The museum was mercifully quiet as Grace made her way slowly past each exhibit. She savored each one, trying to read as many of the information plaques as she could but the afternoon drew quickly to an end and the time fast approached when the museum would shut. She made her way quickly to the seventeenth century exhibits and displays. Most of the information was fairly generic but she scanned it all, eager not to miss anything. She was drawn to a small display cabinet tucked in the corner of the museum. It held a few items, none of which looked terribly unique or particularly interesting except for a pair of lady’s shoes which caught her eyes. They looked old but their design was modern. They might be four hundred years old but I wouldn’t mind a pair of shoes like that, she thought to herself. Curious about their origin she searched the cabinet for the appropriate information tag.
‘A pair of seventeenth century shoes worn by Grace Hamilton, wife of Robert Hamilton.’
She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. Instinct told her to run. She felt exposed and afraid that someone would know who she was. Breathing deeply she told herself that she was being silly. No one was going to believe the ridiculous notion that she was Robert Hamilton’s wife. The man had lived four hundred years ago. His wife was dead and buried alongside him. The thought made her stomach lurch, fear rippled up her spine and the memory of the headstone with the missing inscription burned in her eyes. She rubbed her forehead thoughtfully, wondering if there might be more information on Robert Hamilton in the museum. Her search was quickly rewarded. A pewter mug stood proudly in a display labeled ‘Pubs of York’.
‘A pewter mug, believed to have belonged to Robert Hamilton.’
She ran her fingers over the glass of the cabinet, tracing a slow line around the mug. She pictured his broad hand wrapped around the handle; his lips as the rim touched his mouth. She ached to touch him; to have him take her in his arms, as he had in her dream. But the ancient mug was a pitiful reminder that the man was long since dead and that her mental stability was very much in question.
She had read about people whose minds created their own reality. Again she considered the possibility that she might be schizophrenic. Were Harry and Kate even real? Did that information card really have her name on it? She guessed that it was perfectly possible that she had had a breakdown of some sort after arriving in York. Perhaps this was her mind’s way of coping and none of this was real. She had to admit that the idea of a fabricated reality made more sense than anything else she could think of. Grace shook her head in frustration. She wasn’t sure she cared too much anymore. If she were indeed going insane then she wasn’t about to die. Her dreams of Robert Hamilton were exquisite. She longed for the light they brought to her life, the happiness she felt when she was in them. The only thing that was destroying her life was her attempt to make sense of it all.
Grace completed her tour of the museum in considerably better spirits than she had started it. Relenting to her madness had proved liberating and she embraced every mention of Robert Hamilton, allowing her heart to leap with excitement with each new discovery about him.
She learnt that he was born in York and that he had two brothers and one sister and that at least one of his brother’s descendents still lived in York. She wasn’t surprised to discover that the descendent owned the same post house that Robert had. Of course, it was Harry. Her mind connected the dots and, as it did, her spirits lifted. Life had become a lot easier since she had ceased to question her sanity.
She didn’t care if Harry or Kate were real; she had no idea whether her job was real or imagined or if she was even in York. Regardless, she decided it would be rude not to tell Kate that she wouldn’t be going into work in the morning. She knew it was a liberty to take another day off so soon after starting. But what did it matter if the job didn’t exist in the first place? She planned to spend tomorrow in the library where she intended to do further research on her Mr. Hamilton.
Back in her hotel room Grace reached across the desk and lifted the portrait off the wall.
“Right, Robert Hamilton. Time to have a good look at you.”
She rested the portrait face up on the bed. It looked no different to the hundreds of other times she had stared at it over the past few days. A smile curled along her lips as she ran her finger gently over his wide square jaw. He was a handsome man, no wonder she had fallen so hopelessly in love with him. She saw the twinkle in his eyes as they smiled back at her and she sighed softly to herself. Soon she would sleep and then he would come to her again and she would cling to the dream as sure as if it were reality.
Lifting the portrait to the light she examined the frame. Even after so many years the gold leaf shone through. She turned it to the side and noticed some writing on the back of the canvas. Curious, she put the portrait back on the bed, face down. The writing was faded and difficult to make out so she reached for the bedside table lamp and brought it closer to the words.
“Dear Grace,” it began. She recognized her own handwriting immediately. She had no memory of having taken this portrait off the wall and she certainly didn’t recall ever writing on it. Confused and frightened she continued to read.
“Dear Grace,” she began again. “I know that you think you are insane, unstable and deranged and I also know that you won’t believe this when I tell you that you’re none of these things. You are having what you will know as a breakdown, but you will be alright in time with Robert’s love and care.
“Today you went to the York Castle Museum. You found a pair of shoes that Robert will make for you. Trust me; they are even more beautiful new. Harry is real and so is Kate. They are your friends, Grace. They won’t hurt you.
“I want you to go the shops tomorrow and buy the largest backpack you can find. Try a good camping shop, you should find something suitable there. Then get yourself a good penknife, a lighter and a can of lighter gas, a box of candles, some ball point pens, a small sewing box, four hundred painkillers, (you will have to visit several chemists to get these), antiseptic cream, vitamin tablets, a couple of packs of knickers (they just don’t have such things here and boy do you miss them when you don’t have them), a block of chocolate, sugar cubes and granulated coffee. See if you can find two hot water bottles. Oh and buy yourself some of those nice fleecy jim jams as well.
“Grace I also need you to go and see Harry. Tell him to lift the floorboards in the small room next to the kitchen.
“And you need to tell Kate to open the bottom draw of the desk. It has a false bottom to it. Tell her to look underneath it.
“And Grace, don’t go to see the doctor, you really don’t need to.
“With much love from beyond time,
Grace Hamilton.”
Grace stared at the writing in front of her, wondering how to cover up what she had done. Her heart pounded with the fear of discovery. What if George found this? She had defaced a four hundred year old portrait and didn’t have the slightest memory of doing it.
Panicked, she lifted the frame and returned it to its place on the wall above the desk. She was going to have to register with a doctor; there was nothing else for it.
First thing tomorrow, she promised herself that she would find some help. As she slid in between the crisp white duvet and the cotton sheet she wondered where the doctors would send her. She couldn’t possibly be allowed to roam the streets in this condition. She was a danger to herself and everyone around her.
For the first time since she had left Jack, Grace fumbled in her bag for the anti-depressant tablets her doctor had prescribed. She popped the tiny tablet into her mouth knowing Robert would not come to her that night and she was right. He didn’t.
A ray of brilliant sunlight streamed through the tiny gap where the curtains didn’t quite meet. Grace rubbed her eyes as she fought to focus on her surroundings. She felt calmer and in more control than she had felt in days. The portrait still hung on the wall where she had left it last night, but the eyes of Robert Hamilton were veiled.
&nbs
p; She remained curious about the character of the man who had filled her life for the past week and decided to stick to her plan and spend the day at the library. However she needed to find out if Harry and Kate existed and if so, how much they had seen of her derangement.
Grace sighed, realizing the trip to the doctors would be necessary at some point but for today her old tablets had worked and she was back in control. She just had to remember that leaving Jack had not healed her. The tablets were an essential part of her life and without them she was very likely to end up institutionalized.
George was in his usual spot behind the reception desk. He smiled and lowered his book. It was a new one. He must have finished ‘Bushfire’.
“Morning George, sleep well?”
“Good morning, Mrs. Evans. I did thank you, not enough of it though. How about you?”
“Actually George I did sleep well last night, thank you,” she said. “I see you finished ‘Bushfire’.”
“I did, last night, after you came in. It was gone midnight before I got to bed.”
Grace smiled, recalling how many books had kept her awake until the small hours of the morning.
“Tell me, George, how do you pronounce the title?” she asked, intrigued by the name on the cover of his new book.
“The Ca-ho-kian, I think. An American customer gave it to me a few weeks ago, said I should be sure to read it.”
“Well enjoy your new book, George and I’ll see you later.”
She found the Olde Starre Inne off Stonegate, so that was real enough. What she didn’t know was whether Harry existed or not. She appeared to have no way of distinguishing reality from fantasy.
Relief swam over her as she recognized Harry behind the bar, his cheerful face one large smile. That, she thought, was the first hurdle overcome.
Cautiously, Grace made her way toward the graying man. His eyes shone as she approached the bar, and she let out a deep sigh, realizing that she had been holding her breath.
“Grace, I have been trying to get hold of you. Kate told me what happened on Monday night. I am so sorry, girl.”
Immediately, Grace’s heart sank as the experience of the medium came flooding back. Upset, she turned to leave but Harry rushed from behind the bar and grabbed hold of her arm.
“Hey, girl, don’t go. Come and have a drink with an old man.”
It would be rude to reject him and she couldn’t see the harm in it. He only existed in her imagination anyway.
“OK, Harry, but I’m not bothered with anything strong. May I just have a coke please?”
“Course you can. Do you want diet or normal?”
“Normal, please, Harry. I could do with the sugar boost besides all those sweeteners aren’t good for you.”
“Nor is sugar,” he teased.
She smiled and took a seat at the bar. “I know and I do drink the diet stuff but I know I shouldn’t.”
The pub was empty, just as it had been the first time she had been there, when she had seen Robert standing behind the bar, right where Harry was now. She smiled at the thought of his dark inviting eyes, the width of his shoulders and the long length of his taut toned thighs.
“What are you smiling at girl?”
“Oh, nothing, Harry, just a memory.”
“Care to share it with me?”
She shook her head. “No, not today, but I do have a message for you.”
His eyebrows lifted in question. “A message, hey. That sounds ominous.”
“I don’t know whether it is or not.”
“Go on then, girl, what’s it?”
“I’m to tell you to lift the floorboards in the small room next to the kitchen.”
“Lift the floorboards? But why would I want to do that?”
“I have no idea and you don’t have to do it. I’m just passing on a message.”
“Funny thing messages.”
“How so?”
Harry turned to Danny behind the bar.
“Do me a favor Danny, watch the bar for me. I’ve something that needs my attention. Grace, come with me, girl. I want to show you something.”
Grace lifted her glass from the bar and slid off the high stool. She followed Harry through the pub and into the backrooms. He led her up the stairs and into the living quarters. He groaned as he bent and pulled the portrait of her and Robert from under the bed.
“Here, take a look at the portrait.”
Grace took the frame from him, examining the picture. It was as she had remembered it; a painting of her and Robert done some four hundred years ago.
“I can’t see anything I haven’t already seen on this, Harry.”
“Take a look at the back of the portrait,” he repeated.
Grace knew what was coming. She had defaced another portrait. But what she couldn’t figure out this time was how she had managed to do it to this one. Fearfully she turned it over and read the inscription out loud.
“Dear Harry,
“Grace is going to come and see you on the 15th December. It will be snowing outside when she arrives. (That was for Grace’s benefit as she is still convinced that she is mad). She will give you a message. Listen to her and act on it. As much for your own benefit as hers.
“Oh and Harry, your uncle Robert says to tell you that he had no idea you were family. Between you and me he is very proud of the way you run the pub. But I worry about how much whisky you are drinking. Please make Grace a promise that you will stop drinking?
“Your friend from beyond time,
Grace Hamilton.”
She wasn’t shocked. Grace was passed being shocked by anything anymore. She did agree with one sentiment from the letter however, and that was that Harry drank way too much.
“Well, what do you think of that then?”
“I think that I have gone crazy, Harry. You are just a figment of my imagination and I am somehow going around defacing seventeenth century portraits.”
“I can assure you, girl, that I am as real as this here pub. As for defacing portraits, well you got me there because this certainly does sound as though you wrote it. But look at it, Grace. It’s faded so much it is almost impossible to make out the words. But they’re your words and they’re written with a modern hand and a modern pen. I would say, at a guess, a ballpoint pen.”
She had to agree. The writing was faded and so were the words on the portrait in her room. She had neither the skill nor the knowledge to artificially age ink.
“What do you think it all means?” she asked, wide eyed and confused.
“Not being a genius or anything, I am going to make an educated guess. Grace you are going to go back in time.”
The idea wasn’t foreign to her. She had repeated it to herself over the past week more times than she cared to remember. But that didn’t make it any less ridiculous.
“Well that is all fine and dandy as an idea and it’s not a bad fantasy. But please tell me how I am supposed to go back in time?”
Harry smiled and shrugged.
“I don’t know Grace, but I do know that I was just told to listen to your message, so how’s about we shut up the pub and go lift a few floorboards.”
“You know, Harry, I have some shopping to do, the library to go to and I would also like to get to see Kate this evening. I’m gonna leave you to it, if you don’t mind. Those boards have been down for four hundred years and I don’t think it will take you just five minutes to shift them.”
“Right you are, girl,” he said, moving to hug her. “You take care of yourself, now. Do you hear me?”
Grace nodded and hugged him back. “I’ll pop in after work tomorrow and see what you found. It’s all very exciting.”
“Danny lock up fella. I’m shutting up shop for the day. I’ll give you a call when I need you back,” Grace heard Harry shout as she left the front courtyard of the pub.
When Grace emerged onto Stonegate she was shocked to find that the gentle snowfall of earlier had turned into quite a blizzard. She shiv
ered and pulled the collar of her coat up around her neck. It was ten days before Christmas and the city heaved with the traditional bustle of the season. She looked up at the string of lights that adorned the street. They looked so beautiful when they came on. Christmas always took her mind back to her childhood. She supposed it must do the same for everyone. There was nothing in this world as exciting as the fantasy of Father Christmas. She sighed at the memory of how simple life had seemed back then. Children don’t question, they just blindly accepted, she thought, watching a young mother hurrying down Stonegate with her little boy’s hand tightly clutched in hers.
The snow fell heavier as she made her way through the city, purchasing the items listed on the back of the portrait. She wondered dimly what they were for; but her mind was so far past the point of reason that she lost the thought almost as fast as she had it.
The oversized backpack grew heavier until its weight on her back became a burden. She slung both straps over her shoulders and proceeded through the city.
Night was falling fast and the pavements had become almost impassable with snow. Her shoes were totally unsuitable for the conditions and her feet burned with the cold. She headed away from the city and toward Kate’s house.
Everything looked so different with a thick covering of snow on the ground. The house came into view. Grace made her way toward the door and knocked. A few moments later, Kate answered.
“Grace! Are you OK?”
“I’m fine. Do you mind if I come in?”
“No, of course I don’t mind. Sorry, come in Grace. You look soaked to the skin.”
Kate took Grace’s hand and pulled her through the door into the warmth of the hallway.