The Return of the Witch (26 page)

My head began to clear.

“What year is it?” I asked.

“1851. Summer. A very hot one, apparently.”

“But, is it the right year? I mean, have we come to the same time as Tegan?” I rubbed my temples, willing my mind to rid itself of the fog that clouded it. There was no time for being less than well. Gideon was not a person to be bested in such a condition.

“I am confident it is. I was able to follow closely. Gideon made the Step, though whether entirely successfully I cannot yet be certain.”

“What do you mean?”

“They Stepped without care, without observing the acknowledged precautions and procedures. Tegan was neither willing nor informed.” He looked at me closely then. “Elizabeth, I have told you how dangerous that can be. The first occasion would have been risky enough, but at least then they had the assistance of an accomplished and experienced Stepper. This time Gideon was dabbling in something he cannot fully understand. He might very well have overreached himself.”

“You think Tegan may not have survived it?” I kept my voice level, but my heart was racing.

“I will not hide the truth from you. I was able to follow Gideon's trail in this instance. He was not acting as a warlock when he jumped the centuries, so he was not able to obscure his route. I tracked him as I would any other Stepper.”

“And you know that they came here, came to this date?”

“I do, but I cannot know precisely where he has her hidden. London, even in this century, is a large and populous city. What is more, the moment he arrived he would have been able to mask his whereabouts as he normally does. His temporary guise as Time Stepper abandoned, he is a warlock once more, his powers intact. No doubt he knew in advance exactly where he would go and what he would do when he got here. What is more…” He hesitated.

“Go on.”

“It may not be significant, but though I could, for a while, detect two people crossing the eras, at the last, when there was still a glimpse of Gideon … I could find only one Stepper.” Seeing my look of despair he went on, “As I say, it may not mean anything. After all, it was Gideon working the actual Stepping, so his would have been the stronger trail to follow. And in those moments when he first arrived, before he had fully regained his powers, I could clearly see him. But only him.”

“But what could have happened to Tegan? Are you saying she is still back at Batchcombe at the time we just left? Or is she in some dreadful limbo? How can we know? We have to find her.”

“And we will. I told you, it may not be significant. After all, wouldn't Gideon's first move on coming here be to hide her, rather than himself? Think about it, Elizabeth. Tegan is clearly a powerful witch in her own right. He needs to keep her subdued and secure. That would have been his first priority, and it may have been why I could not detect her.”

I forced myself to accept what he was saying. What option was there? As my memory cleared further, my heart became heavy at the memory of William. My poor, good William. I prayed that his sacrifice had not been in vain. I tried to shake such thoughts from my mind, and the movement caused my head to spin. I swung my feet to the floor.

“Have a care…” he said.

“Please.” I flapped him away. “I am not an invalid. I merely wish to stand and walk about a little, to properly wake up.” Seeing his concern I tried to reassure him as I stood up by putting on the brightest voice I could muster. “This is a splendid room, Erasmus. You are a keen reader, but the looks of things.”

He nodded. “I confess this is but a fraction of my collection. The house has more books than I can ever expect to have time to read.”

I turned to him. “This is home for you, then? This place? This house? This time?”

“As much as anywhere ever can be, yes, it is.” He took my hand in his. “Come, there is something I should like you to see,” he suggested, “if you feel able.”

I allowed him to lead me from the room. There were many questions to be asked, many puzzles to be solved, and as yet I did not have all the pieces, but the Time Stepping had left me fragile, and my thoughts were still soft at the edges. I needed a little time to come properly to my senses. We were on the first floor of the house and emerged onto a landing through which a steep staircase passed. We crossed over to the opposite room.

“Perhaps this will explain better what it is I do here,” he told me as we entered.

The space was of similar size to the drawing room, but here there were no creature comforts to be found. This was a workshop, with benches and crates and tools. I could smell turpentine and linseed oil and ink and glue and paint of some sort. I stepped over to the workbench and picked up tiny shavings of leather. Now I could see that there were books here, too. Beautifully bound volumes with gold lettering tooled into their supple leather covers, and slim collections of poems, and hefty medical encyclopedias. Unlike the other room, this one, however, was not merely a place where books were housed; it was a place where they were made.

“Oh, this is exquisite, Erasmus. Did you do this?” I asked, picking up an intricately worked volume bound in dark blue with red- and-gold-embossed lettering.

His pride at my delight was obvious, though he tried to hide it.

“It is quite pretty that one, isn't it? Yes, this is what I do. When I am not skipping hither and yon through the centuries. This is my place, and here I am Erasmus Balmoral the Bookbinder. This is, as much as it ever can be, my time.”

“I had such a book once,” I murmured, “though it was not quite so lovely. It was special to me.”

“Your
grimoire?”
he asked, and then seeing my surprise added, “I do know something of the habits of witches.”

“My
Book of Shadows,
” I told him. “Not entirely the same thing, but every bit as important.”

“Where is it now?”

“I gave it to Tegan,” I said, biting my bottom lip against the emotion that surged through me. As if sensing my distress Erasmus did not question me further. Instead he placed his hand over mine as I held the book.

“One day you shall have a new one,” he promised.

One of the windows was propped open, and through it came the sounds of the street outside. Trotting hooves and a carriage wheeling over the cobbles. A barrow boy declaring the freshness of his wares. A young woman laughing.

I felt suddenly unsteady on my feet and leaned heavily against the workbench. Erasmus slipped his arm around my waist to steady me.

“First things first,” he said gently. “You are not yet fully recovered from the Stepping. You need food, and rest…”

“But…”

“Food and rest,” he repeated. “And then we will begin our search anew.”

I did not answer him, for I felt suddenly overwhelmed by tiredness. If he had not been supporting me I would have slumped to the floor. He helped me to the stool behind the bench and sat me down, before pulling the bell-rope beside the fireplace.

“We will find her, Elizabeth. I promise you,” he said.

I wanted to trust him, to believe him, but at that moment I could only think of the promise I had made to Tegan. I told her I would never leave her again. I had promised that I would stay by her side. We had been together, and I had allowed Gideon to take her from me a second time. What would she be thinking? How would she hold faith with the idea that I could ever rescue her from him, and that we could ever truly be rid of him?

I heard footsteps on the stairs and two voices keeping up a babble of chatter as they came. The door opened and a woman of advanced years wearing an elaborately frilled and hooped day dress entered at the run, followed by a stout, breathless gentleman with whiskers that added inches to the width of his face.

“Mr. Balmoral, sir!” the woman cried, advancing through the cluttered room with some difficulty due to her voluminous skirts. “You are home, and all is topsy-turvy! Will there ever be an occasion you do not take us unawares and find us in disarray?”

Erasmus stepped forward to meet her and took her hand. “Mrs. Timms, I swear you have spent my absence growing younger.”

She blushed at this, flapping away his compliment with an embroidered handkerchief. She was evidently a woman with a fondness for lace, and wore so much of it on her cotton cap that she resembled a flower, her face peeping out from trembling lacy petals. It was an honest face, I thought, and a kind one. Her bright eyes took me in swiftly.

“But here!” she cried. “You have company. Oh, my dear, that we should find you in this place of muddle and confusion,” she exclaimed, gesticulating at the workshop and brushing past Erasmus to get closer to me. I stood up.

“Elizabeth was interested in my books,” Erasmus said.

“A woman of sound sense!” put in the gentleman, who stood with feet firmly planted, hands on his hips as if braced for an assault of some sort or perhaps to withstand the flurry that was the woman he had arrived with.

“Mr. Timms,” his wife admonished him, “I will thank you not to make such presumptuous and bald declarations of a lady we have not so much as been introduced to.” Here she glared at Erasmus.

“Forgive me. Mr. and Mrs. Timms, may I present to you…”

“Elizabeth Hawksmith,” I interrupted, offering Mrs. Timms my hand. I knew Erasmus would name me as Mrs. Carmichael, but I was unknown here in this time, and though I had enjoyed taking Archie's name for a while, it seemed only right that I should revert to my own now that I could. She squeezed my hand and then beckoned to her husband, who reached forward to take it from her.

“We are delighted to make your acquaintance, madam,” he told me, bending to kiss my fingers, his moustache tickling my skin as he did so.

“Fancy bringing your visitor in here before offering her even a cup of good China tea, Mr. Balmoral. What were you thinking?” Mrs. Timms demanded.

“As I say, my books were of interest…”

“Books, books, books!” she tutted. “A person cannot be sustained by the things, sir, contrary to what you would have us believe.”

Erasmus turned to me. “Mr. and Mrs. Timms are the proprietors of the guesthouse which adjoins my own home,” he explained. “This is my very good fortune, for Mrs. Timms is also my housekeeper, and Mr. Timms sees to my accounts. They both do a sterling job of managing my business and my affairs whilst I am … away.”

“And we are happy to do it,” Mrs. Timms assured me. “Though never as happy as when Mr. Balmoral is once again himself in residence. Now, let us rescue you from this dusty place, my dear Mrs. Hawksmith, and send to the kitchen for refreshment. You must tell me what it is that you desire and we shall do our utmost to furnish you with it. Is that not so, Mr. Timms?”

“Indeed it is, ma'am. Indeed it is,” he agreed, standing aside to allow his wife to bundle me out of the room.

I was at the threshold before I was able to detach myself and protest.

“Mrs. Timms, you are too kind, and I thank you for your concern, but there are matters of great urgency. I must attend to them now.”

“Elizabeth…” Erasmus shook his head.

“I'm sorry, Erasmus, I cannot sit and do nothing. I am going out to look for them,” I said and, ignoring the gasps and entreaties of his housekeeper and his own protestations, I hurried from the room.

Mrs. Timms caught up and insisted she be allowed to find me some clothes. I was still wearing my seventeenth-century garb so I agreed, and she quickly fetched me a more suitable dress. I winced as she laced me into the corset that went beneath it, silently cursing the trend for such a restrictive garment. I drew the line at letting her fuss with my hair, so that I must have presented a ragamuffin appearance when judged by the standards of the day. I had no interest in how I was seen. All I could think of was Tegan.

And so I tramped the streets. It had been many years since I had visited London, and more than a hundred since I had lived there. While much had changed, and the roar of the traffic had been replaced by the clopping of hooves and rattling of wheels, the thrum and energy of the place was a constant factor. It was as if its heartbeat had continued and would continue in the same hectic rhythm, while fashions and innovations came and went upon its surface. The activity of brisk walking, negotiating the teeming streets and striving to recall routes from memory, stimulated my mind into action. My first port of call was the Fitzroy Hospital. It was but a short walk from Erasmus's home in Primrose Hill, heading directly south. As I walked I found myself searching the crowds for a glimpse of either Tegan or Gideon, though I knew he would be unlikely to be walking abroad in daylight with her. I hoped only that he might have chosen to revisit somewhere that had a connection to me. After all, he had selected Batchcombe first, why not somewhere else I had once lived or worked?

The hospital was newly opened. We were at a point more than thirty years before I had worked there. I had taken up my position as Dr. Eliza Hawksmith. What a time of danger that had been! I had worked so long and hard against convention to gain my position, and loved my work at the Fitzroy, but that was something else Gideon had taken from me. I hurried up the front steps and into the reception area. Nurses in starched uniforms and spotless white aprons and caps went about their tasks, silent and efficient. I looked around the foyer, uncertain as to what I expected to find.

My stomach lurched as a face I recognized came into view. The man could not have been more than thirty, still smooth faced and full of the vigor and restlessness of youth. It would be another twenty-five years before Dr. Gimmel—later to become Professor Gimmel—and I would meet. The fine surgeon who was to teach me so much, and to pay a high price for ever knowing me. He brushed past me, unaware of how his destiny was entwined with the stranger who stared at him so.

“Whitechapel,” I muttered to myself as I left the building. It was where I had lived. Where Gideon had once attempted to kill me. Could it be that a place of such significance between us could draw him back again, or was I chasing nothing but shadowy hopes? Perhaps Erasmus was right; perhaps I was engaged in a fool's errand, but I had to try. Having no coins for a ticket on the omnibus, I had no choice but to walk. As I marched along the busy streets, passing from Fitzrovia, through High Holborn and eventually to Whitechapel, I scanned the faces of the people I passed. I peered down side streets and through shop windows and into passing carriages, all the while searching, searching. The afternoon was sultry now, and my hair, which I had hastily pinned up, was working free of its bonds. I must have looked like a wild woman, devoid of hat and staring so intently at everyone. I ignored the curious glances I was being given and pressed on.