The Time Baroness (The Time Mistress Series) (13 page)

“What about your violin?”

“I put it in the armoire for safekeeping. Come on, let us go.”

“All…all right,” said Jeffrey. “Are you not going to lock the door?”

“What? Lock the door? Oh, yes, yes, I had better.”

She heard the key click in the lock. She waited until she heard their horses ride away and then pushed her way out of the armoire, fuming. “What is the matter with him?” she said to herself out loud. “He just locked me in here!” She thought, I guess he expects me to climb out the window, which is what I’ll have to do! She got dressed hastily, but couldn’t find her bonnet. Finally she saw it on one of the chairs and chastised herself for not having grabbed it before. She had no idea if Jeffrey had seen it. She made up the bed, took one more look around, and then clambered out the window ungracefully, landing with a thump on the ground. “Ow!” She brushed herself off and went to get her horse, which was placidly waiting. She asked herself, how could Ben not have thought of me? And I’m sure Jeffrey recognized my horse; he’s certainly seen it more than once, and there’s a lady’s saddle on it! The man really doesn’t think fast in a pinch, that’s for sure.

As she rode home, she wondered if Ben had tried to explain the situation further. If Jeffrey recognized her horse, he must know that she was there in the cottage somewhere. What would he make of that? Would he tell his mother? She hoped not. He was an outgoing boy, but didn’t seem like a gossip. Even if he didn’t recognize the horse, he must have seen the lady’s saddle, the rumpled bed, and possibly the bonnet. What would he think of Ben? Maybe he would admire his manliness and way with the ladies. Cassandra still didn’t know enough about the mores of nineteenth-century men to be sure. She barely comprehended the modern man, much less those of three hundred years ago. She sighed. There was nothing she could do about it, but she was mad at Ben and hurt that he just left her there.

She arrived home looking disheveled, and mumbled something to William about having got caught in some tree branches while riding through the woods. He gave her a worried glance. She stole in through the study door and went quickly up to her room, passing only the cleaning maid. She desperately wanted a hot soak, but had already had a bath that day, and couldn’t possibly order another. Oh, for the comforts of home, she thought, flopping onto her bed.

Later that evening, as she sat at the piano, a note arrived from Ben, and Mary brought it into the sitting room. Cassandra thanked her, waited for her to curtsey out of the room, and then sat down in the window seat with a candle to read it.

My love,

Please, please forgive me! I feel horrible for leaving you alone in the cottage. I was so flustered by Jeffrey’s arrival that I could not think straight. I am sorry to say that I am not really a very good liar. I locked the door without thinking, and then realized you would have to climb out the window, and I was so worried that you would hurt yourself, or tear your lovely gown. Please assure me you got home all right. I will not sleep until I hear back from you. I did hunt with Jeffrey until sunset, but had no pleasure in it. I felt like such an idiot! He was a little quiet, and I realized, upon thinking about it, that your mare had a lady’s saddle on it, and God only knows what he must have thought! I trust that he is an honorable man, and will not speak to anyone about it, but he must have known that I had a lady there. There is a certain unspoken law amongst gentlemen that we do not talk about such matters. I trust he will uphold it. I do not think he knows it was you, but so what if he does? I cannot imagine he would think any less of either of us. Besides, he is going into the navy soon, and will be away from the neighborhood for months, if not years, and during that time he will learn about life in a way he never has before. Once he is a man of the world, he will understand.

At any rate, please send a message back right away with my servant, assuring me you still love me. I told him not to leave without your reply.

Yours forever,

Benedict

Mary crept back into the room. “Ma’am?”

“Yes, Mary.”

“Miss Anna said to tell you that Mr. Benedict Johnston has sent three nice pheasants, and would you like her to dress them for dinner tomorrow?”

“Yes, Mary. Tell her that would be lovely, and to expect a guest to be joining us.” The girl curtseyed and turned to go. “Wait a moment, Mary, would please give a note to Mr. Johnston’s man for me?”

“Certainly, ma’am.”

Cassandra went to her little writing table, pulled out a delicate piece of note paper and an envelope, and wrote:

I love you, in spite of myself. Come to dinner tomorrow; we shall have pheasant.

She put the note in the envelope, sealed it with wax, and gave it to Mary.

July 31, 1820—Just getting back from being with Ben. I plan to have a quiet night tonight, just enjoy my thoughts about him. I now have a little less than six months here in 1820, less than six months with Ben. How my ideas about what I would be doing during my experiment here have changed! First, such disappointment in finding life so mundane; now, such exhilaration in this unexpected relationship. I no longer feel like a scientist
—perhaps that is the most scientific thing about this experiment. I am not observing, as I thought I would be doing
—I am living. Yet even this surprises me. I thought I would be able to maintain a certain objectivity, but being here I cannot help but be drawn into the lives of the people around me. And I cannot separate myself from surprisingly intense feelings about Ben.

At any rate, something seems to have gone awry with my intentions to experience a simple country life as it was lived in this century, since I’ve bent many of the customs and norms of this time to suit myself, but I suppose leeway must be given for the emotional foibles a human being brings to this sort of undertaking. I ultimately wonder what kind of impact I will have on the people of Selborne and its surrounding neighborhood. What impression will I leave? Is my experiment just a selfish one or do I intend to leave something good behind? Mrs. Clarke, Lady Holcomb, Mr. and Mrs. Merriweather, Mary and William, and so many others have been so kind to me. How can I say goodbye to them forever? I must do just that in six months time, and soon I should start preparing them by saying I’ve heard from James, that he needs me to return: the excuses I’ve planned to use all along. I don’t believe Mary reads very well, so she probably doesn’t look at the postmarks and such on my mail. If I say I’ve got a letter from James, she probably will not have noticed whether that is truly the case or not.

Cassandra wiped the page clean, closed her journal and went to the mirror to fix up her hair in preparation for an evening downstairs. As she finished her primping, she heard a carriage rumbling up the drive. She hastened to the window and peered out. An elegant coach pulled by four horses was approaching Sorrel Hall. It was not Lady Holcomb’s, or Ben’s, who usually came by horseback, or any other that she recognized. Besides, it was sunset, too late for unannounced visitors. She couldn’t see the passenger in the carriage, couldn’t imagine who it might be. She checked herself in the mirror one last time, and then hurried downstairs. As she arrived in the entryway, the bell was pulled, and Mrs. Merriweather preceded her to open the heavy doors. There, in front of Cassandra stood her son, grinning from ear to ear.

“James!” She took a step backward, and a wave of dizziness washed over her.

“Hello, Mother,” he said in a British accent she’d never heard him use before. He was dressed to perfection in slim tan trousers, high boots, and a brown waistcoat, looking handsome and dapper and positively devilish.

“Oh my God!” said Cassandra, before she could keep the words from coming out of her mouth. She steadied herself, putting her hand against the armoire. “What are you doing here? I mean really,
what
are you doing
here
?”

“Mother,” he said calmly, and indicated Mrs. Merriweather. “You haven’t introduced me.”

“Oh, oh, yes,” she said, turning bright red. “Mrs. Merriweather, this is my son, James. He is just now, apparently, come from America with no notice whatsoever. James, this is most peculiar, I must say, and most, most impetuous.”

Mrs. Merriweather glanced at her, brow furrowed, and then at James. She readjusted her face to its usual polite mask and spoke to him. “It is delightful to meet you, sir. Your mother has told me much about you. But it seems that the two of you would probably like to have some privacy. Ma’am, why do you and your son not make yourselves comfortable in the sitting room? I will send your supper in there if you like, and get a fire started. I feel there is a chill. Shall I have your son’s things sent up to the master’s bedroom, next to yours?”

“Um, oh, certainly,” said Cassandra still staring, stunned, at her son. Mrs. Merriweather took her by the arm and led them both into the sitting room; then she went out and closed the door behind them.

“James!” cried Cassandra, “what on earth?”

“Mom, it’s okay, everything’s okay. I just wanted to check on you. I was worried! We had no idea if you were dead or alive or what was going on. I was going crazy!”

“Dead or alive? I am perfectly fine! I could not be more pampered and coddled. James, I am a grown woman, and the risk of time travel, as you well know, is that you are on your own, whatever may happen. I am sure I would have made it back to the portal exit, even if something had gone really wrong.”

“Well, you never know, Mom.” He paused, and she knew that they were both thinking about Franklin. “I just couldn’t stand it anymore, and I missed you!”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, her anger dissipating. She went to hug him tightly, kissing his cheek, tears springing to her eyes. “I really am happy to see you.”

“Thanks, and by the way, I have to say, wow, you look great!”

“Thank you, James,” she replied, drying her eyes with a handkerchief. “But you cannot say ‘wow.’ From this moment, put that British accent back on, and use only the expressions that are used in this time period. I assume you have been properly trained.” Her annoyance returned. “And, by the way, who approved this journey of yours, and how long are you staying?”

“Okay, first of all,” he said, assuming his British accent, “of course they trained me, for about a month. It did take some persuading, but I convinced Professor Carver to let me come, because he was anxious about you too. However, I should probably stay quite a few weeks, or even months. After all, I did come all the way from America.” He grinned. “I can’t just turn around and go back.”

“Right,” she replied, a million things swimming around in her head, including Ben. “Come, let us sit down.” She led him to the sofa. “All right, let us get everything straight. First of all, you are nineteen, not twenty-four, and I am thirty-eight, not—”

“I know, Mom,” he interrupted, letting his accent slip.

“Call me mother, not mom!”

“Right, right. Mother.”

“Let us see,” continued Cassandra, “you are attending Harvard, but why are you here? What shall we tell people is the reason you have come?”

“Wow, you’ve really got the whole language thing down.”

“James, you have to be serious about your speech!”

“So sorry, Mother.”

“Right then, what is the story? How about, you broke off with your fiancée and were too heartbroken to stay in America any longer. You have decided to take a break in your studies—no wait—it is summertime. You will return in September to complete your studies, and you have compelled me to return a few months after, as you can no longer live without your mother by your side. That will give me the out I need next January.”

“I can’t live without my mother by my side? It sounds a little pathetic.”

“Oh. Maybe so.”

“Anyway, maybe I’ll decide to stay longer,” he said, breaking her train of thought.

“I do not think so, James.”

“But Mother, now that I’m here, I should take advantage and learn from the experience, just like you’re doing. I thought maybe I could use it for my PhD dissertation.”

“Oh, so it was not just because you were worried about me, or you missed me; you had an ulterior motive! I know you, James. You were itching to do some time traveling yourself.”

At that moment, a servant knocked, and they let him in to light the fire. Cassandra and her son spent the interim making small talk, James remarking on the fine furniture, the delightful view, the beautiful piano.

When they were alone again, Cassandra began, “I have been working thirty years to earn this privilege, James. Thirty years of research and hard work, and it would not take much for it to all blow up if one of us slips. This is a delicate situation. What did Professor Carver say about the length of your stay?”

“He said it was up to you.”

“I see.” She pondered the situation for a few moments. “By the way, how did you get yourself here from London? I assume you have money?”

“Yes, the team replicated some silver pounds for me. I have about two hundred.”

“Oh, well that is more than most young English gentlemen have to spend in an entire year.”

“I think it will last me.”

“And the clothes?”

“Shannon made them, of course, but I’ll probably have to buy more. I didn’t bring very much.”

“I should look over what you brought.”

“Mother, the same experts who assembled your personal items did the same for me. Everything’s authentic!”

Mary then rapped on the door bringing supper. She placed it on a low table in front of the sofa, staring so openly at James that she almost missed the table entirely.

“Mary,” said Cassandra, “this is my son James, from America. James, this is Mary, my right arm. I would be lost without her.”

“Oh, ma’am,” said Mary, smiling and blushing simultaneously. “It is not true.”

“Of course it is. Mary does everything for me.”

“I only hope to be of service, ma’am,” she murmured, staring down at her apron.

“Well, thank you for the dinner, Mary, it looks wonderful,” said James.

“My pleasure, sir,” she replied, stealing another glance at him before ducking out of the room.

Cassandra chuckled. “She only recently has got used to me and my odd ways. I do not know what she is going to think of you.”

“She’ll love me, because I’ll be the perfect house guest. Now, what have we here?” He perused the tray of food.

Their supper consisted of roast chicken, sliced roast beef, ham, various cheeses, breads, local fruits, an assortment of pickled vegetables, sliced fresh tomatoes from the garden, wine, ale, and tea.

“Do you eat like this all the time?”

“This is nothing. It is a light supper. They have learned that when I am eating alone, to really tone it down, but when I have guests, it is five courses, more than you have ever seen in one place at a time.”

“Wow—I mean, my goodness. How does one get enough exercise to burn all this off?” He piled food on his plate.

“Walk, ride…you had better get used to hunting, incidentally. I suppose you could go out rowing on the lake. I have not yet been. But there is no jogging, or weight lifting, that is for sure.”

“I realize that.”

“Let us get back to your story,” Cassandra said as James dove into the food. “What was your fiancée’s name? The young ladies around here will want to know.”

“Young ladies?”

“Oh, yes. Anyway, what is her name?”

“Rebecca? That’s a good American name.”

“All right, Rebecca. What is her last name?”

“Um. Van, Van…derbilt?” He bit into a chicken leg.

“No.”

“How about Van Riper? She’s from an old Dutch family.”

“Rebecca van Riper?”

“Why not?”

“Very well. How old is she?”

“Twenty-one.”

“James, you are only nineteen, remember?”

“Oh yeah.”

“James!”

“Mom, Mother, I promise I’ll be fine. I reviewed your whole story; I know the background.”

“But you just forgot how old you are supposed to be!”

“Just for a second. Okay, she’s eighteen. And she’s beautiful.”

Cassandra chuckled.

“But she broke off with me because I’m not rich enough. That’s simple.” He sampled a hunk of cheese, then smeared butter onto a piece of bread.

“James, look around you, you are rich.”

“But not rich enough for the Van Ripers, one of the wealthiest families in New York.”

“In New England.”

“In New England,” he repeated.

“Well, all right, I guess that works. It is simple. And you are heartbroken. ” Cassandra delicately placed some slices of meat and tomato on her plate.

“Yes, I’m heartbroken. So heartbroken that I’ll need a lot of attention from the ladies to cheer me up.”

“James, let us get something straight—”

“I’m kidding! I know, I really do! I cannot toy with affections or become involved in serious relationships. It’s one of the primary rules of time travel, though I suspect that Jake may have broken it when he went to Renaissance Florence. I remember hearing a lot about a certain young Italian named Giuseppina.”

“Really?” said Cassandra, blushing. She cut into a piece of meat and put it in her mouth, chewing it thoroughly as she stared at the fire.

“Mother, what?”

“Nothing.”

“Mother, is there something you’re not telling me?”

“No, no. It is just that…” She could never hide anything from her son; he could read her too well.

“Mother?”

“Oh dear, I do not know how to say this. I sort of have a boyfriend.”

“You mean a boyfriend in 2120?”