Tangled In Time

Epilogue

In the days that followed Neville's arrest, the pieces of the puzzle began to come together, and our family started to grasp the gravity of everything that had unfolded. Blake explained that after I had left through the armoire, he had gone to the cottage and revisited his father's journal entries, including the ones I hadn't read. It was revealed that Cecilia and her husband's last name was Baker. Remembering that I had mentioned the old groundskeeper being named Mr. Baker, he didn't want to take any chances.

Blake had set a plan into motion. He had shared everything with Gwen, from my true origins to the heartbreaking story of what had happened to their mothers. He had entrusted Gwen with a significant responsibility: to maintain the façade of normalcy and to take charge of the household. He told her that he would be leaving everything to her and that it was her responsibility to make sure she followed his specific plan.

In his detailed plan, Blake instructed Gwen to make a specific call in 2014. She was to contact a Mr. Eastwood, the owner of a small carpentry company, and offer him a job to work on the house. I'd never asked my dad, nor had he ever explained how he had come by the job that brought us to this place, and now it all made sense.

It turned out that Blake had orchestrated more than I could have imagined. Gwen had even been the reason Neville ended up living on the property. Blake couldn't intervene in Cecilia's past suffering without risking his own existence. For Cecilia to find the dumbwaiter, she had to be hiding from Neville. It was a cruel paradox Blake had been forced to accept.

When he explained all of this to me, my head spun, struggling to reconcile how far Blake had gone to ensure everything played out as it had. It was some really, really hard information for my brain to compute. But explaining it to my parents was even harder.

At first, they didn't believe us. I was close to locking my father in the dumbwaiter just so he would believe us. The thing that finally convinced him was when Blake told him to look under a floorboard in what used to be Blake's bedroom and there he would find a newspaper and also two photos: one of me on the tyre swing and the other of Blake and me in front of the swing.

My dad couldn't believe his eyes. His fingers trembled as he held the photos, his disbelief giving way to stunned silence.

"You really thought of everything," I said, looking at Blake and taking the photos from my father to look at them myself.

"Where are the other ones?" I whispered to Blake. All he did was pat his jacket pocket and wink in my direction, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The hours I had spent in the cottage with Neville had passed differently for Blake—days had passed for him. He had come through the armoire, hoping nothing had happened to me, and he found me in the cottage just in time. I wasn't sure what Neville would have done if Blake hadn't arrived.

The police came that same night, arresting Neville for the unlawful concealment of Cecilia's death. My dad explained Neville's confession—that his abuse had driven his wife to take her own life, and that he had buried her body in an attempt to hide what had happened. It wasn't murder, but it was still a crime. Watching Neville being led away in handcuffs felt like a weight lifting off my shoulders.

The thought that Cecilia died believing Ernest had perished in the fire still pained me, but I found solace in imagining them reunited in the afterlife. I wondered if they would forgive us for uncovering the truth or if it would bring them peace knowing they hadn't been forgotten.

The morning after Neville's arrest and Blake arriving in my time was a blur as none of us had any sleep.

"I still don't understand half of what's gone on," my dad said as he bit into his toast.

"I can go through it all again if you like, or you could always read the journals."

"I'd like that," my mother said as she passed us both steaming cups of coffee.

My dad rubbed his bald head and then shot a look at Blake.

"You're awfully calm about all this," my dad said.

"I've had a long time to get my head around it," Blake said smoothly as he sipped his coffee.

"And what are your plans now?"

"Dad!" I exclaimed.

"It's a fair question," Blake interrupted, his tone patient but firm. He set his teacup down, his gaze steady on my dad. "I intend to marry her."

I almost choked on my coffee, my mother having to slap me on the back.

The silence that followed was heavy. My mother sat next to my father and rubbed his arm.

"I just don't get how a few days ago you had no boyfriend, and now you're... whatever this is," my dad said, his voice gruff.

"I'm not engaged," I said quickly, but Blake laughed from across the table.

"You are," he said casually, taking another bite of his toast. "You just don't know it yet."

My dad's eyes narrowed further. "He's called you his fiancée twice now," he pointed out, glaring at Blake.

I turned to Blake, who shrugged. "You will be," he said simply.

"I'm too young to get married," I protested, though my voice lacked conviction.

"That's my girl," my dad muttered, clearly relieved by my response.

My mother tutted. "I was her age when I married you."

My dad pulled a face.

Blake leaned forward, his gaze fixed on me. "If we were still in 1947 and I asked you, would you say yes?"

I blinked at him, caught off guard. "It was a different time," I said after a moment.

"It was only for you," Blake said, checking his watch. "Fifteen hours ago," he added with a sly smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And you haven't answered my question."

"You haven't asked me," I shot back, raising an eyebrow.

"So, if I were to ask you right now?" he said, his tone playful but his eyes serious. "Would you say yes?"

I hesitated, a smile playing on my lips despite myself. "Maybe," I said finally.

"I don't know how you're thinking of marriage. You've only just got here; you have no job or anything," my dad grumbled.

"Sir, I mean this with no disrespect," Blake said after draining his cup of coffee, "but this is my house, and I had my sister leave me money in a trust that has accumulated over 67 years."

My dad had nothing to say to that.

"Mummy!" called William's voice from the stairs, and my mum got up from her seat and left the dining area.

Blake cleared everyone's plates and then returned from the kitchen. "I seem to remember you saying something along the lines of 'if I could stay I would marry you tomorrow'" Blake said as he leant against the door frame.

I tried to hold back my smile as I moved away from the table 

"So, Miss Eastwood, what's your answer?"