An Unauthorized Biography of Clove Sutcliffe
The earliest documented work of Clove Sutcliffe took place in Carlisle, Cumberland, in 1745. The city was the last place in England to have a castle under siege by enemy forces. Originally a Roman fort, the castle was built in 1092, after the Scottish region was invaded by English troops.
For the next seven hundred years, the border city was the focus of endless territorial disputes and invasions between the neighbouring countries. The castle itself was besieged ten times, the most recent of which was during Sutcliffe’s time there, in the 1745 Jacobite Uprising, when Carlisle was besieged on 15 November 1745.
By this time, the castle was a shadow of its former self, but with the help of Colonel Durand and his garrison, the castle succeeded in holding its defences until the surrender of the city five days later. History Control subjects Katherine Finchley and Matthew Galloway were instrumental to this project. Innocent of their part in history, the couple helped to maintain the defences through their work as civilian volunteers. At a time when every second meant more English forces could be gathered to fight the invasion, these five days were crucial in the eventual defeat of the Jacobites, as Sutcliffe would have been aware.
It was on one of the last sunny days of the summer when Sutcliffe entered Carlisle. It was there that the famous History Revisionist met one of the most important people in her life, a person we know very little about: Elenore Walker.
One of the few things we do know about their time in time-landscape 1745 is that a flower was given to Sutcliffe by Walker. This was saved out of sentimentality by Sutcliffe, and has since been cryogenically preserved for historical posterity by the Museum of History Control, New London. The pair’s time in Carlisle was a significant event in both of their timelines, and will be studied further in Chapter 15.
The violet (viola sororia) is native to the British Isles, and is a traditional romantic gift exchanged by lesbian and bisexual women. The custom dates back to Sappho of Ancient Greece, who said in her poetry:
How fair and good were the things we shared together,
How by my side you wove many garlands of violets.
File note: Extract from An Unauthorized Biography of Clove Sutcliffe, first published in 2344
Clove and Ella arrived in Carlisle after hours of walking through endless countryside. Clove was amazed. The roads were paved with cobblestones and scattered with manure from the horse-drawn carriages. Hand-painted signs, advertising the wares of the greengrocers, pawnbrokers and cobblers, hung from intricately scrolled metalwork on the sides of crooked buildings.
From Spart’s Folios, it seemed that the Matthew Galloway who existed in 1745 was working as a coachman for Katherine’s aunt and uncle, with whom Katherine had lived following her grandmother’s death.
For the whole journey to the city, Clove had been thinking about what she was going to do when she got to the house where they lived. She had decided that the best plan was to try to get a job as a maid in the household. That way she would be working alongside Matthew, and would have a chance to get some of his DNA. She’d probably be able to get some of Katherine’s too, when she was cleaning her room or serving her dinner.
“I need to get to Annetwell Street,” Clove told Ella. “I have to visit a house there, to ask if they need any new maids. It was nice to meet you, but I’ll leave you now to do your … private, personal things.”
“Oh, I can come with you!” Ella said amiably. “I am also searching for a position as a maid.”
Clove was a bit annoyed, but she let Ella follow her. She did feel safer walking through the city with someone else.
The Finchley house was set back from the street. A neat stone driveway curved from the main gates up through a well-tended flower garden to the front door. Clove was incredibly impressed. If the family who lived here really were her relatives, then Clove had some very well-off ancestors.
She swallowed. This was it: the moment of truth. She was so close to finding out whether it really was her parents who had been alive in 1745, 1854, 1941 and countless other dates.
The two girls walked around the side of the house, looking for the servants’ entrance. They walked past a herb garden, scattered with foraging chickens. Clove stooped to run her hand along the top of a knee-high box hedge that had been trimmed completely flat.
The back door was split in half across the middle, and the top section was open. The smell of cinnamon and fresh bread drifted out into the garden. Clove breathed in deeply, feeling instantly at home. She peered inside, catching a glimpse of a cook kneading dough in an immaculate kitchen.
Clove knocked on the door frame. A dog napping on the hearth lifted his head to look at them, and then dropped it back onto the flagstone.
The cook walked over, smiling and wiping her hands on her apron. Her face was scattered with freckles, and her dark hair was brushed neatly back off her high forehead under her cap. “Good afternoon,” she said, leaning on the bottom half of the door and looking over Clove and Ella with interest.
“Good day to you,” Ella said, before Clove could speak. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you knew of anyone in the area looking for a maid? Our last master was arrested in Glasgow for supporting the Rebels. It took us completely by surprise. We were abandoned in Scotland, without references, and it is only through the kindness of strangers that we have managed to return safely to England. Since then we’ve been adrift, waiting for someone to take it into their hearts to help us…” Ella trailed off with a sniff, twisting her skirt between her fingers.
Clove realized she was gaping at Ella in amazement. She shut her mouth with a snap. Ella had lied so easily! She had sounded so sincere that if Clove didn’t know better, she would believe she was telling the truth.
“Oh, poor dears,” the cook said, drawing in a horrified breath. “You must have had such a terrible journey.”
Ella looked off to the side, as if she was so traumatized that she couldn’t bear to remember, and dipped her head in a weak half-nod.
“You are lucky to be alive. Let me speak to the mistress of the house. We shall see if she can’t find a spot for you both. What are your names?”
“Elenore Walker,” Ella said.
The cook turned to Clove.
“Cl—” She stopped. She couldn’t call herself Clove. That didn’t sound right. It was too modern for 1745, even though everyone at school teased her about it being old-fashioned. It was modern and old-fashioned all at the same time, and completely inappropriate for right now. If only she’d thought to change it sooner, before she’d met Ella. She’d been so confused by the wormhole that she had let her guard down completely.
“Anise,” she said. It had always been a joke with Meg, that as they had a “Clove” and a “Nutmeg”, they only needed a friend called “Aniseed” to be able to call themselves the Spice Girls. It made her heart hurt to say it, but the name was much more suitable than Clove. “My name is Anise. Anise Sutcliffe.”
“I’m Mrs Samson,” the cook said.
When she had left, Clove turned to Ella. “How did you do that? Make all of that up on the spot?”
Ella hitched up a shoulder in a breezy shrug. “I have a natural flair for storytelling. Just follow my lead.”
“I don’t need to – I can look after myself!” Clove hissed. “Who are you? Why are you so good at this?”
“It’s lucky for you that I am, Anise.” She shot Clove a knowing glance. “You would never have made it past the—” Ella stopped talking, her expression morphing into a timidly hopeful smile. Mrs Samson had returned with a serious-looking older lady who introduced herself as the mistress of the household, Mrs Elizabeth Finchley.
She listened carefully to Ella and asked lots of questions. She wanted references, and Ella had to explain again how they didn’t have them. She then asked for “characters” from their parish clergy. Ella had one of these – whatever it was – but Clove didn’t. “We had to leave our old place in such a hurry,” Ella explained miserably. “It was so awful.”
Once again, Clove was amazed at her skill at lying. Did she do this a lot? Had Ella lied to her?
Mrs Finchley’s eyes softened. “It’s hard times we’re living in.” She hesitated as she seemed to take them both in. Finally, she said, “Several girls have asked to go home because of the trouble, and we are short-staffed. I suppose we could take you on temporarily and see what happens.”
Mrs Samson led them up the servants’ staircase to the attic where they would be sleeping.
“I’ll leave you two to get settled,” she said after showing them the room they would share. “When you finish unpacking, come back down to the kitchens. You can help me prepare dinner.”
Clove unpacked her things in a daze, unable to believe her luck at bumping into Ella and managing to get a job in the very house where Katherine lived. She was following Ella down the staircase to the kitchens, listening to her outline the details of their past employer, “for consistency”, she said, when she ran straight into—
“Matthew!” Clove said, staring for the first time at the man who could be her father.