The Hands of Time Read online

  Chapter 11

  Present Day

  Louisa sat across from Mrs. Bradford in the empty dining room, her hands wrapped around an untouched cup of coffee. It was Monday morning, and DI Mason and Sergeant Hawes from Plymouth had left the night before to return to their own district and file their report. She’d meddled in their investigation all weekend, but they didn’t uncover much more than Constable Tomkins. Valerie had vanished into thin air. There were no clues to be found, and the forensic’s expert who arrived with the Detective Inspector found absolutely nothing at the scene, except Valerie’s fingerprints and a few strands of her hair that must have fallen from her dress. There were no signs of struggle, nothing missing, and not a single witness to the disappearance. The trail had grown cold, and now Louisa was faced with the prospect of calling mom and dad, and telling them that their younger daughter had vanished from a peaceful fishing village in the middle of the afternoon.

  Mrs. Bradford looked at Louisa with undisguised sympathy, not knowing what to say. What did one say in a situation like that? She’d seen Valerie shortly before she left, and the girl seemed in good spirits, talking about the sketches of the castle ruins that she left in her room. She was off to the harbor to have lunch. Nothing sinister about that. Something niggled at Mrs. Bradford’s memory, and she finally managed to put her finger on it.

  “Louisa, dear, I don’t know if this is any help, but I just remembered something odd. “ Louisa’s head snapped up, her eyes full of hope and Mrs. Bradford could have kicked herself for getting the girl’s hopes up. “It’s not about your sister,” she said apologetically. “It’s just that I suddenly recalled a similar case about thirty years ago. I believe it was 1980 or 1981 when a young woman, a tourist, disappeared in much the same way. I could have sworn it was from the same shop.”

  “Are you sure, Mrs. Bradford? That would be some coincidence. Can you remember anything else about the case?” Louisa looked slightly more hopeful, and Mrs. Bradford tried hard to recall the details.

  “I was around your age when it happened, and it was quite a to-do at the time. The young woman was from some Eastern European country, and the assumption was that she’d defected. They searched all the airports and sea ports, but she never turned up. She had a strange name, Hungarian, I believe. She didn’t take any of her things, and her purse was still in her room with her passport and all her money. She was last seen going into the antique shop, but no one saw her come out. Did the police search the premises?”

  “They searched the place from top to bottom. There’s no basement and no secret doors or compartments anywhere. There’s no place to hide a person, if that’s what you’re suggesting. Mr. Taylor was very accommodating and showed the Inspector every nook and cranny of the place. Nothing.” Louisa was there when the search took place, and she was satisfied with the knowledge that Mr. Taylor wasn’t some maniac who lured young women down into the cellar, and kept them captive as his sex slaves.

  “I’ll look up the case, though. 1980 you said?” Louisa was already at the computer, logging into her account and searching the key phrases. A short story came up as a result of the search. It seemed that a Hungarian student by the name of Erzsebet Szabo, who was in the UK on a student visa, had vanished from the area on August 17th, 1981. It was believed that the young woman didn’t want to return to her native Hungary, and acquired a false passport which she used to establish a new identity for herself. The girl’s family disputed the story, claiming that their daughter had been kidnapped. Erzsebet was never found.

  “Not much to go on, Mrs. Bradford,” said Louisa gloomily. “Anyway, this was nearly thirty years ago, and could hardly be relevant.”

  Louisa logged off and returned to the table to get her bag. It was time to go to work, and since she couldn’t think of a single better option, she headed for the door. She’d call her parents later. She simply couldn’t bring herself to speak the words out loud just yet. She kept hoping for a miracle. Maybe Valerie would simply show up after having some strange memory lapse, due to the stress of Michael’s wedding. She knew it wasn’t really plausible, but one could hope.

  Chapter 12

  June 1605

  I eyed the horse suspiciously as Robbie led her out of the stable, all saddled and ready to go. I’d been on horseback once or twice, but it was years ago on vacation to Mexico, and I couldn’t get off the old nag fast enough. The horse, appropriately named Snowflake due to her white coat, was eyeing me back, apparently full of doubts as well.

  “She is so old, it’s a wonder she is not dead yet. She cannot do anything more than walk sedately, so stop fretting and let me give you a leg up.” Finn had been patiently waiting for me to mount, but he was getting restless. “Do you want to see the ruins or not?”

  I nodded consent and allowed Finlay to help me mount the horse. Finn vaulted onto his own rather spirited looking stallion, and Robbie slapped Snowflake on the rump to spur her into action. The horse gave Robbie a filthy look and walked slowly through the gate. So far so good, I thought, as I gripped the saddle until my knuckles turned white. We trotted down the road leading away from the castle, and then Finn turned off onto a narrow track that led into the woods. It looked as if no one had come this way for a while. I began to relax slightly since we could only go single file, and the horse was walking, rather than trotting. The trees formed a leafy canopy over our heads, only narrow shafts of light illuminating the path as we pushed further into the woods. I could hear the chirping of insects and snatches of birdsong, but otherwise the forest was quiet and peaceful. Finn turned around and gave me a smile. “Almost there. It’s about a quarter mile up the track.”

  The trees finally thinned out, and we came out into a small clearing, overgrown with grass and wildflowers. The Abbey was at the far side of the meadow. Finn jumped off his horse and helped me down, before hobbling the horses and walking through the tall grass toward the ruins. The Abbey must have been pretty in its day, but there wasn’t too much left of the Gothic-looking structure. The roof was completely gone and the gray, stone walls were crumbling, exposing shards of colored glass still stuck in some of the windows, and a few rotting pews made of dark wood. There were several statues in various degrees of destruction, some still standing in their niches, and some broken and lying on the floor, which was covered with weeds and broken branches. Several saplings had managed to take root in the crevices of the floor, making the place look even more wild and abandoned than mere decay. The far wall of the Abbey was surprisingly intact, the remnants of the crucifix hanging above the cracked, stone altar. The body of Jesus still hung on the cross, but the head had been cleaved off and lay below the altar mournfully looking up at its body. The place gave me the creeps, so I turned to step back into the sunshine of the summer morning with Finn following me.

  “It’s awful. It feels so violated.” I shuddered, and wrapped my arms around myself, as I passed a statue of the Virgin Mary whose face was almost completely hacked off. “How could God-fearing men do such a thing even if they chose to worship differently?” I was outraged, and turned to Finn for agreement. I found him watching me intently, not saying anything, and suddenly I understood what he was trying to figure out.

  I was brought up in the age of religious tolerance, and knew people of many different faiths who managed to co-exist and respect each other’s beliefs. People openly admitted their religious denomination without fear of persecution or discrimination. In this age, being the wrong religion could mean the difference between life and death, liberty and imprisonment and I’d overheard Finn saying they were Catholics. This Abbey was more than just a ruin to him. It was a symbol of the stamping out of his faith in the country of his birth, and he was looking to see if I felt the same. It wouldn’t do to ask me straight out, so he brought me here hoping to discern my religious affiliation based on my reaction to the vicious destruction of the little church.

  “Catholic,” I said and walked away from the ruin. Finn came running after me, not con
vinced. “Will you say the Pater Noster with me in Latin then?” I was fairly sure that Protestants used the same prayer, but I supposed saying it in Latin would be proof enough for Finlay, so I sank to my knees in the grass, bowed my head in the direction of the Church and began to recite the Pater Noster from memory.

  Our Father who art in heaven,

  hallowed be thy name.

  Thy kingdom come.

  Thy will be done

  on earth as it is in heaven.

  Give us this day our daily bread,

  and forgive us our trespasses,

  as we forgive those who trespass against us,

  and lead us not into temptation,

  but deliver us from evil.

  He joined me, and we finished the prayer together, crossing ourselves as we finished with “Amen.”

  “Did you bring me here to test me?” I wasn’t really angry with him, just a little surprised by his cunning. “Is that why you mentioned the Monastery in the first place, to see my reaction?”

  “Partly. I had to know. Being Catholic is a dangerous business in England, even for the King. He is so afraid to anger the Protestants, that he persecutes his own people to prove his loyalty.” Finn sounded angry, and I understood what the conversation I overheard had been about. If someone overheard Finn making these comments about the King, he could be arrested for treason. This was no modern-day England where you could mock the Royals and write trashy stories about them in the Daily Mirror.

  “Would you like to see the rest? The monastery is just there, in the woods.” He walked ahead without waiting for my answer, and I followed feeling sympathetic and annoyed at the same time. What was left of the monastery was deeper in the woods to the left of the Abbey, and I walked through the broken gate after Finn, entering what must have been the courtyard. The well in the center had long since dried up, and the buildings surrounding the square yard were almost completely destroyed. Finn pointed out what had been the barn, the granary, the dining hall and the living quarters. The roofs were rotted away and only the stone walls of the dormitory remained. Finn took me by the hand and led me into the opening in the wall, showing me some remaining cells. They were tiny, with just a cot, and a small desk and chair. Most of the furniture was broken, but you could still imagine how the place must have looked. I picked up a broken crucifix off the floor, and hung it back up on the nail in the wall, trying to imagine the monk who once lived and prayed in this cell before being cast out into the world he renounced. He must have felt much like me, bewildered and afraid, not knowing who to turn to in his time of need.

  “How many monks lived here? What happened to them?”

  “I think it was about forty. Most of them fled, but a few fools tried to fight and were cut down for their pains. They did not stand a chance against a gang of armed men intent on looting and destruction. The ones that survived probably made it to France or Italy, and were taken in by monasteries there.” Finn followed me into the sunshine and toward the gate. I just wanted to leave this place. It made me feel desolate, and I just wanted to go back to the horses. This wasn’t like looking at some ancient ruins. This was all too real and too recent. I could almost see the panicked monks running away, trying to save what they could, and being pursued by armed men on horseback, running them down, swords coming down in a glint of steel and death.

  We walked to the horses in silence. Finlay took a blanket attached to his saddle and spread it in the shade of a leafy tree inviting me to sit. He pulled out a leather flask and took a long pull before passing it to me. The brandy tasted good, so I took a healthy swallow before returning the flask. He drank again and offered me an apple.

  “Thanks, you have it.” I lay back on the blanket and looked through the sun-dappled leaves at the cloudless sky above, as Finlay bit into the apple. Somewhere not too far away, a thrush was singing its heart out and the ruins of the Abbey once again looked picturesque rather than sinister across the meadow. I closed my eyes for a moment enjoying the peaceful surroundings, and opened them abruptly when the sun was blocked out, and I found my face in the shade. Finn was lying on his side, supported on one elbow, his head blocking the sun. His green eyes looked dark and intense, and I suddenly realized that this was the closest I’d been to any man since Mike and I began dating all those years ago. He looked and smelled different than a man from my own time, but I couldn’t deny the attraction I felt. Mike had always been clean-shaven and smelled of soap and aftershave, but Finn had a goatee framing his generous lips, and smelled of leather warmed by the sun, musk and horseflesh. I had to admit that I didn’t find the smell repulsive, quite the opposite. I suddenly reached out a hand and touched his lean cheek, passing my thumb over his bottom lip. That was all the encouragement he needed, and his lips came down on mine, firm and demanding an answer. I gave him one by pulling him closer and kissing him back with abandon.

  Finlay seemed a little surprised by my reaction, pausing for just a second, but then his kiss became more intense, and I felt his hand close over my breast, his thumb caressing the nipple through the thin fabric of my gown. Making love with Michael had become so routine and tense, that my own reaction took me completely by surprise. I found myself tugging at the ties of Finn’s doublet and putting my hand beneath his shirt to feel his chest. His heart was beating fast, and I could feel his arousal through the cloth breeches he was wearing. His head moved down to the bodice of my gown, and he pushed down the fabric to expose my breast to his lips. I closed my eyes and threw my head back, trembling with pleasure and wanting more. Finn shifted his weight off me, and I felt his eager hand move up my leg, finding the bare flesh above the silk stocking; his fingers stroking and probing, bringing me to heights of pleasure I forgot I could reach. He withdrew his hand long enough to undo the laces of his breeches and I wrapped my legs around him, urging him on, taking everything he had to give me and giving him all of myself in return.

  As Finn collapsed on top of me panting, a line from Hemingway’s “For Whom the Bell Tolls” ran through my mind. “Did you feel the earth move?” I did. The earth definitely moved, and I wrapped by arms around Finn, holding him close and wishing he’d never leave me. Finally, he raised his head and looked down at me. “You weren’t a maid,” he said without reproach.

  “I was married.”

  “So where is your husband?” He didn’t seem angry, just curious. I suspected that making love to a married woman would not make Finn run to the nearest confessional.

  “He is gone, long gone.” I looked up at him to see his reaction. Finlay gave me a beautiful smile and kissed me soundly on the mouth. “Good, you are all mine then.”

  Eventually, we got up and started for the castle. I rode behind Finn through that green tunnel and wondered about the immediate future. What would happen now? How would our relationship change, especially since I was now living in his home? What would Alec say?

  “Finn?” I called to his back. He turned around, “Hmm?”

  “Can we not tell Alec?” I asked timidly.

  “I was not planning to make an announcement, but there is no shame in what we did. I would never do anything to dishonor you.” He gave me a warm smile, and I felt reassured. I wondered where Finn saw this going. From my understanding of the times, there wasn’t much between being a whore and a wife, unless you settled for the life of a mistress. Is that what I’d just become? I supposed that would be the desired outcome. I certainly didn’t want to be anyone’s whore, and the idea of marrying Finn was ludicrous, especially since I fervently hoped to return to my own time. I wasn’t in love with him. I had just been seeking warmth and comfort from another human being in a time of great confusion and fear. Finn made me forget everything but him for that short time, and I was more than willing to let him do it again and again.

  Chapter 13

  Finlay watched Valerie disappear inside, as Robbie led the horses away to be fed and watered and walked into the stable. He was utterly confused, and called back to Robbie to bring back h
is horse. He needed a good gallop to clear his head and swung into the saddle, tearing through the gate at breakneck speed. At first, he was just curious about the girl. She was very beautiful with her shiny, dark hair and eyes that were more violet than blue, and he felt an urge to protect her from whatever it was that sent her to the house of strangers, rather than return to her own home. She was obviously educated, intelligent and spirited, not to mention passionate. He had known many women, but most of them were either paid to participate in the act, or lay there just giving themselves to him like a gift to be unwrapped. The older women were more experienced, but he didn’t want them. They did not stir his blood, and he politely refused their advances.

  Valerie was young and shy, yet she had given herself to him with innocent abandon, wanting to please him as much as wanting to be pleased. He had just left her, and already he felt himself stirring again, wanting to turn back and run up to her room, catching her in a state of undress and tumbling her onto the bed. He knew he wanted to get married at some point in the future, but he had never actually met anyone he wanted to marry up until now. He reined in his horse, shocked at the thought that had just passed through his mind. Was he really thinking of marriage? Well, why not? She might not have fortune or family, but he did not care about that. She had touched his soul, and her solemn recital of the Pater Noster confirmed to him that she was a Catholic like him, which was an important factor in choosing a wife. Hell, he just might have found himself a bride. Finn dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and flew over the road buoyed by his decision.