Revived Spirits (14 page)

With a quick attack and a little luck, they captured her and stuffed her into her cage before she could react. Frederica shut the door, but had to forgo locking it in favor of moving her fingers out of harm’s way as the indignant parrot snapped at them.

“How can anybody stand her?” Liv asked as she pulled the box out of a deep pocket of her skirt and opened the latch.

Frederica inserted a thumb at the side of the wide neckline of her blouse and inspected her shoulder. “I think she’s not so bad— just a bit desperate for attention.”

“If you say so. Hang on to me.  Here we go.”

Frederica took Liv’s arm, Liv pulled at the drawers of the box, and Precious threw the unlocked cage door open and propelled herself like a shell from a howitzer, landing right back on Frederica’s shoulder before the three of them disappeared from seventeen seventy-two.

“I know a source for the perfect clothes.” Frederica led the way down the steeply descending walkway from Flamsteed House,ignoring the passersby who pointed and stared at Precious. They’d been fortunate enough to find themselves alone in the astronomer’s apartment when they’d returned to the present, but getting outside with Precious had seemed problematic. In the end, the simplest solution worked. They walked straight out, slipping into an empty room once to avoid a tour guide.

Now that she could ride Frederica’s shoulder unchallenged, Precious was completely docile, making little cooing and gurgling noises and rubbing Frederica’s head with her own.

Frederica continued, “That is, the source is perfect except for one thing. We’ll have to pretend to be the best of friends, getting along famously and eager to have a girly evening together, playing dress-up.” She led the way off the path and into the grass, stopping beside an empty park bench. She slipped off her long skirt, revealing jeans underneath. Liv did the same and folded both skirts around the box, carrying it all in a bundle.

They returned to the path and continued their descent. Frederica said, “Mummy has a friend who’s wickedly rich and loves to put on costume balls for charity functions. We can ask her to borrow two dresses, I think.” Liv frowned. “Pretend to be friends.” “That’s it.” “Give the lady a call.”

Delighted that her daughter appeared to be getting along well with anyone, Mrs. Havard wasted no time making the phone call to her costume-owning friend, and the girls had an invitation to the home of Mrs. Philomena Davison for the next day.

Mrs. Havard gave them cab fare for the ride home, since they would be carrying their costumes, but they took the tube to Mrs. Davison’s house.

“Your mother must be the nicest person ever,” Liv said as they left the platform area and stepped onto a steep escalator that would carry them from the bowels of the earth up to street level. “Calling Mrs. Davison, paying for the cab, and putting up with Precious. I think you’ll end up keeping her, by the way—we both know no one’s going to answer your mom’s Found Bird ad. And McGinty would never survive the heartbreak if she left.”

It was true. The girls had brought the macaw back to the Havards’ flat, not quite sure what to do with her, and McGinty had been smitten from the moment he’d set his beady eyes on her. He’d stared, beak open, for a full five minutes, as if he couldn’t believe she wasn’t a dream.

Precious, out of sorts from having been smuggled all the way from Greenwich, wrapped up in Liv’s shawl and carried by Frederica, had given an impatient squawk that sent McGinty scurrying to find food, toys, and trinkets to bring to this vision of loveliness. By the next day they were inseparable, a pair of real lovebirds.

Frederica led the way out of the tube station and down the street, turning left after two blocks, then again and again, looking up at the street signs secured at second-story height to the buildings. As they made their way along, drab buildings with shabby little shops on the ground floors gave way to nicer ones with expensive-looking boutiques.

A few more turns, and the girls were walking down a quiet street where stately houses boasted small front yards,meticulously landscaped.

“This is it,” Frederica said, turning up a brick walk leading to a house swathed in a flamboyant mix of climbing roses in every color. Of course the owner liked costumes, Liv thought. She’d even dressed up her house.

They rang the bell, and the door opened at once. A plump lady with warm hazel eyes and hair tinted a vague shade that was neither blond nor brown stood before them. “Well, come on then, dears, you must be Frederica and her friend. Now, which is which?”

She held up her hand for silence while she looked them over carefully. “Got it!” she declared, beaming at Frederica. “Your mother’s eyes and creamy complexion, your father’s jaw and slender build.” She paused. “Not sure where the blond hair came from.  But you’re definitely Frederica.”

Liv liked her immediately. “That’s very good,” she said, as Frederica blushed and remained silent.

Mrs. Davison led the way through a spacious foyer and up a curved staircase. “I’m a widow,” she said, as if someone had asked her a question.“I married a man who made a lot of money with his business, but it seemed no one wanted to let me forget that I was from humble roots, so I never did. Instead of brooding about it, I’ve had great fun inviting girls from the poorest neighborhoods over for teas and dinners and dress-up parties, especially since my Harold died.”

She stopped on the landing, a huge space tiled with black and white marble squares, and inspected two giant banana plants in lead tubs, sticking her forefinger into the dirt of each one and nodding.

“And of course there are the charity balls. We’ve raised money for several worthy causes.” She pointed to Frederica and said, “You should come help me, dear. Get you out from under your Mum’s and Dad’s shadow.”

She turned again and continued up the staircase, missing Frederica’s frown. She led them down the main upstairs hallway, past door after door, all closed, all carved identically and painted white. Liv wondered how she remembered what led where.

“Now, I have lots and lots of dresses, but I think I know the perfect ones for you two,” she said, stopping at a door and turning its brass knob. She looked at Liv. “Tatiana told me you two are interested in the late seventeen hundreds, especially the seventeen-seventies. Is that right?”

“Yes, Mrs. Davison,” replied Liv.

“Oh, you must call me Philomena,” she protested, leading them through an enormous bedroom furnished with antiques. She marched on to a tiny hallway at the far side of the room and opened another door, and turned on a light.

Frederica gasped, and Liv gave a low whistle. They were in a closet, as large as the bedroom and lined with wardrobe doors and built-in chests of drawers. In the center of the room, padded benches, chairs and garment racks formed an outward-facing oval, with a small sofa at each end. The fronts of the wardrobe doors were mirrored, and full-length mirrors mounted on stands were placed every few feet. Several ladies at once could admire themselves as they dressed. Makeup and hair-dressing tables completed the fitted furniture.

Philomena walked straight to a dress form, stood beside it and beamed. “I think the perfect style for two young ladies is the polonaise gown,” she said, running a hand lovingly down the sleeve of a golden yellow dress printed with pink carnations and lacy greenery. Except for the long sleeves, it looked like something Cinderella might have worn to the ball.

“It used to fit me. Can you believe it?” Philomena chuckled and placed her hands on her ample waistline, then pointed to a silver-framed picture on a dressing table. In the photo, a thinner and younger version of herself wore the gown, arms linked with another young woman in a similar dress with multicolored flowers on a white background.

“Let’s get to it, girls.”

Philomena began to fluff out the skirt of the dress. Liv was intrigued by its design. The front was gathered at the waist and draped gracefully to the floor, while the back trailed at least a yard. “Watch this,” said Philomena. She pulled two cords at the hem, and three large poufs appeared, making the skirt stand out at the hips and rear.

She pointed to Liv. “With your dark hair, I think the yellow one’s for you. Frederica’s fair coloring will be a perfect match for the pink-and-green-on-white.” She busied herself pulling the dress out of a wardrobe and then handed it to Frederica. “Call me when you’re ready for buttoning up,” she said and left them alone to change.

“How do I look?” asked Liv, twirling around and holding out her long skirt, trying to catch a glimpse of the twin bustles behind.

“Perfect. Like the valance of a giant curtain escaped and attached itself to your backside.”

Liv giggled. “Yeah well, you look like you could upholster a sofa just by sitting on it.”

Philomena reentered without knocking and continued talking as if she’d never left. “Authentic dress gowns would have been silk de chine, of course, with hand-painted flowers. But cotton chintz yard goods for curtains work just fine.” She began to fasten a long row of buttons at the back of Liv’s canary-yellow and blue dress.

“And the real gowns would have had very tiny cinched waists and required serious corsets. Be grateful I put comfort before fashion.”

Liv and Frederica thanked Philomena and waved goodbye from their cab as it pulled away. All that effort spent pretending to be friends seemed to have taken a toll on Frederica. Her scowl thwarted the driver’s attempts at pleasant conversation, and they rode most of the way back to South Kensington in silence.

Fine, thought Liv, stiffening her shoulders and exhaling loudly.
Who wants to talk to her anyway?

As the cab drove past Kensington Park, Liv was reminded of Sir Nevil and the slippery Cumpston. Exactly how would they carry out their mission to stop Cumpston?

She stole a look at Frederica, who ran her hands through her hair and lifted her chin toward Liv. “I’ve thought it over,” she said, “trying to decide how close we want to be to Flamsteed House when we, er, travel.”  Her tone was flat, matter-of-fact.

“Who put you in charge?” asked Liv.

“I did,” she replied with exaggerated patience. “Do you want to pick a fight, or will you listen to my plan?”

Liv stifled the urge to strangle her and shrugged. “I’m listening.”

“Here’s my thinking. The party should get underway by half-past eight and may keep going strong until well after ten.” She counted off her statements on her fingers.

“We can’t travel to or from Greenwich at night—we’d want to be back here no later than about five in the afternoon. I think we can make the switch around noon, hide out, and sneak up to Flamsteed early. It’s bound to be crawling with extra servants. If we’re lucky, no one will notice us.”

The cab came to a stop in front of the Havard house, and Frederica paid the driver. They made their way up the front steps, the borrowed dresses draped across their arms.

Frederica continued, “We’ll hide out, do what must be done, and return with time to spare. Or do you have a better idea?”

“No,” admitted Liv.

“Good. Now, let’s put on our cheerful act for the parents. You only have to do it while they’re watching.”

“Fine by me.”

The evening spent in Frederica’s company was bearable. Liv ignored her moody silences punctuated with barbed comments. To her surprise, Frederica loosened up a little and even smiled a few times. It wasn’t much of a performance, but it seemed to convince the Wescott and Havard parents, who had gathered for dinner, that all four young people might enjoy a day of hanging out together.

Frederica’s parents were satisfied with a vague, “Oh, we’ll just go here and there, probably over to Greenwich. Should be back by six.” But Liv’s parents wanted an itinerary, and she didn’t know where to begin.

Frederica came to the rescue, rattling off descriptions of the Royal Naval College, the Maritime Museum, Greenwich Park and the Observatory like a travel brochure. “We’ll visit the Queen’s House and check on the rebuilding of the Cutty Sark,” Frederica explained to Mrs. Wescott.

“Well, I’m delighted that you four have hit it off, and your day sounds wonderful.” Mrs. Wescott rose quickly from her seat at the Havards’ kitchen table to pull Anna’s hands from Baxter’s water dish.

“Anna and I will have Girls’ Day tomorrow. We’ll go to a playground, eat lunch out, then sneak home early to catch up on our napping.” She rose and hoisted the diaper bag to her shoulder.

“And you big kids think you have all the adventures.”

“I’m hungry,” said Anthony. I don’t want to face the next several hours without food.” They were in Greenwich. It was eleven o’clock—a little early for lunch—but Anthony was always ready to eat.

Liv offered, “How about that eel and pie shop? It’s just up the street.”

Cal made gagging sounds and pointed a finger to his open mouth.

Frederica laughed. “You can get other food there, Cal. This is a tourist town, and they know eel isn’t to everyone’s taste.”

Liv led the group through the open door of the eatery, right up to the counter. Frederica whispered, “I’m off to the loo. Order anything for me but eel pie.”

Anthony said, “I think I’ll go, too. But the pie sounds okay.” He punched Cal gently on the arm. “Order a piece for me?” Cal grimaced and nodded.