Book Club Reads: 3-Book Collection: Yesterday’s Sun, The Sea Sisters, Someone to Watch Over Me. Amanda Brooke

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      Jocelyn sighed. ‘Paul hasn’t let me into his life for a very long time, ever since his father died really,’ confessed Jocelyn. ‘He was a teenager when I left Harry and he never knew what I’d been subjected to – and he certainly didn’t know what I’d seen of the future. I’d protected him as much as I could from Harry’s cruelty and, perversely, so had Harry. Harry was incapable of love but he could put on a good act. He found it entertaining to engender Paul’s affection and use that against me so when I decided to leave, Paul never really understood why.’

      ‘He blames you for Harry’s suicide?’ Holly asked, although the answer was clear.

      Jocelyn laughed. ‘Oh, Holly, yes. Yes, he blames me, and he has every right to.’

      ‘But you know that’s not true. He would have driven you to suicide. He killed himself instead of you. How could you even begin to feel guilty about that?’

      Jocelyn looked into the distance where the canopy of trees had started to thin and the full light of day could be seen in all its glory, marking their arrival at the ruins. ‘Ah, the light at the end of the tunnel,’ she told Holly, avoiding the question.

      ‘Or an oncoming train,’ sighed Holly.

      Jocelyn took Holly’s hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘I’m here to help. It’ll be all right,’ Jocelyn assured her but the sadness in her eyes told a different story.

      The ruins lived up to their name. The Hall itself was nothing more than a series of lonely, half-demolished walls covered in ivy and lichen. Holly could almost believe she was wandering through an overgrown cemetery with giant headstones.

      ‘Do you remember when the Hall was in its heyday?’ she asked Jocelyn.

      ‘Lord Hardmonton – the old Lord Hardmonton, that is – used to hold annual garden parties and the whole village was invited. They were glorious affairs and we’d spend all year looking forward it. When he died, his son Edward, the one who was lost in the fire, carried on the tradition, but I was married by then, so I never went.’

      ‘Harry?’ guessed Holly.

      Jocelyn simply nodded.

      ‘So why did it burn down anyway? Tom was right, even though he didn’t know it. If they had the moondial and could see into the future, why didn’t they see it coming? Didn’t Edward Hardmonton use the dial?’ Holly knew Jocelyn was leading her slowly to the revelations of the moondial and she felt herself trying to sprint to the finish line. She needed to know everything and the questions just kept coming.

      ‘Oh, Edward Hardmonton used it,’ Jocelyn told her, but offered no further explanation. ‘Now, the site for the moondial is right over here, as I recall.’

      Biting her lip to hold back questions, Holly let Jocelyn lead her towards what would have been the ornamental gardens. The gardens were still magnificent despite the neglect. The mixture of exotic shrubs and grasses had fought for supremacy over the abandoned and partly demolished architecture and had secured a glorious victory. The red, orange and yellow hues of autumn had arrived early here and the view was breathtaking. Holly wished she had seen the gardens earlier in the summer at the height of the flowering season.

      Holly recognized the site of the moondial from the architectural plans she had already seen. The outer edge of the circle was made from grey stone, although most was now hidden beneath the shrubbery that had bordered it. In the plan, each of the four segments of the main circle had been planted up with a different mix of plants and shrubs, possibly chosen to depict the four seasons. Over the years, the more delicate specimens had either been consumed by their more dominant bedfellows or had simply withered and died. In contrast to other parts of the garden, the landscaping here looked bleak.

      ‘What’s this?’ asked Holly as she stepped onto one of the four paths that led to the stone centre circle where the moondial had stood. Kicking away thick layers of moss underfoot, Holly revealed writing that had been etched into the stone.

      ‘There are inscriptions on each of the four paths,’ Jocelyn told her. ‘A poem with four verses. This is why I wanted to bring you here. They explain how the moondial works and, if I remember correctly, the first one is over here.’

      As they crossed the centre of the circle, Holly put down the wicker basket she had been carrying.

      ‘Wait, I need something from in there,’ Jocelyn said. She rummaged in the basket and took out a wire brush.

      With a little careful brushing, Holly revealed the wording on the first path:

      Beneath the fullest moon

      If only for an hour

      Reflection is the key

      To the moondial’s power

      ‘Well, that’s nothing I couldn’t have worked out for myself,’ Holly said sulkily, unable to hide her disappointment that this verse hadn’t revealed any hidden secrets. ‘I’d already noticed that the vision only lasts about an hour, and I’d worked out the need for a full moon too. I tried using the dial once when there wasn’t a full moon and the orb barely flickered.’

      ‘Let’s read the next verse,’ Jocelyn suggested.

      There was no moss growing on the next path so the second part of the poem was relatively easy for Holly to read.

      A timepiece like no other

      Moonlight will point the way

      A shadow cast by moonlight

      Reaching out to an unborn day

      The reference to a timepiece triggered a memory. This time, Holly did have a question. ‘The moonlight reflected from the centre of the glass orb created what looked like hands of a dial spinning around and I could hear the ticking of a clock too. But if it’s a timepiece, how does it work? How does it dictate how far its reflection is cast into the future?’

      ‘I think that’s the one thing that will always remain a mystery. The journal shows how the brass mechanism was engineered, but the timepiece was an instrument to count down the hour, not dictate where the reflection would lead to. It’s clear from the notes that it can only be the dial that makes the choice. How it does that, I don’t honestly know, but it does seem to choose a critical point in the traveller’s life.’

      ‘Or death,’ added Holly morosely. ‘Have you brought the journal with you?’

      ‘Don’t worry, it’s in the basket. Once we’ve finished with our picnic, you can have it. I don’t want it any more.’

      ‘How did you get hold of the journal, anyway?’

      ‘Mr Andrews, the old gardener at the Hall, came to see me not long after Harry bought the moondial. Though he had never used the dial himself, he had been a close confidante of Edward Hardmonton. I’ll tell you all about it later, but I think you need to read the poem in full first. Ready for the next verse?’ insisted Jocelyn.

      This path too was practically clear, with pretty clusters of lichen around its edges, though not enough to conceal the engraving.

      Like a hand upon the water

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