An Untimely Romance: A Time Travel Romance (14 page)

“Frankie, thank God! I
thought I was going mad.”

Freed from the immense
weight she felt, Heather jumped to her feet and flung her arms tightly around
his neck.

A rigidness to his
body, Frank pulled away and replied, “Why, surely, this cannot be.” His eyes
lowered as he familiarised himself with her. “How beautiful you are, Miss
Richardson.”

Surprised by his
formal, standoffish greeting, she frowned. “Frankie?”

He seemed different
somehow, like a stranger, and there was something unusual about his appearance.
Although his clothes were similar to before, his overly thick sideburns
dominated his face and the expression in his eyes held no warmth, their gaze
leaving her feeling quite sad.

“Frankie, don’t you
think you owe me an explanation? Why did you disappear without so much as a
goodbye?”

“My dear, that was
years ago, and from what I recall, our parting was more than affable.”

“Is our meeting all
those years ago your last recollection of us?” She shuddered as she heard
herself ask Frank the exact same question he had asked her previously.

“Miss Richardson,
regrettably I do not understand you. Forgive me, but I must take your leave. I
believe my sister has taken ill.”

With a polite bow,
Heather stood, lost for words as she watched Frank ascend the stairs before
disappearing onto the landing. No, she couldn’t lose him; he was the only
resemblance of sanity she had left.

“Frankie, wait, wait
for me!” she shouted, and in a blind panic ran up the stairs.

But there was no sign
of life, and all the bedroom doors were closed. The only sound breaking the
silence was the constant tick of the grandfather clock. Yet one door seemed to
beckon her; although closed, it held a strange reassurance. The room held none
of its former glory, the candles and fondue no more than a romantic
recollection. The chocolate essence had now faded into sweet lavender, masking
the room’s musky undertone. Life just seemed to be a constant fight with
reality. Longing for sleep, Heather pulled herself into the middle of the
four-poster bed, buried herself deep beneath the eiderdown and closed her eyes.

A Face from the Past

“M
orning, Heather. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Opening her eyes, she
felt hands softly shaking her, and her mum’s familiar and very welcome voice.

“Oh, and Ruben’s here,
helping your father.” She winked.

“Am I glad to see you!”
Heather grabbed her mum’s hand and pulled her close, feeling safe in her arms.

“Did you miss us that
much?” her mum joked.

“Oh, if only you knew,”
she sniffed.

“Tell ya what, freshen
up and we’ll spend the day together, a mother–daughter day ... if you haven’t
already made plans with Ruben. He seemed quite anxious to see you.”

“A day with you,
please,” Heather smiled. “That would be lovely. I have so much to tell you, I
don’t know where to begin...”

A knock on the door
interrupted their conversation,

“Is it safe to enter?”
Laughter bubbled up from the other side.

“She’s dressed,” her
mum called. “Come in, Ruben. I’ll leave you to it.”

“No, I don’t want to
see him, not now...” she said.
Not ever
, she thought.

“Don’t be daft, you
look just fine,” her mum muttered under her breath. “He’s a good’en, that lad,
smitten with you. Your father and I wouldn’t let just anyone take you away for
the weekend, you know... Anyway, I’ll get on with breakfast. See you downstairs
when you’re ready.”

As Faye opened the
door, Ruben stood beaming.

“Morning, beautiful!”
he called.

Faye smiled as he passed
her, entering the bedroom.

“You can drop the
facade,” Heather groaned. “There’s no one to impress now.”

“Keep ya voice down. I
haven’t come for a row, we’ve got to work together, so I suggest we’re civil to
one another,” he insisted, looking quite genuine for once, Heather thought.
“Here, left ya clothes, didn’t ya?” he said, dropping the laundry bag in the
corner of the room.

“Ruben, about last
night, I’m sorry...” Heather paused. “I was going to phone you; didn’t think I
could say what I needed to in a text.”

“I’m sorry too,” he
said, sitting on the bed next to her. “I guess we’re both guilty of saying and
doing things we didn’t mean. But you pushed me away one too many times and I
was upset, what with you and all the problems I’m having with Mum. And I guess
Beth was just there. I needed someone to talk to, and ... you know the rest.” He
looked directly into her eyes. “I could have loved you, you know, you just
never let me in.” His voice was sombre.

He leaned forward and
took her in his arms.

“Friends?” he whispered
in her ear, his voice calm.

She ached inside,
consumed by emotion, not quite finding the words to answer. So she just leant
against his chest and melted into him, her deepening breaths picking up that
scent, the aftershave to which she’d become so accustomed. She remembered the
small lines around his mouth as they pursed in wait for her kiss, the taste of
his lips, soon to be but a fading memory. As for his eyes, she’d never seen
such a colour, and once she fell into them she got lost, and wanted to stay
lost forever. She was crying inside for her lost love, for what could have
been, and with this reality came an immense pain. She knew he’d never be there
for her, and she’d never hear those three words, which she so longed for.

“Let’s pretend,” she
whispered, “please, just one last time.”

But it was too late,
there was no going back; when Ruben left her he’d be going back to Beth.
Heather felt an unbearable ache in her heart as he loosened his arms, for she
knew this would be the last time he would ever hold her. He stroked her arm
before backing away, still looking into her eyes.

“Best be off,” he said,
standing.

“I’ll see you out,”
Heather said, and smiled half-heartedly.

Opening the door, he
turned.

“You look even more
beautiful in the morning with the sun on ya face. We could have been good
together, you know...”

She followed him on to
the landing and they stood for a moment under the gaze of the grandfather
clock. That spark in his eyes hadn’t dwindled in the slightest, and the
chemistry between them was as strong as ever. Was he playing mind games again?
Was it a ploy to get what he wanted? She wanted him so badly, but regardless of
whether it was her fault, she knew it was too late. He’d gone one step too far
with Beth, and even though she loved him, there really was no going back.

Her eyes happened to
fall upon a grand oil painting, and Ruben’s eyes followed hers.

“What do you think?
Helped ya dad put it up earlier. Those old paintings weigh a bit, I’ll tell ya;
took us half an hour to get the bloody thing straight.”

“How far back do these
paintings date?” Heather asked.

The one that had caught
her eye wasn’t anything striking, painted in dark oils and depicting a man in
formal dress seated in what appeared to be a library or study against a dark
backdrop.

“As far as I’m aware,
they all date back to the nineteenth century.”

Heather gazed up again,
this time taking a more in-depth look. When she reached his face, it was more
than slightly familiar, and she gasped when she realised who was looking back
at her.

“There’s nothing
stopping us seeing each other from time to time, as friends ... if you’d like to,
of course?” Ruben said, reaching for her hand.

His eyes analysed her
reaction, but his words echoed, fading into insignificance as a past conversation
she had had with Frank came to the forefront, his words dominating her mind.
Uncanny, but so clear, Frank’s expressionless portrait glared down at her.

“When I spoke
earlier explaining that I was not of these times, I spoke only the truth, for,
my dear, there are lifetimes between us, and for only the briefest of moments
our paths, or should one say our worlds, crossed... I guess our worlds are not
worlds apart after all, so you see, the sights you have witnessed may not be as
uncanny as you first thought.”

Heather listened on as
the two conversations merged in her head. Her hands felt clammy, and her face
was ashen, having lost its youthful glow.

“Ruben, I...” And with
that, Heather remembered no more.

~•••~

Heather opened her eyes to subdued voices
and shadows dancing across the walls; she felt warm fingers between hers.
Ruben’s presence was quite unexpected, yet he sat in a chair pulled near to the
bed, holding her hand, his face masked with concern. Her mother stood on the
opposite side, seemingly lost in meaningless conversation.

“Back with us, girl?”
The first words she heard with some resemblance of sense to them.

“You fainted, so your
mother called for the doctor. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for the
last few hours, talking all sorts of nonsense.”

She felt an
overwhelming tiredness she could not remember ever feeling before. Her glands
felt swollen, impairing her airway, and her fever was taking her in and out of
consciousness.

“What’s wrong with me?”
Heather groaned, turning her head to look at Ruben.

“Don’t you remember
speaking to the doctor?”

Heather didn’t answer,
her expression blank.

“He seems to think you
have scarlet fever.” Ruben paused and looked down at his phone. “Bloody hell,
that’s never the time? Best leave you to it then,” he said, smiling up at Faye.

“While you’re saying
your goodbyes, I’ll pop and make Walter a cuppa. Expect I’ll see you in the
morning, Ruben.”

“Yeh, shift starts at
nine, so I’ll pop up on my break.”

Heather gazed into
distortion through half-open eyes, and saw a reflective figure leaving the
room.

“I’m so hot,” she
complained, pushing the covers away. “Open the window, I’m burning up.”

“No can do, you’ll get
a chill,” Ruben said, reaching over to a small tumbler of water on the bedside
table. “This might help.”

She could feel herself
trembling as he placed it in her hands, his hands covering hers, lifting it to
her lips. Summoning what little energy she had, Heather lifted her head
slightly.

“There now. Lie back;
we don’t want you overdoing it.”

There was no response
or recollection; her eyes didn’t seem to be able to focus. He plumped the
bolster around her head. She gave a weak smile as he tried to make her as comfy
as possible, and then sitting down he took her hand in his.

“I’m really sorry, I
kind of overreacted last night. I didn’t realise you were ill. I know now you
didn’t know what you were saying; you’ve been talking random shit all day. I
messed up big time. I know that. What say we forget yesterday, as if it never
happened?”

Fever raging, the
broken and incoherent words lost themselves somewhere in Heather’s head. With
no attempt at an answer, she closed her eyes.

~•••~

Heather woke to a cutting chill and an
empty room, wisps of breathy condensation and a putrid suffocation growing ever
nearer; despair, the sound of tormented weeping. Startled, she pulled herself
up, trying her best to refocus through fluttering lashes.

“Y’think ye got it bad,
I’ll show y’ bad bitch... My bad... I applaud y’, miss, for the part y’ played.”

Her senses picked up a
figure as a damp mist enveloped her.

“Open y’ eyes, miss, y’
can’t hide from me, for where y’ senses go, I go too.”

The voice was familiar.

“Anna?” Heather
questioned, but she already knew.

“Live me misery through
y’ own eyes.”

The ghostly apparition
lowered itself further, like a shroud imprinting itself on her. Her thoughts
and body were no longer her own, her reality now that of another...

Through Anna’s Eyes

A
s if in a dream state, everything seemed so strange; Heather was acting
out dark memoires from Anna’s past life, from which there seemed no escape. She
was there in the front row, watching, feeling, playing out a warped reality,
her actions involuntary, like those of a puppet. Anna’s thoughts were a book of
secrets of which Heather had been allowed to take a glimpse. At this moment in
time, although an unreality, she herself was Anna.

The masquerade’s
inhabitants danced and made merry, oblivious to their absence.

“Oh, Mr Boswel,” Anna
groaned, looking up into his eyes.

She felt a strange
familiarity with Mr Boswel, though could not place him, his face a distorted
image, like a secret Anna was not yet ready to share with her.

She could feel herself
getting aroused, and arching her body, she squeezed the eiderdown’s rich material
between her fingers. His kisses were sweet and long, and she felt the rhythmic
motion as his body moved into her, flesh rubbing, legs stiffening as his
pleasure grew. She’d never wanted anything as much as she wanted him now, and
she loved him more than life itself.
Maybe he feels the same way too
,
she thought.
He’s sure to declare his undying love for me now, rebuffed
in the past, but not by me, never by me. If my fiancé were to find out, Mr
Boswel would surly whisk me away and make everything right.
But then dark
thoughts took over. She was a sinner, she’d done wrong, and all for lust; she
was a whore and she knew it. Her thoughts took a sharp turn to her betrothed,
and her lost virginity; she knew she’d be judged.

Her eyes flickered
around the room in panic; the bedposts’ wooden carvings mutated into winged
gargoyles with grotesque features, watching her in judgment before taking
flight, the winged beings drawn to where shadows usually took refuge, flying
around the walls, cutting the corners, an unbreakable chain giving the illusion
of a perfect circle. Trespassing shards of light from the exterior eked their
way in between small fissures; a blurred vision turning the room into a
cylindrical zoetrope, a motion picture of horror that a succession of shadows
had managed to bring to life. Pleasure and horror all in one...

She closed her eyes to
the feeling of Mr Boswel’s love making.
Keep your eyes closed, Anna
, she
thought to herself;
these visions are never real, only my overactive
imagination creating pictures in my mind.
As Anna, Heather saw and
felt it all. Mr Boswel had clearly taken what he wanted, and the obsessive love
she felt for him would never be returned. But deep down Anna already knew it
could never be, as his status was far and above her own.

Both dressed with a
slight awkwardness as final words passed between them.

“Please, sir, I beg of
ye, say no more, I think it best I bid ye farewell.”

In the strangest of
ways, Heather felt an overwhelming pity for the young maid as she witnessed her
youthful vulnerability and a darker side to her nature, a well-hidden insanity.

She closed the door
behind her, and slumped to the ground. A mixture of inappropriate laughter and
cries was drowned out by the heady concertos and frivolity coming from the
lower floor. She stood, straightening her dress without emotion, an unhealthy
pallor to her face, eyes fixated as she walked down to the servants’ quarters.

“Mr Clements!”
Startled, she jumped. “What y’ doin’ ’ere at this hour? Thought yer work’in.
I’ve bin...” She stopped upon seeing his hardening expression.

Her fiancé, who had
changed out of his butler attire, stood in the dimly lit hallway, her bedroom
door ajar. Heather, seeing him through Anna’s eyes, realised he was a good ten
years her senior; a tall, thin man with an oval face, not much in the way of
colouring, his mousey hair receding slightly.

“Yes, Anna, I have it
on very good authority as to where you have been,” he said, his words tinged
with the pungent smell of alcohol.

She looked down, embarrassed
by his slurring words.

“Anna, my love, your
dress hides more than a few sins, but it will never be able to cover what you
have done this evening.”

Walking closer to her
room, Heather could feel Anna’s uncertainty. She was met with breath of stale liquor
and fingers tightening around her wrists. As the door opened, she saw movement
and heard drunken laughter; they weren’t alone.

“I beg y’, please, no.”

Panicking, beads of
sweat trickled down her forehead as terror tore through her heart. Shadowed faces
loomed towards her through the darkness, arms reaching out and forcefully
lifting her onto the bed. The butler started to undress, and the door closed.

Anna’s tormented soul
spared Heather the evils of that night, but not for the days and months that lay
ahead.

They would refer to it
as a ‘good bath’, but somehow Anna didn’t think so as they held her under to
within an inch of her life; dirt-ingrained hands of distorted white-coated
beings, looking down into the icy waters. Blue-lipped, Anna gasped for air,
fighting for breath.

“Help!” she wailed,
seized from the freezing bath by her long hair and then dragged along the stone
floors, shivering.

With grazed skin and
open wounds, semi-conscious, she gagged, passing through a network of corridors
whose whitewashed walls were smeared in excrement. She was led into a tiny
room, damp and unfurnished, where her bedraggled body was discarded on a bed of
straw, and Heather witnessed it all.

“Holler again, and
there shan’t be a next time,” the gruff voice said.

The heavy wooden door
closed, and she heard the turn of a key. There were no words of this earth that
could describe the heart-wrenching cries of madness heard as the insane walked
the corridors of the sanatorium day after day. Time passed, but how quickly she
couldn’t be sure. High in the corner of the room lay the smallest of windows,
smeared with dirt, the only way Anna had of differentiating between night and
day. Heather could see and feel the lack of any kind of normal emotion, a
capability lost by Anna a long while ago. Overwhelmed by an indescribable
hatred, she lay, deranged, screaming out one moment, laughing the next,
encapsulated by madness as the room took on a visionary picture show in her
mind. Through her repetitive humming and rocking, hour after hour, she relived
the night of the masquerade and all its guests.

“Oh, Mr Boswel, I
thought y’d neva ask...”

She stood and
curtseyed, swaying in time to the tunes playing in her head, on this occasion
graced by no beautiful gown. “Or y’ cum’in to welcome y’bastard into the world,
are ya?” Her nails ripped at her stomach. “Get this devil out ’a me!” she
screamed as the pains intensified.

She couldn’t be sure if
anyone heard her cries, but no one came. A shock of malevolent faces with demon
hands outstretched to take her, and the walls closed around her into darkness.

~•••~

Suddenly wide-awake, having been thrown
back to reality, Heather’s perspective was now her own again. Her hazy eyes
were filled with tears and distorted realities. As she opened them, warm shards
of light filtered through the bedroom window.

“Mock if you like,
Anna, but you’re the one who’s dead, not me. You’re dead, and I’m alive!”
Heather chanted, still lost in an intricate maze of bad dreams; a kaleidoscopic
reality of sickening colours erupting in her head, deranged laughter and cries
mingling together, exploding into the air.

With white-knuckled
intensity, she clawed at the bedclothes, curling herself into the foetal
position, away from harm, blood-curdling cries cavorting and rhythmical waves
haunting her mind.

“Well come on then,
what do you want from me, Anna?” she screamed out in despair.

“What are you trying to show me? And why
do you hate me so?”

The taste of salty
tears burnt against her lips as she lay shaking and sobbing.

“What the hell’s going
on?” she shrieked.

Dream or insanity she
wasn’t sure, but she couldn’t get rid of those dark pictures, the nightmares in
her head, the inhumane way in which she had witnessed Anna die. At this moment
she felt only a heartbeat away from madness, her own reality a blur.

“Mum! Ruben! Anybody?”
she pleaded, in desperate need of reassurance and comfort, but her cries of
hysteria went unheard.

Scarcely able to take
in air, she recalled the horrific visions she’d witnessed. She’d lived and breathed
every breath of Anna’s down to her last as she gave birth lying on the cold
floor of an asylum and died alone, locked away like an animal in some madhouse.
A newborn baby left cold, unclothed, crying out for its mother, who never came...
Could it really be possible she’d witnessed these events, and if so, what was
her part in them? Suddenly feeling very sorry for Anna, feeling the depth her
pain, she felt a surging emotion aimed at one person as she was hit by a sudden
realisation.

“Mr Boswel...” Heather’s
blood ran cold. “Oh my God, it’s you!” she gasped, shuddering at his entrance
and the pungent scent of lavender that he disturbed on doing so.

“Miss Richardson, my
aunt requests your company...” He paused as his eyes met with hers. “Are you
unwell?”

It was as though she
was piecing together lives from the past, yet without the pieces. Mr Boswel,
better known to her as Frankie, looked and felt so alive. She thought back and
remembered their kiss.
And God it was real
. The dated portrait on the
landing, how was that possible? Nothing made sense and her mind was a blur;
whatever question she asked herself, there was a different answer. Mr Boswel
and this room she lay in were both focal points of an unexplained torment, a
combination of intertwining destinies.

“Where am I? Where’s
Mum, and Ruben? Where’s Anna’s baby?”

Confused, Mr Boswel
drew breath.

“My aunt informed me of
your amnesia; it is obvious to me that you are out of sorts, therefore I shall
detain you no longer.” His demeanour was quite off-hand as he turned and left
her alone once again.

“Don’t leave me! Don’t
leave me!” she cried, her words merging into one.

~•••~

“Don’t leave me!”

“I won’t if you don’t
want me to.” His familiar voice was a welcome interruption.

“What’s your answer then?” Ruben asked,
after receiving a bombardment of incoherent words. “Heather, did you hear me?”

Weak and consumed by
fever, Heather couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes, not yet.

“Back with us then,
girl?”

She held her hands up
to her eyes, trembling, hardly daring to look, scared to see which reality and
terrifying pictures the room would throw at her. Breathing deeply, she was able
to compose herself, and managed to pluck an ounce of courage from somewhere.
She peeked through half-open eyes, surveying the room as best she could.
Sighing inwardly, she decided all was well.

“Ruben!” She sat up and
flung her arms around him, burying her head into the nape of his neck,
tightening her grip around his shoulders. “You don’t know what it means to me
that you’re here. Don’t leave me, not ever.”

“Think you’ve answered
my question then.” He smiled, a smugness to his tone, before cradling her in
his arms.

Although confused as to
what he was referring to, she felt far too weak to question it. Ensconced in
the warmth of his body, the darkened shadows gracing the walls held no fear.

“Please don’t leave
me,” she murmured.

“I won’t, I’ll never
leave you,” he replied, kissing her softly. “I’ll make things right between
us,” he whispered. “I promise.”

“Ruben, there is one
thing you must do for me.”

“Anything, just tell
me.”

“Get me out of this
room.”

“Ya mum and dad won’t
be too happy with that.”

“It’s my decision.
Please? I just need to be in my own bed.”

Without question, he
slipped his arms beneath her, taking her weight. Once again she closed her eyes
and leaned in to him.

“Best get ya out of
that dress, eh?” he mumbled.

Too tired to attempt
any kind of a reply, Heather’s next recollection was the undulation of the
stairs, before being laid down gently in the safety of her room. She felt the
release, the silken material of her dress as it was removed from her body, and
then the crispness of the bed covers, inviting against her skin.

The few weeks that
followed were a blur, as were the visits from her parents and Ruben; hours
filled with lost conversation as she slept her way back to health.