The Day Before Forever Read Free

said. But Richard never told me till the end. He had a faint cough, but I didn’t think much of it. I was an idiot. Not that there was anything I could have done. I tried. In the end I asked Henley for help, and look where that got us—Henley sucked into Richard’s body when Richard died.
    I really should be sadder about this—his entire death, I mean. I did love him. That never changed. I loved him. Yet I felt like I couldn’t really mourn him when Richard was still here.
    â€œWhere are we?” Henley asked.
    I stared into Richard’s eyes.
    We had been in Henry VIII’s court about three minutes ago, and now we were . . . wherever this was.
    I looked around at our surroundings closely for the first time. I had been in such a state of panic, I hadn’t noticed much.
    The floors were smooth stone, cut into perfect squares. Pillars, decorated in lavish gold and a grayish blue, shot straight up, supporting a beautiful painted mural.
    â€œAll those angels looking down at us,” Henley muttered.
    There was an echo as his voice carried in the large room. The ceiling was so high that I felt dizzy from tilting my head up to look at the mural.
    There were ornate crests and Greek-looking scrolls—definitely not Tudor-like—along the edge of the ceiling. The gold seemed to drip down the sides of the walls.
    Something else echoed then, and I swung to look at Henley.
    â€œWhat is that?” I whispered, not wanting my voice to carry.
    It sounded like a distant tapping, echoing from the other side of the big room. Yet the taps had no pattern.
    â€œFootsteps,” Henley said.
    And he was right.
    Trying to think quickly, I put down the clock I was holding and stepped next to it, arranging my long skirts so it was hidden.
    The reason I couldn’t make out the footsteps was that it sounded like more than one person. Many more.
    I stood close to Henley, flattening my back against the wall, trying to disappear.
    Henley found my hand and squeezed it.
    â€œAnd please watch your step as we enter this next room.”
    I held my breath, but there was no way we wouldn’t be found. There was one door on the other side of the room—the side from which the voice was coming. There was no way out for us.
    â€œHere we have the Painted Hall—”
    A woman with an absurdly bright-red scarf walked backward into the room. At least fifteen other people followed her in, gripping tightly onto little booklets and what appeared to be folded maps.
    With one glance, I could tell we were in the time of ripped jeans and baseball caps.
    Though the people who followed the woman in openly stared at us, she seemed too busy talking to notice.
    â€œThis wing was built just prior to 1694 and was donated by William III to become the Royal Hospital for Seamen at Greenwich. The hospital was closed in 1869.”
    Two little girls had come to the front of the crowd. Theywere playing tag and obviously not listening to the woman in the red scarf.
    â€œYou there,” the woman barked, singling out one of the little girls. “What did I say about running in these old buildings? You could break something, heaven forbid!”
    The little girl was wearing a large pink fleece jacket that almost went down to her knees. Her big eyes looked up at the woman before she suddenly ran back into the crowd, presumably to find her parents.
    The woman with the red scarf continued. She was lecturing almost forcibly to the crowd, harshly punctuating her words. “From 1873 to 1997, this was the site of a training establishment for the Royal Navy.” The woman’s face was almost as red as her scarf. I wondered if it was tied too tightly around her neck.
    I looked to my side to mention this to Henley, but when I turned, he wasn’t next to me. I hadn’t even noticed that he’d let go of my hand.
    I scanned the crowd for Henley. He couldn’t have gone far.
    I was right. Henley was standing at the