Part Two
Rating: PG-13 for violence and language
Summary: Robbers murder a Duchess and her husband. Hours later, the Duchess reawakens and comes back to life but what could cause such a thing?
Disclaimer: The Doctor Who universe belongs to the BBC, and the various hard-working writers, actors and crews who created it. I don't make any profit from using it. The Duchess and Edwald are my own creations.

* * *

It was just after dawn when she next awoke. At first, she couldn't remember what had happened. She could smell earth and feel the soil beneath her outstretched hands. She was cold and uncomfortable. Her rings were gone from her fingers and her necklace was gone as well. There was a great deal of movement beside her; she could feel it through the ground.

Then she remembered what had happened. Her eyes snapped open and she tried to focus. There were trees around so she must still be in the forest. A load of soil seemed to come sailing out of the ground itself. When the second load came flying up, she realised that there was a hole in front of her. A few yards away from the hole were two mounds of disturbed earth, each with a cross set at the end. The large bird that she had seen earlier was perched on the cross, preening its feathers. She could now see that it was a falcon - magnificent and unhurried.

A head appeared out of the new hole and a shovel was thrown up beside her.
"Well, m'lady," said the gruff voice. "Let's get you settled."
A man worked his way out of the hole and stood up, brushing the soil from his clothes. He was about thirty-five by the looks of him, though his face was streaked with dirt and he was slightly thinner than was healthy. His clothes were mismatched - a patched pair of brown trousers that was wearing thin, a fine blue shirt that had belonged to her husband and a sturdy leather jacket that was padded on the forearms and shoulders. A broad fisherman's hat was pulled low over his face.

He slipped the hat off his head respectfully and turned to look at her. She looked back at him, blinking but otherwise unmoving. He took a second to register then he jumped back in alarm. His mouth opened as if to shout but no sound came out. He dropped his hat to the ground, hurrying backwards until he tripped over and fell into the hole he'd just dug. The falcon looked up from cleaning its feathers and cocked its head on the side curiously.

The Duchess stared at the hole for a moment but the man did not reappear. She sat up gingerly, surprised to feel no pain. She placed a hand to her side. There was a rip in her gown but the skin beneath it was smooth and intact. Looking down, she could see that the fine white fabric was stained crimson all over. She remembered that some of it had been from the man she had killed but some of it must have been hers. How long ago had she been wounded, that not a scar still existed?

She felt her head and her hair. Her hair was far longer than she remembered but it was different in unexpected ways too. It felt full of curls in a way that it had never been before. When she pulled a strand in front of her face, the hair was jet black when she knew that her hair had been fair from the day she was born. Bewildered, she crawled to the edge of the hole and looked down.

The man was huddled at the bottom of the hole, whimpering and continually crossing himself.
"Hello," she said, because there didn't seem much else to say. "Would you tell me what's going on?"
The man stopped whimpering and raised his head to look at her. His eyes were clear blue, tinged with fear but also with a weary regret.
"I'm sorry, m'lady," he stuttered, the words coming out in a confusing rush. "We did not mean it. At least, we did mean it but we did not mean the deaths to happen and I know it matters not to you whether we meant it or whether we did not, but I wish you to know that I am sorry from the depths of my soul..."
"Slow down," she sighed, running a hand through her changed hair. "I am confused. I know not where I am or what is happening. First things first. Who are you?"

The man climbed to his feet and bowed awkwardly in the narrow hole.
"Edwald, m'lady," said the man wretchedly, not meeting her eyes.
"Where am I, Edwald?" she asked gently.
"In the woods, m'lady."
"Why am I in the woods, Edwald?"
Edwald took an unhappy breath, "Because we ambushed your carriage my lady. We were after riches and you and your husband were killed. I am sorry, m'lady."
"I am not dead, Edwald," sighed the Duchess, her throat closing at the reminder of her husband's death.

"Not now, m'lady," shrugged Edwald. "But upon my oath, you were dead before. It is a miracle, m'lady. A sign from God that it was not your time yet... I can do no more than beg for your forgiveness, m'lady."
Edwald fell to his knees in the hole, head bowed beneath her. The Duchess looked around her.

"Very well, Edwald, I am the Duchess of..." she paused mid-sentence.
Her title was not hereditary but one of marriage. It came from her husband and his estate. She was sure that now her husband's brother, who never had liked her, would take over the Duke's possessions with or without her consent. She could no longer claim the estate in her title. Neither did her first name seem appropriate since it had been nearly seven years since any had called her by it. She had changed greatly and was no longer the naive daughter of a merchant.
"I am the Duchess," she said firmly. "And I will grant you my forgiveness, Edwald but you will have to earn it."
Edwald turned his face towards hers, hopefully, "Anything, your Grace. Tell me what I must do."
"Take me back to my late husband's estate, Edwald."

* * *

Edwald went into the woods and returned with two horses - one she recognised as one of the mares that had been pulling her own carriage. The other was an older, gaunt-looking stallion that obviously belonged to Edwald. Edwald pulled a long coat from the saddlebags and wrapped it around her shoulders. As he did so, he slipped her stolen necklace back around her neck. She chose not to comment on either the necklace's theft or its return.

He helped her mount the old stallion and he took the mare for himself. At first, it puzzled her until she saw the mare's jittery movements. The mare soon settled under Edwald's gentle coaxing and the two of them set out to join the main road.

The reason for the padding on Edwald's jacket became clear when the falcon took off from the cross and landed on Edwald's outstretched arm. The falcon's claws dug deep into the leather but his skin was protected.
"This is Sherlock, your Grace," said Edwald, half-apologetically.
The Duchess studied the bird intently, and he studied her back.
"A fine bird," she decided.
The falcon seemed to take the praise well and puffed out its chest proudly.

"I have not seen you before, Edwald. You are not from around here?" she prompted.
"No, your Grace. I come from the south of England, originally," said Edwald reluctantly. "But I am a traveller these days and I call no place home."
"Indeed," said the Duchess. "What of your companions?"
"My companions...," began Edwald, he broke off looking miserable. "My brother is among them but I met the others in a tavern around these parts, your Grace."
"So, you came up here and fell in with the first lot of villainous dogs you saw then?" she asked sharply.
Edwald flinched guiltily, "Yes, your Grace."
Sherlock looked at her reproachfully.

The Duchess could feel the anger rising in her and was not disposed to feel kindly towards Edwald at this moment. Nor was she tempted to feel contrite under the falcon's disapproval.
"Was it worth it?" she continued.
"Was what worth it, your Grace?" asked Edwald miserably.
"Our lives. Did you get enough riches to satisfy your greed or must more innocent people die?"
Edwald made a choking sound, his fingers twisting the reins into knots.

"We did not expect the deaths, your Grace," he gasped, the words barely audible. "The others have moved on to the next county. I had planned on joining them but not until I had done you a decent burial."
Only Edwald's undisguised misery held her tongue in check. The urge to rail and rage against him was strong but she was a lady, even if only by marriage, and she would behave like one. She cast about for a less accusatory topic.

"So, what happened to my hair, Edwald?" she asked, fingering the dark curls.
"Your hair, your Grace?" asked Edwald, looking up in bewilderment.
"Yes, my hair," she repeated calmly.
Edwald blinked at her and looked at the hair. He blinked again and shrugged.
"What do you mean, your Grace?" he asked.
"Why is my hair different?"
"Maybe for the same reason that the rest of you is different?"

She frowned at him, "The rest of me?"
"Yes, your Grace," said Edwald. "Your entire face is different than before, not just your hair. At first, when I saw you lying there, I thought you were a different woman. Then I realised that you wore the same clothes, that you were the same soul brought back in a different body..."
"My face?" she asked hesitantly, raising a hand to her cheekbones.
It was difficult to tell by touch alone but the mole that had rested on the side of her left cheek was gone. It also seemed that her nose was larger and longer than she remembered.

"Do you have a mirror with you, Edwald?" she asked.
Her tone suggested that she didn't hold out much hope but Edwald surprised her. He reached into his saddlebags, disturbing Sherlock from his perch. The Falcon settled himself on Edwald's padded shoulder instead.

The 'mirror' he handed her was not more than a large, broken shard of another larger mirror but it worked just as well.
"Be careful of the edge, your Grace. You may cut yourself," warned Edwald.
Holding the broken shard gingerly, she studied her reflection. The face that stared back at her was a stranger's. She halted the stallion and looked around her, as if the answer would simply jump out at her. She looked back at the shard.

"Your Grace?" asked Edwald, tentatively.
He turned the mare around and walked back to join her. She did not answer him.
"Your Grace?" he repeated. "Did you not know?"
She shook her head wordlessly. She kept looking but the shard would show her nothing but this stranger's face. She flung the shard away from her, hearing it land amongst the leaves. Edwald watched her silently as she fought to compose herself. He dismounted, retrieved the shard and then mounted his horse again.

"We had best be going, your Grace, if you want to reach your late husband's estate by dark," said Edwald gently.
He reached out and took the reins from her fingers. Leading her horse behind his, Edwald guided them on their way down the road. It was several minutes before the Duchess had recovered enough to speak.

"What am I?" she asked. "Some creature of the Devil?"
"I would not think so, your Grace, though I am certainly not learned in such things," said Edwald simply. "It seems to me that God decided that your life was too short and so He gave you another."
The Duchess cocked her head to the side, considering this.
"This would make more sense than anything other that I have...," began the Duchess.

Some old memory had occurred to her, something she had not thought about in years. She thought about her mother, an unusually learned and educated woman for a merchant's widow. It was at her mother's insistence that she had been educated and could read long before she met her future husband.

Sadly, her mother's mind had begun to wander towards the end of her life - a sad fate for a woman who had embraced life so thoroughly. Mother and daughter had exchanged letters for years. It was difficult to detect but the beginnings of illness, the little signs of absent-mindedness began to build up until some of her final letters were pure fantasy. After her mother's death, a letter that had been hidden away was revealed. Although it had been written long before her mother's mind had started to go, the letter was full of an impossible tale.

At the time, the Duchess had sadly dismissed it as a fantasy conjured by a slowly fading mind. There had been other things in the letter, things she had dismissed as unworthy of note and ignored. She could not remember the words exactly now but her mother had written of a people who lived more than once. Of death and a new life with a new body. Such things no longer seemed as amusing as they once did.

"Your Grace?" asked Edwald worriedly.
She looked up to see Edwald watching her anxiously, with Sherlock echoing his expression from Edwald's shoulder.
"I am well, Edwald," she reassured him. "I think I may have some of the answer to the riddle but I need to find a letter that my mother wrote for me, many years ago."
"Where is it?" asked Edwald, not looking at all reassured.
"It will be at my late husband's estate."

Edwald nodded, "That is good, your Grace. We will be there shortly."
The Duchess nodded and then frowned, "But I am changed, Edwald. How shall my own servants recognise me?"
Edwald released her reins for a moment to scratch his head beneath his hat.
"Perhaps I could go and fetch one of them and get them to come to you, your Grace," suggested Edwald. "Would any of them believe you?"
The Duchess frowned, considering each of the staff in turn.

"Ask for the kitchen-girl, Bessie," suggested the Duchess. "She can be convinced. Then she might fetch the things I need - if my brother-in-law has not already claimed possession of everything."
"Less than a day has passed," said Edwald. "It is likely that they have not yet heard of your deaths. There were no survivors, your Grace."
"No, not even me," she agreed wryly.

TO BE CONTINUED

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