An Untimely Romance: A Time Travel Romance Read online

  “Forgive me, Miss Richardson; I was not aware of your acquaintance to the master. You must be ill. Come inside, I absolutely insist. I shall send word for the doctor immediately.”

  “I don’t need a doctor,” Heather scowled. “I just need Ruben, my family. Out of my way!” She stormed past and into the house. “Ruben! Ruben!” she screamed, her voice echoing through the hallway.

  “Miss Richardson, I am most seriously displeased. I will not tolerate this unruly behaviour!” Lady Haunchwood hollered, bustling in behind.

  “Beg y’pardon, mam, it’s the miss, she’s taken ill,” a voice interrupted.

  Heather turned, taken aback by how many different faces somewhere between living and dead Anna seemed to wear, though now she seemed very much alive. Heather’s eyes wandered to the elderly lady, who appeared quite shaken by the maid’s words, Heather’s presence clearly an unnecessary afterthought.

  “I shall go to her immediately. Would you be so kind as to call for a doctor?”

  “Yes, mam, right away.”

  Anna hurried through the hallway, and when she was gone Lady Haunchwood regained her composure. Footsteps echoed past Heather and on up the stairs. Heather stood alone in her home, though it didn’t feel like home, with people in it that didn’t exist. Shakily she sank down onto the bottom stair, feeling sick to her stomach, but too upset to cry. She didn’t raise her eyes to the sound of the front door as it opened, but managed a slight upward glance at the approach of footsteps.

  “Frankie, thank God! I thought I was going mad.”

  Freed from the immense weight she felt, Heather jumped to her feet and flung her arms tightly around his neck.

  A rigidness to his body, Frank pulled away and replied, “Why, surely, this cannot be.” His eyes lowered as he familiarised himself with her. “How beautiful you are, Miss Richardson.”

  Surprised by his formal, standoffish greeting, she frowned. “Frankie?”

  He seemed different somehow, like a stranger, and there was something unusual about his appearance. Although his clothes were similar to before, his overly thick sideburns dominated his face and the expression in his eyes held no warmth, their gaze leaving her feeling quite sad.

  “Frankie, don’t you think you owe me an explanation? Why did you disappear without so much as a goodbye?”

  “My dear, that was years ago, and from what I recall, our parting was more than affable.”

  “Is our meeting all those years ago your last recollection of us?” She shuddered as she heard herself ask Frank the exact same question he had asked her previously.

  “Miss Richardson, regrettably I do not understand you. Forgive me, but I must take your leave. I believe my sister has taken ill.”

  With a polite bow, Heather stood, lost for words as she watched Frank ascend the stairs before disappearing onto the landing. No, she couldn’t lose him; he was the only resemblance of sanity she had left.

  “Frankie, wait, wait for me!” she shouted, and in a blind panic ran up the stairs.

  But there was no sign of life, and all the bedroom doors were closed. The only sound breaking the silence was the constant tick of the grandfather clock. Yet one door seemed to beckon her; although closed, it held a strange reassurance. The room held none of its former glory, the candles and fondue no more than a romantic recollection. The chocolate essence had now faded into sweet lavender, masking the room’s musky undertone. Life just seemed to be a constant fight with reality. Longing for sleep, Heather pulled herself into the middle of the four-poster bed, buried herself deep beneath the eiderdown and closed her eyes.

  Chapter Nine

  A Face from the Past

  “Morning, Heather. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  Opening her eyes, she felt hands softly shaking her, and her mum’s familiar and very welcome voice.

  “Oh, and Ruben’s here, helping your father.” She winked.

  “Am I glad to see you!” Heather grabbed her mum’s hand and pulled her close, feeling safe in her arms.

  “Did you miss us that much?” her mum joked.

  “Oh, if only you knew,” she sniffed.

  “Tell ya what, freshen up and we’ll spend the day together, a mother–daughter day ... if you haven’t already made plans with Ruben. He seemed quite anxious to see you.”

  “A day with you, please,” Heather smiled. “That would be lovely. I have so much to tell you, I don’t know where to begin...”

  A knock on the door interrupted their conversation,

  “Is it safe to enter?” Laughter bubbled up from the other side.

  “She’s dressed,” her mum called. “Come in, Ruben. I’ll leave you to it.”

  “No, I don’t want to see him, not now...” she said. Not ever, she thought.

  “Don’t be daft, you look just fine,” her mum muttered under her breath. “He’s a good’en, that lad, smitten with you. Your father and I wouldn’t let just anyone take you away for the weekend, you know... Anyway, I’ll get on with breakfast. See you downstairs when you’re ready.”

  As Faye opened the door, Ruben stood beaming.

  “Morning, beautiful!” he called.

  Faye smiled as he passed her, entering the bedroom.

  “You can drop the facade,” Heather groaned. “There’s no one to impress now.”

  “Keep ya voice down. I haven’t come for a row, we’ve got to work together, so I suggest we’re civil to one another,” he insisted, looking quite genuine for once, Heather thought. “Here, left ya clothes, didn’t ya?” he said, dropping the laundry bag in the corner of the room.

  “Ruben, about last night, I’m sorry...” Heather paused. “I was going to phone you; didn’t think I could say what I needed to in a text.”

  “I’m sorry too,” he said, sitting on the bed next to her. “I guess we’re both guilty of saying and doing things we didn’t mean. But you pushed me away one too many times and I was upset, what with you and all the problems I’m having with Mum. And I guess Beth was just there. I needed someone to talk to, and ... you know the rest.” He looked directly into her eyes. “I could have loved you, you know, you just never let me in.” His voice was sombre.

  He leaned forward and took her in his arms.

  “Friends?” he whispered in her ear, his voice calm.

  She ached inside, consumed by emotion, not quite finding the words to answer. So she just leant against his chest and melted into him, her deepening breaths picking up that scent, the aftershave to which she’d become so accustomed. She remembered the small lines around his mouth as they pursed in wait for her kiss, the taste of his lips, soon to be but a fading memory. As for his eyes, she’d never seen such a colour, and once she fell into them she got lost, and wanted to stay lost forever. She was crying inside for her lost love, for what could have been, and with this reality came an immense pain. She knew he’d never be there for her, and she’d never hear those three words, which she so longed for.

  “Let’s pretend,” she whispered, “please, just one last time.”

  But it was too late, there was no going back; when Ruben left her he’d be going back to Beth. Heather felt an unbearable ache in her heart as he loosened his arms, for she knew this would be the last time he would ever hold her. He stroked her arm before backing away, still looking into her eyes.

  “Best be off,” he said, standing.

  “I’ll see you out,” Heather said, and smiled half-heartedly.

  Opening the door, he turned.

  “You look even more beautiful in the morning with the sun on ya face. We could have been good together, you know...”

  She followed him on to the landing and they stood for a moment under the gaze of the grandfather clock. That spark in his eyes hadn’t dwindled in the slightest, and the chemistry between them was as strong as ever. Was he playing mind games again? Was it a ploy to get what he wanted? She wanted him so badly, but regardless of whether it was her fault, she knew it was too late. He’d gone one step
too far with Beth, and even though she loved him, there really was no going back.

  Her eyes happened to fall upon a grand oil painting, and Ruben’s eyes followed hers.

  “What do you think? Helped ya dad put it up earlier. Those old paintings weigh a bit, I’ll tell ya; took us half an hour to get the bloody thing straight.”

  “How far back do these paintings date?” Heather asked.

  The one that had caught her eye wasn’t anything striking, painted in dark oils and depicting a man in formal dress seated in what appeared to be a library or study against a dark backdrop.

  “As far as I’m aware, they all date back to the nineteenth century.”

  Heather gazed up again, this time taking a more in-depth look. When she reached his face, it was more than slightly familiar, and she gasped when she realised who was looking back at her.

  “There’s nothing stopping us seeing each other from time to time, as friends ... if you’d like to, of course?” Ruben said, reaching for her hand.

  His eyes analysed her reaction, but his words echoed, fading into insignificance as a past conversation she had had with Frank came to the forefront, his words dominating her mind. Uncanny, but so clear, Frank’s expressionless portrait glared down at her.

  “When I spoke earlier explaining that I was not of these times, I spoke only the truth, for, my dear, there are lifetimes between us, and for only the briefest of moments our paths, or should one say our worlds, crossed... I guess our worlds are not worlds apart after all, so you see, the sights you have witnessed may not be as uncanny as you first thought.”

  Heather listened on as the two conversations merged in her head. Her hands felt clammy, and her face was ashen, having lost its youthful glow.

  “Ruben, I...” And with that, Heather remembered no more.

  ~•••~

  Heather opened her eyes to subdued voices and shadows dancing across the walls; she felt warm fingers between hers. Ruben’s presence was quite unexpected, yet he sat in a chair pulled near to the bed, holding her hand, his face masked with concern. Her mother stood on the opposite side, seemingly lost in meaningless conversation.

  “Back with us, girl?” The first words she heard with some resemblance of sense to them.

  “You fainted, so your mother called for the doctor. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for the last few hours, talking all sorts of nonsense.”

  She felt an overwhelming tiredness she could not remember ever feeling before. Her glands felt swollen, impairing her airway, and her fever was taking her in and out of consciousness.

  “What’s wrong with me?” Heather groaned, turning her head to look at Ruben.

  “Don’t you remember speaking to the doctor?”

  Heather didn’t answer, her expression blank.

  “He seems to think you have scarlet fever.” Ruben paused and looked down at his phone. “Bloody hell, that’s never the time? Best leave you to it then,” he said, smiling up at Faye.

  “While you’re saying your goodbyes, I’ll pop and make Walter a cuppa. Expect I’ll see you in the morning, Ruben.”

  “Yeh, shift starts at nine, so I’ll pop up on my break.”

  Heather gazed into distortion through half-open eyes, and saw a reflective figure leaving the room.

  “I’m so hot,” she complained, pushing the covers away. “Open the window, I’m burning up.”

  “No can do, you’ll get a chill,” Ruben said, reaching over to a small tumbler of water on the bedside table. “This might help.”

  She could feel herself trembling as he placed it in her hands, his hands covering hers, lifting it to her lips. Summoning what little energy she had, Heather lifted her head slightly.

  “There now. Lie back; we don’t want you overdoing it.”

  There was no response or recollection; her eyes didn’t seem to be able to focus. He plumped the bolster around her head. She gave a weak smile as he tried to make her as comfy as possible, and then sitting down he took her hand in his.

  “I’m really sorry, I kind of overreacted last night. I didn’t realise you were ill. I know now you didn’t know what you were saying; you’ve been talking random shit all day. I messed up big time. I know that. What say we forget yesterday, as if it never happened?”

  Fever raging, the broken and incoherent words lost themselves somewhere in Heather’s head. With no attempt at an answer, she closed her eyes.

  ~•••~

  Heather woke to a cutting chill and an empty room, wisps of breathy condensation and a putrid suffocation growing ever nearer; despair, the sound of tormented weeping. Startled, she pulled herself up, trying her best to refocus through fluttering lashes.

  “Y’think ye got it bad, I’ll show y’ bad bitch... My bad... I applaud y’, miss, for the part y’ played.”

  Her senses picked up a figure as a damp mist enveloped her.

  “Open y’ eyes, miss, y’ can’t hide from me, for where y’ senses go, I go too.”

  The voice was familiar.

  “Anna?” Heather questioned, but she already knew.

  “Live me misery through y’ own eyes.”

  The ghostly apparition lowered itself further, like a shroud imprinting itself on her. Her thoughts and body were no longer her own, her reality now that of another...

  Chapter Ten

  Through Anna’s Eyes

  As if in a dream state, everything seemed so strange; Heather was acting out dark memoires from Anna’s past life, from which there seemed no escape. She was there in the front row, watching, feeling, playing out a warped reality, her actions involuntary, like those of a puppet. Anna’s thoughts were a book of secrets of which Heather had been allowed to take a glimpse. At this moment in time, although an unreality, she herself was Anna.

  The masquerade’s inhabitants danced and made merry, oblivious to their absence.

  “Oh, Mr Boswel,” Anna groaned, looking up into his eyes.

  She felt a strange familiarity with Mr Boswel, though could not place him, his face a distorted image, like a secret Anna was not yet ready to share with her.

  She could feel herself getting aroused, and arching her body, she squeezed the eiderdown’s rich material between her fingers. His kisses were sweet and long, and she felt the rhythmic motion as his body moved into her, flesh rubbing, legs stiffening as his pleasure grew. She’d never wanted anything as much as she wanted him now, and she loved him more than life itself. Maybe he feels the same way too, she thought. He’s sure to declare his undying love for me now, rebuffed in the past, but not by me, never by me. If my fiancé were to find out, Mr Boswel would surly whisk me away and make everything right. But then dark thoughts took over. She was a sinner, she’d done wrong, and all for lust; she was a whore and she knew it. Her thoughts took a sharp turn to her betrothed, and her lost virginity; she knew she’d be judged.

  Her eyes flickered around the room in panic; the bedposts’ wooden carvings mutated into winged gargoyles with grotesque features, watching her in judgment before taking flight, the winged beings drawn to where shadows usually took refuge, flying around the walls, cutting the corners, an unbreakable chain giving the illusion of a perfect circle. Trespassing shards of light from the exterior eked their way in between small fissures; a blurred vision turning the room into a cylindrical zoetrope, a motion picture of horror that a succession of shadows had managed to bring to life. Pleasure and horror all in one...

  She closed her eyes to the feeling of Mr Boswel’s love making. Keep your eyes closed, Anna, she thought to herself; these visions are never real, only my overactive imagination creating pictures in my mind. As Anna, Heather saw and felt it all. Mr Boswel had clearly taken what he wanted, and the obsessive love she felt for him would never be returned. But deep down Anna already knew it could never be, as his status was far and above her own.

  Both dressed with a slight awkwardness as final words passed between them.

  “Please, sir, I beg of ye, say no more, I think it
best I bid ye farewell.”

  In the strangest of ways, Heather felt an overwhelming pity for the young maid as she witnessed her youthful vulnerability and a darker side to her nature, a well-hidden insanity.

  She closed the door behind her, and slumped to the ground. A mixture of inappropriate laughter and cries was drowned out by the heady concertos and frivolity coming from the lower floor. She stood, straightening her dress without emotion, an unhealthy pallor to her face, eyes fixated as she walked down to the servants’ quarters.

  “Mr Clements!” Startled, she jumped. “What y’ doin’ ’ere at this hour? Thought yer work’in. I’ve bin...” She stopped upon seeing his hardening expression.

  Her fiancé, who had changed out of his butler attire, stood in the dimly lit hallway, her bedroom door ajar. Heather, seeing him through Anna’s eyes, realised he was a good ten years her senior; a tall, thin man with an oval face, not much in the way of colouring, his mousey hair receding slightly.

  “Yes, Anna, I have it on very good authority as to where you have been,” he said, his words tinged with the pungent smell of alcohol.

  She looked down, embarrassed by his slurring words.

  “Anna, my love, your dress hides more than a few sins, but it will never be able to cover what you have done this evening.”

  Walking closer to her room, Heather could feel Anna’s uncertainty. She was met with breath of stale liquor and fingers tightening around her wrists. As the door opened, she saw movement and heard drunken laughter; they weren’t alone.

  “I beg y’, please, no.”

  Panicking, beads of sweat trickled down her forehead as terror tore through her heart. Shadowed faces loomed towards her through the darkness, arms reaching out and forcefully lifting her onto the bed. The butler started to undress, and the door closed.

  Anna’s tormented soul spared Heather the evils of that night, but not for the days and months that lay ahead.