‘Most civilised. Then the site of the transportation is confirmed. We will journey to St. Edward’s church in Stowe on the Wolds. The church’s oak door is accessed through the aperture in an ancient yew tree. Perhaps you know of this tree?’ He focused on Florence.
She shook her head, ‘My specialism was oak.’
‘A pity.’
‘You don’t know for sure if it still exists in our time?’ Nat asked.
‘No. I do not.’
‘What happens if it doesn’t?’
‘I don’t know. That is the danger. I have wondered if the tree would allow you to pass at all if that is the case. Consider: what logic is there in transporting you to a time in which it does not exist. The conduit cannot be completed. There is no exit point for you. One must wonder if it is possible.’
No exit point. They swallowed.
‘In the morning, you will begin your journey home.’ He stood as best he could in the cramped space. ‘I believe that I see the rosy hue of the sun. Let us to bed and take whatever sleep we may before this most momentous of days begins!’
Florence caught Maggie’s sad smile as they left the turret.
22
Tensions
They managed two or three hours sleep when they were woken by the sound of horses in the courtyard below. Edward and Margaret were already there with four horses saddled, all with panniers slung over them. Maggie was checking the panniers’ contents, sending servants scurrying to and fro to fetch items of food from the kitchens. It took moments for Florence and Nat to dress and soon Florence hurried towards her and they became busy in conversation. She was keen to spend as much time as possible with the young woman before losing her forever. She could feel how hard the separation would be for the girl.
‘You’re up early,’ Nat commented.
‘Good. You are ready.’ Edward continued to busy himself with instructions. He took Nat aside. ‘I needed to re-examine my data—to be sure.’
‘And?’
‘I am as sure as I may be. The solar flare,’ he whispered, ‘will occur in two days’ time. It is noted as a significant event according to those records I have retrieved.’ Edward’s voice was at odds with the surety of his words. ‘We must begin our journey but I have had the charts packed and we will examine them en route.’
There was confidence in the man’s voice but something else—an urgency to be away that wasn’t just about the solar flare. What wasn’t the man saying? He liked Edward—respected him—but there were things that didn’t make sense, things that Edward wasn’t sharing with them, he felt. Edward had all of the gifts: he was a wealthy landowner and a kind and loving father; he was talented and educated; he was young with a touch of genius. Edward Cavendish had done well for himself in this age. Nat wondered why he’d never re-married. Had he not seen the looks Constantina Buskette gave him? Perhaps he had. She was a fine woman. Perhaps Edward saw her differently. If he wasn’t already wholly Florence’s . . .
Florence bounded up to him. ‘Come on Nat! Two days. Just two days and we’ll be home!’
It was all the distraction Nat needed to dismiss any thoughts of Cavendish—or Buskette.
They rode out of Burcroft with Edward leading, followed by Margaret and Florence chatting away across the space of their saddles.
Nat found himself beside Buskette. ‘What about you, Constantina?’ He gave a little laugh at her reproachful look. ‘Oh, come on. We’re on our way home. We are no threat to you,’ he gestured with his head, ‘or to them. So what about you? What’s your story? Tell me about the Taxanes. What harm can it do? We’ll be out of your way soon.’
She kept her eyes ahead but he saw a small smile tug at the corner of her mouth. ‘Do not toy with me Nathanial Haslet. The Taxanes have lived for centuries. They will be there where you are going. You will find out all about them for yourself.’
Nat thought that he might try a little provocation. ‘Does he know?’ He had the pleasure of seeing her smugness fade.
She didn’t try to dissemble. ‘I think not—he—I do not know. He has given no indication.’ For the first time, Nat saw confusion on her face. And torment crossing her features. He began to regret his comment.
‘Have you given him an . . . indication?’
‘Of course not!’ she hissed, lowering her voice again as she saw Florence’s back twitch. ‘It is not my place. I am a servant of the Taxanes. My specific purpose . . . ’
‘Do Taxanes not desire—or fall in love?’
‘Ah. Mio Dio! Please. Leave me . . . ’
‘Alone.’ Nat had no wish to torment the woman. They rode, side by side, in companionable silence.
Miles later they stopped to water the horses at a stream, Nat and Florence, in particular, were glad to slide out of the saddle although Florence had been relieved to discover that both she and Margaret were expected to ride astride; side-saddle would have been ridiculous! Buskette’s divided skirt was very useful.
Edward and his daughter shared their amusement in seeing their guests rub their rears and stretch.‘You should be grateful!’ he quipped. ‘Our saddles are considerably more comfortable and safe than those contemporary with the age. One of my early tasks here was to indicate some subtle changes to our saddler which he has now incorporated into most of the saddles he makes. Do you not ride in your own age?’ he looked at Nat.
‘I do but it’s a hobby. I’ve just not done much for a while!’ he had a thought. ‘You all ride so very well—even the ladies. Buskette has an exceptionally fine seat.’ Nat looked wryly at Edward and saw the man struggle not to react.
Florence raised an amused eyebrow. He winked at her. She wondered what Nat was playing at. Why this sudden urge to praise Buskette to the man? Had he finally spotted what had been obvious to her and Margaret forever? It didn’t surprise her. Why wouldn’t Constantina be attracted to him. It was hard not to be too drawn to Edward Cavendish. He was a very attractive man—and then there was his wit, his knowledge and the fact that he was an excellent father. She shook her head to clear the thoughts. It was Nat who held her heart in his hands. He knew that.
Edward had recovered. ‘Perhaps you might be tutored by Mistress Florence, once you have returned. Now, there’s a lady with an exceptional seat.’
Florence frowned. She turned to Buskette whose expression gave nothing away but whose reddened face told her everything. Margaret, ever keen to smooth over bumps in the conversation, leapt in to the vacuum. It suddenly occurred to Florence that the girl might be the obstacle between Edward and Constantina.
‘Perhaps, father, we might discuss our destination and your further observations of the heavens, together with other considerations which you need to share with our friends?’ it was a pointed comment. ‘And the ladies’ seats might rest.’
‘Indeed my dear,’ Edward furrowed his brow at her. ‘A little refreshment and a review of our plan?’ His tone was as lighthearted as Margaret’s, masking the discomfort he was feeling. Nat Haslet had no idea of the complexities here.
A small picnic was laid on a rock and they stood around while Edward spread a surprisingly detailed map, containing his own additions and notes. ‘We are thirty miles from St Edwin’s church, in Stowe on the Wold. I estimate that we should reach it by dusk if we do not dally. Records indicate that tomorrow will see exceptional sightings of the Aurora Borealis—even at this low latitude.’
‘The Northern Lights are a strong indicator we have learned,’ Margaret was pleased to show her scientific knowledge, ‘of solar activity.’
Nat was sore and tired and Margaret’s tireless enthusiasm was irritating. ‘Everyone knows that, Margaret,’ he interjected, quite squashing the girl and causing Edward to frown.
‘Indeed they are Margaret. You are right to note what so few understand in this century.’ He didn’t look at Nat but continued, ‘The solar eruption should be strongest at break of dawn tomorrow and this should allow you to use the portal of the tree to return to your own time—or some fut
ure time. Margaret was encouraging your hopes.’
Nat was abashed that he’d embarrassed the teenager. He wanted to catch her eye and apologise but she didn’t turn towards him and Edward’s eyes were boring into him. What on earth had made him do that?
‘I am sure that there will be an inn nearby where we might secure beds for the night and stabling for the horses. I suggest that we re-mount and ensure that we achieve our destination tonight in order to be at the yew at first light.’ Edward turned, rolling his map back into its case and seeing to his own fine horse, checked the girth straps whilst slipping a carrot from his pocket which the mare snaffled. They cleared the remaining food back into the saddle bags and Edward moved near to Nat and whilst examining his horse’s saddle spoke softly to him.
‘I have no concern for your rudeness to me man but take a care: I will tolerate no insult to my daughter. If she is sometimes forthright in her observations, you will tolerate it and do well to remember that she will never know the things which we know. She takes her joy where she can. You have been rescued from Moorcroft largely by the good graces of that sweet child and you will show her the respect she deserves and the courtesy which I demand of you. You will be gone tomorrow. Leave her with kind thoughts.’
Nat paused before answering. ‘I’m sorry, Edward. I was in error. I didn’t mean… It seems that the ladies of this land are particularly skilled in rescuing the likes of me. It is not an excuse but I may be a little . . . anxious.’
‘You would be an idiot if you were not.’ Edward sighed. ‘You know, I envy you, Haslet. Florence is a remarkable woman. To hear her when she speaks of her studies and of what the future holds for us, I find it both exciting and comforting. You are a fortunate man to have her affections.’
‘I am,’ Nat said very firmly.
Florence watched the body language from a distance. Constantina Buskette watched too.
A few more miles and they paused. Buskette was leaving them. They assumed that she was returning to Burcroft now that they were within sight of Stowe on the Wold. She began to take her leave of them, offering a hand to Florence who took it and then drew the woman in to an embrace. ‘Thank you, Constantina—for the trousers as well.’ It was heartfelt and the woman gave a rare smile. She was more formal with Nat, also extending her hand to him. He took it and brought it to his lips. Buskette turned deep red but Nat held the hand firmly. When he turned back to Florence, he gave her a grin that only she could see. Sir Edward Cavendish was trying very hard not to look animated—and was failing. He took Buskette’s arm, walking aside with her and giving last minute instructions.
If that doesn’t make the bloody man come to his senses . . . thought Nat. His parting gift to both of them.
23
Escape
They made good time, reaching Stowe by late afternoon. The King’s Arms was busy but Edward’s generous purse and the ejection of a merchant and his son who left complaining loudly at their treatment, secured them two rooms.
Edward’s plan was to be awake before dawn and at the yews ready for the event. There was no argument from his eager companions and all was agreed over a surprisingly good meal of mutton and turnips. Each moment now, Nat and Florence tried to commit to memory, believing that tomorrow that is what their life here would be: a memory.
Nat made sure that he sat next to Margaret, chatting to her about his time as a soldier, listening to her intently as she asked her questions about places he’d been. She found his descriptions of Iraq mesmerising. He was conscious of Edward paying attention to their conversation if not actively looking at them and he was gratified by an almost imperceptible nod when he declined to offer Margaret any details about the battles he’d been in. ‘You’ll forgive me but recalling those memories are… uncomfortable for me. I would not want to burden you with them. War is a bloody business.’
‘Aye, you have the right of it, Nat. Margaret, do not ask a man to speak of those things which he would rather not remember.’ She flushed with surprise at her father’s mild rebuke.
‘Margaret, I spoke harshly and rudely to you earlier. I hope you will forgive me and put it down to anxiety about our coming travel plans?’ She was generous in holding no judge about Nat’s behaviour.
Florence watched with some satisfaction and while everyone was engaged, she took her beer and stepped out of the thick fog of the inn to breathe in the evening air. Nat followed her.
‘Everything OK?’ he asked tentatively when he was sure they were out of earshot.
‘Yeah. Just taking it all in. Trying to commit it to memory—you know?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Will you miss anything?’
’No,’ he laughed and then added, ‘Maybe the Cavendishes.’
She nodded in agreement. ‘Speaking of which, what’s going on with the Buskette thing?’
‘Tipping his hand.’ He saw her blank look. ‘You must have noticed that Buskette and Edward are totally attracted to one another? Having you wondered why nothing’s happened between them?’
‘I just assumed that Margaret . . . and the Taxanes . . .’
‘Maybe. But that’s crazy isn’t it? Carpe diem and all that? Edward might be a time traveller but life’s just too short to let obstacles get in the way of happiness.’
Florence kissed him. ‘And Margaret loves the woman. There’d be no problem there. Let’s hope that you’ve done enough after all, he’s an attractive proposition.’
Nat raised an eyebrow.
‘You know . . . good looking, rich, great father, clever engineer, kind, witty . . .’
Nat muttered, ‘Yeah, but what did the Romans ever do for us?’
Florence laughed but then saw the depth of jealousy in Nat’s eyes. This wasn’t about Edward. He had more than him to be jealous of.
‘Right. Stop that now! I came back for you remember! Risked everything to get you out of that bastard’s dungeon. Would I do that if you weren’t everything to me? You need to come in to the twenty-first century, Nat Haslet. I’m not a simpering idiot who’s at the mercy of some man any more. The woman that made those bad choices disappeared when she told you that she loved you. She’s gone, and tomorrow we’ll be gone and this . . . horror story will be just a bad memory.’
Not for the first time, Nat thought that she was magnificent when she was angry. As she turned to go, he caught her hand and pulled her into him and she wrapped her arms around his neck and, turning her face up to his, kissed him until she was sure that he understood. Nat’s strong hands spread across her back and he took her breath away with his reply. Florence nipped his lip.
‘Ow! What’s that for?’ he grinned.
‘For flirting with Constantina,’ she taunted him and as she saw the glint in his eye, she slipped out of his arms and back into the inn. ‘Edward’s going to have his hands full with Constantina Buskette after your performance today—and after the talk I plan to have with Margaret.’
Margaret watched them return—glowing—and smiled. ‘I have asked for wine to be sent to our table,’ she announced, pointing to a place at the far end of the room. ‘There are things father needs to discuss with you before the morning.’
It was a small space with a good view across the main room of the inn and in any case, the noise would have drowned out their conversation for anyone trying to listen. With its low beams and confined space, it reminded Florence of the Trip To Jerusalem in Nottingham. Margaret twisted her hands in her lap and her father swirled the plum coloured wine around in his glass before taking a gulp.
‘You understand, friends, there are risks in this process. I have explored the parameters of many of these great trees, some of which I have used as my portals for journeys when I required supplies.’ Florence nodded encouragingly and Nat simply focused on the man’s face, hoping that whatever it was that Edward was about to say, wouldn’t destroy his hopes.
‘And some I have investigated at other times when I predicted that there was no danger of being transported. There ar
e features which I have observed which greatly disturb me and Margaret and I think that it is right that I should tell you of them. Tell me, what do you recall from the experience when you arrived here?’
Florence was honest. ‘Not much. I was in the tree and I passed out. I only really remember waking up with Nat trying to keep me quiet.’ Her lips twitched with the memory of him physically holding her down so that they wouldn’t be discovered. She’d thought him psychotic.
‘Do you recall any sounds? Voices?’ Edward leaned over to them.
‘No, nothing. I think that I passed out immediately.’
Nat was tentative, ‘There was something. I put it down to the concussion after the crash but maybe . . . you heard voices?’
‘It is hard to describe. It may be because of my more frequent journeys, I have become attuned but there were echoes of many voices and I could understand little of their words but I could hear terror in those sounds, calling out to me. Each time I journey, my sensitivity to the phenomena increases. It chills me to the bone.’
‘Nothing that you made sense of?’ asked Florence.
‘No. The words are not always familiar to me. Some sound like English but others are strange. It is rather the emotions which I sense.’ His mouth was dry. ‘I have a theory. I believe . . . oh, you’ll think me unravelled by time itself!’
‘No, father. Never! They have the right to know what you believe. You must tell them.’ He took encouragement from his daughter.
‘Very well,’ he took a deep breath. ‘I believe that they are trapped souls held within the tree, between times until the great tree dies and its energy—and theirs—is released. However it may have happened, their transition was not completed and their souls have been absorbed.’ He looked to Florence’s expertise, ‘Is it possible, Florence, that these trees take the life-force from those who trespass within them?’
TAXUS BACCATA: Book Two of the Taxane Chronicles Page 15
