Darkened Glass
‘And we’re here because…’ began Nat, wanting to focus on the information he needed. He didn’t miss the raised eyebrow that Edward offered him at the impertinence. Nat didn’t care.
Maggie could not contain herself. ‘My Father has made observations of the Sun! He looks through a darkened glass and notes when the Sun shoots out its fire!’ Her pride was unbounded.
Florence wondered, how this young girl bore all of the knowledge which her father brought to her, knowing that she would never see the wonders he described? It might drive a person to despair but Maggie had never once doubted him and embraced each new miracle as it was told to her, without a scintilla of bitterness. Remarkable.
‘Rays of light, Margaret. Mr. Carrington describes them quite specifically,’ he corrected but clearly flattered.
‘Actually, they’re usually called flares,’ added Florence.
‘How does that help with the trees?’ Nat wanted to get on with it. He was getting cold and he wanted something concrete to cling to. It was difficult keeping them all paying attention to what mattered.
Edward exercised infinite patience. ‘I have mentioned the data collected by Mr. Carrington and Mr. Hodgson. It occurred to me that the date on which I first travelled here was coincidental with a large solar . . . flare.’
Florence inclined her head towards him.
‘I was curious as to whether there was a pattern and so I began to plot the occurrences on this chart. I theorised that since the trees are part of the natural order, then why would they not be susceptible to the power of our sun? It is obvious. Records in the past had not observed ‘flares’ but, as we know, records of weather and some amateur astronomers did note differences in the sun and in extraordinary events in the seasonal weather.’
‘I gave him the idea!’ Margaret cooed. ‘I remarked that my skin was browning like a cooked chicken because of my pleasure in being outside in the sunlight and that I would soon have the complexion of the women in the fields. It is true. It is the sun which turns us brown and father surmised that the trees would be no less susceptible.’
‘They’re not! They do respond to the sun! I can tell you that their growth, as measured by the growth rings evident in their wood, is very susceptible to sunlight,’ she hissed as loudly as she could. It felt so good to be useful—to use her knowledge. ‘My degree subject was trees.’ She couldn’t help it.
‘Remarkable!’ Edward shook his head in admiration.
‘Oh, many degrees at the universities are specifically concerned with the environmental . . . ’
‘That women should be freely admitted to the colleges of universities and be awarded degrees!’
She couldn’t resist, ‘Oh, you’d be surprised. They even allow them to serve as soldiers!’
Nat was enjoying the moment. He recognised Florrie’s burgeoning outrage.
‘Combat soldiers.’
The smile disappeared from Nat’s face.
‘Oh, Yes. We’re on our third woman Prime Minister—and men have even discovered how to do the laundry! Liberating eh! As soon as we figure out how to impregnate them, we’ll probably get equality!’
Third! Mrs. Thatcher, of course but two more! Nat stuck out his lower lip in approval. Florence was quite beautiful when she was angry. Never mind the solar flares; it was the ones shooting from her eyes that Edward needed to watch.
‘My apologies, Florence. I try hard to embrace progress wherever I can. Forgive my prejudices, they are born of an age before yours.’ He watched the tension seep out of her and then she relaxed and nodded, graciously. He ventured a question, ‘So, you were saying about the trees’ response to sunlight?’
‘Yes,’ she recovered, the familiarity of the topic helping, ‘They respond in remarkable ways. They know when it is time to store their energy, not just by the lower temperature of winter, but by the quality of the light itself. They know when the sun is further away because they sense red light—which we cannot see.’
‘Red light?’ Margaret quizzed.
‘Yeah. There’s a little boy in Lincolnshire—name of Isaac Newton—who’s going to be extraordinary. He discovers the colours of the prism. Remember his name Margaret. I promise you won’t regret it.’
Edward smiled, ‘Perhaps you’ll take a journey Margaret.’
‘There’s something else. There’s some research based on tree-ring growth and the storage of Carbon 14,’ she looked at a sea of confusion, ‘Don’t worry about the terms. I’ll explain later. The point is, there was some sort of massive solar flare in the year seven hundred-and-something and it’s detectable in the trees. It’s no surprise to me that they would respond to solar flares. So, you think that has an influence on when we can travel through them?’
At last, Nat thought.
‘Undoubtedly, but additionally, there is a factor which I do not understand at all but which will no doubt have been resolved by your century.’
Florence was intrigued.
‘What can you tell us of the lines of power which are threaded across the land?’
Florence needed to be tactful here. ‘You mean Ley Lines.’ She laughed. ‘I’m afraid that they’re simply a modern mythology. They don’t actually exist. Scientific . . . ’
‘Indeed they do!’ Margaret was shrill in her whisper. ‘Have you never seen the water diviner seeking where to dig for a new well?’
Florence hadn’t.
‘Such gifted ones use the power of these ley lines—although they say, of course, that it is by the grace of God to avoid any superstition.’
‘My thoughts were yours—initially,’ Edward added, ‘but I have watched these men and women at their work. It took some time for them to agree to demonstrate their talents to me for fear that I would condemn their skill as witchery. There is a very real . . . pull when they seek with their rods or twigs. I tried this for myself and the sensation was quite remarkable and not dissimilar at all to the transportation through the trees. I suspect that both of you would feel it also.’
Tactless, thought Nat, looking at Margaret’s brave smile. It was clear that she hadn’t sensed the energy of dowsing either.
Nat thought that they’d be wise to stay open-minded. He recalled Florrie suggesting that stone henges marked stands of ancient trees. ‘Do you think that the Druids identified these lines?’
‘No one knows. The Druids didn’t actually keep written records. The recent stuff is all mythology resurrected by some mystic types who believe in all of that stuff . . . ’ Florence was finding it difficult to dismiss years of scientific training—and then there was the time travelling.
Margaret was quite certain. ‘We are sure that this is how they marked the ancient forests—and the path of the ley lines—once the trees had gone. Father has been considering discussing the matter with Mr John Aubrey—he knows that he will become quite the scholar on the matter.’
‘Yes, Margaret, at your insistence, but you will remember that we decided not to continue for fear of influencing his discoveries.’
Margaret was admonished but her excitement couldn’t be dampened. ‘You must tell them father! Please.’
Florence and Nat looked from one to the other bemused.
‘We believe that there is an opportunity for you and Nat to travel to your own time in two days’ time. My charts show a record of a significant sun flare so that if we can get to the tree in time, it may work. I have used this method for some years now and have failed but twice. The energy extends over a period of twelve hours or so, giving us chance to get there on time.’
Nat grabbed Florence and hugged her.
She had not expected to be so stunned. Now that it was tangible, her longing to go home overwhelmed her. To be with those who loved her and, above all, to have a life that she understood and had a part in. She’d made promises—a pact— to whatever controlled fate, that if she ever got back, she would make changes: make amends to anyone she’d shunned or hurt. She would not look away from people in need; she would be loud about why every woman should know the price of a vote and the debt they owed. And more than any of that, she would live her life everyday with enthusiasm and honesty, not sulking over the things that just didn’t matter. She had one life. There was no point in saving it up. She was going to live it. She’d learned a great deal about herself and what really mattered and compromise was no longer part of what she wanted.
‘Where? How far is it? When do we set off?’ Nat clutched the man’s arm.
‘I have given this some thought,’ began Edward, extracting himself from Nat. ‘There are three oaks which I have used successfully—but I was alone. I have concerns about two people using the energies of one tree. I do not know if that can be done.’ Edward watched the reactions of his friends but there was no fear there only anticipation. ‘I have identified a great yew tree. I believe that the greater the age of the tree, the greater distance it can throw a person into another time—combined with the strength of the flare. This yew has the strong advantage of being in a churchyard. My various journeys have led me to believe that churchyards remain largely untouched in the years to come—even somewhat neglected.’
‘That’s true,’ confirmed Florence. ‘Some of the trees there have preservation orders placed upon them. They cannot be cut down—there’s a register of ancient trees.’
TAXUS BACCATA: Book Two of the Taxane Chronicles Page 14
