Ella-is-swell I REFUSE to model any more of luckyclover’s knitted hats for pictures for her online shop. The unicorn hat was a step too far, boo.
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LuckyClover Do it for love, Ella-is-swell. DO IT FOR LOVE.
Ella-is-swell I don’t even get paid minimum wage. I’ll be starting a workers’ union soon (The Sad Knitters’ Girlfriends Alliance)
File note: Messages on social media, dated 14 December 2058
Any moment she could spare, Clove slipped away to the attic bedroom to work on her watch. Despite the hours she had spent attempting to open up the back, she couldn’t get the screws to budge. To her dismay, the casing was completely unmovable. She was close to giving up. Even if she did get it open, what chance was there that she could clean the solar panels? It wasn’t like she could get any spare parts. She dropped the watch back into its hiding place behind the pot of lavender and looked out of the window.
Matthew stood on the driveway below. The reins of a mare were loose in his hand as he talked to Katherine. Or rather, they weren’t talking. They were staring at each other, not saying a word. His head was ducked towards her, even as she tilted her face to his. They were like magnets, drawn together.
They both seemed to glow around one another. For the first time, Clove could feel in her heart that this was right, that they were meant to be together.
Clove’s mother hadn’t just been an eighteen-year-old girl who had got pregnant in her first semester at university. Her parents’ love story had been going on for centuries. It was inevitable. Together, they made everything around them blur and fade into insignificance. They were always meant to be in love, from one life to another.
The thought made Clove yearn for home even more. She wanted to find her birth parents in 2056, and she wanted to tell Jen and Tom that she loved them.
She had to fix her watch.
Clove heard footsteps in the corridor outside the attic room.
“Good morning,” Ella said, coming into the room. She hooked her chin over Clove’s shoulder, peering down at the view outside the window. “What do you think you’re going to do to reconcile with Matthew, now that your spell has failed?”
Matthew had started showing Katherine how to feed the horse an apple: holding her hand delicately as he rearranged her fingers and placed the apple in the flat of her palm. Even from up here, Clove could tell he was doing a bad job of hiding his crush – but she could also see just how widely Katherine was smiling at him.
“Actually, I think my spell worked after all,” Clove said, softly. Whatever she’d said to Matthew, it had clearly made a difference.
“Oh, that’s good. Anyway, here, I brought you some breakfast,” Ella said.
“Is that bacon?” Clove said, sniffing.
“Of course it is,” Ella said with satisfaction.
As Clove ate, she thought about the enigma that was Ella. What could a girl in the eighteenth century possibly be doing, alone in a city? Searching for her family? A runaway lover? Buried treasure?
“Are you ever going to tell me why you’re in Carlisle?” she asked.
There was a moment when Clove really thought Ella was going to answer, but then she shook her head. “Not yet.”
Clove felt like she’d just failed a test without knowing she was taking it.
“I shouldn’t worry about it, Clove,” Ella said, tugging her hair out of its bun. “It’s not very exciting − not even worth thinking about.” She lay back on the bed. Her hair fanned out around her. It looked like it always did, as though she’d pushed her way backwards through four hedges while chasing a badger.
From the back she looked a little like Meg.
Clove missed Meg − except that she didn’t, not really. She missed the old Meg, and how easy their friendship had been. She missed that cheerful, relaxed Meg, not the new, embarrassed one who wouldn’t even answer her messages. Clove missed her soft, wispy hair, her wide twinkly eyes, her easy smile. The wishbone necklace she always wore. But she was starting to realize just how much she had idolized Meg.
Now that she had some distance to get over her – centuries of it – she found she had been treating her as a figure of perfection, a dream girl. Clove had needed to take a step away so that Meg’s perfection resolved into a real person instead of an angel, so that she could see her properly.
She was always going to wish that none of the mess with the kiss had happened, but at the same time she wouldn’t have got over Meg without a catalyst like their kiss. And if there was still a chance for their friendship to recover when she went home − if Clove hadn’t lost her best friend completely − then maybe the kiss had been a good thing. Maybe.
“Come on,” Ella said. “Mrs Samson has asked us to purchase some flour. She has used up all of her supplies.”
Clove nodded. It was a lovely day – perfect for a walk into town.
They walked home from the bakery with butter running down their chins. A boy had been selling steaming muffins from a tray outside the shop, each one glistening with melted butter. When Ella had seen Clove staring at them, she had asked the boy a series of questions about the cooking process, and then apparently satisfied that they were of suitable quality, had bought them one each. Clove was getting the impression that Ella took food very seriously indeed.
As they walked past the row of shops, taking it in turns to carry the bag of flour, Clove had an idea. Maybe one of the shops here would contain something that could open the casing of her watch. Even just a better screwdriver than the one in Tom’s Swiss army knife might be enough to make a difference.
She read the names of the shops off the painted signs that dangled above their doors, looking for anywhere which might sell tools, or… Her brow furrowed as she considered the problem. Would a magnet help? She vaguely remembered something about magnetic screwdrivers being used to open devices. A magnet might help her to turn the metal screws on her watch.
How would she find a magnet, here in 1745?
Didn’t they use magnets in compasses? Was that right? She could find a compass, surely? Were compasses household objects? Would she be able to buy one, or did they only have them on ships? Did she have enough money for a compass?
“Ella, do you know where I could find a compass?”
Ella stopped humming what Clove could have sworn was a Disney tune and wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. There might be an old lodestone in a curiosities cabinet in a shop somewhere.”
“A lodestone?”
Ella looked at Clove, and then grinning, reached over to wipe the butter off her chin. “It’s kind of…” She paused, obviously trying to find the right words. “It’s a big rock that turns due north if it’s dangled from a string. Like a really old-fashioned compass.”
Clove felt hope bubble in her chest for the first time in days. It sounded like a lodestone was a natural magnet – a rock that was magnetic. She could use that.
Ella led them to a nearby pawnbroker’s. Inside, it was dark, gloomy and crammed full of odd ornaments, lamps and paintings. If Clove hadn’t been in such a rush, she would have liked to investigate some of the more intriguing objects, like an intricately carved ivory ball with another ivory ball inside, and a ship in a bottle. There was even a shrunken head hanging from the ceiling above the counter.
Clove cleared her throat to get the pawnbroker’s attention. He pushed up a pair of wire spectacles, balancing them on his forehead so he could better frown at Clove. “Yes?” he asked.
“I’d like to buy a lodestone,” Clove said.
His wiry eyebrows rose. “A lodestone? Are you going to sea?”
“Not exactly,” Clove said. “I just need one. For … reasons.”
“Reasons,” he repeated, bemused. “What could two maids want with a lodestone?” The pawnbroker’s eyebrows didn’t seem sure whether they should be raised or lowered.
“It’s for our master,” Clove said, thinking quickly.
“Well, I believe I have one or two somewhere.” He walked into the back of the shop, returning a moment later with a linen-wrapped bundle, which he unravelled to reveal a rough black rock attached to a piece of string.
When Clove pulled a kirby grip out of her hair and touched it to the rock, a small force tugged on the grip. It was magnetic. She took the string and held the rock up, and it twisted in the direction Ella was standing. Clove could relate. An arrow painted on the side showed that the rock pointed north.
“I’ll take it,” Clove said, barely able to stop herself jumping up and down in delight. She could use the lodestone to magnetize the screwdriver attachment on her Swiss army knife. It would be easy enough to do – she’d seen Tom do it. Rubbing a magnet up and down along a screwdriver would make it magnetic too.
“Well, he was interesting,” Clove said, as they walked down the street.
“I liked him,” Ella said, swinging her arms like she hadn’t a care in the world. “He reminded me of you.”
Clove huffed out a half-outraged, half-amused sigh. “If you say because of the eyebrows, I swear…”
Ella laughed. “No. Because he has the same no-nonsense I have more important things to do than waste my time here with you attitude as you.”
Clove opened her mouth, and closed it again. “Am I really like that?”
“Not any more,” Ella admitted. “You were at first. I think you’ve warmed to me.”
“I’m sorry,” Clove said, her words coming out softer than she wanted. “I was just too focused on other things to pay attention. It wasn’t you.”
“I know,” Ella said, lightly. “I’ve got your attention now, anyway.” Her gaze snagged Clove’s. Suddenly there was an intangible tug of tension between them. It made Clove’s heart thud so loud that she could hear it in her eardrums.
Ella was so caring and considerate, so boldly interesting. Yesterday, Clove had caught her reading a book in Latin, and when she’d questioned her about it, she’d just said that she was studying classical history, as if it was no big deal. Ella was mysterious and lovely and Clove just wanted to keep her for ever.
She felt the urge to press her fingers to Ella’s palm or wrist, cup her elbow, her waist or the small of her back. Clove could write a book of the ways Ella deserved to be touched. Instead Clove folded her arms across her own stomach, and just looked at Ella in the way she wished she could touch her − slow and gentle, never-ending.
After a long moment, Ella broke the eye contact. Clearing her throat, she asked, “What do you need the lodestone for, anyway?”
“Another spell,” Clove said, thinking fast.
“Oooooh.” Ella smirked. “How shall I know if this one works? Will you disappear in a puff of smoke?”
Clove huffed. “Something like that.”
“What – really?”
“Fingers crossed I’ll disappear without any smoke.”
A sad look crossed Ella’s face. “Well, I shall hope for my sake that you aren’t a very good witch.”
They were both silent the rest of the way home. Thinking about leaving Ella made Clove a little bit less eager to fix her watch. It was ridiculous. It wasn’t like they could… This was the eighteenth century. And did Ella even want to?
But if Clove left, then she would never see Ella again. She wouldn’t be able to message her for a chat at 2 a.m. to see how she was doing with her Latin, or finish teaching her how to knit properly (Ella was terrible at it).
Clove wanted to wrap Ella up like a precious treasure. She wanted to unravel all of her mysteries and decode her enigmas. She wanted so many things when she was around Ella.