Beyond Time

CHAPTER 1

  She lifted her hand to her cheek as the familiar sting of winter hit her face. An air of urgency and purpose had come over the city. The light began to dim and Grace realized that nightfall was fast approaching. Tiny flakes of snow drifted from a heavily laden sky. She fixed her eyes on the orange glow of a street light and watched the snow as it floated to the ground. A knot of fear and loneliness tightened in her stomach as she scanned a narrow street to the side of the Minster.

  Solitude had become her sanctuary, but just at the moment, Grace’s heart weighed heavily and her thoughts strayed to home. She wondered when her absence would be noticed or whether anyone would actually care. She doubted they would. Her own mother and father believed she was neurotic, spoilt and teetering on the edge of a fashionable nervous breakdown. Besides, they were in America enjoying what they deemed to be a well-earned retirement. Jenny thought her the devil itself and as for Jack, she was quite convinced the only thing he would miss was his verbal punch bag. Oh, and perhaps his housekeeper and cook, but he could hire one of those just as easily.

  She understood all this, yet still she missed the familiarity of home. But she reminded herself, she was free and no amount of stomach churning and homesickness was going to drive her back to that man. Filling her lungs with much needed air, she headed for a door, above which hung a sign advertising ‘The Cavalier Hotel’.

  As with most buildings in the inner city of York, this modernized townhouse lay in the shadows of the Minster. In fact it stood rather dwarfed beside the Minster. It was comfortable, clean and not too expensive. Her room had a small en suite bathroom, a television, a double bed, a single free-standing wooden wardrobe and a small desk on which stood a kettle and two cups.

  “This will do very nicely,” she whispered to the generic, nameless portrait on the wall as she set her suitcase in the corner by the window. Turning to face the portrait, she studied it silently.

  “Who were you?” she asked, addressing the portrait once more. “Your eyes tell me you were a kind man, but not one I would like to be on the wrong side of either. Well, I guess we are kinda stuck with each other, at least until I can find some real people to talk to. So, what do you say, shall we have a coffee?” Grace lifted the lid of the kettle and made her way into the en suite.

  “How do you like your coffee?” she called to the portrait as she rinsed the kettle and filled it with clean water. “Always better to rinse these things out, you never know how long they have been left standing.”

  Returning the kettle to its base she flicked the switch.

  “Sorry, I didn’t catch what you said. Was that... ” she stopped and stared at the portrait, “... you look like a black coffee type of man to me. So shall we call it black, no sugar? Of course you don’t want sugar. You’ve probably never heard of sugar.”

  Shaken from her thoughts by the sound of boiling water, Grace reached for the switch and flicked it up.

  “I really have got to get myself a life. What am I like? Standing here talking to a portrait and offering it coffee. Dear, dear, me... And you can stop looking at me,” she said, addressing the picture again. “Those damn eyes of yours! They make me feel as though you are as curious about me as I am about you. Right, I’m not doing this; I’m really not talking to a damn picture.”

  First thing in the morning she planned to register with every employment agency in the city; to change her address with the bank and buy herself a new cell phone. Grace ran her fingers over the ridged buttons of her Blackberry. She had switched it off when she boarded the train, vowing never to use it again. The idea of dropping it in a bin at the station had crossed her mind. But then the thought that it may be found and used to trace her had made her slide it back into the pocket of her jeans.

  Feeling lonely and lost she clutched the cell tightly to her chest. Her eyes closed and she saw her daughter’s disapproving frown, the hatred etched in her eyes by her father. A single sob escaped her and she realized she was crying.

  The sun hadn’t risen when Grace finally gave up her bid for sleep. Her stomach growled as she pulled on her jeans, a timely reminder that she hadn’t eaten in over twenty four hours. Grabbing her handbag, she quietly pulled the door to her room open and ventured into the hall.

  The homely smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted past her as she pushed her way into McDonalds. A daily newspaper lay on one of the tables. She wondered if Jack would be reading his paper. When he was home it was one of his daily rituals to read the Daily Mail at breakfast.

  He was a creature of habit, a man who could not function without the structure of repetition. At precisely half past six every morning he would seat himself at the long dining room table, unfold his newspaper and reach for a cup of coffee. At precisely quarter to seven, Grace would serve him two six minute boiled eggs with two slices of toast. At seven o’clock, Jack would rise from the table and make his way to the front door where he would collect his leather sling bag and car keys and would disappear through the front door. A shudder rippled through her as she pulled her eyes from the newspaper.

  “Hello, can I get you something?” the boy behind the counter called.

  “Oh, sorry... err... can I get a white coffee – two sugars – and a bacon roll, please?”

  “Is that a meal?”

  “A meal?” she asked confused.

  “With a hash brown or without?” he sighed in irritation.

  “Without, please?”

  “Fine. Is that to eat in or take out?”

  “Eat in, I think.”

  “Take a seat and I’ll bring it over to you,” he said, in a singsong voice that hid neither his boredom with his job or irritation at her.

  Blowing gently over the top of the coffee cup, Grace scanned the tourist map she had found on her way out of the hotel. It was difficult to make out where the employment agents were by comparing the map to the phonebook addresses she’d taken from the hotel lobby, or indeed if there were any agencies in the city.

  The map wasn’t directed at single thirty-somethings looking for their first proper job and a new life. She picked at the roll, eventually dropping it back into the small brown paper bag in which it had come. The coffee she finished, before collecting her rubbish and disposing it in the purpose built waste bin next to her table.

  ‘Time to face the big wide world’, she whispered, buttoning her coat and braced herself for the cold morning air.

  Nine o’clock on the dot, Grace found herself outside what looked to be a respectable little employment agent. A card in the window advertised a temporary administrative and reception role. The only skills required for the job were the ability to type and a nice telephone manner. Grace had no idea if she had a nice telephone manner or not, but she knew that typing wasn’t going to be a problem. Fifteen years as a Vicar’s wife and a typing course – funded by the Vicar himself – had trained her well in the use of a keyboard.

  A woman in her early twenties, with masses of flaming red curls, bustled up to the door and hastily pushed a key into the lock. Grace followed her through the door and waited patiently whilst the woman pulled a chair out and sat down behind a desk.

  “Sorry, to keep you waiting, been one of those mornings and we are a bit short staffed here at the moment. Now what can I do for you?”

  “I was just enquiring about the job you have advertised in the window, the one looking for a temporary administrator and receptionist.”

  “Do you have any qualifications?”

  “Well, I have a degree in history and a certificate that says I can type.”

  “What was your last job?”

  “I worked for fifteen years as a Vicar’s wife. The role was mainly administrative and fronting up social events for the church.”

  “Right, when can you start?”

  “Now?” Grace replied more in question than statement.

  “Excellent! I’m Kate and you are?”

  “Err... Grace, my name is Grace.”

  “Nice to know
you, Grace, now see that desk over there? That is yours. The password to the laptop is ‘happy’. Log on and you can get started. We can deal with the formalities later; right now I have a mass of clients and contractors waiting for contracts.”

  Grace made her way nervously toward the desk, pulling the chair slowly from under the polished wooden desk. She couldn’t help but notice how out of place the laptop looked on the ancient piece of furniture or how low the desk appeared. As she sat in the chair and lifted her hands to the keyboard she smiled, realizing that for the first time ever she was sitting at a desk that felt comfortable.

  As her fingers glided swiftly over the keys and her eyes stared at the sheet of paper to her right, she noticed her reflection in the shiny surface of the desk. Her eyes blurred as the shape began to cloud and the reflection became the face of the man in her portrait. Fighting to drag her eyes from the image she willed her mind back to the work she was supposed to be doing.

  “What are you doing? This is silly, get out of my head,” she whispered to the image.

  “Grace, did you say something?”

  “No, sorry Kate, I was just reading through this document, making sure I haven’t missed anything.”

  “OK, just remember, I don’t bite. If you need any help or don’t understand something, just ask.”

  Grace nodded, feeling guilty for having lied to the lady, but she could hardly cough up to talking to herself, or worse still, talking to an imagined image of a dead person on her desk.

  “Why don’t we take a break, Grace? You’re on the last contract now, so if you send them to print, I will sign them and get them ready to post. When you have finished that last one, why don’t you go and make us both a coffee?”

  With the coffee finished and envelopes filled, Kate hastily gathered up the post and started packing up her desk.

  “Nine o’clock tomorrow suit you OK, Grace?”

  “That would be wonderful, thank you, Kate.”

  “Right, well we can sort your contract and banking details then, if that’s OK with you? I have to rush as I need to get these in the postbox before the last collection. I am so glad you came along when you did. Honestly, Grace, I couldn’t have got through all this on my own today.”

  Grace nodded, logged off the laptop, grabbed her coat off the back of the chair and followed her boss to the door. Kate’s mention of banking details had reminded her that she needed to get to a bank.

  Hungry and in better spirits, Grace decided to celebrate her new job with a glass of wine and a meal in a quiet public house off Stonegate called ‘Ye Olde Starre Inne’. It was still too early for the evening rush and too late to encounter the lunchtime revelers, so Grace largely had the pub to herself. Having ordered a baked potato with a side salad and a glass of wine, she made her way to a small room which was sectioned off from the rest of the pub.

  Rich wooden panels adorned the walls and lavish stained glass filled the windows. It was obviously an old building but just how old Grace couldn’t be sure.

  She lifted her drink and mindlessly brought it to her lips, staring through a gap in the partitioning into the main body of the building. Holding the glass against her mouth she focused on the bar and watched as the staff prepared for the busy evening.

  She started as the hazy outline of a figure appeared behind the bar. In a bold movement of authority he raised his arm and pointed toward the door. He stood tall and bold, his face tanned and framed by the fall of his long wavy hair. He was looking straight ahead. Then slowly he turned toward her. His eyes burned dangerously as they followed something across the room. Grace drew a sharp breath as their eyes locked. She stared as they softened and his brow narrowed across the high bridge of his nose. For several moments she held his look until the shadow of a frown creased his brow and his jaw tensed.

  The glass slipped from her hand, shattering as it hit the surface of the table. She jumped up as the cold wine flowed onto the denim of her jeans. Panicked, she cast her head toward the bar but the man from the portrait had vanished.

  The orange glow of the street lights illuminated the city as she made the short walk from Stonegate back to the hotel. She bustled her way through a group of tourists following a costumed ghost guide and wondered what inspired anyone to believe in ghosts.

  Then again, she mused to herself, I’ve been seeing ghosts all day. But I think I might be going slightly mad. Perhaps Jack was right all along. I do need help.

  Grace entered the small reception area of the hotel and noticed the outline of the elderly owner’s face from behind a book.

  “Hi,” she called, making her way toward the desk. The old man lowered the book.

  “A good day, Mrs. Evans?”

  Grace nodded, “Yes, thank you, and you?”

  “Can’t complain.”

  “I noticed you’re reading a copy of ‘Bushfire’,” she said, looking for a convenient way to strike up a conversation with the man. “I’m a bit of a sucker for a good crime thriller. Only don’t tell anyone or you’ll destroy my carefully honed reputation as a romantic dreamer,” Grace said, with a smile.

  “Your secret is safe with me, Mrs. Evans.”

  “Actually, I was hoping you could help me. I’m in room twenty three. There is a portrait on the wall. I was just wondering if you had any idea whose portrait it is.”

  “Robert Hamilton.”

  “Who was Robert Hamilton?”

  “He used to own this here establishment back in the sixteen hundreds. He was a Cavalier and a loyal supporter of the Stuarts. After the restoration he was given a handsome pension and retired. He settled here in York and bought a post house off Stonegate and this inn.”

  “A post house off Stonegate?”

  “Oh yes, it’s still a pub, you know? Worth a pint or two – has a nice crowd most nights.”

  “I think I may already have had the pleasure.”

  “Are you alright, Mrs. Evans? You look a bit pale.”

  “Yes, I don’t feel too well. I think I will just head up to my room.”

  Grace sat on the end of her bed, staring at the face of Robert Hamilton. She felt his eyes watching her, searching her for answers.

  “You’re dead, gone, do you hear me?” she whispered to the picture.

  His brow was arched, just as it had been in the pub. Questions screamed from his face. His wide jaw appeared to tense and a muscle to the side of his high cheekbone twitched.

  Grace covered her face with the palms of her hands and sighed deeply to calm her rising panic. She had to be losing her mind. This just couldn’t be happening, not now, surely not.

  In sleep she heard the echo of his voice whispering her name. Slowly it drew nearer and louder, until she knew for sure it was him. He stood facing her, legs slightly apart and arms loose by his side. His dark eyes shone in the light of the fire.

  “You are beautiful,” he said.

  She stared at him, her eyes fixed on the broad expanse of his chest as he moved slowly toward her.

  “Come here,” he said, as his hands encircled her waist.

  She felt the muscles in his arms ripple against her as she relaxed in his embrace. Her head rested heavily against his chest. The crackle of a fire was the only sound save for the racing of his heart in her ears.

  Her mind swirled with a mixture of realities as she awoke and lay motionless in the bed. She stared up at the beamed ceiling. Had she noticed it before? She couldn’t be certain but it had been there in her dream, the same beams, only lighter. The ceiling had been wooden too, but now it was covered with plasterboard and only the edges of the beams were visible. She moved her head to the side and looked at the walls. They were smoothly plastered, but in her dream they had been uneven, rough and whitewashed. The carpeted floor hadn’t been there either. Just the bare boards with sweet smelling straw and lavender scattered over them. The glass of the windows was thick and blurred, not the crystal clear it was now. There had been a large curve-topped chest, a fireplace and above th
e fireplace hung the portrait. Her stomach cramped and a ghostly chill ran down her spine as she tried to make sense of it all.

  Grace swung herself out of bed and ran to the desk, tapping furiously on the wall behind it. A hollow sound told her she had found what she was looking for. The fireplace in her dream was now covered over with plasterboard. Clutching the edge of the desk she met the eyes of Robert Hamilton.

  “Whoever you are and whatever is going on, it’s not funny at all and I want it to stop.”

  Once again Grace beat Kate to the door of their office. She had not wanted to hang around in the hotel room, so had followed her routine from the day before; McDonalds for coffee and a half eaten bacon roll, followed by a leisurely stroll through the quiet city streets to work.

  “Morning Grace. So glad you came back. I was worried you might not after I left you in such a hurry yesterday. Sorry about that, slightly panicked by deadlines. Come on, let’s get this door open and the kettle on. I’m freezing.”

  Grace followed her chatty boss into the warmth of the office and headed for her desk, first checking the polished surface for obscure reflections before opening the laptop.

  “Grace your contract is on my desk. Do you want to fill it in whilst I make us a coffee.”

  “OK, thanks Kate, will do.”

  The questions were relatively straightforward. Having typed up a good dozen of them the day before, Grace had the contract completed and signed before Kate reappeared with the coffee.

  “All done Kate,” Grace said, taking the cup from her boss.

  Kate lifted the document off the desk and smiled.

  “That was quick! There are a mountain of these things still to type,” she said, nodding in the direction of a neat pile of forms on the edge of the desk.

  “No problem, I’ll get on them right away,” replied Grace, unsuccessfully attempting to stifle a yawn.

  “Bad night?”

  “Sorry. I’m not sleeping too well. It’s just being in a new bed. Takes a bit of adjusting to.”

  “Where are you staying?” she asked, glancing down at the contract. “Oh my God, Grace you are never staying there? That place is haunted to hell and back. My friends and I won’t even walk past it. No wonder you aren’t sleeping. Have you seen him yet then?”

  “Seen who?” asked Grace, feigning ignorance.

  “The ghost! Robert Hamilton. He used to own the place sometime back in the days of Charles II. Didn’t marry till he was in his forties. They say he haunts the house looking for his wife. Tell me you aren’t in room twenty three?”

  “Well, actually I am.”

  “Oh, you’ll never get a moments peace in there. That was his room, you know, his and his wife’s. It’s the most haunted room in the whole house.”

  “He must have loved his wife very much then?” Grace replied hoping to extract as much information from Kate as she could.

  “Hell yeah! He fought for Charles I, and then he followed the Prince to the continent. Lived like a pauper for years but still he remained loyal to the Stuarts. He met a woman here in York and fell hopelessly in love with her. It’s such a romantic tale. Actually, that desk you are sitting at now was his. Cost me an arm and a leg to buy but the story behind it was just so beautiful I couldn’t resist. His wife was an academic, a bit of an odd sort, but Robert had that desk made for her so that she had somewhere to read and write. It turned up in the cellar of the hotel you are staying at. The current owners found a letter to a local carpenter commissioning the work. In it Robert stated it was to be of the finest quality with exact dimensions to ensure the absolute comfort of his dearest wife. I used it myself for a while but it just didn’t suit me. Too low, it gave me backache.”

  Grace felt the panic rising inside her as her boss talked, seemingly without taking a breath.

  “Kate, what happened to Robert and his wife?”

  “Well, as far as I can make out they disappeared for a good many years, but they are both buried here in York.”

  “Did they have any children?”

  “Not so far as anyone seems to know. There is a story about his wife delivering a baby shortly after they were married. Some say the child was snatched, others say it died. Thing is no one ever found a grave for it. There weren’t any other children that we know of. I think his wife was a bit past it when they married. She wasn’t a young bride, but then he wasn’t a fledgling himself. The story goes that she was a widow but there don’t seem to be any records of her life prior to her meeting Robert so perhaps she wasn’t from York.”

  “So how come you know so much about this man?” Grace asked.

  “Because since I started this business he has done nothing but haunt me.”

  “Haunt you? Are you serious?”

  “Yes, of course I’m damn serious. He hangs around this office like a lovesick puppy. It’s like he’s watching the place, day in and day out. He stands where you are now, by that bloody desk, just staring at it. I would get shot of the thing if it hadn’t cost me so much money. I’ve tried to find a buyer for it but no one is prepared to pay the price.”

  “So you believe in ghosts then?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Well no, not really. But I guess there is something odd about all this. Why do you think he keeps coming here?”

  “I don’t have the foggiest. It’s like he can’t let go of the damn desk. I just wish someone would take it off my hands, but I can’t afford to lose the money on it. Tell you what, Grace, you should go and have a word with the landlord of the Olde Starre Inne off Stonegate. Hear what he has to say and then see if you still don’t believe in ghosts.”

  Grace couldn’t face the pub that night. All she wanted to do was go back to the hotel and sleep. Unwrapping the sandwich she had bought from a bakery she sank heavily onto the mattress of her bed and looked up at the portrait.

  “Right, Mr. Hamilton, I now know that I am not the only one you torment. Pray tell me dear sir what it is you want, because tonight I intend to sleep.”

  The portrait didn’t answer. She hadn’t expected it to, only it had felt good to acknowledge out loud that she wasn’t deranged. At least she figured that if she was, then a number of other people probably were too. It wasn’t that she had totally come to terms with the idea of being haunted. It was more like she had accepted that whatever was going on was happening to other people as well. She wondered if there was any point in changing hotels or asking to be moved to another room. It was an option she had considered but somehow she wasn’t frightened anymore and besides which she was growing rather fond of the face in the picture.

  Having showered and climbed into bed, Grace attempted to read a few lines of her book, an historical romance, called ‘Forever Amber’. She had fallen absolutely and utterly in love with the main characters. A dreamer by nature, Grace read to escape the harsh reality that had been her life with Jack. In books she could be whoever she wanted to be and go wherever she wanted to go. Fantasy, romance, thriller, it didn’t much matter as long as it took her away from Jack. Her eyes shut and the book fell softly onto the bed.

  Again her mind filled with swirling dreams of contorted reality. She could smell the sweet perfume of the lavender and the earthy tones of the straw. A fire crackled and popped as the burning heat caused moisture to bubble out of the wood. A fierce wind howled and rain pounded against the thick glass of the windows. A man moved to close the shutters against the storm. She could see his strong shoulders silhouetted in the dim light of the room.

  A single candle stood on a small wooden table beside her bed, its flame casting a gentle glow on the whitewashed wall behind it. Grace hadn’t needed light to know every taut and toned muscle on this man’s body. He wore a loose cotton shirt, but she knew intimately what lay beneath. She rested her hand on her chest and sighed as tiny butterflies danced in her stomach. Her heart raced and her body ached for his touch and she was happy, happier than she had ever been.

  As the hours passed and night became
day, Grace’s mind fought to cling on to the dream, but as the dawn broke the magic died and she awoke alone in the empty room.

  ******