Note:- I have posted this short story before but this version has been edited and 'tidied up'. I do hope you enjoy reading it and please leave me your comments.
An Edwardian
Lady
The traffic was moving slowly through the village, why her father had
chosen to leave the motorway she could never understand. He always told her it was because her mother
liked to see the little villages and country lanes along the way, but she
realised that was not entirely true.
Perhaps it was his way of prolonging the last few hours of their
holiday.
It had been stifling sitting in the
back of her parents’ car, she could still remember the hot breeze coming in
through the open windows. It was then
that something happened that would change her life completely.
They passed a large pair of ornate
iron gates that stood open at the side of the road and strangely, she knew that
something was wrong. People were walking
along the driveway but it was private, the gates should have been closed and
worst of all where the house had once stood there was nothing. As the car moved on, she saw a sign that told
her the gardens were open from March until October.
Thoughts filled her head, snatches of
conversation, echoes from the past or was it merely a romantic notion of how
things used to be? For the rest of the
journey Jane felt somehow disconnected from reality, she could not begin to
understand what had happened to her during those few seconds, but of one thing
she was certain, she would never forget it.
Twenty years later and Jane was no
longer a little girl, but still she dreamt of returning to the gardens that she
had seen so long ago. In her dreams, she
was part of the family who lived in the magnificent house. She had grown up there with her brothers and
sisters and when she became of age, she had courted eligible young men, which
became her favourite pastime.
In her teens, the urge to return to
the place she called home had become almost unbearable and each night, as she
lay down to sleep, her dreams would come to claim her. As time went on it became increasingly
difficult to wake up, she could hardly shake off the sensations that seemed so
real, it made her feel sad to think that she was actually living in the wrong
time.
Sally was her best friend, they had
known each other forever. Jane had told
her all about her dreams and they had discussed their thoughts and feelings on
the subject of past lives. Sally had
agreed to accompany Jane to the place she called home.
“We’ll leave the car in the village
car park.” The sound of Sally’s voice
brought her back to reality.
Sally knew this was a big deal for
Jane, it was one of the things her friend wanted most and she was always going to
be there to support her.
Walking back along the pavement they
soon came to the entrance of the garden.
Huge iron gates stood open and a man in a little wooden hut welcomed
them with a smile.
“Here are your tickets, a leaflet
about the park and a map. Follow the
driveway up to where the house once stood and start from there.”
Jane hardly needed a guide it was all
far too familiar. She could hardly count
the times the carriage had turned in off the road, the horse’s hooves kicking
up turf as they swept towards the front of the house.
“Come on,” Sally said linking arms,
“let’s go see your ancestral home.”
Jane had described this place on many
occasions and Sally had a clear picture of how things would be.
“My father was Edward May-Johnson and
he made his fortune importing silk from the Far East.” It was as if Jane was reading from a script.
Sally knew this already, Jane had
told her before besides, it was all written down in the leaflet.
Memories flashed through Jane’s head
at an alarming rate, just like images projected onto a wall from a magic
lantern. Although she knew the house was
gone it was still a shock to see miniature box hedging used to mark its
footprint on the ground ahead of them.
“There used to be stone steps with a
balustrade leading up to a double fronted door.” Jane whispered.
Glancing at the leaflet Sally could
see that this was true, but it proved nothing.
Jane had probably seen it when the man in the hut had given it to
them. Almost as if sensing her friend’s
doubts, Jane continued.
“In the hallway that leads to the
kitchen at the back of the house is the entrance to a cellar. There used to be a door under the servants
staircase.”
Leading the way, Jane walked along
the little pathway between the hedges.
The parquet and tiled flooring had been replaced by gravel, which
crunched under foot, this upset her even more, she had loved the polished
floors that ran throughout the house.
When they reached the place where the kitchen had once been they
discovered a flagstone, which covered the entrance to the cellar. There was nothing in the leaflet to explain
this but on the grass nearby was an information board, it told the story of the
underground storerooms that ran beneath the house.
“Are you okay?” Sally asked as she
reached out for Jane’s arm. “You look as
if you have just seen a ghost.”
“I think that I probably have,” Jane
smiled weakly.
Sally shuddered and glanced around.
“You did believe me when I told you
about my dreams.”
“Of course, when you were a Victorian
girl.”
“The year was 1912,” Jane told
her. “Edwardian not Victorian, the Queen
had been dead for eleven years.” This
was the first time that she had acknowledged the year, until now it didn’t seem
to matter.
“This is the place,” she whispered,
“this is where I used to live.”
Slowly they returned to where the
front of the house once stood and stepping over the miniature hedge, they found
themselves in a space labelled ‘Sitting Room’.
“This is wrong,” Jane looked around
her with a frown. “This was my father’s
study, this is where he did his work when he was at home. My bedroom is directly above, I used to call
it the silk room.”
They were silent for a while, both
lost in their own thoughts. Sally could
remember Jane talking about her bedroom, she had once described the silk wall
coverings, the huge bed and the silk shot carpets on the floor. It had all sounded so grand.
“Do you realise that until now I
never had a name.” Jane looked at her
friend before going on. “In my dreams
I’m always known as Emily, I had no idea what my surname was.”
“Why would you need to know?” Sally
replied. “Dreams are intimate
experiences, names and places don’t seem to matter. Its feelings and emotions that count.”
“True,” Jane nodded, “but it’s odd
being faced by the cold facts. This place,”
she looked around her, “feels so real to me, but it’s all so strangely
remote. Everything and everyone has gone
and I feel so alone.”
Sally hugged Jane tightly and thought
her heart was about to break. Not only
did Jane look so sad but Sally also felt an overwhelming sensation that she was
about to lose her friend forever.
Pushing these unwelcome thoughts away, she listened quietly as Jane told
her all about the house and those who had lived in it. They wandered about the gardens and Jane
spoke about picnics and games that she used to play as a child. Memories came flooding back at an alarming
rate and by the end of the afternoon she was quite exhausted.
“It’s getting so much harder to wake
up when I dream about this place,” Jane said.
“I’m sure that one day soon I just won’t come back.”
Sally glanced at her and swallowed
noisily.
“You make it all sound so idyllic,
Emily was such a fortunate woman. Have
you ever wondered what happened to her?”
“No, I’ve not really wanted to
know. It would be strange to discover
that she had living descendants that I could never get to know, but I hope she
lived a long and happy life.”
Sally nodded her head in
understanding.
“You should keep a diary, write it
all down. Next time you have a dream
make sure that you do it.”
Three months later Jane
disappeared. The police investigation
dragged on for many weeks and Sally was questioned relentlessly about her
friend’s life and movements. Eventually the
search lost momentum and was called off, only Sally knew the truth.
Two years later on her thirtieth
birthday a package arrived from an office in London. A lawyer by the name of Simon Delaney
delivered it in person, he demanded proof of identity before handing it over.
As soon as she was alone, Sally
opened a covering letter that accompanied the package. It was hand written and dated August 1913.
My
dear friend Sally,
I
have been here for just over a year now and I did just as you said, I started
to keep a diary, it’s more of a journal actually but it will answer all your
questions. It tells of my life in
Edwardian England, of course it’s all history to you now, but to me it’s real,
as real as life can be.
You
can I’m sure discover more about my adventure if you tried hard enough, but
this is a small window on a dream that became a reality...
It was signed Emily May-Johnson (nee
Jane Robins).
©2019 Kevin Marsh
