Free Hide in Time by Anna Faversham Page B

course. Laura had spent a long time working out
the rules. The most frightening was the way the twenty-first century
faded whenever she went back, as if no one is allowed to know the
future. The parson would agree with that.
    Xandra did not look back. Laura stayed
until Xandra’s sandy footsteps faded from the squelching sand;
it was as though no one had ever walked that way.

Hide in Time ~ Anna Faversham

CHAPTER NINE

1814

    How long it seems since yesterday,
thought Xandra. Today, like this tunnel, seems longer than forever.
Will there be a tomorrow? Apprehension sowed the seed of fear. Her
feet were no longer feeling the touch of the ground. She stopped.
Silence. Absolute silence. Not even the sound of her own breathing.
She took a step forward then stopped again. She was in control. She
had mastered fear before and would do so now. Tentatively feeling the
wall with her right hand, and reassured by its cold, damp reality,
she clutched her bag closer and resumed her dark journey.
    Xandra followed her outstretched hand
as it felt around a corner. She stopped. Fear dispelled, a smile
germinated. A glorious shaft of light, like a curtain of rainbow
colours, was no more than fifty yards ahead. Xandra gasped as, once
more, she felt the sandy floor beneath her and hastened towards the
irresistible luminance. She hesitated before stepping into the
wispy-looking light; it stole her breath. Not light and airy as she’d
expected, it was heavy, an intense radiance, as if the light of
centuries had been condensed into this one, deceptive shimmer.
Defiantly, she shielded her eyes, pushed through the curtain of light
and did not look back.
    The sound of the sea attracted her and
she turned towards daylight, the end of the tunnel and the shore. The
tide delivered a wave to the edge of the cave and sank it into the
sand with a hiss. She must hurry. What time was it? She looked at her
wrist. Why had she done that? There was nothing there except a band
of pale skin; had she been wearing a wristband? Had she escaped from
an institution? “Escape” – that word rang true. She
dodged the waves to keep her neat, leather lace-up shoes dry and,
noticing the sandy beach further to the right, she laboured across
mounds of seaweed and onto the dry, white sands beyond.
    She turned to look at the sea. The sun
was to her left. Did that mean it was morning or afternoon? Was she
facing north or south? Or the east… Where was she? She turned
around to see the high, chalk cliffs imprisoning her. She hugged her
bag. Gosh, she was hungry. Tucking it under her left arm, she
instinctively edged closer to the cliff and felt along the chalky
wall with her right hand. Why was she doing this? But it worked. Soon
a cave, made invisible by the abundant growth of bushes clinging from
the cliffs, revealed a set of narrow steps hewn out of the chalk.
Again she gave into instinct and her right hand remained on the cliff
walls to steady herself. Her left grasped her damp, clinging, sandy
skirt and her bag. She counted the steps as she ascended the dank
shaft.
    The seventy-seventh transferred her to
scrubby grass enclosed by wild, high thorn bushes. Beyond was rough,
tussock grassland; but how could she reach it? There was no way
around and certainly no easy way over the thorns. She inspected her
prison. Tunnelling. What about tunnelling? She knelt on the grass and
studied the ground. There was a slight gap between two bushes. On the
other side it looked as though an animal had tried burrowing. A fox,
maybe. Carefully she deposited her bag on the ground, grasped the
base of the scrubbiest bush and pulled hard. It lifted more easily
than expected, she fell backwards and was showered in earth and tiny
thorns. Out of prison in seconds, she retrieved her bag, replaced the
bush, and busied herself with brushing off the dirt. Where was she?
Despite the extreme effort needed to attempt an answer, she refused
to relent. She’d come from the bottom of the cliff, to