A Step Back in Time

I awoke early and gazed around, conscious of the fact that I was Hannah Palmer, who lived on Mitchell Road in Bedhampton, Havant, in Hampshire, and as we used to say in school, England, the Universe. I was not Ursula Pole, who had been given orders by King Henry the Eighth of England to up sticks and leave her home in Warblington Manor within the next two days.

My heart pounding, I realized that I was safe and would not be homeless any time soon. I was so afraid of the awesome task of packing all my family’s possessions in such a short space of time. Luckily for her, though, Ursula would have had her ladies to help, as well as her eldest daughter, Dorothy. I didn’t think there was any way at all that she could rely on Henry Stafford to pack anything at all, let alone a crate full of his own belongings, and to sort out his many fancies and fripperies.

Arriving at work I saw that Sarah was already there, so I peeked around her office door to say a quick hello and then go into the kitchen to put the kettle on. I looked from the window at the pots of flowers basking in the early morning sunshine, their sweet faces turned up to the sun’s yellow rays. The sky, a hard pale blue, arched overhead. Sipping my coffee, I went to Max’s office to check his diary. Puzzled, I saw that he had crossed through today, and the words Annual Leave were written on the page with a thick black pen.

Shrugging and wondering why he hadn’t said anything to me about a day off, as he usually did, I returned to my office and tried to get on with some work. I had plenty to do, as Max had left several tottering piles of files for me with instructions for letters to be typed, phone calls to be made, and appointments to be put in the diary. As well as, of course, the inevitable filing.

Thinking about it, though, I was a bit put out that Max wasn’t there. I’d prepared myself mentally to have a word with him about Gregory Walsh. Not only to tell him that I finally believed him about his past life experiences as Gregory, but to get a first-hand account of what had actually happened to him when he’d disappeared from Ursula’s life. I wanted to know if he’d realized how badly hurt she was by the whole situation.

As well as that, I didn’t really like having to actually say sorry for not believing the “I’m so Great” Max Reynolds in the first place. He’d love the fact that I was bowing down to him, I was sure of that. What an irritating man he could be at times! Trying not to think about Max and the whole sorry situation, I worked on steadily for the rest of the day, with just an interruption from Stuart at one point about a problem with somebody’s will, and a chat with Sarah in the kitchen when I made yet another cup of coffee.

What on earth would I do without coffee to get me through the day? Glancing at my Fitbit with such a disappointing number of steps—barely three thousand—I decided then and there that I should stop the coffee and start drinking water all the time. That way surely I would lose weight without worrying about how many steps I’d done. Hmm, I suppose I could give it a try.

Finally five o’clock came around, and I went outside to the parking lot and got into Daphne, my little red Mini. Havant seemed busier than usual, with plenty of people going in and out of the shops along the High Street. Perhaps because it was such a lovely sunny day, and even now at this time the sun shone from a blue sky with just a few cobwebby clouds floating about like shredded cotton wool balls.

I had an urge to go to Warblington again to the ruin, but I really wasn’t sure if I was up for another trip back just yet. I still felt pretty upset about the last time, and the fear that I always felt in the presence of King Henry just never seemed to go away. I decided that I didn’t want to bump into him any time soon, so would probably give the ruin of Warblington Manor a miss tonight.

Deciding then that I’d go straight home, I’d just driven past the Bear Public House and what I thought was the now derelict Streets, the ironmongers, when I noticed that the building was no longer empty, but had been turned into what looked like a trendy cafe bar, similar to Mooch on Cosham High Street. I felt a momentary pang at my Nan’s favorite store not being open for hardware any more, but realized that it was better than the building going to rack and ruin. I glanced in as I cruised slowly by, and could see that Havanti Coffee House, as it was called, was fairly busy, with quite a few tables occupied.

Up ahead the traffic lights turned to red, and I found myself directly outside the cafe bar with a really good view inside, particularly of people sitting at tables in the window. Suddenly, with a sinking heart, I saw that one of those people was Max, my boss Max Reynolds, sipping elegantly at his no doubt latte coffee, and leaning forward talking animatedly to a woman who sat directly opposite him. A woman who, at first glance I mistook for my sister, Claire. But glancing again, I realized that it wasn’t her, but somebody who looked so much like her, from her blonde hair and tanned skin to her micro miniskirt and low cut top, that they could have been twins. Oh my God, I thought with a totally irrational feeling of jealousy. That little green imp that liked to sit on my shoulder and whisper nonsense in my ear was back. Max had found himself another Barbie.

***

“Your mother is an interfering wench,” stated Henry Stafford as he paced our bedchamber, back and forth, back and forth, his skinny legs as rounded as if he had been riding a horse, or perhaps had rickets when young. “Her prophecies, her spells and potions—is she a witch, Ursula? Is your mother a witch?” He leaned close, his neck stretched and taut and his nose almost touching mine. “Should King Henry learn of this abomination?”

I kept quiet as I sat on the edge of our bed, for this was our first bedchamber together as a married couple, our first bed and this—I rubbed the large mound of my belly—our first child. I had been so happy and excited at first, longing for a boy child, as Henry did also. And while Henry wasn’t the ideal husband, I was determined to make the best of it. But it seemed today as if Henry’s ill temper had reached a breaking point.

I tried to think back, to understand what Henry was talking about. But as far as I knew, only a hazy conversation had taken place. “Hmm,” I remembered my mother saying as my father looked on fondly and she ran her caring hands over my bump. “This could be the right shape and size for a boy child, but we shall have to wait and see.”

“Well, Ursula.” Henry came closer to me, crowding me. “You haven’t answered my question. Should King Henry hear of this?”

A frisson of fear spread rapidly down my spine as I said, “Oh Henry, no, of course not. That was just guessing. My mother has no idea if the babe is a girl or a boy.” A sudden memory of my mother dangling a pendant above my belly to see which way it turned came to my mind, and a hot flush suffused my body and my heart beat fast and hard.

“I’ve seen her give you potions, Ursula my dear.”

“For sickness only, dear husband. The first months of child bearing can give a terrible sickness.” A strong smell of fish from the beach seeped into the room, almost making me retch.

“It seems to me,” stated Henry, as he straightened up and began pacing the room again, his soft shoes cutting swathes through the scented rushes and dust that lay upon the floor. “That you have an answer for everything, dear wife. Especially where your mother is concerned.”

Before I could reply Henry swung around and, with the palm of his hand, slapped me across the face, rocking my head back so hard that it hit the wall behind. Stars as if from a night sky rocketed into my vision, and I gasped for air. Putting shaking hands to my face, I tried to stand up, but Henry pushed me back down onto the bed, his long fingers digging into my upper arms where I knew that, as well as on my face, telltale bruises would bloom later.

Proof, I thought to myself. I would have proof. But aloud I said, “No Henry, think of the child. Think of our baby, and please do not strike me again.”

Henry, in a tiny, sneering voice, mimicked me as he carried on pacing. “No Henry, think of our baby, and please do not strike me again.” He stopped suddenly and raised a clenched fist, and said in a conversational tone, “You are my wife, Ursula, my dear wife. My possession. You belong to me, and I shall strike you whenever the fancy takes me!”

He came closer to me then, his fists ready, and I closed my eyes and, flinching, raised my hands to my face. Cowering on the bed, frightened for my life, I curled into a tight ball and promptly burst into tears that streamed like rain down my sore face.

There was a sudden pandemonium outside on the landing and the bedchamber door was flung open, admitting two of my brothers, Reginald and Arthur, who ran in and grabbed Henry between them by the upper arms.

“Unhand me, you fools,” screeched Henry, kicking his legs in temper like a large black spider as my brothers carried him viciously from the room. “Unhand me!”

Henry and Geoffrey, who had been loitering outside, watching with satisfaction as Henry was manhandled out, rushed over to the bed where I still cried pitifully, curled up tightly like the fetus that I carried in my belly.

“He will not harm you again, dear sister,” said Henry, as he sat on the bed and stroked my long hair which, because of Henry’s attack, had come undone from its hood and rippled in waves down my back.

“Never fear, Little Bear,” said Geoffrey, his arrogant mouth set in a thin angry line. “We will teach him a lesson that he will never forget.”

They left me then, and when I awoke centuries later as Hannah Palmer, my face still shone wet with tears.