‘I know.’ The sob in my throat ached. I wanted to let loose and wail, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good. Aunt Bill had to go.
She had told me that she believed her mission was to help people, save them from dire fates in different timelines, and that was what she’d spent her time doing. How long, I had no idea.
Maybe that was why we all travelled through the portals, as some kind of inter-dimensional emergency services. That worked for William and Aunt Bill, but what about me?
‘An’ I don’t think I can come back to Cornwall in this time, now that Albert knows what I did.’ Aunt Bill sighed. ‘’Ee’s ’ardly going to take me back in service, or as a governess. ‘’Ee’ll ’ave my guts for garters if ’ee ever sees me again.’
‘Yes. I know,’ I replied, blearily.
‘I’ll just say ta-ta for now. I’ll see you again, in the future or the past. Be sure of it.’ Aunt Bill wiped her eyes.
She enveloped me in one of her bear hugs for a moment, then cleared her throat and let me go.
‘We’ve got to go,’ Nancy reminded Aunt Bill. She stuck out her hand and I shook it automatically, even though I felt I was dying inside. ‘Take care, Tegan,’ Nancy said. ‘If you needs it, likely I’ll be away from the cottage for a while now. There’s a key under the plant pot by the front door, if you needs somewhere to shelter. Mind you, I wouldn’t recommend it now. Lord Albert’s going to be livid. Searchin’ for us.’ She looked nervously around us.
‘Thank you for everything you’ve done, Nancy,’ I said. ‘You’ve been so kind.’
‘I’m the pellar. Life takes me in strange directions.’ She shrugged. ‘I think my mother would want me to ’elp all of you. The Willcocks ’ave always ’elped the travellers.’
I held out Evelyn Willcock’s journal to her.
‘You should take this,’ I said.
‘No, maid. You keep it.’ She shook her head. ‘Evelyn would want you to ’ave it.’ She climbed up onto the top of the carriage where William had sat, and picked up the reins. ‘Come on, now, milady. In the carriage we get,’ she called out. Aunt Bill helped Hermione and Violet inside, and Nancy turned the carriage around, back to the road.
I hoped they would make it safely up north. I hoped that their journey would be free of vagabonds and thieves. I hoped that Hermione and Violet would finally be free and safe, away from Albert Trevarron and his vileness.
But, I also fervently wished that William and Aunt Bill would have stayed with me.
Alone, I watched them go, my heart breaking.
THIRTY-FOUR
My heart was exhausted; I felt as though there was a hole in my chest. I had been in such a high state of tension for so long that I felt drained.
I wished I could lay down on the moor and sink into it.
The full moon lit everything with a spectral glow. In the distance, an owl hooted. Another answered it. I walked to the circle of trees.
Underfoot, there was a soft covering of fallen needles from the trees, like a carpet.
There were seven trees, just like Aunt Bill had said. And at the westerly side, one stood taller than them all.
I went to it and laid my hand on its trunk. The bark was soft, a dark brown, like a close fur. The roots spread out, weblike, into the ground, merging with the roots of the other trees. I imagined them communicating in a silent parliament of wisdom, under the earth.
The trunk of the one I touched was wider than William’s shoulders. Three of its thick branches had plunged back into the earth, as if they were additional veins through which the tree could suck sustenance from the earth. I could almost feel the tree’s pulse; its life force, beating steadily under my hand.
If I thought about William, I would cry. Instead, I took out Evelyn’s journal and found the right page.
To enter a time line from the yew tree circle, one needs to go there on a full moon and enter into a dreamlike state and wait for the slip – the moment when everything slows. In that moment, a traveller needs to embrace the biggest yew tree at the west side of the circle and chant out loud very clearly the place and time they would like to visit. It helps to have written this down also and to grip this piece of paper tightly as you recite your words.
I reached under the skirt of a dark maroon cotton dress that I had borrowed from Nancy and balled up the cotton of my underskirt in my fist. Then, I ripped it.
I held up a strip of white cotton; Aunt Bill continued to inspire me.
I smoothed out the cotton and found a place in the earth where the mud was wet, then rubbed my fingertip in it.
I bowed my head and wrote the year I wanted to go back to on my scrap of petticoat. 2025.
