The first thing that struck her when they completed their journey was the brightness of the light. So often she had materialized somewhere dark, such as a loft or a cellar hoard house, but this time as her surroundings came into focus she found she was outside, in strong sunshine, in a large walled garden. She was kneeling on the grass, not because of her own unsteadiness, but because of Flora, whose hand she still held, and who was slumped on the ground beside her.
“Mum! Mum?” She was relieved when her mother moaned and then opened her eyes. She slipped an arm around Flora’s waist to steady her and help her to her feet. “Come on, up you get. Take it slowly. You’re bound to feel a bit woozy.”
“My sticks…?”
Xanthe cursed herself for not ensuring the essential crutches had traveled with them. She glanced around to make sure they were unobserved and then spoke gently to her mother.
“Don’t worry, you don’t need to walk anywhere. We’re going straight back. I just need you to look.” She helped her mother stand steady and gave her a moment to draw breath. “Take a look, Mum. It’s beautiful.”
And it was. They could see the upper floors of the great house beyond the wall of the garden. It was definitely Corsham Hall. The place where the wedding dress had found Xanthe. The place where she had had her vision of the pretty, dark-haired girl among the roses. The place where she would return again very soon, on her next trip, once she had helped her mother understand. Watching Flora take in her surroundings and make sense of them was like watching a child discover its first rainbow. There was so much to process: the fact that they were in an entirely different place to the one where they had stood only moments before, the fact that this pointed to everything her daughter had told her being true; and the sheer loveliness of the exquisite garden beneath the warm summer sun.
At last Flora found her voice. “Xanthe, love, it’s all completely wonderful.”
“This is where I get to say I told you so.” She grinned, elated at finally being able to share the astonishing truth of what she could do, enjoying her mother’s obvious delight. “And just in case you were in any doubt about the era, take a look over there.” She pointed to the far end of the garden where there was a wrought-iron gate in the wall. Through the gate a stretch of the long, curving driveway to the main house was visible, and along it, at that moment, came an elegant carriage pulled by four smartly turned-out chestnut horses.
Flora gasped at the sight of it. “Look at that! The horses, the coach … look at the footman clinging to the back! Oh, I so want to go and see who gets out of it.”
“And to do that we would have to run the risk of someone seeing us. No, sorry, Mum. We have to go home now.”
“So soon? But that house … imagine all the treasures!”
“Here, hold on to me, like before. Don’t let go. Not for a second, OK?”
“But, we’re not in the blind house. And … you don’t have the wedding dress. How will it work?”
“I told you, we use the locket you gave me, remember?” She fished it out from under her dress. “Think of home, Mum,” she said and then closed her eyes, ignoring the whispers that filled her ears as the magic worked again, carrying them back to their own time and place.
She was not surprised that her mother found the return journey more difficult than the outward one. She knelt beside her on the floor of the blind house, holding her close, whispering reassurances to her, giving her time to adjust and recover. What did surprise her, however, was the sharp light dancing against the dusty stone walls. Surely they had left the sunshine behind and returned to nighttime? There should be no light, save for that borrowed from the street lamps some way off. Confused, she blinked, shielding her eyes against the glare. Her heart lurched as she realized what it was. Torchlight. Someone had stepped into the blind house and picked up her torch. And that someone was still there.
“Hey!” she said, turning her face away. “Can you point that thing somewhere else?”
There was a mumbled apology, which was still sufficient for Xanthe to be able to recognize the speaker as they retrained the beam of light onto the floor.
“Harley?” She peered forward, her eyes recovering their night sight so that she could make out Liam standing next to him.
Beside her, Flora was regaining her wits. “Liam? Harley? Why are there suddenly so many people in our shed?”
Xanthe tried to process what their presence meant.
“How long have you been standing there?” she asked.
“Oh, a wee while,” Harley replied.
“How much did you hear?”
“Oh, enough,” he said, glancing sideways at a clearly stunned Liam, who at last found his voice.
“No, not enough. Not nearly enough. What the fuck just happened?”
Flora retrieved her sticks from the gritty floor and casually stick-stepped her way past the shocked spectators.
“It’s perfectly simple, Liam,” she said. “Xanthe and I just did a spot of time traveling.”
“And I’m green with envy, hen,” Harley put in with a smile, ignoring Liam’s open-jawed expression, “I don’t mind admitting.”
“Xanthe…?” Liam put his hand on her arm.
She turned to Harley. “What are you doing here? You knew what I was going to do, that I was going to show Mum…”
“I hoped you’d change your mind about telling Liam. That you’d decide it would be better, safer to have some help.”
“Help with what?” Liam wanted to know.
“Wait a minute…” Flora frowned. “Harley, you knew about this?”
Xanthe leapt to his defense. “Harley understood about ley lines, about the Spinners…”
“Before you told me anything you told him everything?”
Liam was becoming exasperated. “Everything being what?”
“But it was you I showed, Mum. You’re the one I shared it with. Please tell me you understand,” she said, brushing a wayward hair from her mother’s eyes.
Flora gave a small sigh. “How can I not, after what we’ve just done, after where you’ve just taken me.” She smiled then, the connection between them reinforced.
Harley addressed Flora. “You are a lucky woman. I’m jealous as hell, Flora, I don’t mind telling ye.”
“I’m glad you were able to help Xanthe. I’m glad she wasn’t doing it all on her own.” As she spoke, Flora teetered, catching hold of Harley’s arm to steady herself.
“Mum? Are you feeling OK?”
“Just a little wobbly. A small price to pay for such an experience!”
Liam had had enough. “Right, just stop! OK? None of this is making any sense. The only thing I’m sure of is that everyone else here knows more about what the hell is going on than I do. Will you please tell me, before I lose my mind, where did you just go and how, in the name of all that’s bloody sensible, did you go there?”
Xanthe took his hand and stepped toward the entrance. “Come on, let’s go somewhere we’re not all standing on each other’s toes, shall we?”
“Aye,” said Harley, hauling the door open a little wider, “and I for one could do with a drink.”
“I’ll put the kettle on,” Flora promised as she headed back across the lawn.
Harley mumbled something about tea not being quite what he had in mind and Xanthe found herself explaining the bricks and rubble they had to walk around on their way back into the house. She led them into the kitchen, pausing to release Pie, who bounded excitedly from person to person. Five minutes later coats had been slung over the backs of chairs and they were all sitting at the narrow wooden table sipping hot drinks, the fumes from Harley’s mug giving away the tot of whiskey he had persuaded Flora to add to his. A slightly stunned silence had descended until Harley said, “Well, lassie, it’s your story to tell.”
She looked at Liam.
“It’s quite a lot to swallow,” she said. “And to be honest, I’m not sure how to start.”
“OK,” he said, glancing at Flora, “let me see if I’ve understood so far. Harley called me up, said you needed my help, met me at the door of the pub and brought me round here. He was gabbling on about some dangerous bastard…”
“Aye, Fairfax,” Harley put in.
“… and about how this guy was the one that started the fire.”
Flora nodded. “Xanthe told me what she thinks happened. It’s a lot to get your head around, but once you do it sort of makes sense.”
Liam went on, “And then Harley starts telling me this guy lived hundreds of years ago, and that’s where you have to go to sort him out. At which point I think I might have used some bad language…”
“Understandable,” said Harley.
“… but Harley insisted he hadn’t been drinking…”
“Well, no more than usual,” he confirmed.
“… and that the best way for me to believe him was to talk to you. To see the blind house, and to hear about the wedding dress and the time travel directly from you. Only he wasn’t completely sure you wanted to tell me.”
Xanthe sipped her tea, frowning through the steam at Harley. “I wanted to show Mum. She had … has a right to know. This all affects her directly.”
Harley looked sheepish but determined. “I’m sorry I took it upon myself, lassie, but I did it out of concern for your safety. You know that.”
“I only wish you’d told us both sooner,” said Flora.
Liam spooned more sugar into his tea. “Yes, if it was OK to keep us in the dark about all this … time traveling—wow, doesn’t sound any less crazy when I say it—if it was OK before, why tell us now? I mean, by the sound of it you’ve been managing without me,” he pointed out, a note of hurt to his words.
Xanthe said, “That’s exactly what I’ve been telling Harley. He wanted me to share all this sooner, but I didn’t want anyone else taking risks. The found things sing to me; the people who call out for help call to me.”
“You are the Spinner, lassie.”
“A Spinner?” Liam needed clarification
“That’s what we are called,” Xanthe told him. “We spin through time.”
“Logical. I think.”
“My point is, it’s for me to do,” she went on. “Only now…”
“Now?” Liam waited.
“Now Fairfax is reaching my time, my home. He’s threatening not just me but, well, anyone who matters to me. He said as much to my face, just a few short steps away from here, sitting at one of Gerri’s tables.”
“He was that close?” Liam’s expression darkened. “That’s when you should have come and got me!”
“He didn’t stay long. His position in the modern world is pretty weak, really. I mean, think about it, modern technology, the way everything works, he’d be like an innocent. And I got the impression it was a fleeting visit. Where he’s chosen to live—the early eighteen hundreds—from what I’ve found out he has money there, and some influence.”
Flora asked, “And that’s the time you think he’s causing all this damage to the house? You think he’s doing it somehow from there? From then?”
“Somehow, though don’t ask me how it all works. Which is why I need to go back to that time, which is when the wedding dress began. It’s connected to Fairfax and calling me back to deal with him. Not for my sake, but for the poor girl he’s supposed to be marrying.”
“OK.” Liam rubbed his temples slowly. “Let’s say I get the whole time-traveling thing, which you might still be trying to convince me of if I hadn’t stood in that stone shed and watched you disappear and reappear … let’s go with that. And obviously this Fairfax is a…”
“… dangerous bastard,” Harley put in.
Liam nodded. “Yeah, that. The fire, the chimney … OK, that’s a given too, then. And he needs dealing with. What I don’t get is, why? Why is he bothering? I mean, he’s a time traveler, you say he’s pretty well set up in his own time … what’s he want from you?”
“I think it’s the Spinners book,” Xanthe explained, daunted at the thought of how much Liam didn’t know about. How much she would have to try to help him understand. “It’s a book that contains all their wisdom and secrets.”
“Aye.” Harley’s eyes brightened as he spoke of it. “’Tis a wondrous thing! Like an instruction manual for your time traveling, though a wee bit more cryptic.”
Xanthe smiled. “Sadly. I wish it was more straightforward.”
“Where did it come from?” Liam asked.
“It was here, in with a bunch of old editions of poetry and local history. Part of Mr. Morris’s stock. I nearly chucked it out, before I knew what it was.”
Flora beamed. “It was waiting for you!”
“It does sort of feel like that.”
Liam shrugged. “I’m sure it’s great, but, really? Fairfax is going to all this trouble for a book? If he’s already time traveling, isn’t that enough?”
“Nothing is ever enough for Fairfax,” said Xanthe.
Harley was quite indignant. “It’s not just any old book, laddie. Make no mistake, this would be powerful hoodoo in the wrong hands. And they don’t come much more wrong than yon Fairfax. Assuming, that is, he can read it.”
“It’s in a foreign language?” Liam was confused.
She put it as simply as she knew how. “You can only see what’s in it if you are a Spinner.”
“Yes,” Flora confirmed, “I’ve seen it. It only shows me blank pages, but when Xanthe touches it, the stories start to appear! Because it only reveals itself to a Spinner.”
“Or sometimes a trusted helper,” Harley piped up, unable to hide his glee at this fact, showing as it did how important he had been in helping Xanthe with her tasks.
“So?” Liam shrugged again. “Isn’t that exactly what Fairfax is?”
“Yes and no. There are different types. Different levels. For instance, he needs a special object to travel. An astrolabe.”
“You’re going to tell me what that is, aren’t you?”
“It’s a device for plotting the movement of planets and stars.”
“Your astrological pocket watch, kinda thing,” Harley suggested.
“Anyway,” Xanthe went on, “I don’t think it’s what it was made for that really matters. For some reason it works for Fairfax. No other astrolabe will do. Other Spinners, well, we can use lots of different objects, if they call to us. And I come home using something that’s precious to me and rooted in my own time,” she explained, taking her gold locket out from beneath her dress again and showing it to Liam. “Fairfax has his limitations.”
“Though not,” Flora pointed out, “when it comes to destroying our home.”
Xanthe reached over the table and squeezed her hand. “It’ll be OK, Mum. I promise.”
“I might be missing something here,” Liam went on, “but if there’s a chance he wouldn’t even be able to use this … time traveler’s bible … why would Fairfax go to all this trouble, presumably risking his own neck when he came here … I mean, if he can’t see what’s written in it…?
“… he’d need to make sure he had someone with him who could,” Harley said.
Liam gave him a sharp look. “He’d need Xanthe?”
For once, nobody spoke. Each was processing the importance of this fact. Each silently coming to realize now the true extent of the danger. At last, Liam voiced their collective fear.
“So if you go back to where he’s well established and surrounded by people who would support him, if you try to get this gadget off him, chances are not only will he want to get that book from you, he’ll want to keep you there. Forever.”
Xanthe shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “He’s tried before. I didn’t let him.”
“He came close, hen,” Harley reminded her. “Which is why I’d feel a whole lot better if you took Liam with you when you go back again.”
“Wow!” was all Liam could manage to say.
“I agree,” said Flora. “If you must confront him, and I can see that you will, please don’t do it on your own, Xanthe, love. Not this time.”
Harley leaned forward on the table, the weight of his arms causing the wood to creak. “Listen to your mother, lassie. We’ve seen what this fella can do. Liam can help you.”
Flora nodded. “I understand that you have to go, really I do, but … not alone.”
“I’ve managed on my own so far,” she pointed out, but in truth her resistance to the idea was fading. Pie had traveled with her without suffering any ill effects. It wasn’t going to be easy taking Fairfax’s beloved astrolabe from him. And seeing Flora’s face now, the worry there, wanting to make up for the secrets and deception … “OK,” she said finally. “Yes, if it’ll put your mind at rest, Mum, Liam can come with me.”
Liam made a small noise beside her and she realized that she had not actually asked him if he wanted to go with her.
“Oh, Liam, I…”
He stood up, taking his shearling coat from the back of his chair. “Xanthe, do you think I could have a word, in private?”
“Of course,” she said, following him out of the kitchen and down the stairs. When they got to the back door he pulled it open and invited her to sit next to him on the step, so that they sat, side by side, gazing out at the darkened garden and the shadowy shapes of the ruined chimney on the lawn. There was no frost, but still the night air was cool, and Xanthe was not wearing a jacket. Liam took his sheepskin coat and wrapped it around both their shoulders, gently pulling her closer to him and keeping his arm tight around her waist. She could feel the warmth of him still in the woolen fleece inside the coat. After all the excitement of the evening, all the joy, in fact, of sharing her secret with those who mattered to her, it was good to feel calm for a moment, snug and safe.
“I suppose it’s a lot to take in,” she said quietly. “Time travel. A murderous stalker.”
“Actually, I’m kind of relieved.”
“You are?”
“Yeah. Well, you’ve been quite secretive, on and off, and that gets a person thinking, you know. Wondering. What with trips away, and ex-boyfriends…”
“Marcus? I promise you, I’m completely done with him.”
“I wanted to think that, of course I did.”
“So it’s a relief to find out I’ve been traveling to a distant time and am being pursued by a man who most recently made a large chunk of my house fall off?”
“Well … now that you put it like that.”
“You don’t have to come with me, you know.”
“I know. I can stay here and just think about you being trapped in time a couple of hundred years ago with some lunatic.”
“I can do this on my own.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“And it’s not as if it’s my idea, actually, you coming with me. It’d just make Mum feel better about me going, and I do owe her that, I think.”
“I know you’re not asking me for you.”
“I don’t want you to feel pushed into it.”
“The way you’ve been pushed into asking me?” he replied.
She found she had nothing to say to that. For a moment they sat as they were, a distant ambulance siren striking a discordant note in their tense little silence. She felt wearied by having to make difficult choices yet again. How could she be sure Liam would be safe with her? How did she know taking him would even be the right thing to do, assuming he agreed to go at all? Did she have the right to ask him in the first place?
As if sensing her confusion, her doubt, he turned and nuzzled her hair, kissing her ear softly.
Xanthe allowed herself to relax and let her guard down just the smallest bit.
“This is a great jacket,” she said. “Super cozy.”
“It’s nicer with you in it.”
“It’s a nice place to be.”
He paused and then said, “I tell you what wouldn’t be nice; you not being here. Not nice at all.”
She pulled away a little and turned to study his face. His expression was, for once, serious, and she saw in it such genuine affection that it pulled at her heart.
“You’d have to wear breeches,” she told him. “You know that, don’t you?”
“And fulfill a lifelong secret ambition,” he insisted, hugging her close again.
Harley went home and Flora, still slightly drained from her journey to the past, went to bed. Liam and Xanthe stayed up long into the night making plans for their trip. She found a notebook and they made a careful list of everything they might need. This time there would be no room for mistakes and no possibility of playing things by ear. They would have a meticulously thought-through strategy and stick to it. One of the most important aspects of this was their cover. Two young people could not simply appear with no family, background, or status. If Xanthe was to find her way into the Wilcox family and befriend the bride-to-be in order to get at Fairfax whilst enjoying the safety of that friendship, she would have to be persona grata. That meant a plausible background, possible connections, and a reasonable grasp of the etiquette of the day. Xanthe was confident she could behave accordingly, having had to modify her mannerisms and speech and body language when visiting the seventeenth century. She also had a fair grasp of history, learned through growing up in the antiques trade. Liam, on the other hand, had far less knowledge and experience to build on, and precious little time to do anything about it. They decided he would have to affect a taciturn and moody personality, not given to speaking unless absolutely necessary. This in itself would be a stretch. While they continued their plans, Xanthe dragged him into the sitting room and put historical dramas on the TV, hoping that he would pick up some of the cadences of the way people talked and their formal, reserved manners. She also searched the internet for a song or two that was popular at the time, knowing that young ladies were expected to be accomplished. If she and Liam could sing at least something it would be a great help. At last she settled on a song from The Doctor and the Apothecary by Storace, who had been a contemporary of Mozart. She printed out the music and lyrics and showed it to Liam.
“‘The Sailor’s Lullaby’? Really?” He was not convinced.
“Trust me, we don’t want anything contentious. Nothing bawdy, nothing maudlin, nothing too moralistic—this is ideal. It’s short, so we can both memorize it. And look at the key and the tune. I should be able to sing it well enough, and you can figure it out on whatever keyboard we’re faced with.”
There was no time to go in search of a keyboard or fetch one of Liam’s guitars, so they practiced a cappella until they had a reasonable grasp of the thing. It was nearly two in the morning when Liam called a halt, insisting they get some sleep. There was a lot to do in the morning before they could leave. And a great deal depended on the success of their journey. They needed to be rested. They needed to be at their best.
She knew what she had to do. Since her conversation with Mistress Flyte a plan had begun to take shape in her mind, and the more she thought about it, the more she believed it could work. She would not return to Bradford as some lowly traveling minstrel, who after all would have no place in smart Regency society. Instead, with the help of Mistress Flyte, she would present herself as the daughter of a well-to-do family, newly arrived in the area, who also happened to be a particularly accomplished singer. She would find a way to engineer an encounter with the young Wilcox girl and befriend her. That way she could get close to Fairfax but have the protection of the very family he planned to marry into. To be convincing she would need more clothes and more money. She knew there was not much by way of suitable coins among the shop stock, so she would have to find something to sell. It had to be easily transportable and of obvious value, but could not, of course, have anything about it that made it obvious it had originated in an era after the one she was visiting. To make matters more complicated, it must not be too near the time she was going to or it wouldn’t make the journey with her. She was still uncertain how much latitude she had regarding the date of things, but she knew two versions of an object could not exist side by side. She unlocked the glass display cabinet in the corner of the shop and searched for suitable items. There was a nice pair of silver berry spoons, probably late Georgian, so the date was about right. She held them to test the weight. It was good quality silver, hallmarked with an anchor, meaning it had originated in Bristol. She ran her thumb over the indented designs, beautifully worked, depicting small bunches of blackberries and their leaves. It was a start. Further hunting yielded a silver snuff box, quite plain but in good condition, and an eighteen-inch gold chain. The necklace was most likely twentieth century, but the link was an old style known as Byzantine and there was nothing to say when it had been made. It was heavy, and would certainly fetch a good price. With mounting guilt at how much she was taking from the shop, she added a plain gold band and a pretty cameo to her haul. She needed something to put them all in. She took a handful of tissue paper off the walnut desk that served as their counter and wrapped the precious pieces into a secure bundle. Her leather and canvas satchel had served the purpose well for the seventeenth century but would not do now. She cast her eye about the shop, delighted to find a carpetbag with a brass clasp. She had a vague memory of Flora having bought it at an auction a few weeks back.
“You will do very nicely,” she told it, undoing the sturdy clip and carefully placing her loot inside. It shut with a reassuring snap, and the plum-and-gold carpet felt both soft and strong. It would not look out of place, and there was room in it for more of her traveling necessities.
Once back in the vintage room she set about putting together a new outfit. Liam was going to get what he could from a costume hire shop, but she would need a change of clothing. She needed one that looked a little finer, but also was better suited to the warm summer weather. She would have to spend a good portion of her money on new clothes when she arrived, which would at least give her the perfect excuse to go back to the dress shop. If the bride’s wedding gown—her wedding gown—was being made there, it was a good place to have in common with the young woman. Xanthe could only hope the proprietor would regard her more favorably if she had no dog with her this time, and money to spend. With increasing frustration she realized there wasn’t much that would look more authentic than the pieces she had already found. She took some strings of fake pearls that should pass as there wouldn’t have been such convincing imitations at that time. A chiffon scarf would do as an insert to another low-cut cotton narrow-striped maxi dress in cream and peach, with another silk one cinching the thing in just below the bust. She tried it on and studied her reflection in one of the remaining mirrors. She experienced a brief shudder at the memory of Mistress Merton emerging from her reflection to terrify her. Could that all have happened only a few months ago? So much in her life had changed since then. So much about herself. There was no time to dwell on what she might have done differently. Remembering how important gloves would be, even in hot weather, she rifled through a box of accessories and found two leather pairs, one white and the other pale blue with buttons at the cuffs. As she secured the final items in her bag she decided she would leave her other one behind, transferring everything into the more convincing carpet bag before she entered the blind house. There was one further thing she had at last decided about: She would take Spinners with her. She would need it now more than ever. She felt that she had only just begun to understand its workings and to be able to learn from it. The thought of being parted from it was dreadful. It was so much a part of who she was now. She knew there was a risk, taking it to within Fairfax’s reach, yet that too seemed to be necessary. If the Spinners book was what he was after—and she was increasingly sure this was the case—better that she draw him closer to her, not send him back to her own time in search of it while she wasn’t there. She would take the astrolabe from him and destroy it. Beyond that, she would have to assess the situation and think on her feet.
The following day Liam went to Devises to the costume hire shop they had found on the internet the night before. The plan was that he should get them an outfit each, with some extra bits and pieces for authenticity. Already Xanthe was blessing the fact that she did not have to do everything by herself and in secret anymore. In the kitchen she filled Flora in on the details of the tactics she and Liam had devised. She had scrambled some eggs and set the plates of food on the table as her mother poured strong black coffee.
“Here you go, Mum. Try not to completely smother it in brown sauce.” She sat down in the chair opposite and ground black pepper over her breakfast. “You will eat properly while I’m away, won’t you? You’ll have to break the habits of a lifetime and go to the supermarket. There’s not enough in the fridge to last until market day.”
“Xanthe, love, I am a grown woman living in a town that exists largely to persuade people to eat. I won’t starve in a few days.”
“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. How long we’ll be gone. It feels so strange to be able to say that.”
“Strange but good,” said Flora, gently pushing Pie’s paws off her lap and passing the wagging dog a toast crust to nibble. “It’s so much better that there will be two of you. He’ll be such a help.”
“I hope so. It takes a bit of getting used to, being in a different time.”
“You don’t have to tell me. I felt that and I was only there a few minutes.”
“I need him to be less, well, less Liam. He’s a bit exuberant for the era.”
Flora laughed. “Bet he’s never been called that before!”
“We are going to stay at the tearooms and put it about that Mistress Flyte is our aunt. We’ve come to Bradford-on-Avon to escape the heat and stink of London in the summer. Maybe take the spa waters at Bath.”
“I’m surprised Liam agreed to you being brother and sister. Thought he might prefer you pretending to be husband and wife.”
“He did suggest it.”
“You weren’t keen?”
She shook her head as she ate her breakfast, ignoring the questioning expression on her mother’s face. “I need to get close to Fairfax’s fiancée. It’s easier for me to do that as an unmarried woman. We’ll have more in common, be in similar circles, wear the same sorts of things. Lots of that changes once you’re married. The etiquette is a minefield.”
“Oh dear, how will you remember it all? I’m sure I’d get it wrong.”
“My tactic has always been to follow the lead of others, watch what they are doing and copy that. And try not to draw attention to myself. Which didn’t really work when I was presenting myself as a minstrel,” she added, thinking of her performance at the birthday celebrations of Clara Lovewell. On that occasion, a few months and several centuries earlier, she had used a rousing, bawdy song which had proved hugely popular. It had upped the tempo of the evening, kicking off dancing, which Xanthe narrowly escaped. To be found unable to join in the popular dance of the day would have marked her out as strange indeed, particularly given her cover story of being a player and a minstrel in a theatrical troupe.
“But you’re not going to be a singer this time?”
“A well-brought-up young lady from a prosperous family wouldn’t be making money doing anything, but … and this is the helpful thing really … all girls were encouraged to be accomplished. They had to be able to sing, play the piano, paint, do needlework…”
“I hope nobody asks you to sew anything,” said Flora, feeding Pie another bite of toast.
“It’s unlikely. But I can offer to sing. So can Liam, if it comes to it. Or he can accompany me. He’s pretty competent on the keyboards, after all. I found a song we can use and we’ve been practicing it every chance we’ve had.”
Flora was thoughtful for a moment and then said, “I envy you both. Such an adventure.”
“You’ve been so brilliant about all this, Mum. So trusting, after all the times I’ve lied to you … and you believed me when I told you the whole story, I think, even before I took you through the blind house.”
“Antiques have been singing to you since you were eight, love. You’ve been able to tell me things about their history that no one else could have known any other way. Maybe, after all, it’s not such a leap for me to make to imagine those same objects drawing you back to their own day and the origins of their story.”
Xanthe studied her expression. “I don’t want you to spend the time I’m away worrying about me. That’s why I didn’t tell you sooner.”
“My magical daughter? With her trusty sidekick? Why would I worry? Any more toast going? Pie seems to have eaten most of mine.”
After their meal Xanthe went downstairs to open the shop and look for a couple more valuables to take in lieu of money. She had been reluctant to take more good stock, but Flora had insisted, saying it was better to have too much than too little, and that she could always bring it back if she didn’t need it. As she hunted for suitable pieces she served customers and chatted to browsers, all the while pondering the madness of doing such normal things when she was about to do something so extraordinary. There were one or two early browsers and three customers who bought a set of four flower paintings, a Royal Albert china trio of plate, cup, and saucer, and a small wooden milking stool. When the doorbell rang again Xanthe turned with her professional smile already in place only to find Gerri elbowing her way through the door, a pile of vintage clothes over one arm and her hands full with a tray of chocolate flapjacks.
“Morning!” She kicked the door shut behind her with a perfectly polished Mary Jane shoe, her full 1940s skirt swirling as she did so.
“Gerri, you are a vision. Nailed the vintage look again, new clothes for the shop, and treats. I don’t know how you do it.”
“My mother always told me I was a hectic child who had to be doing three things at once. I suppose I’ve never lost the habit.”
“Please don’t, it’s our gain. Here, let me help you with those.” Xanthe took the flapjacks and followed Gerri through to the vintage clothes room.
“You’ve managed to get rid of the smell of smoke,” Gerri said, setting down the things she’d brought. “It’s really fine in here. It’s a wonder there wasn’t more damage. Are you any closer to finding out what caused it?”
Xanthe hesitated, then said vaguely, “Oh, they think probably an electrical fault. We’re getting someone in to check the wiring out. Wow, that’s a lovely jacket you’ve found there.”
“Isn’t it?” Gerri held up the garment of soft green silk, beautifully tailored and slim fitting. “It’s small, but will look fabulous on the right person. And there’s a midi skirt to match, see? Emporio Armani.”
“Wherever did you find it?”
“A friend of my mother’s is downsizing her house and was having a clear-out. It gave me an idea: Why don’t we advertise a sort of wardrobe clearance service?”
“You mean, house clearance but specifically for clothes? D’you think people would go for that?”
“Decluttering is all the rage. People get daunted by the stuff they’ve collected. Not to mention embarrassed about all the impulse buys they’ve never worn. If we offer a small payment for the good pieces they’ll feel better about the whole thing.”
“You might be onto something. Mum could put an ad together for the local paper, maybe some fliers in the shop and on the town notice board.”
“Shall we tell her about it over a flapjack? My mum’s watching the tea shop for ten minutes for me.”
“Actually, I’m a bit pushed for time. Can we talk about it again when I get back?”
“You’re going away again? Looks like you’ll be moving back to London at this rate, all these gigs.”
“What? Oh, no. Just a couple of days up north. Another antiques fair…” She trailed off unconvincingly and was relieved to be interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.
She was about to go back into the shop when they heard brisk footsteps and Liam called out, “Xanthe, you there? Wait till you see what I found. The boy done good. Plunging neckline for you and the tightest of tight breeches for me. Oh, hi, Gerri.” He stopped in the doorway, costumes held aloft.
Xanthe opened her mouth to say something but Liam beat her to it.
“We’re going to a fancy dress party,” he blurted out.
“Oh? That’s … lovely. Xanthe, you’re full of surprises today. Is it before or after the antiques fair?”
To which Liam answered “before” and Xanthe answered “after” at exactly the same moment.
Gerri laughed, taking one of her own flapjacks from the tray and shaking her head as she moved toward the door. “Well, well, well. Seems like you two have got lots going on.” She grinned, giving them a knowing look. “I’ll leave you to it then. See you when you get back,” she said with a wave.
“Bye, Gerri, and thanks!” Xanthe called after her.
“Ouch,” said Liam as they heard the shop door close.
“Now she thinks we’re off on a romantic mini break that involves dressing up,” she groaned.
“It was all I could think of. I’m not used to having to lie on the spot like that.”
“Welcome to my world,” she said, helping herself to a flapjack and biting into it hungrily. “At least I don’t have to lie to you and Mum anymore.”
“It must have been tough. Never mind. You’ve got me to help now. And you are going to love the gear I found us.”
“Plunging neckline?”
By lunchtime all preparations were in place and there was just one thing Xanthe needed to do before they could leave. Once she had finished packing, she headed for The Feathers. She found Harley in the kitchen. When he saw her he hurried forward.
“Come away upstairs, lassie. They can manage without me for five minutes,” he said, ignoring the stern look from Annie that said otherwise.
“No, it’s OK. You’re in the middle of the lunchtime rush. I just wanted to see you before I left.”
“Did you bring me the book to look after? I’ve been thinking about a safe place to put it ever since you said you’d like me to guard it for you.”
“Actually no, I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to take it with me.”
“Are you sure that’s wise? If you’re right and it’s what Fairfax wants, it’s a big risk to take it to his very door.”
“It is, but I think it’s a necessary one. I need it, Harley. I feel … uneasy being parted from it. And the times it has shown me most is when I’ve been back in the past with it. I can study it there more effectively than here. I need its help. And, well, it might just be I can use it to trap Fairfax somehow.”
Harley let out a low whistle. “It’s up to you, lassie.”
“You think it’s the wrong thing to do?”
He gave a shrug. “Maybe you should keep it with you. Keep it close. Just promise me you won’t let Fairfax get his filthy hands on it.”
“I promise. Thanks, Harley. I couldn’t do all this without you, you know that?”
“I know nothing of the sort, but I’m happy to play my part, however small.”
Xanthe gave him a hug, laughing at the thought of such a bear of a man ever doing anything in a small way. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and left, feeling that with both Harley and Flora working as the home team while she and Liam were traveling, they were all a little bit safer.