Here is a draft prologue of my new sequel to the Time Travel Diaries Of James Urquhart and Elizabeth Bicester called “A House Out of Time” which I hope to publish this September.
The intrepid couple had thought they had “retired’ to a life of ease after assisting the Martians to save the Earth and Mars. Unfortunately after a while Elizabeth thought it would be a good idea to visit her ancestral home at Hamgreen to see what had become of it….Such is the curiosity of women.
We arrived at my home just after three o’clock. It was over a hundred years since I’d last seen it and I felt a certain sense of foreboding for from the corner of my eye I saw perched upon the remaining stone gate pillar one of the familiar small winged creatures. James had seen it too. But when I looked again it had vanished. They always seemed to be with us, like guardians, though if they were I did not understand their purpose.
We passed through the gate and drove slowly on to the gravel courtyard. As we alighted from James’ carriage the sun hid behind a cloud and my flesh felt a dampness in the warm summer air causing me to pull my shawl tightly across my shoulders. For a moment I stood there regarding the old Lodge with the eyes of my childhood and absorbed it’s familiarity but then my maturity espied a certain neglect. A coat of paint on the windows and a lime wash on the ashlar facade was needed and the gutters cleared of weeds, yet around the porch there was evidence of someone who cared for the flowers.
As we approached the door I sought and held James’ hand for this place had been a time node and my fear of separation at such places always welled up in me. I sensed the same in James by the tightness of his grasp. As we mounted the stone steps I suddenly heard the sound of bolts being withdrawn and the turning of keys. Then the door slowly opened to reveal a blank grey translucent wall. I let out a small cry for first a hand then a lady’s dress appeared through the dark surface and then, there was my sister Flory standing in the porch and she did not look a day older than when I had left her after our visit to our father in 1873.