Page 72 of Twin Flames
George sat on a hard, wooden chair near the window overlooking the spot where Anne Boleyn had lost her life. He reflected on how low Henry’s favourites had fallen in such a short period. It was over. What more could be done? He would try to go to his death with honour and be grateful that it was him, not Cara who would face the executioner. If he knew she was okay, he could handle anything. His eyes lit on the dusty floor and flooded with unexpected tears as he saw Thomas and May’s names etched into the dust. As he’d suspected, he’d been thrown into the cell they had occupied immediately before him. Thank God, they were safe and on the way home to his dear parents. He knew he could rely on them to take care of Cara and the children.
The following morning the cell door was flung open, and a gaoler called, ‘The king has come, and he requires your presence immediately.’
George rubbed his gritty eyes and leapt to his feet. Somehow, he’d managed to sleep for a few hours despite the hard, lumpy mattress and the freezing cold air. He’d tried not to dwell on what was ahead of him so he could sleep; not spin in his hopeless grief. This was his chance to appeal to the king who had been his companion and friend for many years, not just his master. Perhaps he would have mercy when he realised George was still his loyal servant.
George entered the audience chamber where Henry sat on one of his many thrones. He fell to his knees and kissed King Henry’s hand. The king’s cluster of rings shone against the backdrop of the dim room.
‘Your Grace, I’m overjoyed to see you again, but I’m distraught to find myself in such dire circumstances.’
‘Rise, rise, Cavendish. I’m heartsick at these charges brought against you and the countess. We released her at your request and for the sake of your children and the friendship we shared, but this profound treachery deeply wounds me. What have you to say for yourself?’
‘Sire, I beg you to please reconsider. I would never do anything to endanger you or your crown. My life has been dedicated to serving you.’ George’s head remained bowed.
‘It seems you and your lady wife were more loyal to your former queen than to your king. I was informed that you hatched plans to double-cross me in league with the northern lords. And you! The one and only northern lord whom I trusted. I would have granted you anything. How could you do it?’ Spittle flew from the king’s lips, and he flushed an angry pink as he ran his hand through his faded red hair.
‘I swear I didn’t do anything other than be your trusted advisor as I have always been since you appointed me these many years past. And my wife served the former queen at your bequest. We held no special affiliation to her. The charges against us are cooked up by one of your enemies in order to turn you against us. Please believe me, Your Grace.’
Henry shifted in his seat. He was weary of the web of deceit that surrounded him.
‘It is with great sadness, George, that I must condemn you to remain in the Tower to await sentence from the council. They will meet within the week and decide your fate. I pray that you will not be executed like so many of my dear friends, but it’s out of my hands. It’s for Cromwell and his men to evaluate the evidence to see what the charges must be.’
There was nothing more George could say. He knew the king well enough to know he was washing his hands of the situation because he didn’t wish to offer him a reprieve.
‘I hope you’re grateful for the release of your lady wife and children. I’m a benevolent king, but I’m unable to show mercy in the face of such double-dealing and treachery. Your title has been revoked. For the sake of your father, who served my father with an unblemished record, your family will remain untouched at their home in York. Of that, you have my word so you may face your fate in peace.’
CHAPTER 22
York, present day, when Cara disappeared
For perhaps the hundredth time that day, George wondered where Cara had gone. She wasn’t at home when he popped by on two consecutive days. She wasn’t reading text messages or returning his calls. It was as if she’d dropped off the edge of the earth. She’d frozen him out of her world, wherever she was. A chill ripped through him as he contemplated this grim realisation.
After a couple of days consumed by worry, he decided to call her work number, but his call was diverted to an automated message which said she was away on business, and her office was closed.
Right-ho, Cara. The message was clear. He wouldn’t bother her anymore—he would leave it up to her.
It was a first for her not to be in touch with him at all when he was trying to make contact. Even when he’d done something unforgivable she would at least respond by message to let him know she was okay. He was restless night and day. There was a dull ache in his chest, and he hurt all over.
He argued inwardly that perhaps it was better this way. He did everything he could to convince himself it was so. But it was no good; he concluded that even if it was for the best, he hated it. He wanted her, he yearned to hear her voice, and now he regretted his mulish behaviour. He could kick himself; her disappearance was obviously a result of something he’d done. He’d given up trying to figure out exactly what triggered their separations, but she had been so angry about the newspaper article, and he had brushed it off as if it wasn’t a big deal.
Cara could be unpredictable, and as much as it drove him crazy, it was also one of her qualities that bewitched him. He could no longer ignore that his marriage wreaked havoc upon their lives.
It was a wonder she’d waited for him this long. He nursed his lukewarm cup of black tea. Hunger pangs clawed at his belly, but he had neither the desire to prepare food nor the appetite to eat. Everything seemed pointless, and yet time continued to tick by as he stared at the mahogany grandfather clock in the workshop. Unable to concentrate on anything for more than a couple of minutes, work was increasingly a challenge. Clients, friends and colleagues buzzed in and out, and it was an effort to rally himself to engage in mundane conversation. He knew it was unkind, but their concerns seemed banal. His usually optimistic and bouncy personality was buried beneath a weight of gloom.
Life at home had a nightmarish quality. Joanna kept catching him when he was zoned out, and she remarked several times on his vacant stare. Worse still, he could barely muster a decent excuse. He’d lost the will.
‘I’m feeling under the weather,’ was the best he could do. ‘A bit tired.’
He realised that for the first time, he couldn’t make himself care enough about whether she found out what was going on, tocome up with a plausible excuse. He’d lost interest in everything since Cara disappeared.
Joanna looked at him as if he were an alien species she no longer knew or understood, and the chasm between them grew as the black void in his heart deepened. He was physically unwell and emotionally bereft.
George pondered on his recent meeting with Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. He admired the royal couple; they were impressive beyond their titles and pomp. No wonder they were still so celebrated, almost two centuries later. All he could remember from his last time travel sojourn was that Queen Victoria had charged him with visiting Spain under diplomatic pretence so he might be her eyes on the ground.
Like many monarchs before her, Queen Victoria was eager to learn what the Spanish were up to and she had nominated George, one of her favourites, to carry out the secret mission. As if all of this heartache in his present-day life wasn’t enough to deal with. He never knew from one minute to the next when he’d be drawn back to Victorian times. He never knew how long he’d be gone, or what was happening in his normal life when he hurtled back to the past. He pondered his strange situation. The Spanish goose chase could be a long one because in those days it could take months to travel across Europe. Not that it was any indication of how long he’d be there. He’d managed to work out, through conversations in both timelines that when he flitted back and forth, no one else seemed aware that anything had changed. His physical presence remained. He didn’t understand how it worked; only that it did.
He found it bizarre, yet fascinating. It meant there was something about his consciousness that travelled with him, but he remained physically present in both timelines continuously.He’d love to talk to someone who understood time travel, but so far he’d had no success. He couldn’t risk telling the wrong person. It sounded mad, and he wouldn’t blame anyone for thinking he’d lost his mind if he told them his version of events. Was he the only time traveller in history? It was a lonely and frightening thought.
Hopefully, Cara would forgive him, and reappear soon so he would be lifted out of this dreadful slump. He knew from experience that his dark mood would dissipate in an instant when he was with her. If only he could tell her what was happening. But would she even believe him?
