Book Club Reads: 3-Book Collection: Yesterday’s Sun, The Sea Sisters, Someone to Watch Over Me. Amanda Brooke
in a panic. She started to randomly open kitchen cupboards. ‘I’ve already made a pot of tea. There’s a flask here somewhere. Have you brought food? I’ve got some bits and pieces in the fridge. And cutlery. Have you got cutlery?’ Holly was gulping air at the end of every sentence as panic set in.
‘I’ve got a flask,’ soothed Jocelyn, ‘and enough food to feed an army.’ Holly went to say something else but Jocelyn stopped her. ‘And I’ve got a blanket and all the utensils we could possibly need.’
‘You’re sure?’ replied Holly meekly.
Jocelyn took hold of Holly’s shaking hands to steady her. ‘We’re not about to carry out brain surgery here,’ she told her. ‘Just talk, that’s all. Just as much as both of us can bear.’
‘Maybe I should get changed,’ suggested Holly.
Jocelyn sighed. ‘You’re fine as you are.’
‘Umbrella?’
Jocelyn raised an eyebrow, silencing any further prevarication.
‘Let’s throw caution to the wind, shall we? Life’s all about taking risks,’ she told Holly.
Holly and Jocelyn began their walk in silence as they followed the overgrown path that had once been an impressive drive leading up to the Hall. The disused road was hidden beneath years of decay and neglect. The only sound breaking the silence was the occasional snapping of twigs underfoot and sweet birdsong that brightened the morning in spite of the growing tension between the two women.
The ancient trees that had guarded the approach to Hardmonton Hall loomed overhead, growing more dense as the women made their pilgrimage. The September sun glinted occasionally through the canopy and the dappled sunlight lit the way ahead for Holly and Jocelyn. Holly tried to enjoy the mixture of light and shadow and the contrast between the rotting vegetation underfoot and the sparkling greenery above. The leaves were yet to show the onset of autumn, but as the breeze whipped them into a frenzy Holly could hear their telltale death rattle.
‘So how was your visit with Paul?’ Holly asked, eager to break the silence.
‘As well as could be expected.’
‘That doesn’t sound good,’ quizzed Holly.
Jocelyn sighed. ‘Paul hasn’t let me into his life for a very long time, ever since his father died really,’ confessed Jocelyn. ‘He was a teenager when I left Harry and he never knew what I’d been subjected to – and he certainly didn’t know what I’d seen of the future. I’d protected him as much as I could from Harry’s cruelty and, perversely, so had Harry. Harry was incapable of love but he could put on a good act. He found it entertaining to engender Paul’s affection and use that against me so when I decided to leave, Paul never really understood why.’
‘He blames you for Harry’s suicide?’ Holly asked, although the answer was clear.
Jocelyn laughed. ‘Oh, Holly, yes. Yes, he blames me, and he has every right to.’
‘But you know that’s not true. He would have driven you to suicide. He killed himself instead of you. How could you even begin to feel guilty about that?’
Jocelyn looked into the distance where the canopy of trees had started to thin and the full light of day could be seen in all its glory, marking their arrival at the ruins. ‘Ah, the light at the end of the tunnel,’ she told Holly, avoiding the question.
‘Or an oncoming train,’ sighed Holly.
Jocelyn took Holly’s hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘I’m here to help. It’ll be all right,’ Jocelyn assured her but the sadness in her eyes told a different story.
The ruins lived up to their name. The Hall itself was nothing more than a series of lonely, half-demolished walls covered in ivy and lichen. Holly could almost believe she was wandering through an overgrown cemetery with giant headstones.
‘Do you remember when the Hall was in its heyday?’ she asked Jocelyn.
‘Lord Hardmonton – the old Lord Hardmonton, that is – used to hold annual garden parties and the whole village was invited. They were glorious affairs and we’d spend all year looking forward it. When he died, his son Edward, the one who was lost in the fire, carried on the tradition, but I was married by then, so I never went.’
‘Harry?’ guessed Holly.
Jocelyn simply nodded.
‘So why did it burn down anyway? Tom was right, even though he didn’t know it. If they had the moondial and could see into the future, why didn’t they see it coming? Didn’t Edward Hardmonton use the dial?’ Holly knew Jocelyn was leading her slowly to the revelations of the moondial and she felt herself trying to sprint to the finish line. She needed to know everything and the questions just kept coming.
‘Oh, Edward Hardmonton used it,’ Jocelyn told her, but offered no further explanation. ‘Now, the site for the moondial is right over here, as I recall.’
Biting her lip to hold back questions, Holly let Jocelyn lead her towards what would have been the ornamental gardens. The gardens were still magnificent despite the neglect. The mixture of exotic shrubs and grasses had fought for supremacy over the abandoned and partly demolished architecture and had secured a glorious victory. The red, orange and yellow hues of autumn had arrived early here and the view was breathtaking. Holly wished she had seen the gardens earlier in the summer at the height of the flowering season.
Holly recognized the site of the moondial from the architectural plans she had already seen. The outer edge of the circle was made from grey stone, although most was now hidden beneath the shrubbery that had bordered it. In the plan, each of the four segments of the main circle had been planted up with a different mix of plants and shrubs, possibly chosen to depict the four seasons. Over the years, the more delicate specimens had either been consumed by their more dominant bedfellows or had simply withered and died. In contrast to other parts of the garden, the landscaping here looked bleak.
‘What’s this?’ asked Holly as she stepped onto one of the four paths that led to the stone centre circle where the moondial had stood. Kicking away thick layers of moss underfoot, Holly revealed writing that had been etched into the stone.
‘There are inscriptions on each of the four paths,’ Jocelyn told her. ‘A poem with four verses. This is why I wanted to bring you here. They explain how the moondial works and, if I remember correctly, the first one is over here.’
As they crossed the centre of the circle, Holly put down the wicker basket she had been carrying.
‘Wait, I need something from in there,’ Jocelyn said. She rummaged in the basket and took out a wire brush.
With a little careful brushing, Holly revealed the wording on the first path:
Beneath the fullest moon
If only for an hour
Reflection is the key
To the moondial’s power
‘Well, that’s nothing I couldn’t have worked out for myself,’ Holly said sulkily, unable to hide her disappointment that this verse hadn’t revealed any hidden secrets. ‘I’d already noticed that the vision only lasts about an hour, and I’d worked out the need for a full moon too. I tried using the dial once when there wasn’t a full moon and the orb barely flickered.’
‘Let’s read the next verse,’ Jocelyn suggested.
There was no moss growing on the next path so the second part of the poem was relatively easy for Holly to read.
A timepiece like no other
Moonlight will point the way
A shadow cast by moonlight
Reaching out to an unborn day
The reference to a timepiece triggered a memory. This time, Holly did have a question. ‘The moonlight reflected from the centre