Estella

By Sheila Radley

Estella wakes and finds herself looking up at the night sky and realises after a few minutes that she is lying on damp grass. She slowly recovers and sits up to find she is sitting in a field looking at Stonehenge. Her horse and close by grazing. She manages to stand

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book Marketeers
• Release date: Jan 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9781962905091

Book preview

Chapter 1

IT was cold! The type of cold that sends a numbing pain through you so that you feel actual physical pain. I lay perfectly still, trying to force my body to ignore it as my mind drifted. What had I been dreaming about before the cold had interrupted? I couldn’t remember. No matter I sighed, another dream will come that will lead me into sleep. I emptied my mind to allow that dream to enter but nothing came, there was just the cold. Oh, let me sleep! Listen to the wind blow and sleep will come, the cold won’t matter then! But it wouldn’t be ignored and continued to creep through every part of me … my cheeks, down my neck and into my arms, through to my fingertips … also from the opposite direction, from my toes and up through my legs, attacking my whole body.

Reluctantly, I paid attention to the cold and started to analyse it. Had I left the window open or had the wind caught it and flung it wide? I listened for its swing and the creak of the hinge but heard nothing other than the wind. Of course, I was delaying taking any action that would force me to rise, go to the window and pull it to. I just wanted to sleep!

But … I couldn’t sleep. The wind was insinuating its’ way through my clothing, caught tendrils of my hair in its’ grasp and whipped them across my face giving me something else to think about. I shifted, still reluctant to leave my bed, feeling annoyed and irritated. Then I became aware of the dampness … Had I wet my bed? No! Surely not! I never wet myself as a child so why would I now? That was Grace’s habit when she went to bed in a temper. My fingers plucked at the grass beneath me … Grass?

I opened my eyes and found that I was staring up at the night’s sky and a glorious explosion of stars! I lay quite still as my dull brain took in their presence, curious at this new revelation. I squeezed my eyelids together leaving just a slit with which to view those lights and they changed shape … elongating and blending. Then I opened one eye to see the effect this made on them. They seemed to grow slightly larger with my right eye, but when I changed eyes, I felt sure that the left eye had a clearer view. It was a game I used to enjoy playing as a child, but I gave up the exercise and viewed the starry pattern instead … what was it? I was sure that such a constellation would have a name. The only name I could remember was The Plough … I was never any good at astronomy, or should it be astrology and what did it matter anyway? I suppose I should have taken some interest as, according to my father, I had been named after the stars.

‘Estella we called you – for the stars. Constellation. Con-stell-a-tion!’ he’d explained and for a short time I’d gone around saying the word over and over, trying it out, letting it trip over my tongue until I had grown bored and the rest of my family had breathed a sigh of relief.

To me they were just sparkling little dots in a clear night sky that you could see sometimes and not at others, stars were very elusive … was I elusive? My mind flitted through its’ thought processes, taking in the vastness of the night sky above me, until it dawned on me that I really was lying on my back on damp grass gazing up at that sky decorated with those sparkling stars. Even then I couldn’t figure out why! I could almost hear my mother’s voice – ‘Estella Mawney. Get up off that damp ground at once! You’ll catch a chill and then you won’t be going to …’ wherever it was I was supposed to be going.

Thoughts of my mother made me think about moving again but I couldn’t quite bring myself to act. I continued to lie there, feeling the dampness soaking through the back of my dress and the wind restyling my hair. My ears attuned themselves to the sound of the wind, acceptable now that I knew I was in a field instead of my bedroom.

‘Illogical,’ Bella would have said.

Bella was my eldest sister and extremely sensible. She wouldn’t remain lying on damp grass gazing up at the stars, but then Bella wouldn’t have been there in the first place! ‘And nor should you be,’ a tiny voice whispered inside my head.

Another sound interrupted the wind’s song – Was that the sound of a horse? A very gentle whinny was followed by the chink of metal as the horse rattled its bridle. I was used to the sound of a horse and all its noises as we kept a small stable at our country house and we had all ridden from an early age. Yes, most definitely a horse, I could distinctly hear a hoof pawing the ground not too far away.

My curiosity was aroused and made me move, but as I sat up the sparkling stars spun in a kaleidoscope and I had to hold my head still to keep the world from spinning. I groaned as a pounding behind my eyes seemed to obliterate the sound of the wind – thump, thump, thump – it beat a rhythm as I screwed up my eyes in a vague effort to reduce the sound and I almost allowed myself to lay back down to rid myself of this new pain. Gingerly, I passed my fingers over my temples and found my hair was sticking to my forehead. There was some strange substance matting my hair, but that thumping pounding pain was reaching out its’ tentacles embracing my skull and stopping me from trying to solve this added mystery. Once the world had stopped spinning, I looked about me.

What on earth …? My own voice was thrown back at me, but the sight before me was astonishing! Was I having a nightmare? None of this could possibly be happening … could it? Impossible! I had to be dreaming! I shut my eyes and buried my face into my lap trying to rid myself of the images. This nightmare was certainly very realistic. I didn’t feel as though I was asleep, but then like all nightmares you could nervously laugh at being taken in when you awoke. Yes, that was it. When I opened my eyes, I would see the familiar furniture and walls of my bedroom! I took a deep breath and opened my eyes, but those familiar walls weren’t there. I really was sitting in the middle of a field and, in the distance, I could distinctly see the prehistoric stones of Stonehenge!

My mouth fell open and I simply stared in disbelief. I watched as the moon danced its light down onto those delicately balanced stones making it appear that it too acknowledged their magnificence. A circle of giant doorframes without doors my fanciful imagination had chosen to describe them in my youth. They seemed to grow in stature as I continued to stare at them in total and utter disbelief. The moon passed behind a cloud cloaking those doorframes in shadow and the wind hissed at me … I couldn’t stop a shiver. Would this nightmare ever end? How could this be happening? Little did I know that this was just the beginning.

A few yards away a horse was grazing quite unconcerned, unaware the effect his presence and that circle of stones was having on me. My eyes fixed on those giant arches and my brain was totally numb as I started to shake. From the cold? Probably, but also from fear – fear of the unknown! The shaking accelerated the pounding in my head, but I couldn’t seem to stop. My vision blurred, drawing a mist across the stone circle and I had to close my eyes to blink it away. The horse had turned his head and drawn back his ears as I let out a sob and he took a couple of steps towards me. A white flash down his nose helped me recognise Royal Prince, the horse I’d had since a girl, and his presence was a comfort.

Questions started to enter my dull brain as I hugged my knees in an effort to stop the shaking. What was I doing at Stonehenge? Why wasn’t I in London? Surely, we were staying in London for the ‘Season’. I shouldn’t even be in the country let alone here at Stonehenge, and in the middle of the night! Was it the middle of the night? Illogically, I wondered what time it was before panic swept over me and churned my stomach. Panic and fear!

Move Stella … Move! I stumbled to my feet feeling extremely weak in all my limbs and my legs could hardly carry me. The pain in my head weighed me down and my eyes refused to focus. What was wrong with me? Prince started to walk towards me as I called to him and I heard the note of panic in my voice. I knew I had to regain control! It was a strange emotion for me as I was always the confident one, but surely most people would panic in the same situation! There had to be some reasonable explanation. Prince gently nuzzled himself against me. His presence reassuring.

Oh, Prince … what are we doing here, eh? He seemed to sense my fear for his ears pricked up and he snorted as though in agreement. I stroked his nose and put my arms about his neck, feeling his warmth. I drew strength from that warmth and clung to it.

I knew I had to move! If standing up had made the world spin, climbing into the saddle would need a great deal of care. But, from desperation more than anything I found enough energy to clamber onto Prince’s back in the most amateurish way.

Finally, I was mounted and held the pommel fast for fear of falling off. My hands shook and once again the world went into a spin … I sat perfectly still waiting for it to stop. One thing I was grateful for was that I had always refused to ride side-saddle, especially in the country, while I followed fashion in London when I had to. At least having one leg either side of Prince gave me a firmer seat!

My view from Prince’s back was far better than the one I’d had sitting on the grass, but I failed to appreciate the magnificence of Salisbury Plain and Stonehenge. The moonlight continued to caress them, and the stars continued to wink and blink, making me feel small and insignificant.

But what had happened? Why was I there? As far as I could remember I should be in that rather overcrowded house in Limes Square, Knightsbridge. I felt certain that before waking in that field I had been in London. So how had I got from there to here during the night? Had I forgotten journeying to Tulley’s End, our Berkshire country house? Could one forget such a thing? It seemed the only possible explanation, but … No, it was all wrong! I knew with certainty that I should be in Knightsbridge.

Was I going mad? I felt panic rise in me! No, you’ve had a fall from Prince and forgotten coming to Tulley’s End that’s all. Yes, a fall - it was the only explanation.

A wave of nausea swept over me as I turned my head to look around, so I took some deep breaths of cold night air until the feeling passed and resettled myself in the saddle. Adjusting the folds of my skirt made me frown. The riding habit I was wearing was not my usual black … this was a rich blue and had black velvet trimmings. I could see it quite clearly in the moonlight as I examined my sleeves and cuffs and saw the braiding across my bosom. Yes, blue … most definitely blue! I could have wept as I looked down at my clothes! I didn’t recognise them! I only had one riding habit and that was plain black. So why was I wearing a blue one?

Oh My Lord! I spoke aloud, barely recognising my voice. What was happening to me? Was I going insane? A gust of wind whistled past as if in answer. Helplessly I looked at the vast expanse about me.

Someone, help me please! I pleaded to the stars as tears rushed to my eyes and a lump rose to my throat. I was not normally reduced to tears but couldn’t stop them that night.

Prince pawed the ground. Angrily cuffing away those tears, I looked down at my skirt once more in a vain hope that I’d see my old black … blue. A shudder ran down my spine as the colour seemed significant for some reason, it reminded me of something not particularly pleasant. But what? Think Stella. I screwed up my face in an effort to remember, trying to concentrate and control the fear that sat in the pit of my stomach. Blue. Why blue? It wasn’t a particularly favourite colour of mine. Think … I tried to empty my mind of everything except that colour. Blue … midnight blue … yes, that was it, midnight blue! A midnight blue dress! But not the formal cut of the habit I wore, no … silk. Midnight blue silk … with a large billowing skirt floating about my legs and for some reason the very thought of that skirt made my stomach turn somersaults.

The wind whooshed past my ears and sent a shiver through me. ‘Run Stella Run!’ it seemed to say, and I pictured myself trying to run and feeling that blue skirt clinging to my legs, trapping me, stopping me from escaping some unknown danger.

Fear welled up inside me as I saw those images inside my head – what did they mean? Why should thoughts of a silk dress terrorise me? I couldn’t stop looking over my shoulder for the feeling was strong within me. It was most definitely an eerie place and more so at night! Could it be haunted? How many lost souls occupied this site? Were they looking at me? I couldn’t stop a shiver!

Prince shook his head and let out a snort, interrupting those thoughts. He was impatient and wanted to move. I looked about me trying to decide which direction to travel. Home! I needed to reach home, but which one? Tulley’s End or Knightsbridge? Something told me I should be in London, but I dreaded to think how many miles away that was. At least Tulley’s End was nearer.

Turning my back on Stonehenge I pointed Prince north, and he began to trot forward with a determined step and eager to be moving at last. The motion sent shocks of pain up my spine and through into my head as I felt myself reel in the saddle and almost lose the reins. Frantically, I fumbled for the leather and grasped it tightly as I thrust my feet firmly into the stirrups. I was forced to bring Prince down to a frustrating walk, petrified of falling – I couldn’t lose my seat now! I groaned, realising that at such a pace the journey would take many hours, and that was if I was lucky and found my way in the dark. I had to get home! I had to get to Tulley’s End! I resigned myself to the journey, grateful for the presence of Prince. His body sent warmth through my thighs up into my body and gave me comfort when I needed it most.

That journey was interminable. If it hadn’t been for Prince, I don’t think I would have made it. I talked to him constantly and encouraged him to take me home where I would be safe. The thought of safety was a strange word for me to use. Safe from what? I couldn’t shake off a feeling of fear that pervaded me and I even found myself looking over my shoulder more than once, believing that I was being followed or that someone or something was about to jump out at me. I was suspicious of every shadow, which meant in the dark of night I was suspicious most of the time. Clouds scudded across the face of the moon at times and cast their deeper, darker shadows, making me peer into their depths for hidden dangers. It was a new experience, and I didn’t like it!

‘Pull yourself together Stella!’ I tried to be sensible, but wasn’t it understandable to feel as I did? I challenge anyone not to feel afraid given the circumstances.

I had no idea where I was most of the time but hoped against hope that I would eventually find a recognisable landmark. I remember Prince negotiating a river that I assumed to be the Avon, then a short time later followed a road for some distance. The stars helped at one stage until I realised we’d been travelling east, while instinct told me we needed to go more north-east to reach home.

Tulley’s End was on the outskirts of the village of Tulley’s Cross which lay on the banks of the River Lambourne that snaked its way through the beautiful Berkshire countryside. Between Salisbury Plain and Tulley’s End lay many miles of countryside that I would have found daunting in daylight … and I had to negotiate it at night! I prayed that Prince would not find a rabbit hole that might lame him … without Prince I was lost!

I searched for signs of a farmhouse or any sign of life, but unbelievably, considering the distance I had travelled, I saw nothing other than trees and fields, hills and valleys. The only signs of life being a deer that crossed our path, startling Prince and almost causing me to lose my seat, I’d then heard the occasional owl and even saw a family of badgers scuttle down their hole as we passed. I found myself drifting with the motion of Prince and must have passed more than one village or farmhouse without knowing. I remember almost falling from the saddle as I allowed myself to drift deeper and, for a time, the shock of having to save myself made me try to think of things to keep my mind occupied and so stay awake. I wound the reins about my hands as I pictured my family.

‘The Mawney Dynasty’ Papa called us. Papa was the second son of Sir Joshua Mawney and while his elder brother, my Uncle William, inherited the Title and family seat at Brougham End in Berkshire, my father Charles had the good sense to invest his talents into banking and a shipping line. He had prospered and never regretted being the second son and having to make his own way in life.

He had met and married Mama, Honoria, when they were both twenty and they adored each other. Mama was an only child and could have grown into a spoilt frivolous woman if she had taken after my Grandmére Claude – a Frenchwoman who had never quite grown up and had romantically run away with her English master, my Grandfather James Mackie. Mama, however, had more of Grandfather Mackie’s qualities. I had never met my Grandfather Mackie but Grandmére had lived long enough to celebrate my fifth birthday and my image of her was a froth of pink lace topped off by a powder puff of white hair.

My parents had wanted a large family and they had certainly got their wish for I had three brothers and three sisters. I must admit that our names were the only frivolity Mama allowed herself – we had been named alphabetically. Arabella, generally called Bella except by our parents, was the eldest and most suitably married to James Sutton and now living at Sutton Court in Somerset.

Bella and I had shared a bedroom and she had been my closest ally. I missed her happy companionship when she moved to Sutton Court a year ago. After Arabella had come Bernard who had sadly only lived for five days. Charles followed and was the image of our father and destined to take over the Mawney Mantle. He had recently joined Papa in his work and was thoroughly enjoying the experience and making us proud.

Serious Deborah came next and since Bella’s departure we had grown closer. She never acted without thought – too much thought at times – and took her responsibilities very seriously and had passions for doing good deeds like collecting our old clothes and sending them to one of the many charitable organisations.

Following myself, Mama had carried Frances for seven months before his stillbirth. Then there was Grace! Now what can I say about Grace? Deborah would often term her a Disgrace! In contrast to Deborah, Grace never thought and was completely headstrong and impetuous. Yet, of us four girls, Grace had Mama’s classic beauty but also Grandmére’s frivolity. We all loved her dearly while cursing her.

My young brother Harold was apparently destined for the political stage, he took delight in telling us more than once, and he had Deborah’s serious trait but to a lesser degree. He was at that in-between age and couldn’t wait to enter Oxford where he would ‘be treated as a young man of promise’.

Another stillbirth followed when Isabel was born and then lastly there was James who couldn’t decide what he wanted to do or be and dogged Harold’s footsteps like a puppy. Forever in a rough and tumble with someone and a keen interest in everything and everyone, James was rather like Grace. There were three tiny graves in the Church graveyard for Bernard, Frances and Isabel which Mama tended with loving care whenever she was at Tulley’s End. Mama loved all her children!

So that was my family. We loved and hated each other but would always be the first to jump to each other’s defence if anyone were to be critical. I well remember the time when Simon Carruthers – the youngest son of Papa’s junior partner – had made some comment about our names. He had wondered what names Mama would find to fit the impossible letters of X Y and Z. Grace had gone straight into battle at what she thought of as a disparaging remark and had given Simon a black eye just because she couldn’t find a suitable verbal response! I must admit the question had often crossed my own mind and was glad that I had only been named after the stars!

Our parents’ marriage had most definitely been a love match. I remember those tender moments when I had seen Papa caressing the back of Mama’s long neck or simply holding her hand and would see many fond looks between them. To see them together was to see a loving couple and I never once heard either of them raise their voice.

What would they be doing now, I wondered, as I rocked back and forth in the saddle? Sleeping comfortably in their beds no doubt, oblivious to my plight. No, of course not! They must be missing me! Search parties would have been sent out and I would cross their path when I drew nearer to Tulley’s End. I would have to be awake to see them and attract their attention! I started to scan the depths of the darkness that threw its cloak about me. How far had I come? Not far enough! Too soon to start looking for a friendly face. Wait until you know exactly where you are Stella.

I looked up at the sky to see fewer stars and more clouds dancing across the moon’s surface. An owl hooted and sounded mournful to my ears. My mind drifted again. I thought of Tulley’s End, that square Georgian house set in four acres with its tall chimneys that could be seen well before one’s eyes alighted on its ivy-covered walls. I’d feel safe when I reached there. Yes … Tulley’s End would be safe!

We had spent more years within those walls than we had in London. Certainly all the years of my childhood under the stern gaze of our Governess, Miss Temple, who was led a merry dance by each of us in turn and collectively. That poor lady most definitely had my sympathies now that I was older. She had left our employment only at the time of Bella’s marriage and gone on to a house with only three children that had to be quieter than the Mawney household.

My favourite place at Tulley’s End had always been the kitchen with old Mary. She had been with my mother since she herself was a baby and had mothered each of us in turn. She had married Tom the gardener in later years when I considered them both far too old to embark on married life and remembered when I had overheard Grace voicing my thoughts and questioning Mary about such a liaison.

But what are you going to do Mary? You and Tom can’t have babies can you! You’re too old! Mary had let out a cackling laugh at the very idea.

You all been my babies Miss Grace, so what we need with more!

So, why are you getting married? Grace had pressed on relentlessly.

Well, now you’re all growing up, I’ll need someone to look after or I’ll lie down and curl up my toes. So, it might as well be Tom, and he’ll keep me warm at night won’t he!

Grace had pondered more on Mary curling up her toes than how Tom was to keep her warm! I pictured the pair of them sitting in that kitchen before the dancing flames of the fire, with the smell of freshly baked bread permeating every corner of that room. I always associated that kitchen with the smell of bread and could almost taste it covered in a thick coating of butter. Mary had often broken off a piece and handed it to me as I sat on the dresser to watch her preparing a meal. Would they be in that kitchen this night? Tom would probably be with the search parties and Mary tending to the needs of the family as they awaited my safe return. I could almost picture the consternation in that house as they debated my whereabouts.

They must be sick with worry – we were a close family and cared greatly for each other. Mother would be slowly pacing up and down in front of the fireplace, her quick brain jumping from one conclusion to another, trying to solve the puzzle of my disappearance. Father would be telling her that all would be well in his most infuriatingly calm way. Would Charles be with them or out leading the hunt? If he was with my parents, he would be echoing father’s sentiments. ‘Listen to Father, he knows best’, was Charles’ favourite advice to the rest of us. I adored them both. My other two brothers would not be involved in the discussion as they were too young, whereas Grace would be there, excited at such an event as a sister’s disappearance – and Deborah would be scolding her for not being serious.

Thoughts of Deborah made me think of London. Why weren’t we in Knightsbridge? The Season had just begun, and Deborah and I were Coming Out this year. Months of preparation had kept the household busy and our mother in a continual frenzy of activity – organised frenzy of course! Also, it was unthinkable that after all that effort we should leave the centre of attraction and hide ourselves away at Tulley’s End. Had something happened? I felt uneasy and the thought that I couldn’t remember any of the answers disturbed me as I rocked back and forth in the saddle. What was the last thing I remembered? Think Stella! I tried to concentrate on that house in Limes Square, tried to picture myself there and the last thing I remembered doing … Yes, I was getting dressed … I felt myself going through the motions of putting on my clothes and could see the blue silk gown with its’ billowing skirt … blue, like the habit I wore!

Now where were we going? It had to be somewhere special. I let the images pass through my mind and could see myself walking out of the room I now shared with Deborah, along the landing and meeting Charles coming up the stairs. He was complimenting me on the way I looked … I remembered feeling pleased and excited. Charles was dressed up too – he wore a new waistcoat and was almost preening.

Oh, I wished I could just remember where we were going! It was infuriating, and I rubbed my forehead hoping it would help clear the fog from my brain. Somehow I felt it important that I should remember, but no matter how much I tried the images would blur and disappear and I could go no further than seeing Charles and myself on the stairs.

I remembered those other images I’d seen of me wearing that blue gown – images of me running and being trapped by the folds of material that wrapped about my legs, and I felt the surge of fear well up inside me. It was like a tidal wave that made me gasp and I was shocked at the intensity of those feelings and fought for self-control. If I was to succeed in reaching Tulley’s End I had to control my fears!

On and on we rode – even my brain stopped its’ meaningless ramblings. I was totally exhausted and must have allowed myself to fall into a slumber. Prince came to a halt and let out a whinny. Was he trying to tell me something? Had we reached home? I dragged my eyelids apart and blearily looked about me.

No, this wasn’t Tulley’s End! There was no sign of the tall chimneys, the churchspire or the great oak tree. We must have been on the highest point around and I could feel the relentless wind still circling me and cutting through my clothes sending an involuntary shiver through my tired aching body. Would it never leave me alone? Well, at least I could see where I was going now that it was daylight! The view was certainly picturesque but of little help to indicate the direction I should take. Why couldn’t there be a signpost? It seemed impossible that I should have journeyed so far and not come across someone – it was almost as though I was paying penance for some sin I’d committed. There was no distant church spire or curling smoke from a friendly chimney, no farmer out in his field, not even a cow or sheep to indicate the nearness of a farm.

Move Stella, the wind hissed at me and with a sigh I heeled Prince to negotiate the way down into the valley below. I looked skywards and saw a bird floating on the wind’s tide, soaring high and low while sweeping to left and right in such a way that was quite mesmerising.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, a gunshot resounded, and the bird dropped earthwards like a stone. Frantically, I grabbed at Prince’s mane as he lurched forward, threatening to throw me down into the valley. A dog barked as my eyes frantically searched trying to locate the owner of both the gun and dog, but my hold on Prince was precarious as I caught the sound of a man’s voice calling the dog from somewhere below me.

Prince finally took flight and hurtled down the track. The way was full of twists and turns and quite death defying. I hung on for all I was worth as I screamed at Prince to stop and called out for help at the top of my voice. We hurtled around a deep bend and just in time I managed to swing low over Prince’s neck to save myself being catapulted from the saddle by a tree branch stretching in front of us. Prince hurtled on, taking me further from the gunman and any possible chance of his help. I wanted to scream in frustration!

Finally, the ground levelled out as we reached the bottom and entered the valley. Prince galloped on. I couldn’t understand why he had reacted so, but thankfully I slowly brought an exhausted horse to a stop. As he stood panting and shaking, steam drifting off his body and I strained my eyes for signs of life. All I could see was a pair of wood pigeons that took flight and a lone magpie that swooped on an unsuspecting prey. Totally dejected and miserable, I urged Prince to walk on. I was well aware he needed to rest, and a drink of water would not have gone amiss for either of us. I tried to dismiss the thought. We rode on and on – my head hurt and my eyes ached. Close your eyes Stella – relax!

I shook my head refusing to give into sleep. Once more I attempted trying to remember where I’d been going with Charles wearing that blue silk dress. I could hear voices, agitated, impatient … Deborah and Grace arguing … I heard myself laughing as I left my room and met Charles on the stairs. Where were we going? Think Stella! I saw myself take Charles’ arm … did we step into a carriage? I wasn’t sure! Was it my imagination or a real memory? I searched my brain for more images of that night. Music! Did I hear music? Were we dancing? I tried to imagine myself dancing with Charles and saw the blue skirt swirling about my legs, feeling myself being caught up in its folds.

No – it was wrong – I hadn’t been dancing! Running! Was I running … and if so what from? I had the sensation of being trapped and by more than the folds of blue material. Think! But my brain was refusing to show me what it remembered. The world span as I shut my eyes … thomp … thomp … plod … plod …

On and on we rode … on and on … even my brain stopped its meaningless ramblings. I must have allowed myself to fall into a slumber for quite a time, oblivious to all that we passed, but then Prince came to a halt. He let out a whinny as if to say - We’re here!- and my eyes blearily looked at the tall chimneys of Tulley’s End. I felt a sob of relief rise in my throat as Prince moved forward and very slowly edged nearer to those chimneys.

I must have presented quite a sight as we rode down the main street of Tulley’s Cross. We passed over the little bridge by the duck pond, alongside the church wall and past the little row of neat cottages where I caught sight of Mrs. Hartwell, who interrupted her brass polishing to stare at me. I was too tired to greet her, but I sensed her eyes on my back as we rode on.

Nearly there! We rounded the bend and I saw the large oak tree that I’d often climbed. Those final steps were agony, but we reached the red brick wall surrounding the house and passed between the wrought iron gates. With half closed eyes I looked across the courtyard at the ivy-covered house, barely able to believe that I’d succeeded, and more than thankful for Royal Prince who had faithfully carried me home. Prince had known the way even if I hadn’t!

As he came to a halt, I simply sat there unable to move. Come on Stella, you’re nearly there! I stirred and managed to free a foot from the stirrup only to fall from the saddle. My knees buckled, but I managed to stumble towards the door, failing to take in the quiet and lack of signs of life.

I flung open the door hearing my own voice echo about me as I grasped the doorframe. The hall was deserted, and I felt vaguely annoyed to think that my family must be sleeping peacefully upstairs while I had been through such an ordeal. They should be pacing the floor waiting for news of the search party – not tucked up in bed! Desperately I started across the hall and called out again, barely able to put one foot in front of the other and my eyes refusing to focus … the drawing room door seemed such a long way away.

Why … Miss Stella! Mary’s voice came from a great distance, and I could just make out her figure standing in the doorway as I fainted.

Chapter 2

I was unconscious for quite a time, slipping in and out of that state, never sure of what was real and what was unreal. Mary tended to me as she had often done before when I was a child and confined to bed with some childhood ailment. It seems I developed a fever from exposure on Salisbury Plain and having ridden through a shower of rain – my riding habit was apparently soaking wet as evidence!

My mind wandered. Oh, how it wandered! For a while I imagined I was a child again with various pictures passing before my eyes, re-experiencing the emotions I’d had at the time. Fighting with Deborah over a bonnet we both laid claim to … falling out of a cherry tree and twisting my ankle … dancing around a bonfire pretending to be a witch at Guy Fawkes … my first unsuccessful riding lessons with Papa that ended with me sneaking out in the middle of the night to master the art and screaming with triumph below my parents’ bedroom window with more bruises than I cared to own up to!

There followed pictures of the numerous trips to church every Sunday morning and sitting on the hard pew trying not to yawn as the Vicar’s sermon droned on. I remembered the day Charles had cut a knot out of my unruly hair forcing me to wear a hat to hide my shame until it had regrown. The injustice of being punished for spoiling one of Harold’s essays and putting a frog into Grace’s bed when I found that she’d been the real culprit. Then standing on the doorstep waving my parents goodbye as they journeyed to Grandfather Mawney’s funeral. I saw myself growing up and the day Papa had presented me with Prince, my sixteenth birthday, and how a rapport had soon developed between us.

My fever grew worse, and thoughts of Prince brought memories of that journey from Salisbury Plain. My wanderings led me from one nightmare to another. Stonehenge appeared quite often where I would stand in the middle of the circle and sense their cold dominance, along with that torturous journey home and the sense of desolation I had felt … and the panic … and the fear as I continually looked behind me.

I felt myself fighting for breath as I tossed and turned in my bed … I was running … running from some unknown danger … running for my life. Trees surrounded me, caught onto my clothes … grabbed at my hair … sharp jagged fingers tore into my flesh. Animals scuttled about in the undergrowth and I could see their eyes blinking back at me and seeing my panic. I was trapped in that forest. There had to be a way out, but which way? My eyes darted everywhere. As I turned in a circle, I found I was back in Stonehenge, the trees had been replaced by those ominous archways and I was darting in and out of them, certain that their shadows protected something that wanted to do me harm – something evil! The wind was hissing – ‘Run Stella, run’ and I tried to … but my legs wouldn’t obey, they were leaden! Desperately I struggled, frantic to be free, but my struggles were making me sink even deeper into the mud – its’ suction gaining strength as I weakened.

The winds warning changed to a mocking laughter that made my blood run cold and I shivered. I felt those hands on me, clutching my arms, pinning them to my body … not the clawing hands of the trees this time, no – a man’s hands. Not hands that would help me escape that clinging mud. He had me pinned against one of those stones, my face pressed against the hard surface tearing the flesh from my cheek. I was writhing in his grasp, but he held me firmly from behind and I knew he meant me harm. My fingers clawed at the stonework drawing blood. If I turned, I would see his face and know who my attacker was! He was breathing down my neck – hot breath that formed a cloud before my eyes – he was saying something as he laughed close to my ear …

I woke to find Mary comforting me and reassuring me. I was in a cold sweat that drenched me, and I was horribly afraid! My teeth were chattering, and I clung onto Mary as tears stemmed from my eyes. I couldn’t remember ever sobbing so hard before! What did it mean? Why was I being plagued by such images I demanded, and she would hold me and soothe me, called me her ‘lamb’ until I fell back to sleep from sheer exhaustion.

They say sleep is a healer but with my sleep would come those awful dreams where I was continually fighting off those hands that held me fast. In one I could hear music playing and had felt happily lost in the music, surrounded by hundreds of candles whose flames danced in time with the music until a gust of wind blew them out and I was cloaked in darkness that turned my happiness to dread.

A maze of alleys confronted me, and I started to run, twisting to left and right seeking the way out as the terror welled up inside me. The blue silk I was wearing with its billowing skirt was wrapping itself about my legs hindering my movements. Then those hands grabbed me, and I was back in that same nightmare, trapped in a black alleyway this time and pressed up against cold rough brickwork. A tightness across my chest made me gasp for breath but there was a hand clamped over my mouth stopping me from breathing … I wanted to scream but the scream only formed inside my head. I couldn’t breathe! I was suffocating … unable to move … kept wanting to turn my head to see who held me, trapped me against that wall, but I never did!

I would rouse from those nightmares in real fear, looking for my assailant in the corners of my bedroom, touching my face expecting to find it bloody and torn from contact with the brickwork, until Mary soothed the fear and terror away. I was petrified and could almost believe that those dreams were real. Why was I being plagued by such dreams? Was I going mad?

The doctor eventually gave me some laudanum which sent me into a dreamless sleep that was heaven sent! As I slipped under its’ spell, I heard him talking to Mary.

You’ve sent for her parents?

Mrs. Mawney should be here any time. But the fighting worries me Doctor. I don’t like it. The tossing and turning can’t be good for her!

It’s the fever, that’s all.

But the poor lamb must be remembering what happened – after all this time!

In her present condition, it’s natural for her to remember.

As I slipped deeper into that dreamless sleep, I wanted to ask what it was that I was remembering … that had happened a long time before. Surely my present experiences were of greater concern?

*****

Finally, I woke – my fever abated. I don’t know how long I’d been gripped by it, but it was over. I snuggled under the featherdown quilt and breathed a sigh of relief. So, it had all been a nightmare! I was safe in my room, tucked up in my own bed at Tulley’s End. What on earth had brought on such nightmares? There was usually something to trigger these things wasn’t there? My mind was certainly clearer, the whole thing had been one enormous nightmare, although I still had that sense of fear and dread that I couldn’t entirely shake off. Well, anyone would feel afraid if they had had such dreams! They would go away now that I was recovered, I reassured myself. I lay quite still as I allowed myself to speculate on what could have caused me to think I was lost at Stonehenge. Stupid! Stonehenge wasn’t a place I had taken much interest in, so why should it figure in my dreams? I started to sit up and a sharp pain shot through my head forcing me to lie still, but in that moment I had seen Charles sitting at the foot of my bed staring out of the window.

His presence gave me doubts. Was it possible that it hadn’t been a dream? Could it be true? Could it really have happened? I made the effort and sat up again. Charles wasn’t looking at me, he was resting his chin on one of his hands still staring out of the window, a frown puckering his brow. He had a good profile, like our fathers, a proud noble forehead and sharply defined features. He was three years my senior and most definitely following in Papa’s footsteps. The picture I held in my mind was of the pair of them together in Papa‘s office, where Charles was learning the ramifications of high finance, bending over our Father’s shoulder following the pointed finger as it ran down the endless permutation of figures. At first Charles had simply listened to Papa talking but as he grew older, he had started to put forward his own ideas and ask pertinent questions that pleased Papa. Yes, Charles was going to follow in Papa’s footsteps and be a worthy Mawney champion. That frown showed he was annoyed. He turned as I moved.

So, you’re awake, he said kindly, his serious face softening. Feeling better?

I nodded as he came and perched on the side of my bed and placed a hand on my forehead.

Hm, feels better. Dr. Edwards reckons you’ll live. You’ve had a nasty fall and hit your head quite hard. There’s quite a gash over your ear.

I ran my fingers gingerly above my ears and felt the dressing over the right one. So, that was why I had felt my hair sticking to my head, it had been congealed blood, and the throbbing pain was from where I had hit my head. The seriousness returned to his face.

What’s going on Stella? Mary tells me you were mumbling something about being at Stonehenge of all places, and Prince bringing you all the way home almost in as bad a state as you.

His words finally took away the illusion and ended the brief spell of peace I’d felt. Signs of alarm hit the pit of my stomach.

Is Prince alright? I asked, trying not to allow the panic to completely engulf me as it had in my dreams. No, in real life I had to maintain control.

Yes, don’t fret. Tom’s taken good care of him, he reassured me. Now, tell me all. Is everything alright? What were you doing at Stonehenge of all places? The disbelief on his face made me angry.

It’s true! Honestly Charles … it was terrifying. He took my hand and held it between his.

Alright, I believe you! But what were you doing there?

I don’t know! I can’t remember going out riding, let alone all the way to Stonehenge! The words tumbled out of me at last. In fact, I don’t remember us being at Tulley’s End, I thought we were staying in London! I screwed up my face as I searched my brain. The last thing I remember is getting dressed to go out somewhere and … Anyway, weren’t we going to the Bannerman Ball next week? I demanded. I know we have to be …

Bannerman Ball? he interrupted.

Yes, I’m sure we were going there because Mama has great hopes for Deborah and Thomas Bannerman. I looked at him in the hope that he would be able to supply the answers, but all I saw was surprise in his grey eyes, then a puzzled look. He was looking at me intently, the frown deepened.

You’re right about one thing, we are staying in London. I rode down as soon as we heard from Tom and Mary that you’d turned up here. Mother’s coming on the train and should be here soon, he reassured me. Tell me what happened Stella – everything you can remember.

So, I described waking and finding myself on Salisbury Plain, unable to explain how I had got there. Then the dreams that had haunted me during the journey home and while under the grip of fever the fear I felt. Those images had been so vivid that they felt real and they had stayed crystal clear in my mind.

Charles sat listening without interruption and his face had shown how seriously he was now taking my story that I forgot that look of disbelief I had seen. All the questions I’d refused to ask myself on that journey home returned in a flood. When I reached the end, he was deeply troubled and stroked my hand almost absently.

What does it mean Charles? What are we doing here?

He shook his head, eyeing me with a very strange expression on his face.

What’s wrong? Has something happened to Deborah? I felt something dreadful must have happened for him to look so, although why I should pick on Deborah …? He shook his head again.

I wish Mother was here. She’d know what … he stumbled over his words.

For God’s sake tell me Charles, I felt exasperated with so many questions. For once I wanted an answer! He seemed to be considering the best approach. What would our mother do? How would she deal with this distraught sister? Oh yes, I could see Charles weighing up the situation.

Tell me, I demanded, gripping his hands as a pain shot across my head and into my right eye, but I forced myself to ignore it as my brother started to speak.

Stella. Everything you’ve told me … He took a deep breath. Your dreams … those nightmares … well, some of it … some of it did actually happen … oh Hell! He stood up and looked down at me. Stella, the Bannerman Ball was three years ago. Deborah and Thomas Bannerman were married in January.

I stared at him unable to speak. How could you respond to such a statement? Three years? Three whole years? No, it was impossible. I could remember … what did I remember? The Bannerman Ball? According to my brain it was to take place next week. It hadn’t taken place yet so how could I remember something that hadn’t taken place? He had to be joking – yes, for some absurd reason Charles was playing a joke on me! I stared at his face looking for signs of the laughter being held back, but there was none, just a mixture of confusion and deep sadness. Three years? I rubbed my temples in a vain effort at clearing the fog that scrambled my brain, trying to push away the pain behind my eye. Charles was still clutching my hand as I tried to digest this new idea. Did it help make sense of everything?

Are you alright? Charles broke in on my thoughts as he retook his seat beside me. I stared out of the window at the clouds scudding across the sky. It had started to rain, and I watched it beat against the window.

Is it true, Charles? Three years?

Yes, honestly Stell. I wish it wasn’t!

What else had he said? Something about my nightmares being real!? How could they be real? What did he mean?

Now I hope you’re not upsetting Miss Estella! Mary waddled across the room clucking her tongue as Charles started guiltily.

Neither of us had heard her come into the room, we’d been so intent. Charles moved aside as, still clucking, she bent and straightened the sheet, tucking it in as she went on to say that our mother had just arrived from the station and would be up to see me shortly. Charles breathed a sigh of relief that he could hand me over to her care and hurriedly went to join Mother downstairs. I was left to think about and dwell upon his astonishing words. Mary moved about the room checking that all was neat and tidy for Mama. It was such an ordinary scene that was in complete contrast to my conversation with Charles … I wanted to laugh. If finding myself at Stonehenge had been a shock, being told that my last memories were of something that had happened three years before was even more astounding.

I lay back on the pillow and stared up at the delicately sculpted ceiling … not sure what to believe! The sound of Mary’s voice when she had spoken to Dr. Edwards came back to me ‘the poor lamb must be remembering what happened – after all this time!’ Could that have something to do with what Charles was having such trouble telling me? He had said that part of my nightmares had really taken place – was there some horror in my past that I couldn’t remember while awake but now haunted my dreams? And if so, what was it?

Mary. Is it true? I questioned. She looked up at me. Is Deborah really married to Thomas Bannerman? Her normally merry blue eyes blinked back at me. Charles has told me that I’ve lost three years!

There, there, she tutted as she crossed the room shaking her head. I told him not to go upsetting you! I’ll give that young man a piece of my mind. She frowned as she felt my cheeks. You’ve had a bump on your head that’s all. Things are bound to be a bit hazy. All you need is a few days rest and you’ll be as right as rain. Her words were meant to be reassuring but the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach contradicted her.

My mother was a long time coming up the stairs. I was impatient yet fearful of the revelations that I may have to face, but finally the door opened, and her dear face appeared. A strong face that could hold every emotion … Mama loved her life, and we, her children, and Papa of course, were her life. As soon as I saw her, I felt sure she would be able to put things right.

She came across the room – glided really, Mama did everything with such grace – she felt my forehead, examined my face with those eyes that saw everything and checked the bandage applied to the cut over my ear. Assured that physically I was reasonably well, she then turned her attention to my mental state. She was full of good sense and no nonsense that helped diminish those feelings of hysteria that were beginning to take hold of me. Charles had delayed her while he had explained the severity of my mental state. So, she was prepared for my questions, but was I prepared for her answers?

So – we’ve got a bit of a problem haven’t we! she said matter-of-factly.

I had wanted to throw myself into her arms and be comforted by her, hear her say that everything would be alright, that she would make things right! Her calmness was the best antidote though and kept me rational.

I can’t believe it, Mama. Surely, it’s not possible … Charles said that Deborah is married … that I’ve lost three years! Tell me it’s not true! I felt myself almost apologising. Has Deborah really married Thomas Bannerman?

Yes dear.

Oh, how could I not know! I rubbed my forehead in a vain hope that it would help.

It’s natural after a bump on the head, she echoed Mary as she pulled my hand away. Don’t worry, it will come back, probably just as quickly as it went, she smiled. I was not convinced, but her words helped.

She stood up and crossed to the small armchair Charles had vacated, picked it up and placed it nearer to me, then settled herself more comfortably.

Right my girl, a term she would often use when being serious, Let’s make some sense of it all. I want you to tell me everything.

And so I repeated my story again, but in greater detail to Mama. As I recounted those terrible dreams I saw Mama close to tears, but she kept her silence and let me finish without interruption.

Mama, what does it all mean? I waited for her to give an explanation that would solve everything.

She looked down at her hands neatly folded int her lap and I waited – almost holding my breath. Then finally, she looked up with such sadness in her eyes.

Oh, my dear Estella, I wish you had continued in your ignorance. This latest fall has obviously triggered off these memories. She took a deep breath. You’re remembering the night you, Charles and Deborah went to the Opera at Covent Garden.

The word Opera made me gasp and sit bolt upright, ignoring the pain that shot across my temple.

Yes, of course … the Opera! That’s why I was all dressed up! I could see it all so clearly.

We were to meet Jonathan and Sarah Ingram at the Royal Opera House. I remembered the carriage arriving at the front door and the three of us climbing inside as Mama and Papa waved us off. Then Mama calling out a warning not to be late as we waved back, while the two boys fought to get the best view from the bedroom window behind Grace - who was pulling a face because she hadn’t been allowed to go with us.

It had been a jolly party, but when we reached the Opera House a message awaited us from Mrs. Ingram that Sarah was indisposed and so she and her brother would not be joining us after all. Deborah had been upset for Sarah was a close friend. Charles had taken us both by an arm and guided us up the steps and into the glittering foyer where I was caught up in the magnificence of the beautiful building and the swirl of colour from the ladies’ dresses and their sparkling jewels.

I had felt elegant in my evening gown – a blue silk intertwined with silver embroidery, with silver slippers and a spray of white flowers in my hair. I was decidedly underdressed compared to the other ladies’ present, but Charles had told me that both Deborah and I were the most attractive ladies there and that he considered most of the others