Hide in Time (17 page)

She returned to the village and hid
behind the trees again. Holly whinnied. “Hush Holly,”
said Alexandra, gently stroking Holly’s muzzle, “this is
undercover work. We’re spying and you have to be very quiet.”

Twenty minutes went by and Alexandra
grew restless. She no longer passionately wanted to know where Adam
was; cold winds had driven out curiosity. Common sense returned.

She turned Holly gently and began to
head for “Foxhills” when she looked one last time over
her shoulder and, coming from the direction of the town, she could
just make out the figure of a man on a dark horse. She pulled Holly
to a halt and dismounted quietly; she was lucky, she thought, the
wind direction was in her favour, whoever it was, was unlikely to
hear Holly and her. Only his movements gave him away. He came close
enough for her to hear the sound of hooves on the hard, dusty track.
Could it be Adam? No, this is what Billy had seen and he hadn’t
bothered to ascertain who the man was. He’d probably had too
much to drink as well. She’d speak to him again for being so
ungrateful.

The rider dismounted and led his horse
to one of the cottage doors. It might be Jack, yet he didn’t go
in. He seemed to be reaching for something in his pocket. He found
it. He squatted by the doorstep and lifted something and placed the
object from his pocket underneath. He quietly led his horse up the
hill, fortunately away from Alexandra, then mounted effortlessly and
cantered off. She could often recognize people by their gait but he
had been hidden by the horse. A dark horse. A dark horse indeed.

If she followed him, she might be
caught. She was becoming more certain that it was Jack. Finding out
what was on the doorstep might be the evidence she needed. She tied
Holly to a silver birch and ran down the slope, sliding on the wet
grass. Stealthily she moved towards the cottage doorstep. She lifted
an upturned wooden box that formed a rudimentary step and found a
small leather pouch. She put her fingers inside the drawstring and
withdrew five guineas.

“Who’s there?” A
high, sharp voice from inside called.

Alexandra shoved the money inside the
pouch, flung it under the box, and ran. She scrambled up to Holly,
mounted hastily, and rode back to the safety of “Foxhills”.

“You found him then?” said
Billy.

So it was Jack. She’d like to be
sure. “Found who?”

Billy hesitated. “Mister Adam.”

“No. Why do you say that?”

“Because you’ve just
followed him home.”

Hide in Time ~ Anna Faversham

Laura sat on the bench by the bus stop.
Watching people passing by was helping but she could not quite recall
what she should be doing next. She knew she’d just seen Adam
and Alexandra but what was she doing here?

“Do you need any help, love?”
Laura looked up at the elderly lady bending over her; who was she?
“Only you’ve been sitting here all morning and you’ll
catch your death out here in this weather.” Catch her death?
No, she mustn’t do that. She performed her quick ‘have I
aged’ check – she scrutinized the back of her hands. She
seemed to be as expected. But where was she supposed to be going? She
knew it would come back to her some time soon. It must do. The lady
leaned forward a little more and put a hand on her shoulder. “Is
there someone I can ring for you?”

“Ring?” Laura looked at
where there had once been a ring on her finger.

“I’ll call an ambulance.”

“No, no, not an ambulance. Not
the hospital, no please, no. No tests.” Oh thank God. Something
was coming back. “Matt. I need to ring Matt.”

“Do you know his phone number?”
Laura fumbled in the bag strapped round her waist and pulled out her
list of instructions. The last thing on the list said, ‘If all
else fails, phone Matt’, and there was his phone number. “Have
you got a mobile in there, dear?” said the elderly lady
indicating Laura’s bag.

“Mobile?”

“Come with me. I live over there
and we’ll get you a nice hot cuppa and I’ll phone this
Matt and get you back where you belong.”

~

Laura looked out of her office window
at the twinkling Christmas lights in the jewellers and held up the
photograph of Adam just as she had done every day for the last two
months. He was every bit as gorgeous as she had remembered. In his
world, when the photo was taken, less than three months had passed
since she’d walked out and taken a ship for America. In her
world, over five years had passed. In the world outside of hers,
nearly two hundred years had come and gone and she knew so little of
them. She checked in the mirror. All was well. She could never answer
truthfully when asked for her date of birth. She wasn’t sure of
her age. Matt said she was twenty-three. He had pieced this together
because she’d insisted she was born the same year as the
jewellers opened. She was equally insistent that she’d set sail
for America in 1814. Just eighteen years old. That was right, she
remembered that was true. In the hospital, when she first arrived,
they’d taken tests and said she was about twenty-three years
old. She knew that wasn’t true; she could not have been adrift
for five years. A dentist had said, ‘maybe twenty-five’.
Horrible man. Matt appeared to go along with the medical doctor and
said she had an adult mind of a lady of maybe twenty-three. Laura was
deeply upset and eventually it had been agreed that she could be
eighteen. She was happy with that so now she was twenty-three. It
hardly mattered, she had no birth certificate or papers of any sort
and, fortunately, she hadn’t needed any. Matt took care of
everything like that. He’d told her not to mention her age to
her clients, any age, as no one was going to believe that one so
young could be so mature. There was no need, of course, to say that
to her – a lady never mentions her age, does she? She checked
in the mirror again. All was well; she looked no older than she felt.

She tucked the photograph of Adam back
where it belonged in her purse. She’d taken five copies and
they were all stored in different places. She looked at the photo of
Alexandra and she hoped she wouldn’t have any ageing problems.
Adam was twenty-six. Perhaps if she hadn’t been so young she
might not have made… “Stop it!” she said aloud.
Then added, “Alexandra is older than I was. Wiser too.”
She looked to heaven, “Please God, don’t let her make the
same wrong assumptions.”

She began to open the post on her desk;
she’d left it rather late in the day. It was the second one she
opened that caused her to sit down heavily and she reread the letter
several times. The writer had completed the application form for her
friend and enclosed a cheque to cover membership and five events.
Normally, thought Laura, I’d have to enquire if the applicant
was aware and happy to go ahead but the letter explained: the friend,
just forty-five years old was dying of cancer and had never married
and had no family living in the U.K. As a Christmas present, the
letter-writer had selected the events for her to enjoy in her last
days – she had only six months to live. No one must know. Laura
felt humbled.

The phone rang. “Will you be
ready if I pick you up at five-thirty?”

“Yes, Matt. I’m just
closing the agency now. I’m looking forward to it. Thank you.”

She glanced once more at the photo of
Alexandra before she dropped it back in Xandra Radcliffe’s
file. Dated 3/10/09 she had shown it to the police to allay any fears
they may have. As Xandra was now not officially missing, they’d
taken the original for their files, told her that it wasn’t
proof positive but had no reason not to believe Xandra was safe. All
was well. She’d better hurry home.

It had been a crisp, clear day and
she’d worked out exactly what she would wear. She had bought
the burgundy swirly cloak, edged with white faux fur, especially for
the occasion. It seemed suitably Christmassy and would be warm should
the Cathedral be as cold as it used to be.

She watched as Matt’s car drew up
outside her cottage and he strode towards the door. So confident, so
reassuring.

“Oh you look delectable. I could
eat you.” He picked her up and twirled her round. “I
can’t wait to introduce you to Carrie and Simon.”

“Put me down, you naughty boy!”

He did and she made a futile attempt to
hit him playfully, but he’d run away and was holding open the
door to the car. She locked the cottage door. What would she do
without Matt?

A parking space outside St Paul’s
Cathedral had been reserved for him. He never failed to surprise her.
She wondered what it took to have such special treatment. He looked
very distinguished tonight in his jacket, black bow tie and
honey-coloured coat flung around his shoulders.

Laura paused as she read the words
etched on the glass door as they entered.

‘This is none other than the
House of God. This is the gate of Heaven.’

An usher caught Matt’s eye and
took them both through the milling crowd to the front where they sat
next to Carrie and Simon. Royalty was welcomed, though Laura, being
lost in awe of the great cathedral, caught no more than a glimpse.
The huge chandeliers, each carrying what looked like a hundred
candles, drew her eyes upwards to the magnificent dome. Recently
restored, Matt advised her. Then the lights dimmed and a single
choirboy’s pure notes rang clear, “Once in Royal David’s
City.” She had indeed entered the gates of Heaven. She could
feel her eyes well with tears and Matt, ever watchful, squeezed her
hand. When the choir sang the descant, she thought her heart would
burst. She loved these new carols.

Then the guest tenor sang something
written in the fifteenth century, “Adam Lay Ybounden, Bounden
in a bond” and she could hold back her emotions no longer. She
found a handkerchief and sniffled all the way through. She wished
they weren’t sitting in such a prominent position. Carrie
glanced at her cautiously, fearful she might sob. As the tenor sang
the last phrase, ‘Deo gracias!’ Laura took a deep breath.
Yes, thanks be to God. She had much to be thankful for; she must
cling to that.

The candle chandeliers dimmed, a
spotlight fell on the lectern and there stood Matt. Good Lord. Was
she dreaming? She hadn’t noticed him leave her side –
he’d slipped away unnoticed, silently, like a cat. She picked
up his programme and turned the page.

READING

By Alexandra Foxley

Read by Matthew Leigh-Fox Redfern

Only with immense effort could Laura
contain her emotions. She sat watching him read what Xandra had
written and realized this was something no one in the world was going
to believe. He had met his, she hesitated; how many greats would it
be? She wanted to listen so she deferred counting; suffice to say
many greats grandmother.

Of a surety, this confirmed she had
been right to hide Xandra in another time. She must not tell Matt
that Xandra became Alexandra Mulberry then Alexandra Leigh-Fox who
wrote as Alexandra Foxley. It was all coming together. She thought it
was probably not a good idea to ask to see Alexandra Mulberry’s
birth certificate. Over-riding all this though, was the fact that
this knowledge was impossible for anyone else to believe. Oh how
wonderful. Fantastic was the word. Now she could smile. Now. What a
lovely word. So much to enjoy. Thank you Matt.

After the service, Carrie, Simon, Matt
and Laura darted across the road, through the evening traffic, to the
pizza restaurant. Matt had reserved a table by the window where they
could look across to the hot chestnut stalls, the Victorian-costumed
singers and The Salvation Army Band playing at the base of the steps
of the floodlit Wren Cathedral. What a sight, thought Laura. Frost
was forming on every untouched surface, glistening white; tomorrow
morning it would look like snow. Deo gracias indeed. She might take
to repeating that daily as a reminder of the Christmas Concert that
revealed so much to her. She could have worked it all out, of course.
She had really, but it only sunk in as Matt read Xandra’s
words. If only Alexandra could have known how revered her writing had
become.

“Have you recovered from your
shock, Laura?” Carrie murmured.

“I do believe I have,”
replied Laura. She looked up to Matt who was making his way to the
till.

“Would you mind if I said
something personal but important to you?”

Laura hesitated. She hadn’t met
Carrie before, though Matt had spoken highly of her. “I don’t
know. It depends what you are going to say.”

“It’s rather harsh, I’m
afraid, but Matt has been a friend of our family for many years and I
am concerned for him.”

Laura leant forward a little. “Oh.”
It was a thoughtful, receptive sort of ‘Oh’. “Go
ahead.”

“Wake up Laura and smell the
coffee before it’s too late.”

Hide in Time ~ Anna Faversham

‘Debauched. The whole family,
save Catherine, is debauched. I hate him.’ Alexandra lifted her
pen, dipped it into the ink and wrote again, ‘I hate him’.

Millie brought her a tray of breakfast;
it had become a somewhat reduced affair lately.

“You’re up early, Miss
Mulberry. Writin’ again? You should write one of them books
that Catherine reads.”

“Romantic novels? Huh! What do I
know of romance?”

Poor Millie. She shouldn’t have
barked at her like that. Poor Johnson too. There were hardly any
servants left. All the money was being spent on Wild’s and
Mild’s passions. If it weren’t for Catherine, she would
leave. Though where she would go she didn’t know, and her
diamonds hadn’t been returned yet, nor would they be, by the
looks of it. What a fool she’d been. She pushed her tray away;
her appetite was also lost.

Millie returned to collect the tray and
to ask which clothes she should lay out for church. Church! She’d
forgotten. This church thing was new to her. She was sure of that
now. Wherever she’d come from, it was not a part of her life.
She’d had that dream again, last night. She should write it
down before she forgot it.