Celestial Land and Sea (10 page)

 

There was nothing peculiar about the house when Grace returned. It stood in the same spot in the same street, its walls darkened by the blackness of the evening. The inside of the house was as Grace had always known it: a slight draft from a dodgy window, the faint murmuring from the pipes when she clicked the heating on, the weird smell of musk she could never seem to remove from the old building.

It had been three days since she'd found herself on the other side of the cupboard. Although it had occupied her mind throughout the day, she hadn't thought about it at all during her evening with Andy.

Harriet was out for the evening, so she decided to wind down with a more relaxed night to calm her thoughts. She boiled the kettle, poured the water into her mug, and drained the teabag. She flicked through the TV, sighing at the repeats on every channel. She leafed through a magazine that Harriet had left on the coffee table: stilettos, mascara, cellulite. She returned her mug to the kitchen, said goodnight to Bella, who was curled up on the sofa. She locked the front door and headed for the stairs.

The ascent was nothing unusual. It was a journey Grace found neither pleasant nor disturbing. It was only when she reached the top of the stairs that she began to feel a little queasy.

She noticed it as soon as she reached the landing. She couldn't have missed it. The events from the Friday previous came storming to the front of her mind as she stared at the cupboard door. It looked exactly the same, with the key still sticking out of the keyhole where she had left it. However, there was something different this time.

It was open.

The door stood ajar, and from the gap where it had opened, a faint light tickled at the darkness of the landing. It was soft, but it was distinct. She took a step closer. Hesitant, she held out her left hand and placed it on the doorknob. It wasn't as cold as she'd remembered it, but she could still feel the same breeze drifting out from the bottom of the door.

For the first time since that afternoon she thought back to her research from earlier in the day. It had helped her to understand where she'd been, but she still had so many questions that remained unanswered. She knew deep down that she couldn't refuse the door. It must be open for a reason.

I must go back
.

She pulled the door back so that there was an entrance big enough for her to fit through. The light still glowed gently as it beckoned her forward. She held her breath, her nerves creeping to the surface. This was something she had to do. She needed to be brave. She inhaled through her nostrils and counted.

One...

Two...

Three...

Grace stepped into the cupboard and the door clicked shut behind her.

The room was just as she'd left it. The bed looked as if it hadn't been slept in. The candle still stood at the centre of the floor. She walked over to it and picked it up. Grace was sure the wax hadn't melted at all since her first visit—how many days had passed in this world since then? She had no idea whether or not time would operate in the same way here. Perhaps she had just entered through the cupboard at the exact moment at which she had left it. It was impossible to tell from inside the ship.

She held the candle out with her arm stretched so that the glow from the flame circled round her. She looked down at herself and studied her outfit. She was wearing the same clothes as last time: the chemise with the sleeves reaching down to her wrists, the bodice tied with the black string. The skirt still flowed around her ankles, the fabric brushing against her feet, which, once again, were bare. She noticed this time that her hair had changed too. Instead of being tied up in a bun just as she'd fixed it for work, it now stretched right down her back. She'd apparently forgotten how long she'd had let it grow out as she rarely let it down. But now it was free, reaching just above her waist, tints of red shimmering within the brown locks as the light of the candle occasionally reached it.

Grace stood for a moment, the candlestick still in her hand, as she tried to decide what to do next. She acknowledged that a few things were different this time: she knew where she was now; she knew what was outside. But she still didn't know why. She would find that out eventually, she was sure of it. She just had to work a little harder. She glanced around the room searching for her next move.

It was then that the boots caught her attention. They were exactly where she had left them, lying in front of the chest, one standing upright and the other resting on its side from when she'd dropped it in her hurry to escape. As she stared at them, the words inside the letter came flooding back to her.

"A walk in my boots will help you see," Grace uttered the first line out loud, her eyes still fixed on the footwear, "that there isn't anything that you can't be."

If she had hoped that saying it out loud would make it easier to unravel this riddle, she remained disappointed. She still didn't understand. "But what am I supposed to be? I'm not even sure who I am anymore."

The confusion had started to build again until a thought that she knew wasn't her own pushed its way to the front of her mind.

Don't think, Grace. Just act.

Her eyes flicked back and forth as she acknowledged the voice inside her head. What was it she had to do?

And then it hit her. She had to put the boots on. She approached them and lowered herself down to the ground so that she could place the candlestick beside the chest. There was nothing for her to sit on or rest herself against to stop her from stumbling over, so there was only one other option: she sat herself down firmly on the floor. It took her a moment to adjust to the new contact with the room; she was now leaving herself vulnerable to any sudden invasions. In the time it would take for her to stand back up and reach for the door to flee, an attacker could conceivably kill her. But she knew worrying wasn't really an option. She had instructions to follow.

She pulled her foot closer to her as she picked up the right boot: the one in which she'd found the letter. Between her fingers the material felt thin. They were still quite tough—they weren't old or worn away—but they didn't look or feel as sturdy or as protective as she had expected for a pair of leather boots. Inhaling deeply, she moved her foot so that she could slide it inside the boot. Why placing on a pair of boots was such a strenuous ordeal she didn't know, but something told her that this was important.

She moved slowly as her toes made their way down the opening. The top was tall and narrow. She felt it make its way up her bare leg as her foot worked its way toward the sole. Finally, she felt her toes reach the front of the boot. She wiggled them to ensure her foot was firmly in place.

She pulled the left boot on, much quicker this time now that she was comfortable that there'd be no more unexpected items hidden at the bottom. The top of the boots were folded over—they were surprisingly similar, she thought, to the traditional footwear she had seen as a child when she went to see
Peter Pan
on stage during pantomime season.

Grace placed a hand on the chest and pushed her weight upon it to help her stand. The boots were neither too tight nor too loose. They were a perfect fit.

It occurred to Grace that any fears she had previously felt, any anxieties that had hit her upon entering these surroundings again, had disappeared. She took in the room again, casting her eyes around her. Everything felt so familiar now. The air wasn't as cold as she'd remembered it either. And it wasn't just the room that felt different.

A peculiar sensation washed over Grace. At first she couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she suddenly started to feel—how could she put it?—experienced. There was something about her mind that began to feel like it had been fed decades of adventures in a matter of minutes. Grace wasn't sure what they were exactly, as she struggled to locate anything specific, but she certainly
felt
like she'd seen the world. Although the nerves hadn't completely left her, she felt stronger, mentally ready to take on anything life threw at her. Even if she wasn't sure whose life she was living.

Taking a moment to consider her next move, she blushed as she recalled her earlier haste to evacuate. It seemed so bizarre now that she would have wished so eagerly to leave. She was no longer a stranger to the ship. There was nothing stopping her now. She headed for the door in front of her and pulled it open. Unlike her previous visit, however, there was no burst of sunlight to welcome her. The sky had darkened as the day had aged. Undeterred, Grace stormed out onto the ship's deck.

"I thought as much. You're rarely away from it.' He managed half a smile, trying not to let her see the panic on his face. But he had to tell her. "You must come with me immediately. They've got your son, Gráinne. They've caught Tibbott!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

T
he clock chimed and Elizabeth straightened herself in the seat as she made herself more comfortable. It was rare that she had a morning to herself, and she planned to make the most of this occasion. She was always busy, yet she was consistently bored. Perhaps today she could go for a stroll in the grounds or take up some activity to occupy her mind.

"Maybe I'm just going too soft in my old age," she mumbled to herself. How much posset had she had to drink last night? Her health had not been great recently. "The years have been good to me, but what would my mother think?" The mother she had outlived. The mother she had never known.

Her Tudor blood still ran thick through her veins. She wouldn't allow anybody to tell her any different. Not that they'd try to for fear of being struck down. "Would he be proud?" she sighed as she wondered of her father. Had she grown into the Queen he would have wanted her to be? She could only hope that she would have satisfied her parents. She had done all that her strength would allow, that much she knew.

She shifted her body to face the window. Fixing her attention on the river below, she lost herself in the quiet.

 

Nothing could have dampened Lord Bingham's mood that day. Her Majesty would be so pleased with him, he could feel it. He'd hardly slept all night, too excited to tell her the wonderful news. He could almost taste his reward.

He'd allowed Her Majesty time to stir from her bedchambers but once the clock had struck nine, he found that he could not wait any longer. He had to steady himself as he skipped along the corridor, not wanting anybody to see him so inappropriately merry.

He came to a halt outside the room in which Her Majesty was sitting so that he could compose himself. After straightening out his jacket he stood for a moment, watching her through the gap in the door. She was resting in her chair, one foot crossed over the other. Not prepared for visitors that morning, she was dressed more plainly than usual in a slender dress of red silk. Lord Bingham admired her fiery hair, which had been neatly arranged on her head. She was beautiful. If only she would notice him, think of him as more than a humble devotee.

He sighed to himself, then coughed: "Your Majesty?"

She jumped, startled by the intrusion. "Lord Bingham. You have returned from Ireland. What is it?" She made sure there was a level of anger in her voice to assert her authority over the disruption, but she would secretly confess to herself that she was glad for the company, as the boredom to which she was so accustomed had once again started to develop. She was beginning to grow weary.

Lord Bingham entered the room as Elizabeth stood up.

"Your Majesty, I bring you good news," he spoke quickly, his nervous excitement causing him to rush his bow. "I thought you ought to know that Tibbott Bourke has now been captured. Please allow me to assure you that he is held securely. He cannot escape."

"The boy has been imprisoned? He is no longer free. Very good. And does he confess to his treason?"

"He has spoken very little, Your Majesty. He certainly does not confess anything, but merely asks to see his chieftain."

"And who is this chieftain? Where is he now?"

"The chieftain, Your Majesty, is the boy's mother. She—"

"What?" Elizabeth blinked, wondering if she'd misheard.

Lord Bingham gulped: "Your Majesty?"

"You say the boy's chieftain is his mother? A female captain?"

"That—that is correct," he stuttered.

"How extraordinary. And do we know where this
female
chieftain is now, Lord Bingham?"

"She remains on the west coast of Ireland, on Clare Island."

"And her name?"

"Gráinne O'Malley, Your Majesty." His palms were beginning to sweat as he rubbed them together. Elizabeth stood and moved closer to him now, and he could smell the natural scent that lingered on her pale skin. He couldn't help but notice the eager look that had flared in her eyes.

"Seize her and bring her to me then."

"You—you wish to see Gráinne O'Malley?"

"That is what I said, was it not?"

"Yes, yes. Certainly, Your Majesty. Right away."

"You may go now."

Elizabeth turned her back and paced to her chair by the window. Lord Bingham bowed behind her and scampered out of the room, having accepted his mission. He had a duty to do and he could not let Her Majesty down. He must do whatever was required of him to find this female captain and bring her to the Queen.

Gráinne O'Malley must be captured.

 

 

 

 

 

 

G
race's heart had raced when she heard the news, her head weightless and dizzy. She turned pale as Donal grabbed onto her to steady her on her feet. If only in that moment, she was overcome with emotions that were not her own. In those minutes following the news of his capture, she knew also that she had known Tibbott, and that she had loved him as her own.