Far Into Yesterday by Verna Clay (brene brown rising strong .TXT) 📖

Thomas Manor. It was lovely and meandering, with dappled light painting the forest floor. The trail exited on the southern boundary of the castle. It took her about thirty minutes to walk through the tall trees.

From the research she had already accomplished, Ella knew the castle had been refurbished. It was now an international business, training, and conference center, as well as a popular location for weddings and private events. She glanced at her watch. Her appointment was at ten o'clock with Mr. Flutter, the events coordinator. When she'd called him a few days earlier and explained the research she was doing with Sir Thomas, he'd been more than accommodating, even going so far as offering to pick them up at Sir Thomas's home. Ella smiled inwardly; there certainly was truth to the adage: It’s who you know.

She circled to the front of the castle and entered the main entrance that faced the inner courtyard at a diagonal. Approaching the reception desk, she asked for Mr. Flutter. Flashing a brilliant smile, the pretty receptionist waved her toward the Great Hall where she said Mr. Flutter was waiting. Ella entered the huge room tastefully painted in various shades of cream and accented with predominantly red furniture, but with a sprinkling of blue furniture adding contrast.

A short and rotund man, immaculately dressed in a three-piece suit, stood beside the massive fireplace. Although he greeted her warmly with a hearty handshake, he was clearly disappointed when she explained Sir Thomas was not with her. She apologized for his absence, but decided it wasn't her place to explain it.

“Very well, dear, where would you like to begin?”

“What about a tour?”

“Jolly good idea.”

For the next hour, Mr. Flutter escorted Ella throughout Farnham Castle. Incredibly, the castle boasted fourteen meeting rooms and thirty-two bedrooms. Several of the meeting rooms were in use by successful looking business men and women.

The magnificent library, overlooking the City of Farnham, was occupied by several people ensconced in comfortable chairs, sipping tea or coffee, while reading or carrying on quiet conversations.

After visiting the most obvious areas, Mr. Flutter led Ella to an area not accessible to the general public. His cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID, excused the interruption, and answered the call. After hanging up he said, “I'm so sorry, Miss Montclair, but there's an emergency that requires my attention.”

“It's no problem, Mr. Flutter. Should I come with you and wait?”

“No, no, you just go ahead and browse this wing of the castle. I'm sure you'll find it most fascinating. It's not been updated like the rest.”

Mr. Flutter looked flustered and, with a final apology, hastened away to solve whatever problem required his assistance.

Ella wandered the long, empty hallway she had been abandoned to. There were doors on either side and, one by one, she began opening them. The rooms were mostly unfurnished, some with cracked and peeling wallpaper, some with bare stone walls, and others with barely hanging ancient tapestries. A few still retained miscellaneous pieces of furniture. Ella's imagination soared, and she thrilled at being in the presence of such antiquity.

Finally, she reached the last door in the hallway. Unexpectedly, her poem flashed through her mind, and a shiver of anticipation raced through her when she gripped the doorknob. “You silly goose,” she whispered, and opened the creaking door.

Inside, she was disappointed because there was no furniture, only peeling wallpaper. She was about to step back into the hallway, when a large painting hanging in a shadowy corner caught her attention. Now, that might be interesting.

She entered the room, softly closing the door.

Tattered velvet drapes allowed only a dim illumination of the chamber. Ella walked over and pulled them aside to allow in more light. Dust motes floated and danced in their new found freedom.

She turned and walked toward the painting. At fifteen feet, a male form was recognizable. Dressed in late nineteenth century garb, and leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed over his chest, he was tall and lean, but with a muscular physique. Longish black hair fell below his earlobes.

Five feet from the painting, Ella's heartbeat quickened. Riveting blue eyes against a sun-darkened complexion pulled at her. His clean shaven face, with arresting angles and planes, and a slightly crooked nose above the firm line of his mouth, made her knees weak. A hint of smile teased her. He wore tight fitting breeches and a loose fitting white shirt tucked into them. His long, muscular legs were covered to his knees in black leather boots.

Mesmerized, and now three feet from the painting, Ella's eyes locked on his and she stretched her fingers toward his face. Her breath hitched as the first stanza of her poem sprang to remembrance.

Far into yesterday
And beyond the realm of reason,
Memories of another love,
Another time,
Imprison my mind.

Two feet away… one foot… she caressed his cheek.

Chapter 3
Past

Ella's head wouldn't stop spinning, round and round it turned. She felt nauseous and weak. Although she heard footsteps and a door opening, she could only bend over, clutching her stomach.

“What the…” a baritone voice exclaimed.

Ella swung toward the voice and looked into the blue eyes of the owner. She squealed and fainted.

***

Sir Wallace Hastings, returning from an early morning horseback ride, entered his chamber to find himself staring into the startled eyes of a female. When he opened his mouth to scold her for the impropriety of being in his room, she fainted flat out on the Persian rug. Rushing over, he gently lifted and laid her across his bed. He blinked in disbelief. Never had he seen such clothing on a female. She was wearing pants, for God's sake, and the strangest shoes he had ever seen! She also wore some sort of gauzy blouse that allowed him a peek at her undergarments. Incredibly, she wasn't wearing a corset. Her soft shape was visible for anyone's view. Wallace didn't know if he had just died and gone to heaven, or descended into the pits of hell. He rushed to the water pitcher and dampened a cloth.

Bending over the strange woman, he patted the cloth on her forehead and tiny nose with its generous sprinkling of freckles. Massive freckles covered her arms. Because every lady of Lord Hastings' acquaintance attempted to retain an unblemished complexion, long sleeves and a bonnet were a necessity. Obviously, this woman was not concerned with freckles.

Her reddish hair was cut short and stuck out from her
head, the outer tips a pale blond. Wallace had never seen hair quite that color, and couldn't imagine why anyone would want such an unflattering style.

She was no beauty: her nose was too tiny and her cheeks too full. And all those freckles were distracting. Her body was also slim, almost to the point of boyishness.

Wallace shook his head. He was attracted to tall, dark-haired, voluptuous women. And yet…she was compelling.

He wiped her brow with the cool cloth. She moaned and opened her eyes. With a frightened intake of breath, she rose on her elbows and scooted backward on the bed. The headboard stopped her escape. Her breathing came in short, erratic gasps, and she looked at Wallace as if he was a creature from the dark woods.

“Who are you?” she gasped.

“I should be asking that of you.”

Wallace thought she might faint again, and spoke quickly. “My name is Lord Wallace Hastings. Now, who are you?”

She didn't answer. Was she addled? Had she escaped from somewhere? He raised his eyebrows indicating he was waiting for her reply.

“El…Ella Montclair.”

“Now, we're getting somewhere. How did you get into my room?”

“I…I…don't know.”

“Do you always dress like this?”

“Like what?”

Wallace scratched his head, “Er…in men's pants.”

The peculiar woman looked at her legs. “Yes…I mean, no—not in men's pants—these are women's jeans. I don't understand your question.”

Wallace scrubbed a hand over his face. The woman was

addled. She also spoke with an American accent.

“Are you an American?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I'm trying to help you. Are you an American?”

She nodded.

“How did you get here—to Farnham Castle, I mean?”

“I…I walked from Thomas Manor.”

“What!”

Chapter 4
Disclosure

Lord Hastings' shout sent the woman cowering further into the headboard. He was about to soften his voice and question her further, when a rap sounded on his door. The strange woman jumped and exclaimed, “Shit, what now?”

Wallace turned and glared at the woman, unable to believe the profanity that had erupted from her. He was so shocked that he forgot someone was at his door until he heard another knock.

He walked to the door and asked, “Who is it?”

“Wallace? I need to speak with you. It's your mother for goodness sake.”

Now, Wallace wanted to curse. How was he going to explain a woman in his bedroom? His mother knew he was no saint when it came to the ladies, but he would never parade one openly before her.

“Wallace? Open the door!”

“Great! How am I going to explain you?” he grumbled as he slowly turned the knob.

“Mother, we have situation here…”

“Wallace, I was wondering…” his mother began, but glanced into the room when the bed creaked. “Wallace!”

Wallace grabbed his mother's arm and pulled her quickly into the room.

“Shh…we don't want the whole house congregating in my bedroom. Mother, this is Ella Montclair. Miss Montclair, I'd like you to meet my mother, Lady Hastings.”

“What is a woman doing in your bedroom? I raised you to be a gentleman! If you must pursue women you cannot do it here! I am...”

“Mother, I'm as shocked as you are.”

“Wallace, what is she wearing? No decent woman
dresses in men's pants!”

***

Ella watched the exchange in utter confusion. Who were these people, and why were they dressed in period costumes? Why did the man look like the same man in the painting? She glanced around the room. The wallpaper wasn't peeling. The furniture was antique, but it didn't look old. She was getting a weird feeling about all this.

“What year is it?” she demanded.

The occupants of the room gave her a startled look, and she repeated her question more forcefully.

“What year is it?”

The woman the strange man had introduced as his mother spoke first. “How can you not know what year it is?”

“Oh, God! Oh, God! Please, tell me what year is it?”

The man squinted and said, “Eighteen eighty-eight.”

“Oh, shit!” Ella sputtered.

The woman gasped and grabbed the closest chair, falling into it.

In a stalemate, the three of them stared at each other.

“Mother, I returned to my room to find this woman doubled over in pain. Clearly, she's agitated and suffering physically and mentally. I'm not exactly sure what I should do? Do you have any ideas? I suppose we should try to find her family.”

“I have no family,” Ella said numbly.

“Do you think she's escaped from Bedlam?” the woman whispered to her son.

“I haven't escaped from anywhere. I don't know how to tell you this without your thinking me crazier than you already do, but…I'm from the future: the year 2010.”

Ella watched the older woman's hands flutter to the high neckline