Page 70 of The Runner
‘I know where Caroline is, by the way,’ Ralph taunted. ‘She said she had to get away from you and your kind, and now she is safe in London.’
George stared at him, thinking about how he would love to flatten his nose into his smug face.
‘What are you talking about?’ he said, trying to compose himself in his whisky soaked state. He must not let this devil get the better of him or reveal anything to him about Caroline. He didn’t know why it was so imperative, only that it was. He must protect her from this blackguard at all costs, and God help her if Ralph tracked her down when she was alone without his or her father’s protection. George had no doubt he would force her to marry him or turn her into his whore.
‘You can pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. The word is you are pining for your fine lady from court, but I know better. You’ve fallen for my Caroline, haven’t you?’ Ralph hissed as he spoke and lay a pack of playing cards on the table. ‘It is a shame because she will never be yours. The lass is too good for the likes of you.’
A muscle twitched in George’s face, and he held his fists close to his thighs below the table.
‘Are we to play cards, or did you come here only to insult me?’ asked George, his usually velvet-edged voice, steely and cold.
‘We have waited long enough. No one seems to be willing to brave the foul weather this evening so let the games begin,’ said Ralph. ‘I shall relieve you of your silver and whatever else you wish to bring to the table, soon enough, and we can be on our way.’
George regretted drinking so much and could see his opponent had a vindictive clarity about him and if he wasn’t careful, he was liable to lose the contents of his purse. But he must play… he wouldn’t bow down to this low-born fool.
Ralph downed the topped-up glass of whisky served by the eager-to-please wench.
‘So be it. What will we play for?’ George replied.
Caroline and Cara’sconsciousness were as one and she knew she was time travelling and that George was in terrible danger.
She passed another miserable night at the boarding house and cursed her impetuosity. She should have stayed at Willow Manor—at least she was safe and would know what was going on with George. When she finally drifted off to sleep despite the drunken shouts from the street below her window, it wasn’t long before she awoke in a panic; trembling, her damp shift stuck to her body from night sweats. Vivid images from her dreams flashed through her mind—she saw herself sitting with George in the present day as the family history book updated, and then she saw George in this timeline, playing cards with Ralph in Willow Wick.
Am I Caroline or Cara?
She shook her head, overwhelmed by the two conflicting realities competing for her attention. She made up her mind, and rose quickly from the narrow, bug infested mattress and dressed hurriedly, pulling her gown over her damp shift to make herself look presentable. Looking in the glass, she saw her cheeks were red and feverish, and she appeared as flustered as she felt.
I must get to Willow Wick. There is no time to waste.
She was certain the timeline was now resetting, but she didn’t know what would occur, other than what she and George had learned from the legend and from the Georgiana volume. There would be a fire—unless she could stop it, and the Cavendish family would somehow lose ownership of the estate. She must prevent it, or they would lose everything, and when she returned to present day, what would she find?
The thought of what awaited her sent a chill down her spine, and she shivered. What if George wasn’t there when she got back? Would they lose their future together after all they had been through to make things, right? Would Willow Manor still be theirs or would the timeline reset again, so it had never come back into their family? Everything depended on what happened next, and she left the boarding house, determined to reach York as soon as possible.
She decided the sensible course of action was not to return to the house, but to go to the village. If necessary, she would stay at her father’s cottage and keep her presence a secret.
Progress to York was slow. She boarded a coach to leave the city and get onto the Great North Road, but then she was deposited outside an inn where she must either borrow a horse or secure a place on another coach.
Memories of past journeys on the familiar road accosted her mind, and she remembered their dear friend, Madame Alicia, who would be long dead, but perhaps the inn would still be there. She trudged for several miles, holding the skirts of her gown so they wouldn’t trail in the mud as she headed toward where she thought the building had stood in 1536.
Already weary, her belly aching for sustenance, she pushed herself to place one foot stolidly in front of the other until she spotted a building that resembled the establishment Madame Alicia was so proud of in the Tudorville days.
She paused to catch her breath as a fierce stitch gripped her side—then walked slowly towards the front of the building but as she approached, it became clear the place was nothing more than an old, ruined shack; a shell of its former glory. Sadness consumed her whole being as she remembered Madame Alicia, and the kindness she had shown them when they had been fleeing for their lives during their time at Henry VIII’s court.
The memories of all she had lost—dear friends and familiar places—shook her, and she moved to the side of the road towards a clearing where she would be out of sight. Tears streamed down her face and for a time, she could not think clearly.
At this moment, her memory of multiple lives seemed more a curse than a rare gift. While people who lived ordinary lives must inevitably endure the loss of their loved ones, she was reminded over and over of the friends who were no more, and of those who were still with her but whom could be wiped from the timeline at any moment with a careless reset. More images flashed through her mind as Caroline’s memory updated, and she saw Madame Alicia dressed in all her finery, followed by Anne Boleyn’s sombre, dark eyes as the sword was about to wipe her elegant head from her neck. And then, hardest of all, she saw the sweet, innocent faces of their children, Thomas and May.
Will I ever see them again or am I destined to move in and out of timelines only when tragedy occurs?
The pain of her past lives rose to the surface like a festering wound and spurred her on back to George. She must find him and stop Willow Manor from ending up like this old, abandoned place. She must find him before Ralph, their old enemy, destroyed their union, as he had sworn to do in 1536.
She raised her tired limbs from the grassy mound where she had rested a while, and with resolute steps, resumed her journey on the muddy road in search of a coach to take her to Willow Wick. She must reach George before it was too late, whether they were to be together in this life or not.
CHAPTER30
Willow Manor, York - Present day
They finished breakfast,and George read the paper and Cara flicked through the Georgiana volume, hoping for inspiration, when Kate burst into the room.
