Elaine Murdoch Age 12 Transported Chapter I Beams of light were shining through her velvet curtains. Lady Lydia Grace lay awake on her huge four-poster bed staring at the complicated swirling patterns on her ceiling. Her eyes wandered over to the grand mahogany wardrobe and the matching dresser, she studied the grain of wood intently. Suddenly the wide double doors of Lydia’s living quarters burst open and in came her plump, bubbly, kind-hearted handmaid, Martha. ‘’Appy new year, ma’am. Gosh, I can’t believe it’s 1553 already. let’s hope this year is a happy one. Not like last year. What with dear William being sent to the gallows. Oh well, what can I do?’ Martha walked over to the large window and dragged open the curtains. Light poured into the room as if one thousand candles had just been lit. Lydia sat up in her bed and looked upon the golden leaves falling from the row of identical oak trees in the fifteen acre garden below. ‘Right, miss. Ready to get up?’ Martha always spoke with a level of enthusiasm that most people would save for exciting things. ‘I suppose so.’ Martha walked over to Lydia’s grand bed and pulled down the linen bed-sheets, trying not to crease them. Lydia climbed out of bed with a yawn and watched as Martha neatly made her bed. Lydia sleepily sat down on the soft, inviting armchair and picked up her leather-bound diary. She began to spill her innermost thoughts into it.
Chapter II Rose Tucker was sitting alone on the busy tube into Oxford Street, deeply engrossed in a book. She was quite oblivious to the outside world, but as the tube came to a gradual halt she stood up and began to make her way through the jungle of arms and legs to the open doors. She climbed briskly up the cold, damp steps of the underground station and pulled her hood up over her untamed curls as she braved the harsh weather outside. Rose began to walk forward and narrowly missed the spray of water that came whooshing over half the pavement as a Land Rover drove past. She took the usual right when she had walked half way down the street and turned into a narrow alleyway and entered Robertson’s Second-Hand Bookshop. Robertson’s Bookshop was apparently on the site of Watterby House, a grand building that was erected in 1451, home to generations of Lords and Ladies. Rose entered the shop and said a kind hello to Old Reg, the proud owner of the shop. She took the book from out of her wicker bag and handed it over the shabby counter. ‘How are you doing, Reg?’ Rose enquired. ‘Same as ever, Rose. Alive and kicking!’ Rose smiled pleasantly and wandered off at a leisurely pace through the aisles and aisles of sorrel coloured bookcases looking for the diary section. Rose eventually came to a shelf full of biographies, autobiographies and diaries. She gently stroked the books’ spines while in search of a good, interesting, enthralling and absorbing read. She came across an old red leather-bound diary. It was somewhat battered and a few pages of neat handwriting fluttered out when she picked it up, like ancient butterflies landing on flowers, or in this case an open book left lying on the floor. The front cover hadmthe letters L.G. on it in silver print. Rose quickly became intrigued and carefully opened the diary at a random page. Without any warning, books came flying out of their cases. Parchments and scrolls flew around the aisle, making an ear-splitting noise, like three thousand wood pigeons flapping their wings all at once. A wide void opened up in the diary. A blinding burst of light shot out of it, like an emergency floodlight. The room started to spin around as if it had just taken on the characteristics of a tornado. To Rose, everything was a blur. She was so dizzy that she began to tip forward. But instead of falling onto the floor, Rose fell face forward into the void. She was sucked up instantaneously and started to fall into a pool of swirling darkness. Momentous events from the past flashed before Rose’s young eyes. She saw the Twin Towers crashing to the ground. The terrors of World War I and World War II entered Rose’s mind. She saw Queen Victoria, the last battle of the Jacobites and the redcoats on British soil, Guy Faulkes being put to death and the Great Fire of London. Rose saw all of these major events begin and end but the spiralling sensation only lasted the stretch of three minutes. Rose was astonished to find that after three minutes of falling, she floated slowly down onto the marble steps of Watterby House in 16th century London. Chapter III Rose lay dazed for a few moments on the cold, slippery steps. She looked around the street and tried to get her bearings. Everything was extremely old fashioned, from the people and their clothes to the houses and carriages. Yet at the very same moment, Rose felt that at this location, the atmosphere was rather familiar. She stood up with a slight wobble and looked at the house that she had almost fallen upon and let out a sigh of awe. It was beautiful. The front door was chestnut brown in colour and the knockers were shaped like ferocious lion heads. The stone blocks had been carefully chipped into shape and they fitted together perfectly like jigsaw pieces. Rose caught a glimpse of the vast garden behind the rickety fence and the gardener in it trimming hedges. Rose looked again at the magnificent house. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a middle aged maid staring gobsmacked out of the tall parlour window. The Maid shrieked with horror when their eyes met. ‘WITCH… WITCH I tell you! Somebody get help… Quick! Before she gets to Lady Lydia Grace! Oh, my Lord!’ Rose was astonished. She was still getting to grips with travelling back in time. Now a frightened and confused maid was accusing her of being a witch. Martha ran outside with a chamber pot and a wooden spoon for protection and tried to get a closer look at Rose. Children could be heard screaming uncontrollably as six churchmen came running down the street looking for the witch. Martha ran up to meet them, taking a wide berth when passing Rose, and started to babble out the strange and worrying incident that had just taken place. ‘She just appeared from nowhere,’ Martha explained. ‘I got such a terrible shock, nearly jumped out of my skin, I did! Please, take her away before she casts any evil curses on us.’ The Bishop turned to look Rose in the face, holding up his wooden cross as he did so, and barked out, ‘You’re going to be burnt at the stake for being a witch, my girl!’ |
