As the horse and buggy pulled up in front of Clay's Cottage, I felt a swarm of butterflies in my stomach. This was an impromptu visit and I wasn't sure how Nicholas would react with me being here. I had changed my mind three times on the trip here, but decided it was too late to back out now.
Robbie needed supplies to fix the barn's leaking roof, and when I heard he was heading into town, I asked if he would take me to the cottage. Or rather, blurted out the question, obviously not thinking before speaking.
Even though it was half an hour out of his way, he was happy to take me, and here we were.
I climbed down from the buggy, foot avoiding the large puddle beneath me. It had been raining non-stop since our trip into town last week; today the first day of having a clear sky. It had been three weeks since I started the Governess job, and the cottage painting had yet to show up on the Valentines' doorstep. The bad weather most likely delayed its arrival, and I was beginning to feel like a kid at Christmas, counting down the days until the presents arrived.
I glanced up at my chauffeur and smiled. "Thanks, Robbie."
"My pleasure, Tilly. See you in a couple of hours."
After reaching inside the buggy to pull out Nicholas' mother's clothes, I straightened my new skirt I had purchased with the girls last week. It was navy blue and with it I had bought a white long-sleeved blouse, similar to Nicholas' mother's. I was quite proud of myself for what I had achieved.
As I was making my way down the path, Nicholas appeared out from behind the shrubs in the garden, clutching onto a handful of weeds.
I waved and smiled at him, and he met me halfway, eyebrows raised and mouth gaping with surprise. It was hard to tell if he was glad to see me or not.
"Miss Fletcher! What an unexpected surprise. If I had've known you were coming, I would've cleaned up," he said, as he glanced down at himself. "I seemed to have worked up quite a sweat."
For a moment, I was entranced by his appearance; his white long sleeved shirt rolled up to his elbows, baring his glistening forearms. His shirt clung to his skin, accenting his toned biceps and chest.
My brain finally remembered that it was rude to stare, and it forced me to drag my eyes up to his. "I hope you don't mind me dropping in like this," I said, finally managing to form a sentence.
"No, of course not. I just didn't expect to see you again so soon." He added the handful of weeds to a small pile alongside the path.
"Honestly, I didn't expect to see you so soon, either." I thought I'd be back in 2019 by now explaining my whereabouts to reporters. "But it's my day off today and after a week of being cooped up inside, I just felt like getting away from the house. Robbie said he was going into town, so... Here I am." He glanced past me to see the horse and buggy heading back along the road. "He'll be back in a couple of hours," I reassured him, in case he thought I was being dropped off here for good.
"I felt the same way. Thought I'd take a break from painting and do some gardening. Come inside," he said, gesturing towards the front door.
He allowed me to enter first and he followed me into the living room, where we stood, staring awkwardly at each other and then the floor. I was beginning to think maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.
"Maybe I should go-" I blurted out at the same time he said, "I'll just go change my shirt."
Before I had the chance to finish my sentence, he had scurried off into the direction of his bedroom.
As I waited for him to come back out, I scanned the room, everything the same as when I left here three weeks ago. No, wait. Something was different. There was a new painting hung above the fireplace.
I moved closer and instantly recognised which one it was. It was the one he was painting on the verandah. The one with the woman in a white blouse and burgundy skirt. He'd completed it. The woman was too far away in the distance to be recognisable, though.
Now that the painting was complete, it wouldn't hurt to touch it, right? There was a slim possibility the time travel may work on this painting as it did for the cottage painting.
Without hesitation, I reached up and touched the frame...
"Do you like it?" I jumped at the sound of his voice behind me, and wished people would stop sneaking up on me.
If I was still hearing Nicholas' voice, that meant the time travel hadn't worked. Dammit.
Turning to face him, I replied, "I do. Who is the woman?"
He shrugged. "Just a woman."
His eyes lowered to my hands, and I realised I was still clutching onto his mother's clothes.
"Oh. Here," I said, holding out the clothes. "I brought your mother's clothes back. I have my own now, so, thank you for letting me wear them."
He took them from me and placed them on the sofa. "Thank you for bringing them back." He made his way into the kitchen, grabbing two glasses and filling them with water. He returned, handing one to me, then we resumed our staring. He finally spoke up. "How are you going with your new job?"
"Really good, actually. I'm settling in well. The Valentines are kind people." I took a sip of water.
"They are." He also took a sip of water.
"I had a visit from Constable Doyle a couple of weeks ago."
He coughed, choking on his water. "For what reason? He has no right to bother you any further."
"He was just stirring up trouble. He said he would be watching me and that I would pay for my crime sooner or later."
"He threatened you? I'm going to give him a piece of my mind." He slammed the glass down on the coffee table, storming out of the living room.
"Please, don't!" I called after him and he stopped. "I'm sure it was all talk. If you go stir him up, then he'll be out to get you too. I don't want that. If we leave him alone, he'll leave us alone." I hoped that were true.
He thought about it for a moment. "You're right. But if he approaches you again, you go straight to Mr. Valentine or come to me." I nodded in agreement, surprised he cared so much, but glad he was on my side. "Good." He had calmed down now and wandered back into the living room. "Would you like to sit down?"
"I really don't mean to intrude. I'm sure you have plenty to do now the rain has stopped."
"No bother. However, I do need to chop firewood otherwise I won't be having a fire tonight. But you're welcome to watch and tell me all about your time at the Valentines." I smiled and nodded, then followed him outside. He led me inside the barn where a section was dedicated to storing a large woodpile. "It's kept in here so it stays dry. Feel free to pull up a stump."
"Sure," I chuckled, plopping down on a tree stump, a safe distance away from Nicholas. I had no idea how skilled he was at chopping wood and I wasn't keen on losing an eye.
"How are you finding Isabella? I know she can be... I guess you'd say... enthusiastic about everything."
As he spoke, he grabbed an axe and a small log.
"She's lovely. And yes, she can get overly excited about things. But that's not a bad way to be, I suppose."
"Of course not. I wish I had her enthusiasm." He placed the small log on top of a stump, raised his axe and promptly brought it down, slicing through the small log like butter.
"Don't tell anyone I told you this, but when she was a teenager, she had a crush on Robbie. Actually, I think the feeling was mutual."
He looked up at me. "A crush? What do you mean?"
"You know, an infatuation." Sometimes I forget what century I'm in and my choice of words must sound so strange to these people.
"Oh. The stable boy?" I nodded. "Mr. Valentine certainly wouldn't have approved of that," he said, reaching for another small log.
"Nope. I'm sure they're over it now, though-"
"Ah, dammit!" he cried out, dropping the log like a hot potato.
He startled me, and I jumped up from my seat.
"What happened?" I shrieked, watching with wide eyes as he inspected his left hand.
"It feels like..." His eyes scanned the ground around him, then he pointed at something. "There."
I cautiously moved closer to him, not entirely sure what to expect. He was doing a good job of keeping me in suspense.
Then I saw it.
"Oh my God." We watched as a scorpion scurried away from us, retreating back under a log.
"Bloody scorpions," he scowled, wincing at the pain on his finger.
"Show me," I said, reaching for his hand.
He pulled away from me. "No, it's fine."
"Stop being stubborn and let me look at it." I reached for his hand once more and this time he let me take it. The sting site was obvious between his middle and ring fingers, the skin in the area red and swollen. "We should go inside and clean it." I was pretty sure applying antiseptic, a cold pack and taking paracetamol for the pain was the recommended treatment for a scorpion sting, but I had no access to any of those in this century. Cleaning was the only option.
"No, really, it's fine." He pulled his hand away and inspected the sting site once more, grimacing when he touched it. "I've been stung before. They're pretty harmless, just hurt like hell."
"I know. But I still insist on cleaning it. We don't want it to get infected."
"I must say, Miss Fletcher, you are certainly different than other women I've met. They would've ran for the hills as soon as they saw that scorpion. Not to mention, they never would've offered to clean a wound for me."
"I know. It's almost as though I'm from another time," I said, hiding a sly smile.
"Almost," he replied, more interested in poking the swelling than what I had just said.
"And stop poking it. Come on. I'm not taking no for an answer."
~
After boiling some water, we sat back outside on the verandah for the better light. Perched on the edge of my chair, I gently dabbed Nicholas' sting site with soap and a cloth, which had been soaked in the hot water.
He was complaining of a headache, and while I cleaned his hand, he sat with his head tilted back and his eyes closed.
"That should do it," I said, throwing the cloth back in the bucket. I took one last look at the sting site, satisfied with my attempt at first aid. I had no idea if it would help in any way, but at least I felt better for trying.
He lifted his head, eyes popping open, and he inspected the sting site himself. "That will itch something terrible tomorrow."
"If you have an Aloe Vera plant, cut off a stem and apply the gel," I suggested. That should help a little with the pain and itching."
He nodded in agreement. "That was my mother's remedy for everything when I was a child. She'd apply it to all my stings, bites, bumps and cuts." He gazed down towards the back of the land, the headstone in his view. "It's uncanny how similar you are to her," he said, turning back to me.
"I hope that's a good thing," I replied, softly.
"It is." The little smile I witnessed back at the Valentine house made a reappearance and I was so glad to see it again.
Somehow, after 15 years of struggling with the death of his parents, hiding himself away from society, and not being able to even laugh or smile, I was unintentionally peeling away those dark layers to reveal the brighter layers buried beneath.