The Time Baroness (The Time Mistress Series) (29 page)

Yours, Benedict.

Cassandra sat down with the missive in her hand, trying to take in all the implications of the situation. After several moments, she roused herself, went to the kitchen, and told the messenger there was no reply. She spent another hour with her book. She played “Farewell to Rome” for herself, thinking of Ben. She then went up to bed and before falling asleep, read Jane’s letter again for comfort.

December 28, 1820 – The days since Christmas have dragged by. It has continued to snow off and on (unusual for this part of the country, but most welcomed by me), and the landscape is beautiful. I put on my sturdiest boots and warmest cloak and went out in it several times over the last few days to walk and meditate on the pure, pure white. It is simply untouched. There are rabbit and deer tracks, even some fox, but not a footstep from a human being other than my own.

 I feel like a lone wolf when I wander about in the snow, looking for something, I don’t know what. Unlike the wolf, or maybe just like him, I find peace in the quiet stillness. Then I go indoors and that peacefulness becomes replaced by restlessness. I have trouble concentrating on a book, even on the piano.

I will force myself to go to church this morning and listen to Mr. Collins drone on, for it will be good to get out and see others. I have heard that the Charles family retired to London until after the New Year, so I will be safe from encountering that evil creature.

I have only two weeks before I’m scheduled to return. I have not made a decision, but I’m continuing to organize my things and take care of final details around the house.

The snow ended just before New Year’s Eve, but it continued cold and gray. The snow from Christmas and the few days after remained on the ground, and not many travelers were inclined to brave the roads.

Cassandra was surprised to hear a loud knock on the door around four o’clock. It was answered by Mary, who ushered Ben into the sitting room. After the girl had closed the doors, Cassandra ran to his arms and he kissed her deeply. She looked at his face—it appeared weary and haggard. She led him to the sofa and ordered some tea and wine. They made small talk as Mary bustled about bringing in the tea tray with a special warm, spiced wine that Anna had concocted. Cassandra poured a glass for Ben, and he sipped it gratefully. Cassandra was quiet, letting him gather his thoughts.

Finally he began with a sigh, “My love, never have I been so plagued. My mother and father find fault with everything in my household and in my life. That is why I have not invited you. They are merciless, and I cannot subject you. I could bear them if I knew they would soon go and leave me in peace. Yet my father is pressing me beyond reason to join his business. He is getting old, he says, and wants the business to carry on, and of course my mother supports this, for she is used to the money. I have played no music since they arrived—I have no peace of mind.”

“My darling, I am so sorry!”

“The tragedy is that I feel I must give in to their wishes. I need his money; my inheritance would be enormous. I do not have the strength of character to be a starving musician. Frankly, I am not good with business, but I suppose I will learn. I will play my violin when I am alone, but nowhere else, never for friends, never with an ensemble. He forbids it. He wants me to sell Gatewick House and come back to London. I will go to work in his offices, doing, I know not what—his bidding, I suppose.”

“Sell Gatewick House? But is not that your decision to make?”

“Unfortunately, it is not mine,” he said with pain in his voice. “My parents paid for the house. I convinced them that I could focus on settling down and finding a wife if I had a nice, big home in the country. Really, I just wanted to get away from life in the city, where they were constantly hovering about. But, in fact, I did entertain a hope that as a bachelor moving into a grand country mansion I would attract the single women of the neighborhood. If I had to marry, I thought, I wanted to find a sweet, simple girl.”

He gave Cassandra a sad smile, and she was conscious of the irony of his falling in love with her instead. “Didn’t Miss Austen have something to say about a single man of a certain income, necessarily being in want of a wife?” he asked with tired humor.

“I believe so,” Cassandra responded and paused. “But how is this possible? How can you give up what you love so much? At this time in life to not be able to be your own man!”

“I have no choice,” he said with finality.

“Of course you do,” she replied. “Money is not everything. It is nothing compared to your love of music. That is your life, it is who you are!”

“You can say that,” he said bitterly, “you are independent and no one is your master. Now I must live a life devoted to my parents’ whims until they die. It could be twenty years, for God’s sake! But if you marry me—”

“You would be free of this burden,” she remarked, a chill running down her spine.

“Yes,” he whispered.

She took a deep breath. “You never told me what your father’s business is.”

“He is in the sugar trade with Jamaica,” he said flatly.

Her blood turned from cold to ice. The sugar plantations fueled the slave trade. Sugar made rum, rum was a hugely important commodity, and the plantations could not be run without slaves. These industries were completely dependent on each other. To be in the sugar trade meant, directly or indirectly, one was involved in the slave trade.

“You cannot do it,” she said firmly. “You can say what you want about my financially independent perspective, but you cannot participate in that business. To trade sugar means to trade slaves. You must know that.”

He turned away from her, his face red. “I am not sure of that—”

“Yes, you are!” she cried. “Do not tell me that. You know your father must be involved with slavery. How could you be a part of that?”

“Cassandra, you cannot know—”

“I do! My husband bought and sold slaves,” she said tearfully, now believing her own false history. “I never told you. I found out after he died.”

“Dear God.”

It all seemed suddenly too real.

“Cassandra,” he continued, “if you do not marry me, I will have no choice but to do that terrible work. You can save me from such a fate!”

She regarded him with disdain. “If I am the only thing standing between you and participation in such atrocities, you are not the man I thought you were. I have my answer for you, Ben, and it is no. I am leaving soon, and I am leaving alone.”

“Cassandra” he uttered, now in tears. “Please reconsider. Please let me go with you.”

She was moved by his anguish and took his hand. “I am sorry, but I cannot feel the same way about you if you would even consider such work. However, you must live your life and do what you have to do. I must go back to my son. I will always love you, but we can never see each other again.”

She let go his hand and took off the ring. “Please, take this,” she said, putting it into his palm. “I am leaving for London to settle my business affairs as soon as I have everything in order here. Then I am off to Portsmouth and America, so let us say goodbye now. But Benedict,” she continued, taking his hand again and speaking adamantly, “Listen to me. As a person who has seen the horror and the ravages that slavery inflicts on individuals and on a nation, I beseech you to act with your conscience. That is all I have to say to you.”

“Please, Cassandra.”

“Good-bye, Benedict.” She stood and walked away from him to the window, tears streaming down her face. She heard his footsteps, then the sitting room door closed behind him.

Moments later, she felt the thud of the great doors of Sorrel Hall.

 January 1
^st
, 1821 – The first day of the New Year. I have been at Sorrel Hall almost a full year, and now, it is time for me to return home. Today, I am not celebrating the New Year, and neither am I mourning the loss of the old. Within my soul I am celebrating the experiences I have had this last year, both good and bad, and I am trying to anticipate what the future will have to offer me. There are certainly many people I shall be joyous to see again, my darling son primary among them.

 I won’t be able to take back much of the clothing and various other items I’ve acquired here, because I’d have to carry it all to the portal exit from the White Hart Inn. But I do intend to bring some things with me, and am glad there is no taboo about bringing souvenirs from the past to the future as there is the other way around, bringing modern items into the past. The only possible exception to this is Jane’s letter because it is something that would not have otherwise existed in the future if I had not saved it from the fire. The other things, such as the Christmas gifts I received, will simply be relics, my mementos: authentic artifacts from a time I can never return to.

I have given many of my clothes away to my friends among the farmers’ wives, who were thrilled to have such finery. I also gave away undergarments, gloves, slippers, and other necessities to Mary, Anna, and the other female servants. I knew Mrs. Merriweather would accept no charity, but the others heartily appreciated the lovely things. And, from the excess cash I still keep hidden in the false bottom of my suitcase, I’ve made up envelopes of bonuses for all the servants who’ve been under my employ.

Mary wondered at my taking so few things on my journey to America, but I simply assured her that the fashions were different there and that I only need a few things for the boat. I will bring back much of my music, but some of it I sent to Jane Holcomb to encourage her playing. I also decided to bring back some of the food given to me by the farmers’ wives, so I can have it for awhile to remember the special flavors of the era.

I do all of this with a heavy heart. I am sad beyond words.

Cassandra hurriedly paid the obligatory parting visits, traveling by carriage over the frozen ground to all who would receive her, to say farewell and make her excuses for her sudden departure. She had originally anticipated returning to the portal on January twelfth to make her journey exactly one year, but now didn’t see the point in waiting. She was dejected and the weather was dreary. She decided she would need until the sixth to finish getting ready, and she would leave for London then.

The day before her departure, she was in her bedroom packing up a few last things when she heard a horse’s footsteps approaching the house. She looked out and saw Ben dismounting and walking up to the door. She had left strict instructions with the servants that she did not wish to speak with him if he should decide to try and see her again, so she wasn’t surprised to see him turn and go, after a moment at the door. Cassandra flung herself on the bed and sobbed.

That evening she spent with Mrs. Merriweather. She talked about Ben, trying to make sense of what happened, though not explaining everything. Mrs. Merriweather was practical in her responses, and Cassandra found comfort in them. The housekeeper did express her sorrow at seeing her mistress go, and it was hard for Cassandra to say she would write, knowing that the woman would never receive a letter from her.

Before bed, Mary helped her mistress pack and organize her last few things. The time traveler then went to sleep for the final time at Sorrel Hall.

Mary stood at the front doors watching while the coachman loaded Cassandra’s two bags into the carriage. Mr. and Mrs. Merriweather, Anna, William, Thomas, Lydia, and all the other servants had said their goodbyes in the entryway. Anna’s eyes were red, William seemed to be clearing his throat excessively, and Mrs. Merriweather had extracted a handkerchief and was holding it at the ready while her husband busily stuffed tobacco into his pipe without looking up. Cassandra paused in the doorway, clutching her handbag.

“Well, good-bye.” The words caught in her throat. She took a step toward the carriage.

“Ma’am, wait a moment,” said Mary. “I shall see you into the carriage.” She took her mistress’ arm, and they walked out into the chilly morning air. “I have one thing to ask you before you go, if you do not mind.”

“Yes, Mary. Anything.”

“What is a time traveler?”

Cassandra stopped. She looked at her closely. “Why do you ask me this?”

“Because I heard you call yourself that when Master Franklin was here. Before you go on your journey, I felt I had to ask you, as I may never see you again.”

With a feeling of panic Cassandra recalled the conversation that Mary had overheard in the sitting room the past summer. “Well, it is—” She searched for an explanation. “It is a person who…who travels without thought to time or schedule. A person who is free to come and go without worry about when they arrive or leave, like James himself did when he came here from America.”

“You are going back to find him, is that true?”

“Yes, Mary, I am.”

“And did he change history?”

“Do you know what that means?”

“No, I am afraid not, but I heard you say it.”

Cassandra glanced at the house and the servants gathered in the doorway. She and Mary were at the carriage, and the coachman was waiting to hand her in. She held up a finger to him to wait and he moved away.

“What I meant was that sometimes our own actions change the story of our lives in a way we never anticipated. My coming here, I believe, changed the course of my life, and James’ life was certainly changed.”

The young woman nodded slowly. “I think I understand. For instance, because I know you and how you love to read, I have begun to learn. Anna is teaching me.”