Page 16 of The Runner
Cara appeared in the doorway with a circular tray holding three freshly brewed cups of tea, her chestnut hair gleaming in the sunlight like a halo. ‘What are you up to? I thought you might fancy a cuppa.’
‘Marvellous idea,’ said Eddie, beaming at the sight of his through-the-centuries time travelling companion and the mistress of Willow Manor. ‘George was just telling me about your plans for the house.’
‘Did he mention we are thinking of reopening a wing of the house as a boutique hotel for the centre visitors?’
Eddie reached for one of the cups, raised it to his lips and blew on the tea. ‘No, we didn’t get that far. I was just remarking how recognisable the place is to me even though I haven’t seen much of it since Tudorville.’
Cara passed a cup to George and perched on the edge of a wooden bench as she drank hers. ‘It’s peculiar, isn’t it? George remembers nothing, but I keep getting these flashes of things that used to be in the house and thereabouts.’
‘It would be splendid if we could restore it closely to how it was in 1536 when we lived here,’ said Eddie.
‘Yes, although there’s a strong imprint of the Georgian era on the house too, so it’s a blend. I think it’s a wonderful example of how house styles develop through the years,’ said Cara.
They sipped their tea in quiet contemplation as rays of sun seeped in through the stained-glass windows, casting coloured spindles of light onto the flagstones.
‘I miss the children, you know. It might be five hundred years in linear time, but in quantum time, it doesn’t seem long since we were in the schoolroom working on their lessons,’ said Eddie.
‘I know what you mean. I miss them dreadfully,’ said Cara. ‘I try to console myself by thinking that at least we didn’t mess up the timeline and they are safe and living their lives.’
Eddie tapped Cara’s shoulder, like you might console a small child.
George pushed his floppy hair off his forehead, as though he were swatting away a fly. ‘What else would you like to see, Eddie?’
‘I bet I can guess,’ said Cara, her tone playful, belying the tension in her knotted stomach. ‘I imagine you are itching to see the priest hole.’
‘You know me too well,’ said Eddie.
‘Pass your cups and I’ll pick up the tray on the way back. Although, our new housekeeper whizzes about the place as silently and fast as a genie, so it probably won’t be here when we come out of the library. Did I mention she’s Swifty’s mother?’
‘Swifty? As in our Swifty? I had no idea he was here, never mind his mother too,’ he replied, pulling a comical face.
‘Oh yes, he’s the head gardener. I bumped into him when I visited the hotel to look for the Bank of England vault key George hid in the lovers’ fountain. Didn’t I tell you?’
‘Oh, yes, that’s right, you did, but I didn’t realise Swifty still worked here.’
‘I’ll introduce you if we see him, but don’t be disappointed if he doesn’t recognise you,’ said Cara.
Eddie nodded. ‘Another sleeper traveller like Carlos…’ He followed them up the ornate winding stairsand wondered what surprises they had in store for him in this great old house.
Willow Manor,York - Georgiana
Caroline had turnedout to be a proficient rider and looked forward to their outings since she began riding every day with Olivia.
‘You’re a natural,’ observed Olivia. ‘It’s almost as though you’ve been riding all your life.’
Caroline hadn’t disliked riding—she wasn’t given the opportunity to do much of it in Willow Wick and had imagined it would be more difficult, so she hadn’t been on a horse for years.
She had no recollection of her past life as Lady Cavendish, mistress of Willow Manor, and the wife of Lord Cavendish, the earl. In 1536, she had been a much-admired horse woman, and as lady-in-waiting to Anne Boleyn and later to Jane Seymour, she rode alongside them regularly. Caroline had no memory of galloping through the grounds of Willow Manor with her husband, cantering around Hampton Court Palace or riding from London to York when they fled from Henry VIII’s army with a price on their heads.
She put her sudden ability to ride down to a fortunate twist of fate and then promptly dismissed it.
One early afternoon after lessons, when the weather was perfect for riding; sunny but not too oppressive for their formal riding habits, Caroline and Olivia went racing across the estate at the back of the great house, thundering towards the post they had marked as the end of their race. Olivia was a daredevil and adored riding fast. Caroline liked to win. Her hair tumbled from beneath her hat and flew behind her like a gleaming flag as they galloped, riding neck and neck towards the finish line. Olivia won the race by a hair’s breadth and punched her arm in the air.
‘I’ll beat you next time,’ said Caroline.
They didn’t notice George riding towards them, and he appeared suddenly and towered over them on his magnificent black horse.
‘Good afternoon,’ he said, bowing his head formally.
