Page 2 of The Runner
Cara was too intrigued to ignore the mysterious hole and reached out to push the shelf, even though she hadn’t consciously decided she would. It was cumbersome and took all her might to shift. As she pressed her weight against it and leaned into it, the gap gradually widened until there was enough space for her to enter. Her historian’s curiosity made it impossible for her to resist, even though she was fearful of dark, confined spaces and her pulse raced at the thought of what awaited her behind the old musty wall. She drew a deep breath, and took one tentative step through the gap and placed her right foot forward until it hit solid ground. She sighed with relief, but her heart still raced.
Cara and George had bold plans and the last thing she wanted was to have to deal with the drama of time travelling to Tudorville again. She worried she might be swallowed up and instantly swept away by the vortex. But no—there had been no sign of swirling, freezing cold air enveloping her and no feeling of being unable to control her movements. Everything seemed perfectly normal, apart from the black hole taunting her to step inside and explore its hidden depths.
She hesitated, one leg in the ominous gap in the wall, and for a second, she considered whether she should call George to join her, rather than entering alone. But then she remembered he would still be busy on an early morning conference call. Not renowned for her patience, she swung her other leg into the vacuum and planted her left foot firmly next to the right. She looked about to try to make out her surroundings, but the dark was too dense to see anything. Her nose crinkled at the smell pervading her nostrils, and the air was cold. Not vortex cold—just old house cold and what one would expect in an unheated portion of a hundreds-of-years old building. She took a few shallow breaths to calm her racing heart without inhaling more of the stale, dank air, and then she stood there wondering how she could continue on in such dense blackness.
After a moment, she stepped back into the safety of the library. She couldn’t explore the passageway without a torch, and she reminded herself that she didn’t have to go in at all. Everything wasn’t paranormal just because she could time travel. There was nothing strange about finding an old passageway or a secret tunnel in a house as ancient as Willow Manor.
Was there?
As she crossed the room, she chided herself for being fanciful, and then quickly rallied her spirits and got down to practicalities, guided by her historian’s sharp instincts. She rummaged through the drawers in the ornate writing desk, one by one, until her fingers touched and then grasped a small torch in the bottom, dustiest drawer.
Memories of Tudorville filled her mind once again, and she saw a version of herself sitting at the elegant writing desk which overlooked the gardens, writing her correspondence almost five hundred years ago. She clearly remembered the events of 1536 when Anne Boleyn was beheaded, and later that year she became Queen Jane Seymour’s lady-in-waiting, and her and George were embroiled in the Pilgrimage of Grace, which was the most dangerous of the Tudor uprisings.
Cara was happier than she’d ever been. After a tumultuous start to their present-day romance, everything had worked out perfectly between them. More than perfectly—she never imagined she could be so in tune with her partner, but they were aligned in every way and more content than she had ever dared hope.
The Twin Flames were not only blissfully married but had even managed, through a series of fantastical time travel events, to bring the Cavendish ancestral estate, Willow Manor, back into the family.
Sylvia, the psychic and Cara’s trusted advisor, had explained that their Twin Flame mission was triggered because thousands of years ago, their souls had created a spiritual contract to attain unconditional love. Only when they succeeded would they reach what the mystics called “Ascension”. And their souls wouldn’t rest until they did. Twin Flames were typically put through a series of heart-wrenching and seemingly impossible to overcome challenges until they learned the lessons their souls were on earth to learn. Cara and George’s mission was even more complex because they were multi-generational Twin Flames, which is why their ability to time travel had been activated and they were conscious of their past lives.
Cara stood, straightened her stiff back, and stretched her arms above her head, trying to get some energy running through her body for the task ahead. She was getting distracted, and the sooner she checked out what was in the hidey-hole, the sooner she could get on with organising the books as she had intended when she entered the library. There was a mountain of work to do before the grand opening, and the library was one of the key rooms they planned to open to the public, so she couldn’t afford to spend any more time on fanciful fools’ errands.
Cara squared her shoulders, took another deep breath, and resolutely entered the black opening in the wall until her whole body was tucked neatly behind the open bookshelf and in the space. She moved forward, one cautious step at a time, following the narrow beam of the torch, trying to make out what was in front of her. There was a wall on either side and a narrow passage lay in front of her for as far as she could see the tip of the light.
Nothing extraordinary, so far other than the space seemed larger than a traditional priest hole. The parts of the walls she glimpsed were coated in thick cobwebs and illuminated the old stone to give the walls a shiny hue, which cast an eerie glow throughout the passage as she moved. Cara pulled her cardigan tightly around her, but it did nothing to stop the tremor reverberating through her body. She was cold, and she second-guessed her decision to explore alone.
The floor was hard and freezing beneath the soles of her sandals, and the chilly air clawed at her skin as she continued to edge forward cautiously, shuffling like an elderly person on an ice rink. She sneezed abruptly, and the torch shook and created a prism of lighteffect. The torch illuminated an enormous spider, which scooted across the wall, and Cara let out a high-pitched scream.
Her heartbeat raced ever faster. She regretted not waiting for George to join her. It would be so much more fun with him alongside. He wouldn’t like that she’d rushed in without him, and she imagined him telling her off in his good-natured fashion, when she told him what she’d done. The thought of being back with him; telling him what had happened, calmed her down and distracted her.
He said she was too hasty for her own good. Despite her reaction to the spider, her mind soon churned with positive possibilitiesas she moved forward through the narrow space. Her desire to uncover something new from the past spurred her on through her veil of fearful thoughts.
If it was a priest hole, they could open it up for visitors and she was certain it would be a wonderful attraction for the Tudor Heritage Centre. They could get a spread inThe York Pressand be featured in some specialist history magazines, which would be brilliant for the opening. Her mind continued to whirr with ideas as she inched forward through the dark tunnel.
How big is this priest hole?
After several more steps, she approached what looked like a wall ahead of her and she assumed she must be reaching the end of the priest hidey-hole. Cara shone the torch sideways and upwards, but there wasn’t anything to see other than the wall and the stone ceiling. She reached out to touch the wall with her left hand and clutched the torch with the other. Both her hands shook slightly, and adrenaline shot through her as another wave of fear clutched at her and her skin tingled. Her hand fumbled about, looking for a firm surface, but to her surprise, her fingers touched nothing solid like she expected. She aimed the torch at the wall, and there it was illuminated reassuringly once more. She reached out to pat it, but her hand met no resistance, so she tilted her upper body further forward in case she wasn’t quite close enough. But there was only more air and space. As she continued to lean forward, fumbling about and trying to reach the wall, the torch slipped from her hand and bounced and ricocheted along the hard floor; the noise echoing through the empty space as it disappeared from view.
Oh shoot.
She was about to turn and flee from the dark passageway back to the warmth of the welcoming library because the thought of staying in there without the torchlight freaked her out. But when she heard the noise, her whole body stiffened. The familiar whooshing sound filled the passageway. A cloud of freezing cold air enveloped her and seeped over her skin. She lost her footing and screamed as she tumbled forwards into the vortex. And then she was gone.
CHAPTER2
Willow Manor, York - Georgiana (1729)
Caroline claspedher hands together in her lap as she sat in the plush velvet armchair in the library of the grand old house. This was her first time inside Willow Manor; she’d only ever seen the magnificent Tudor house from the grounds when she and some of the other village children occasionally ventured near the edge of the sprawling estate.
Caroline discreetly cast her eyes about the room as Lady Margaret Cavendish consulted her diary and gave her details of what would be required of her if she accepted the post as governess and companion to her daughter, Olivia.
‘Does the position sound satisfactory to you?’ asked the countess, whose demeanour was business like, but whose brown eyes twinkled as though she were secretly amused by life and was not quite as serious as she seemed.
Caroline thought that despite her formal appearance, the countess’s eyes revealed a measure of kindness that she hadn’t expected to find in the higher classes. Her father had spoken well of the countess and encouraged her to accept the post, so Caroline’s intentions were already set as she hurried across the fields and down the footpath, which was a well-known shortcut from the village to Willow Manor. Her father said the lady of the house had a reputation for being formidable, yet fair, and she was well respected by the villagers. He knew the countess when he was a young man earning his teaching stripes at the new local school, which was the unusual initiative of the Cavendish family. Mistress Margaret—who hadn’t yet become a countess—had frequently accompanied her mother on charitable duties to the school and in the village. The Cavendish family were popular in the community and, as the only big house in the region, many of the villagers worked on the Cavendish estate and lived on the land.
‘Caroline? A penny for your thoughts, dear. Is being governess to my daughter, Olivia, acceptable to you?’
Caroline, deep in thought, imagined her father and the formidable countess meeting as youngsters, and had forgotten she was supposed to be listening and hadn’t heard one word her potential mistress said. She snapped herself back to the library and smoothed her shabby skirts with one hand before raising her eyes respectfully. ‘I gratefully accept your offer of the position and thank you, my lady.’
The countess released an audible sigh and smiled at Caroline as their eyes met once more. ‘That’s settled then. I too am very pleased to have you with us; Miss Olivia needs sensible company and a firm hand. She’s a good-hearted child but easily distracted with girlish nonsense, so I shall rely on you to guide her to attend more readily to her studies and set a good example of an educated young woman. Your father stated in our correspondence that you surpass most educated men in your learning, which is a credit to you both. I have no wish to raise my girl unschooled, which is unfortunately how it is for most young ladies.’
