London
November 2013
As I began to wake, I rolled over and stretched out my arm to where I expected Claire to be lying. In my semi-conscious state it took a couple of seconds to register that the bed beside me was empty. Suddenly alarmed, I dragged myself to full consciousness, and sat up and looked around, and I was very relieved to see my lover sitting at the dressing table, swathed in a large towelling robe that had formerly been mine, absently staring into the mirror and brushing her hair.
"Claire?" I asked, quietly. Startled, she turned towards me.
"Oh, you're awake..." she commented flatly.
"It generally happens around this time of the morning," I answered, attempting to smile, "what's wrong, love?"
"Look at me, Robert," she said after a brief pause, "do I seem to be getting older to you?"
"If you want the honest answer, no," I replied, trying to find out what was troubling her.
"And under the spells?" she asked, sounding strangely listless, "I will be fifty-three years old in a few days, even if the magic hides it, and looking at you you haven't changed since the day we met."
I looked at her, still unsure what had occasioned her comments. "You have always known that would happen," I said, quietly, "I tried to warn you, and you've been in my mind often enough. I've never hidden it."
"I know, but it's really only just coming home to me," she answered, her tone flat, "what's going to happen in ten years, or twenty? Or will you have moved on to someone younger by then? After all, your lovers have generally been younger than I was when we met."
The comment stung me. It sounded as if she was making me out to be some kind of paedophile, which was, and always had been, blatantly untrue - despite Annabel's recent accusations on Shadow Earth. I am many things, but I would never have described myself as a monster.
"What the Hell's brought this on?" I said, confused and frustrated at her attitude and angry at myself for not having realised there was a problem. I had thought all was well between us.
"I've been thinking a lot lately. About why you've never asked me to marry you, all this time, and why you sometimes seem so distant."
"Distant?"
"At times you seem to be looking straight through me."
"It isn't intentional. It's just at times you remind me of Elizabeth still, and always have - which I have also not hidden from you. I am not so old that those memories are completely gone."
"Dammit Robert," she snapped, "you really don't understand what getting old is like. It's never happened to you. From what I've seen in your memories of your family, you are still a child, or perhaps a teenager."
I could see tears forming in her eyes, though whether from anger or from pain I was unsure. I climbed out of bed, pulled a robe around myself and crossed to her.
"Claire, I don't give a damn how old you are, or how you look," I said as I reached her, laying my hands on her shoulders as she sat in front of the mirror, "it's you I care for. There hasn't been anyone else for a very long time."
"And would you feel the same if I stripped off the spells and you saw me as I really am?" she asked, quietly, "I haven't dared to do that for close to fifteen years."
"Yes," I answered, helplessly, "why are you asking? I thought you realised."
"What I've realised, is that I am probably never going to get married, and I will soon be too old to have children. The spells only work so well."
"I'm sorry. I had no idea that it bothered you so much," I said, quietly, "you've never said it in so many words before, and even your thoughts never seemed this dark."
"I suppose it never used to matter," came her answer, as a tear rolled down her cheek, "especially after we lost Alisa and you seemed so sure that it was fated that that would happen. Now though, I just feel that I want to settle down properly and have a family...why have you never asked me to marry you?"
I paused before answering, trying to work it out in my own mind. I'd never been able to adequately answer Roland, either, when he made his almost weekly comments that I should make an honest woman of Claire. It was a moment before I could offer her the only answer that explained it.
"Because I was afraid to."
Surprised, she turned her head and looked up at me. "Afraid of what?"
Slowly, I let go of her shoulders and sat down on the end of the bed. "Afraid of losing you. It was so close before. Afraid of you getting old and dying before my eyes. And afraid of what my family would do if they found out about you."
"As you just said to me, you have always known that I would age. Why does it make a difference to whether we're married or not? Either way, in sixty years I will be in my grave, and you will still look and act like a man in his thirties."
I looked absently down at the floor as she spoke, trying to put into words what I really meant. That I didn't want her to be hurt through her association with me, and that I was afraid marrying would be the end of us. In my life the only woman I had felt the same strength of love and emotion towards had been Elizabeth, but within two years of formalising our relationship she had been dead, and while I hoped that the accident and Claire losing the baby had broken the jinx this time around, I was still frightened that it had not.
"If that is truly how you feel..."
"Ah Robert, I don't know how I feel. You have been more precious to me than anyone else for eighteen years, a significant portion of my life. I don't want that to end."
"Then why the third degree?" I asked, puzzled, "it never occurred to me to end it."
She shrugged and turned away from me. "I don't expect you to understand," she murmured.
"You have so little faith in me after this long?" I asked, sadly. I paused for a moment, then continued. "Drop the spells."
She looked at me once more, surprise on her face. "What?"
"The youth spells. Drop them."
"But..." she began, "if I do that, then putting them back up will be difficult. The way they work...it's like a cumulative effect. You can't just take them down on a whim, and then re-cast them and expect the change to be instantaneous. It takes a few days for them to have an effect if you let them run their course, let alone dispel them early."
"I am well aware of that," I answered, gently, "but you asked me if I would care for you without them, and I want to prove that I would."
"This is silly, Robert," she protested.
"As I recall, it is you who was concerned, and I want you to realise that you have no need to be," I answered, "you are the most important person in my life, Claire. I don't want to lose you because you are imagining the worst of me."
Initially, she seemed unsure, but then a certain resolve seemed to cross her features. "I suppose this way I will know one way or the other," she said, quietly, "although I think I'd prefer it if you weren't watching."
"As you wish," I said, shrugging. With that I headed into the bathroom to get a shower and clear my head, as she started concentrating on dispelling the spells. I knew it would take a few minutes - the spells are very complicated, affecting as they do pretty much every physical feature and function of the person using them - and the time gave me the opportunity to try to work out how I had failed to see the danger signs. I suppose that when you are that close to someone, you try to blank out what you do not want to see.
I went back into the bedroom about ten minutes later, towelling my hair as I did so, and was met by the sound of sobbing. Claire had moved from the dressing table, and was sitting on the chair by the window, looking strangely vulnerable. I crossed to her, and gently touched her chin, lifting her face towards me.
"I don't understand," she said, sounding frightened, and as I looked at her I could see why. Where I had expected to see the face of an older woman, if anything Claire seemed younger than she had under the spells, which should work by retarding ageing, rather than stopping or reversing it.
"Did you go through with it?" I asked, wondering if she had changed her mind.
"Yes," she replied, in a small voice, standing and wrapping her arms around me, still sobbing.
"Oh boy," I muttered, "there has to be a logical explanation for this."
"Well you think of one, Robert," she snapped, "because I sure as Hell can't."
"Another spell, maybe? That is easy enough to check...if you'll let me."
"I don't think so, but you can try," she answered, pulling away and sitting on her side of the bed, holding her knees and looking for all the world like a frightened child.
"You don't have anything else hung that you'll object to me dispelling, I assume?" She shook her head in reply, and then I concentrated for a few moments, bringing up a null-field. It might not be subtle, but it would neutralise anything anyone had thrown at her without her knowing. When it was ready, I triggered it, but while I was sure that it had worked, there was no discernible effect. Claire was still sitting there, looking no older than she had when I met her.
"Well it isn't magic," I commented as I brought the field down again.
"So what is it?" she asked, trying to control her fear but still sounding unsure of herself.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were exhibiting symptoms of being somewhat like me."
"That's crazy. I was born here on Terra Magica and have lived here all my life."
"Claire," I said quietly, "so have I."
"No, it's impossible. I know my parents, I've watched them grow old, and I've watched my father die."
"And neither of them was Talented," I commented.
"No, but that isn't unheard of. The Talent is genetic, not learned. There is always the possibility of mutation," she replied, the practical surgeon beginning to come back to the fore.
"Okay. Next stupid question. Your blood type?" After all, it isn't the sort of question one usually asks one's lover, and I really did not know the answer.
"It's registered as an exotic, but that doesn't really prove anything either. Yours..." but then her voice trailed away as she realised what she had been about to say.
"You should be getting ready for work," I said, finally, trying to change the subject, "let me puzzle this out and see what I can discover."
"And what are my colleagues likely to say when they see me?" she asked, nervously.
"Why should they say anything?" I replied, smiling, "whatever IT is, it certainly isn't to your detriment. You look wonderful."
With that she forced herself to smile, kissed me on the forehead, and then headed for the bathroom.
I spent the morning at Somerset House, looking through the records of births, marriages and deaths for the town of Hertford, for the autumn of 1960. What I found, however, both surprised me and gave weight to my suspicions. Sure enough a daughter, Claire Alison, had been born to Mr. and Mrs. Richard Connelly on November 9th, but there was an accompanying death certificate dated a few days later. Respiratory failure. It was an old, old trick and one I have used once or twice in my time.
Curious, I dug deeper, and eventually unearthed an adoption certificate with Mr. and Mrs. Connelly as the adopting parents. However I could not find any record of who that child's natural parents were. It was as if she had appeared from nowhere, which did more to support the theory I had been developing than almost anything else. Who was she really? and if she was from either Amber or the Courts, which one was it?
I asked the clerk to make copies of the relevant paperwork for me to take with me, then headed home and spent the rest of the day trying to work out how to break the news to my lover.
Claire was still very subdued when I picked her up from Bart's that evening. To try and cheer her up, I bought us dinner at the Dorchester, but all through the meal she was unusually quiet and she seemed to have little appetite. I was beginning to get worried about her. It wasn't until we walked into the library of the townhouse that she even made reference to what had happened that morning.
"What am I?" she asked, as I poured two glasses of brandy and handed her one.
"I am trying my hardest to work that out," I replied, quietly, "and it's who, not what, remember?"
"And have you got anywhere?"
"Yes and no," I answered, pausing a moment to decide if being direct or beating around the bush would be the better way of proceeding. I opted for the former, in the hope that the shock would pass more quickly. "Claire, did you realise that you were adopted?"
"You're wrong, Robert," she snapped, "and I have the birth certificate to prove it."
"I visited Somerset House today," I replied, hoping that she wouldn't be too angry that I had been checking up on her. However, as I said it her expression was interested, rather than hostile. "I have some documents you probably ought to see. Wait here a moment."
I went next door into the study, crossed to my desk and took out the envelope containing the copies. Then I returned to the library and handed it to her. She opened it with some trepidation, and removed the three sheets of paper it contained, then slowly scanned them. The expression on her faced turned from interested to frightened as she read.
"These make it look as if I don't exist..." she said, very quietly.
"No," I answered, leaning on the arm of the chair where she was sitting, and resting my hand on her shoulder. I could feel that she was trembling, and gently kissed her cheek to try and comfort her. "However, I have to admit they do raise questions. My guess is that someone brought you to Terra Magica, was put in touch with your parents, and they agreed to adopt you to replace the daughter they had lost."
"But why? Why was I brought here if that's the case, and who by?" she asked.
"That is what we need to find out. What are your earliest memories?"
"Just colours and faces," she replied, "a child doesn't really take in much more than images for the first year or year and a half...sometimes longer."
"Are you willing to let me see them?" I asked, quietly.
"I've never consciously hidden them," she replied, "so I don't see why not, if you think it would help."
Very gently, I touched her on the temple with my right hand, and slowly let myself into her mind...a process that was pretty commonplace now for both of us. Then I carefully worked my way backwards through her memories, merely brushing the ones I was not interested in. It took quite a while, but at last I found what I was looking for, and started exploring to see if there was anything I could recognise. The images were jumbled, but finally, after a painstaking search, I discovered what I needed. The face of a man who did not appear anywhere else in those early memories, as if seen from the point of view of a child being carried. What I didn't expect, was to recognise who it was so easily. I was looking at the face of man I had only seen as an image. The image of a murder victim at the time of his death.
"Gregory Helgram," I said, aloud.
"That's Roland's father, isn't it?" Claire asked, as I gently pulled out of her mind and moved my hand away.
"Yes. But there is a clear image of him in your head," I replied.
"Robert, I've never seen the man, let alone met him..." she protested.
"You have a distinct memory of him, but I guess you were too young to realise," I answered, smiling, "at least it's a clue. If you don't mind, I'll give Merielle a call to find out if she can shed any light on it. Gregory was her brother."
"Merielle...? Wait, I seem to remember her staying here for a few months. Shortly after we started seeing each other..."
"And I remember you being as jealous as Hell, until I explained that she was the mother of one of my closer friends," I answered, and was pleased to see her smile.
"Well, there was this strange woman living at Millbank, while you hadn't let me do the same," she said, trying to sound more cheerful.
I kissed her again, and then stood and brought Merielle's image to mind. After a slight delay, she answered.
"Why Robert, this is a surprise," she said, smiling as she saw me, "I assume from this that you are over your dose of paranoia?"
"I had it for a good reason," I replied, lightly, "but it served its purpose. I was wondering if you could spare me a few minutes of your time. There is something I would like to ask you, but I would rather not do it over a Trump link. Would you be willing to join me briefly?"
"For a few minutes," she agreed, and stepped through the contact to join me. As I fetched her a drink, she looked around the library, frowning slightly as she saw the new acquisitions on the book shelf I had dedicated to selected highlights of my father's library, and finally let her eyes come to rest on Claire.
"Queen Merielle..." I said, "I don't know if you remember Claire from your stay here?"
"Of course," she replied, then turned to my lover commenting "it has been so long."
Claire looked startled. "What do you mean?"
"It has been a while since I saw you."
"About eighteen years, at the last count," Claire replied.
"And then before that," came the answer, and then she turned back towards me. "What was it you wished to ask me, Robert?"
I started to speak but Claire pre-empted me. "Why do I have a memory of your brother in my head?" Her voice sounded strangely urgent, but I could see that Merielle was somewhat taken aback. Knowing her temper, I just hoped she wasn't offended.
"Because it's just possible that he saved your life," Merielle answered, after a moment or so, her tone a little abrupt.
"What do you mean?" my lover asked, and I could see that the tension was back in her.
"Do you have any idea who you are?" came the reply, then she looked at me. "Robert?"
"That is what I was rather hoping you could tell us," I replied, "we learned something today that startled us both. It appears that there is more to Claire than either of us had realised."
Merielle's reaction surprised me. She relaxed, and gave a gentle laugh. "You have been together this long - what did you just say, eighteen years? - and you have only just discovered that?"
I glanced at my lover, a trifle nonplussed, before turning my attention back to my guest. "It wasn't something we were expecting, and therefore we weren't looking for it," I answered, defensively, "would you care to enlighten us?"
"Perhaps I should start by summing up the reason you were taken from the Courts in one word," she replied, looking at Claire, "Mandor."
"Mandor?" I muttered, thrown off balance, "that doesn't sound good."
"Excuse me, but who or what is Mandor?" asked Claire, nervously.
"Mandor is Chancellor to Merlin, King of Thelbane...and is probably the most dangerous man in the Courts," I answered, spotting Merielle nodding slightly in agreement.
"The Chancellor is a very efficient man," Merielle said, picking up where I had left off, "and among his other responsibilities he has taken it upon himself to...deal with any and all opposition to Merlin's reign. Unfortunately, your father supported a different candidate for King of Thelbane."
"So this Mandor...dealt with him?" my lover said, looking somewhat uncomfortable.
"He made sure that your family was no longer a threat," Merielle said, calmly, "your father, Nathaniel, Duke of Celestine, was sent into exile...he died a few months ago in Haven."
"And my mother?" Claire said, quietly.
"She managed to escape that. She died giving birth to you, a long time ago."
I did not interrupt her when she said that, but the irony of it was not lost on me. The mother of Elizabeth's later incarnation, dying in the way that her daughter across time had, and as Claire had so very nearly.
"Gregory knew both the Duke and Carolyn, his Duchess, and they were friends," Merielle continued, "the tensions were already building up regarding the succession in the Courts when you were born, and it was obvious that the House of Celestine was backing the wrong side. As a precaution, for your protection, Gregory offered to find a place of safety for you. I imagine that your father was going to come and make himself known to you in time, but as it turned out he never had the opportunity."
"Do I have any other family in the Courts," asked Claire, after a brief pause.
"You mother's House are still there, House Florentine. You also have a sister named Sian," supplied Merielle, "Mandor allows her to hold the Ducal estates that were your father's. It was his one concession to your House, as it was rich and in King Swayvill's day influential...but was it only granted after he had made sure that there was no male issue left to inherit."
"Left to inherit?" I asked, not liking her phraseology.
"There is no gentle way to say this," Merielle replied to me, then returned her attention to my lover, "so I shall be blunt. When your father went into exile, Claire, he left his three sons in the Courts. Mandor had them executed."
I was startled at the callous way she said it. Claire just looked shell shocked, and took a long drink from the brandy glass beside her.
"He wiped them out?" she finally said, her voice small.
"Once your father openly declared his opposition to King Merlin, and his support of the Chanicut claim to the Throne, it was inevitable."
Claire swallowed and glanced at me for support. Once more I sat on the arm of her chair and put a steadying hand on her shoulder.
"Is he likely to come after me?" she said, at last.
"I don't believe so. He has not hurt your sister, and I would guess that he will not hurt you. You are the Duke's second daughter and therefore not as important, going from the usual Courts attitude to these things," Merielle answered, "and even if that were not the case, I suspect Mandor would think twice before moving against Robert...at least without a very good reason."
"Because of my grandfather?" I asked.
"That is my guess, anyway," she replied, "well Robert? Have I answered your question?"
"And more so," I replied, standing, "I am grateful..." I paused and looked at Claire, whose face was pensive as she watched us, "...even if the information was somewhat unexpected."
"Then I must be going. I have business to attend to." With that she nodded to myself and then looked at Claire. "Hopefully next time we meet the circumstances will be a little less harrowing," she said, quietly.
"I hope so too," came my lover's answer, "I am not sure I could take many more shocks like this."
"I think perhaps that it is better that you are aware of it," Merielle replied, "goodbye Robert...Claire."
With that, she shuffled out a Trump card, and was quickly engulfed in a wheel of rainbow colours. Once she was gone, I crossed to my lover and helped her to her feet. As I looked at her, I could see tears forming in her eyes.
"It isn't every day that you find and lose a family," she said, barely choking back the sobs.
"For what it's worth, there is still a sister you should meet," I said, quietly, "and I will always be here. I suppose "so long as ye both shall live" has a somewhat different significance when both the parties involved are immortal."
Then, very gently, I took her in my arms, rested her head on my shoulder, and let her give vent to her tears.