Changing Grace (6 page)

“Wow, who would figure? I’ve had that desk years and I had no idea. How on earth did you find out?”

“Don’t ask. It’s a long story. I’ve got to go now. It’s late and the weather’s getting worse. Just lift the false bottom of the drawer.”

“Ok, hun, I’ll lift it, promise. Now you look after yourself out there. Give me a ring when you get back to the hotel. Just to let me know you got there safely.”

“Yeah, sure, will do,” she said doing up the buttons on her coat and slinging the backpack over her shoulder. “Kate, would you mind if I take tomorrow off? I think I should see a doctor.”

“That’s fine, hun. Things have slowed down a bit the last few days.”

The wind howled around them as they hugged goodbye on the doorstep.

“You sure I can’t call you taxi?”

“I’ll be fine. Go on, get back inside, Kate, you’ll catch your death out here.”

Kate laughed, “And you won’t? Come on, Grace, let me get you a taxi.”

“Really, I’m fine,” she said giving her friend a final quick wave before turning towards the street.

********

Quickly disorientated by the dense fog and carpet of snow that blanketed the city, she found herself on a street that she didn’t recognise. Tired and struggling through the deep snow, she wished she had worn her boots instead of her trainers.

Icy wind pounded her with snow, the air pierced her skin like a blade and the cold snow burnt her feet through her trainers as she plunged through the bitter blizzard. She blinked, trying to clear her streaming eyes and stumbled with the weight of the backpack. The snow-covered street was deserted but she cried for help none the less. The weak pitiful wail was swallowed by the howling wind as she stumbled again and fell to the ground.

Tiredness crept into every muscle and bone of her body. She could hear the thudding of her pulse in her ears, felt the bitter cold of the snow beneath her hands and knees as she crawled along the ground. Terror gripped her as she sank exhausted into a snow drift. In desperation she tried to pull herself up, but the weight of the bag on her back and the ache in her limbs prevented her from rising.

The falling snow started to spin, forming an ever tighter vortex of darkness around her. She could hear the murmur of a voice somewhere in the distance as she desperately fought to keep herself from sleep. Her arm reached out in the direction of the voice and her fingers stretched to touch its source.

In those final moments of life she felt his hand on her shoulders, his face so close that his breath warmed her cheeks. She heard the gentle rumble of his voice tremble in her ears as she clawed at the tiny hole of light, desperate to break through the darkness.

As life drifted from her body and all conscious thought became dreams, her mind clung to the hazy image of Robert Hamilton.

********

With the grace of an angel he lifted her lifeless body and carried her through the blizzard towards the city lights. Deterred by the late hour, driving wind and heavy snowfall most residents had abandoned the streets for the comfort of a warm fire and the shelter of their homes.

Robert was grateful for the deserted streets and late hour as he approached the door of his house. He would have had a hard time explaining the limp body in his arms to anyone who might have enquired. Not to mention the strange looking sack he had found on her back.

Gently he placed her on the mattress of his bed. He lifted his hand and brushed his knuckles slowly over her cheek. He watched the shallow rise and fall of her chest and knew, as sure as the sun that had just set, that she clung to life by a thread.

Undeterred by propriety he removed her sodden clothes and covered her gently with the padded quilt from his bed. He placed a warmed brick wrapped in cotton at her feet and stoked the fire in the room, before removing his own sodden clothes and towelling his head dry. Reaching for a clean shirt and trousers he hurriedly dressed so that he could examine the sack he had found her with.

He couldn’t find an opening to the sack and assumed it had been stitched all round. He was puzzled by the strange leather and cloth that had been used to make it. His eyes wandered over her discarded clothes and her ruined shoes. Gently he lifted her hand and examined the bracelet she wore on her left wrist. It looked to Robert as though it was a timepiece, but he had never seen one so delicate and small. He rested her hand on his upturned palm and brushed his lips across her fingers. He wrapped his hand around hers and clutched it tightly to his chest.

She gasped two short quick breaths as her body sprang back to life. Her eyelids flickered as she fought to open them. She could feel him beside her, clutching her hand to his chest. She could hear the crackle of a fire and the howling of the wind as it lashed against the window. She was in a familiar yet strange place. Her heart raced with anticipation as her eyes opened to the recognition of Robert Hamilton.

“Who are you and why have you haunted me so?” he whispered.

THE END...
but we don’t want to stop here!

If you have enjoyed ‘Changing Grace’ then look out for ‘Saving Grace’, the last in the ‘Beyond Time’ short story series.

But for now, I bid you farewell from 17
^th
Century York.
Thank you for reading and until the next time,
keep safe and keep well.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Elizabeth Marshall is the writing alter ego of a lady born and brought up in a small village in rural South Africa surrounded by a large Scottish farming family.

She has worked at the Charing Cross and Westminster Medical School in England, Nottingham Social Services in England and is currently the Director of an IT Project Management Consultancy.

Elizabeth lives in a 16th Century farmhouse on a sporting estate in the Scottish Borders with her husband, five children and eight chickens and spends her spare time with her head in a book or her fingers on the keyboard writing one.

Elizabeth Marshall has also written the book
‘When Fate Dictates’ and is a regular contributor on
www.goodreads.com/author/show/5051445.Elizabeth_Marshall
.

Read more about Elizabeth Marshall and her work
on her website
www.elizabethmarshallwrites.com