The alterations inside the building were more marked. The smell of tobacco smoke and brandy and spiced chocolate had melted away. Breathing in, Xanthe detected only lavender from the floral displays, and cinnamon and lemons from the cakes on offer. Gone was the rustic furniture, the copper pots, plain painted walls, curtain-less windows, and simple decor. The workaday humble interior had been transformed into a place of delicate prettiness and charm. Gaily patterned fabrics were draped at the windows. Fresh white tablecloths covered the small, slender-legged tables. The settles had been replaced with elegant chairs, cushioned with embroidered linen. The fireplaces were still important features, even on a summer’s day, making the space warm and aired and dry, but their mantels were no longer simply oak shelves. Instead they now sported carved wooden or marble surrounds, with artfully placed pieces of decorative china, such as chintz plates or graceful figurines. The counter was taller, rebuilt in burnished mahogany, with a spotless glass cabinet set into it the better to display an impressive variety of cakes and pastries, all set upon fine bone china. But the most noticeable difference between the seventeenth-century chocolate house Xanthe had first found and this eighteenth-century tearoom was the ambience. Gone were the men who had patronized the original establishment, and with them the air of secrecy and tension that had flavored their meetings and discussions. Here now were almost exclusively women, mostly from the higher-ranking classes, turned out to be noticed in polite local society, enjoying the company of their friends. No longer was this little building a home to political intrigue and ferment, but instead it seemed to be a respectable place of simple pleasures for well-to-do ladies, where the most dangerous topic of conversation might be barbed gossip.
As striking as these changes were, Xanthe paid them little attention. She scanned the room, taking in the refined women seated at the tables, searching for the person she hoped to see, only half daring to believe that she was right; that Mistress Flyte herself would be the same, unchanged and recognizable. And that she would know Xanthe. There was not time to process all the possible permutations of time spinning that could have brought her friend to this moment, for suddenly there she stood, only a few paces away, as real and full of life and vibrant presence as Xanthe had always known her. For an instant she was not sure the old woman recognized her, for she showed no sign of surprise at her being there. But then she recalled how she had always known when Xanthe was near. Always expected her. As would any Spinner who sensed the close proximity of another. As would, no doubt, Benedict Fairfax.
Before either of them had a chance to speak, a young woman possessed of a bright energy ran toward Xanthe, flapping a linen cloth at Pie, an expression of undisguised disgust on her face.
“Shoo! Out with it! Such animals are not permitted here, no, no, no!” The girl looked to be in her teens, little more than five feet tall, with tight black curls pinned beneath a spotless white cap, her cheeks flushed with exertion and alarm at the sight of the dog.
“Never mind, Polly,” Mistress Flyte addressed the waitress. “My good friend will not allow the hound to set its paws upon your clean floor. Is that not so, Miss Westlake?” She smiled at Xanthe now, genuine affection showing on her elegant face.
Xanthe turned to the girl. “Have no fear on that score, Polly. I will keep her well behaved and well away from the cakes. I wish only to talk to your mistress a short moment.”
“Come,” Mistress Flyte beckoned, “let us step to my rooms and leave Polly to her work.” So saying she turned for the stairs and Xanthe followed, the serving girl frowning after her as she went, evidently not entirely trusting the word of this curious stranger with the outlandish hat.
The small sitting room had changed less than the downstairs and it occurred to Xanthe that this was because some of the things it contained had been out of place when she had first seen it. She remembered thinking that certain pieces of furniture, certain decorative items, had looked as if they didn’t quite fit, somehow. They had been too fine, too delicate, and too expensive for the era and the level of society which their owner had then inhabited. Now that disconnect made sense. The gentle curve to the legs of the Georgian chairs, fitting at the start of the nineteenth century, had jarred even to her eye in 1605 precisely because they were out of their own time. George the Third would not come to the throne for another century and a half. The style of furniture associated with his reign had not, during the time of the chocolate house, been dreamt of. There were small additions and changes. The colors of the room were lighter, the fabrics more delicate and more expensive. Pale blues replaced the indigos, silk damask replaced the tapestry upholstery on the chairs and chaise. Mistress Flyte sat straight-backed, hands in her lap, on one of the fireside seats, indicating that Xanthe should take the other.
“You may set your companion down here,” the old woman told her. “I am fonder of such dogs than is Polly.”
As soon as she was free to do so, Pie moved as close to the fire as she could get and curled up into a tight ball for a nap. “It’s her first go at time traveling,” Xanthe explained. “She wasn’t supposed to come with me. I’ll have to take her back.”
“She will come to no harm, so long as she is with you.”
“I didn’t realize I could bring, well, somebody who isn’t a Spinner with me.”
“Keep her close, particularly as you travel home. One not able to spin time may accompany you on your journey, but should they become separated they are cast adrift, unable to control their own direction. They do not spin time, they merely … fall through it.”
“I’ll remember that. My mother will be searching for her.”
“Tell me, then, what has brought you here this time?”
“I was called here by a wedding dress, but, beyond that, I came because of Fairfax.”
“I thought as much. Indeed, I have been waiting for you.”
“He came to my home! To my time! I never imagined he would do that. Could do that.”
“You yourself traveled forward in time with him. You know a Spinner can do this.”
“Yes, but I was helping him then. This he’s done on his own, and so far into the future. And to be so specific, to come to my home … it must have been a huge risk.”
“No doubt he had a purpose.”
“To frighten me, I know that much. And he’s succeeded.”
“Yes.”
“He caused a fire in our house. Without being there. At least, not in my time. I don’t know how he did it, but I’m certain it was him.”
“It is as I feared. Yet again he is using his gift as a Spinner to confuse the order of things; to bend the will of time to his own ends. And you have come in search of him to do what, precisely?”
“Stop him. From ever coming near me or my family again. Which would be easier if I knew what exactly it is he wants from me.”
“He has yet to reveal his hand? He was ever a man who held his cards close to his chest. The time of revelation will be of his choosing. And, it is true that at present he is much occupied with other matters. Yet, evidently, there is something darker that drives him, beyond his more obvious goals.”
“He’s definitely here, then? This place? This time?” When the old woman nodded Xanthe questioned her further. “Is that why you are here? Wait a minute, the picture … the one that showed Fairfax at Corsham Hall, do you know anything about that? Is it you who has been watching over me? I really hope it is because, I have to tell you, it’s spooky enough having Fairfax watching me. If there is someone else, even someone who wants to help me, well, I would feel easier knowing who it is.”
Mistress Flyte leaned toward the fire and used the shiny brass tongs to place more coals atop the embers. For a moment pungent smoke plumed up the chimney before the vapors ignited and fresh flames danced in the hearth, their shadows playing upon the elderly Spinner’s face. As she spoke she continued to gaze into those leaping tongues of fire.
“I traveled as a Spinner a great deal, in my youth. As you know, I no longer answer the call. However, as you will learn, there are advantages to being able to move through the centuries as one pleases, whatever one’s aims or desires. Let us merely say that it suits me to be here, at this time. As I knew it would. So long as one is careful to place at least a lifetime’s distance between one existence and the next there is no bar to it.”
“A lifetime?”
She sat back in her seat, turning to look at her visitor again. “It would not do to be recognized. The child of a contemporary, themselves grown to old age, would be shocked to find someone they had known as a child reappear now younger than they are. Do you see? As to who watches over you, have you not learned? Have you not understood? To be a Spinner is to belong to an ancient order. You are no longer alone, child. For better or worse, the path you tread is well worn with the footprints of others. Some have gone before, some will follow after. Others step beside you.”
“That’s reassuring. I think. Though to be honest, I have to stop myself thinking about the details of how all this works when I’m actually doing it. I’ll save that for when I’m studying the Spinners’ stories. Right now I have to save my focus for Fairfax. What is he doing in this time? Why has he chosen it? What is it that he thinks I can give him now that he does not already have?”
“It may be that only Fairfax himself can provide you with answers to these questions. What is more important is that he has overstepped his role as a Spinner and is abusing his talents.”
“More important for who?”
“He cannot be allowed to continue.”
“Well, we are agreed on that, at least.”
“He is in a far better position now than when first you encountered him. He has acquired wealth, I know not how, and now is to set himself up in society by marrying into a family of high regard and good standing.”
“The wedding dress is for his bride? No wonder it sang to me so clearly. The dressmaker in the high street said it was to be the wedding of the year, pretty much.”
“His allegiance to such a family will establish him as respectable, acceptable, a man of good repute and with allies at the highest level.”
“So what does he need from me?”
“You may not have long to wait for the answer to that question. It must surely have been his wish to confront you here, in his time, and you have spun time, it seems, to grant him that wish.”
“I couldn’t just wait to see what he would do next. Not now he’s started attacking my home. I wanted the dress to lead me to him. I hoped it would, though I hadn’t guessed the connection.”
“’Twould have been better had you faced him at the place of your choosing.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson. I’m not about to go rushing in. This trip is to find out what I can, so that I can figure out the best way to get rid of him. The best way to make sure he can’t threaten me or anyone close to me again. I need to find what it is he needs so badly that he’s bothered to seek me out like this. But I won’t just march up to him and confront him. He’s not the only one who likes to play things at his own pace, on his own terms.”
“You may not have the luxury of choosing the time and place. Do you forget, he will know you are here? He will have detected your arrival. Even now, he might be making his way toward you.” She narrowed her eyes, studying her closely. “Can you detect his presence, child? Do you feel his proximity?”
Xanthe focused, listening with her Spinner’s acute sense, searching with her mind’s eye. She experienced a shadowy vision, a blur of darkness moving toward her. It was not clear, yet it was most definitely a glimpse of the man. “Yes. Yes, I can sense him. He knows I’m here, precisely here.”
“It will be hard for you to take one step without his knowledge of it. A Spinner of limited talent he may be, yet he will know of your arrival. Not least because he will be expecting it. Hoping for it. Working toward it.”
“So far all I know is I have to get the astrolabe from him, that’s a start. And to do that I will need to get close to him.”
“You cannot simply invite yourself to his home, take what you want, and expect he will permit you to leave. You cannot face him so alone. You must be cleverer than that, child. Cleverer than your adversary. You cannot afford a misstep of a foolish girl.” Her tone was sharper than her customary restrained voice allowed, making Xanthe wonder just how badly Mistress Flyte wanted Fairfax dealt with. She remembered that it was most likely he who had been responsible for her being beaten near to death, so she should not be surprised if the old woman wanted him gone, once and for all.
Xanthe got to her feet, leaning down to loop the hat ribbon back through Pie’s collar. “But I’m not alone, am I? You’re here,” she pointed out with a small smile. “And I’m truly glad about that.”
“So, young Spinner, what will you do now?”
“As you say, I need to choose the time and place of facing Fairfax. And I have no wish to bring him to your home. Now I will take this naughty thing home,” she said, patting the quickly wide-awake dog’s wagging rump. “Equip myself with what I need to gain an introduction to the Wilcox family. If I get to Fairfax via Corsham Hall I won’t be alone, and he will be wary of doing anything to me if I have gained the friendship of his bride-to-be.”
“And how do you propose doing that? Minstrels are not in such high demand this century as they were upon your last visit.”
“Maybe not, but every event worth going to has singing at it.”
“Singing by the young ladies of the households, not, alas, by passing strangers.”
“Then I’d better make sure my new identity fits the bill, hadn’t I?”
Mistress Flyte stood. “I believe you will succeed in that. You have shown yourself to be resourceful. Only do not underestimate your foe,” she warned, smoothing the long skirts of her fine linen dress with her elegant hands.
Xanthe noticed that the broken fingers she had herself set for her friend only a few months before had mended well enough, though not as perfectly straight as she would have liked. She felt a pang of remorse that she had not been a better nurse but reminded herself the old woman would almost certainly not have survived her injuries had she not been there to help her. A thought formed itself in her mind, something she wanted further clarification on. If she was ever to properly make sense of her supernatural travels she needed loose ends tied up and people’s motives clearly revealed wherever possible. As she reached the door she paused and asked, “That night you were attacked, did you ever discover who it was who beat you so terribly?”
“It was a very long time ago and I was, as you rightly recall, sorely injured.”
“I remember you said you’d heard someone calling your name. Someone you recognized?”
“Alas, the blows to my head ruined my memory of that night. We can only assume Fairfax sent a henchman to do his vile work.”
This seemed to Xanthe an unsatisfactory answer and gave her the impression Mistress Flyte was not being entirely truthful with her.
“You should not tarry, child.” The old woman’s face was inscrutable.
“You’ll be here when I come back?”
“I will. I am well suited to this time and find Bradford agreeable. Besides, this is where I am needed.” She held out a hand. “Until your return, then,” she said.
Xanthe took her hand and gently squeezed it, uncertain of the convention but pleased to be able to express her gratitude. Whatever Mistress Flyte was not telling her, she knew she needed the wisdom and experience of the aged Spinner, now more than ever.
“Thank you,” she said, and then left quickly, trotting Pie smartly through the tearooms before Polly had the opportunity to protest.
The summer sunshine outside was in stark contrast to the snow she had encountered on her previous visit to the town. She made a mental note to be sure to find summer clothes for her next trip. She would need to up her game where her outfit was concerned, if she was going to pass herself off as a young lady from a good family. Someone the young Wilcox girl could acceptably befriend. She was so busy turning over in her mind the whys and wherefores of her plan that she was barely two strides from Fairfax when she recognized him. They both came to a sharp halt halfway across the bridge, almost exactly level with the blind house. Pie squirmed on the end of her improvised leash, eager to continue their walk. Xanthe looked Fairfax square in the face as he spoke, for once not caring that the eye patch he still wore was a result of what she had done to him. Here was the man who had set fire to her home. She would never feel sorry for him again.
“Good morning to you, Miss Westlake. How well the sunshine suits you.”
Xanthe was keenly aware of how many people were out and about. On the one hand she felt safer because they were observed; Fairfax wouldn’t try anything where there were so many witnesses. On the other, she was reluctant to use her locket and spin back to her own time. Vanishing in plain sight would definitely cause a stir, and would not help her cause if she was recognized on her return. She played for time, slowly stepping closer to the entrance to the blind house. As she had hoped, Fairfax was both surprised and distracted by the fact that she chose to walk toward him rather than run away.
“Not all of us choose to hide in the shadows, Mr. Fairfax.”
He made a small bow, indicating to any who cared to observe them that they were acquaintances exchanging polite pleasantries, nothing more. “I have looked forward to your arrival greatly,” he said. “I trust you are now willing to listen to my proposal?”
“Now that you have shown what you are capable of?” She was able to lower her voice as she now stood almost toe-to-toe with the man. “You must think I scare easily,” she added, stooping to pick up Pie, tucking the little dog securely under one arm.
In the instant Fairfax formed his answer she made her move. She stepped sideways so that she was suddenly not on the broad paving slabs of the bridge but standing in the entrance to the jail, the iron door helpfully set back just enough to allow her to be obscured from the view of passersby. As she leaned close against the wall, feeling the worn stones warm from the sun against her back, she plucked the gold locket from beneath the neck of her blouse, clasped it firmly in her hand, closed her eyes, and summoned a clear vision of home in her mind. The last thing she heard as she made the leap from one century to another was Fairfax’s exasperated curse.