The dress was surprisingly well-made, since it came from the stores of the Metropolitan Museum. Louisa had “borrowed” two gowns from the storage room, hoping no one would realize they were missing until long after she was gone. The gowns had been part of some exhibit, but had been in storage for years, waiting for their turn to see the light of day again. One was relatively plain, made of brown damask with a full skirt, embroidered bodice and detachable sleeves. The other was fancier. It was made of periwinkle colored velvet with a high collar made of stiff lace, and tiny pearls sewn into an elaborate pattern on the bodice and upper part of the skirt. Louisa would save the prettier gown for later, hoping she might have an opportunity to wear it. She pulled on a pair of silk stockings and stepped into low-heeled shoes with silver buckles. She was almost ready.
Louisa stared at her reflection in the old cheval glass, forgotten in the corner of the back room. She couldn’t believe how different she appeared, even to herself. She pulled a couple of pins out of her valise, and twisted her hair into a knot at the back of her head, leaving a few tendrils of hair to frame her face. The woman who stared back at her could have been an actress playing a part in some costume drama. She didn’t think she looked authentic enough to pass for the real thing, but this would have to do.
“What do you think, Mr. Taylor?” she asked as she stepped into the front room and did a slow pirouette in front of the old man.
“I think you are as mad as a March hare,” Mr. Taylor answered gruffly, the clock already on the counter in front of him. “Do you have your satchel?”
“Yes.” Louisa had carefully prepared her traveling bag, leaving all her modern items in the back room of Mr. Taylor’s shop. She had her second gown, another pair of shoes, clean underwear, and a velvet cloak she had left over from a Halloween costume. She’d dressed as a sorceress one year, wearing the black cloak over her whimsical purple gown. She hoped it would do. Louisa hid a few tampons in the lining of the bag, along with a little leather pouch full of coins. The other half of the money was pinned to her underskirt as a precaution. She also took a cheese sandwich wrapped in plain brown paper, just in case. She was as ready as she’d ever be.
Mr. Taylor sighed, and turned the Cupid clock toward Luisa, still holding on to it as if he might yank it back at any moment.
“I’m ready,” she said, feeling anything but.
“Open the glass cover and turn the hands with your right hand. Hold on tightly to your satchel with the left. I wish you luck, Louisa, but most of all, I hope that you’ll have no cause to regret your actions. Goodbye. Give my regards to your sister; should you find her.” Mr. Taylor finally let go of the clock, and moved it slowly toward Louisa across the counter.
Louisa took a deep breath. She was so scared that she could barely breathe. Her stomach was turning inside out, cold sweat breaking out on her forehead as she reached for the clock. Her hand was shaking badly, so she pulled it back in order to steady herself, fixating on the face of the Cupid. She hadn’t realized before that he was smirking as he reclined across the base of the clock, his fat belly reflecting the morning light. Louisa closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, before trying again. This time her hand felt steadier, so she turned the hands to 4:10 or 1610. Louisa had just enough time to grab her valise with both hands before her head began to spin; and everything went dark.
The Past
Chapter 3
Snatches of birdsong drifted through Louisa’s consciousness as her senses began to reassert themselves. She could smell the comforting scent of grass and sun-warmed earth, and feel the gentle May breeze caress her face, as she finally forced herself to open her eyes. She had no idea what time it was, or how long she’d been lying there. The cloudless sky was an endless canopy of blue, and Louisa briefly wondered if seventeenth century weather corresponded to the weather conditions currently in the present. The day she left behind, had been just as perfect as the one here.
The sun seemed to be riding high in the sky, so she figured it must be close to noon. Louisa was distracted by the buzzing of insects, as a particularly pesky mosquito prepared to feast on her exposed neck. She slowly sat up, still clutching her bag, and looked in the direction of the castle. It would be intact in 1610, and not the dilapidated ruin that sat on a hill above the village in her day. The crumbling building and moss-covered stones of the broken outer wall attracted few tourists. Instead, it was a place where local hoodlums chose to congregate, to smoke weed and hold satanic rituals.
The walls of the castle were bathed in the golden light of the May morning, the leaded windows reflecting the rays of sunshine and glowing like fire. It was strangely quiet, but then again, she was probably too far away from the castle to hear much activity, especially since it was surrounded by a thick, stone wall. Louisa turned around and looked toward Yealm River. She knew the village wouldn’t be there any longer, but it was still shocking to see the virtually empty bank of the river. A few fishermen’s cottages could be seen in the distance, and a weathered dingy lay overturned on the muddy bank, baking in the sun, but otherwise there wasn’t much there.
There were no houses or shops, or the lovely café where Louisa had enjoyed breakfast while waiting for Mr. Taylor’s shop to open. There were no sounds of cars or children going off to school, chatting like magpies as their mothers rushed them along. A few lazy seagulls circled above the shimmering water, looking for fish, but otherwise the place seemed deserted. Finally feeling strong enough to rise to her feet, Louisa stood up, and turned her steps toward the castle. She rehearsed her speech in her mind as she walked up the hill, heart racing and hands shaking slightly on the leather handle of her valise.
As Louisa approached the forbidding outer wall, she could see that the massive, iron-studded door was slightly ajar, but she heard no sounds of life coming from the yard. Was anyone even there? She finally reached the door and carefully pushed it open, peeking inside. The first thing she noticed was the deafening silence of the place. There were no people going about their business, no horses neighing in the stables, or dogs barking at the squirrel that raced up the tree by the wall.
The place was deserted. Louisa looked more closely at the massive castle, towering above her head. The door appeared to be locked, but several windows in the lower floors were broken, shards of glass poking out of the splintered frames at odd angles, birds flying in and out of the exposed rooms. The building that must have been a stable looked charred, and the water in the well was covered with a film of slime that looked revolting as it lapped against mildew-covered walls. Louisa looked around. Where was everyone, and what was she supposed to do now? She fully expected to find people at the castle and counted on them to help her, and give her some information regarding her sister. There was not a house in sight, and no one to ask for help or directions.
Louisa leaned against the well and tried to think. She had to avoid panicking and think rationally. There might not be anyone here, but there had to be people within walking distance. She had studied the map as part of her research, and knew that there was a village several miles to the north, but that wasn’t her first choice. She needed to find someone from the castle, who could tell her something about Valerie and her husband. She knew the Whitfields were gone, but there had to be someone who had lived at the castle before it became vacant. Where would they be? Louisa knew from the portraits she saw that Valerie was in Virginia by this time, but she had no idea exactly where -- or how -- to go about securing passage to the New World.
Louisa sighed in frustration and walked back out through the door. This was certainly a setback, probably the first of many, but she wouldn’t give in to her fears. She’d walk down the track that led away from the castle and see where it took her. Maybe she’d come upon a cottage or a farm and ask there. Louisa looked to her right and then to her left, deciding which way to go. The path to the right seemed a little wider and more traveled, so she headed that way. Her shoes kicked up a cloud of dust every time she took a step,
instantly covering the hem of her dress in a layer of grime. She’d wished she brought some water, as her throat grew dry and scratchy, as much from the dust as from fear.
Louisa had been walking for nearly a quarter of an hour, but hadn’t seen a soul, or any sign of habitation. She was first scared, then relieved, when she heard the barking of a dog as a black mastiff came sniffing at her feet, followed by its owner, who was walking slowly, scratching his head under his dusty hat. The man looked to be around sixty, dressed in mud colored pants and a leather doublet of some sort. His shirt might have been white at some point, but now it was yellowed with age and patched in several places.
“Good afternoon,” Louisa said, praying that the man would be friendly.
“And who might ye be, Mistress?” The man stopped a few feet away, cocking his head to the side and studying Louisa, as he called the dog back and took it by the collar.
“My name is Louisa Jamison, and I’m looking for my sister, Valerie Whitfield.”
“Are ye now? Ye best come with me then. Shall I take your valise?” Louisa was reluctant to turn over her only possessions to the stranger, so she held on to it, not budging from her spot.
“May I have your name, sir? Do you know my sister?”
“My apologies, Mistress Jamison,” the man said with forced civility. “I’m John Dobbs, and I’m the overseer of Yealm Castle, or what is left of it. I do, indeed, know yer sister and her husband, Mr. Whitfield. Will ye accompany me to my cottage? My wife will be glad to see ye.”
The man held out his hand for the valise and Louisa reluctantly handed it over before following him along the track. He seemed harmless enough, and at the moment, he appeared to be the only living soul within the vicinity. They walked in companionable silence for another fifteen minutes, before Louisa saw a small cottage with a thatched roof perched on the bank of a brook. There were several chickens pecking at something in the dirt under the watchful eyes of the orange cat, which pretended to snooze on a bench under the window. A heavyset woman was hanging out some washing on a line, humming a merry tune under her breath.
“Mary,” called out Mr. Dobbs, “we have a guest.” The woman turned around, an expression of surprise on her round face. She studied Louisa for a moment before her face split into a smile of welcome. “Mary, this is Mistress Valerie’s sister, Mistress Jamison.”
“Oh, my word. Are ye really? Ye don’t look much like her, do ye? I s’pose I see something about the eyes, if I look hard enough. They are the same peculiar violet color. Oh, wouldn’t the mistress be glad to see ye if she was here?”
Mrs. Dobbs came closer to Louisa and held out her hand. “Come inside, my dear. Ye must be tired and hungry. I’ll just put the kettle on and we’ll have us a nice chat, ye and I. John has some chores to do, but he’ll join us later, won’t ye?”
The cottage was small but clean, with calico curtains and a jug of wildflowers on the table to brighten the small space. Louisa watched as Mrs. Dobbs pushed the kettle hanging on a hook over the fire blazing in the hearth. She kept sneaking curious glances at Louisa, as she set out two pewter mugs and a jug of milk covered with a cloth to keep out the flies. It was only natural for her to be curious, so Louisa pretended to look around the cottage so as not to embarrass the woman.
Other than the table flanked by two benches, some crude shelves and a bed, there was nothing in the room. There appeared to be a small loft above the bed, accessible by a wooden ladder propped against the wall. A few tools hung on nails hammered into the wall next to the ladder, and a bucket of slops stood in the corner, filling the room with an aroma of decay.
“I’ll just take that right out and give it to the pig,” Mrs. Dobbs clucked as she followed Louisa’s gaze. “Been saving it for the old sow since yesterday.” She grabbed the bucket and disappeared through the narrow door.
Mrs. Dobbs swept back into the cottage a few minutes later and pulled the kettle off the fire with a folded rag.
“I hope ye don’t mind bread and butter, dear. That is all I have at the moment. If I knew ye’d be coming, I would have baked a cake or some buns at the very least.” Mrs. Dobbs poured the steaming tea into the mugs and added a splash of milk to her own, settling herself across from Louisa, obviously waiting for her to begin. Mary Dobbs took a noisy sip of tea and reached for a slice of buttered bread, after offering it to Louisa first.
“Mrs. Dobbs, what happened to the castle?” Louisa knew the woman was dying of curiosity, but she wanted to take the opportunity to study her and see if she could be trusted before revealing anything about herself.
Mrs. Dobbs waved her hand in disgust. “It started shortly after the master and mistress left. There was no one left at the castle, just my John to look after it, and the word spread that the castle stood empty. Well, ye know how news travels. The looters came within weeks. They scaled the wall during the night and broke the windows to get in; taking anything that wasn’t nailed down. They even took the horses and set the stable afire just to be spiteful. John was distraught. He’d failed Master Alec. He took to sleeping at the castle with his gun to scare the scoundrels off, but they did not bother to come back. They had what they came for.” Mrs. Dobbs sighed and took a large bite of her bread. “Not that the Whitfields are coming back, mind ye. They’ve gone for good.”
“Why did they leave?” Louisa took a bite of bread and washed it down with a gulp of tea. She was surprisingly hungry, and the bread tasted very fresh with butter soaked into the dough, slightly salty and delicious.
“’Twas because of Mister Finlay. Such bad business. He died in the Tower, but the infamy of his deeds lived on. The master suffered for it something terrible, as did Mistress Valerie. There was no future for them here. They left shortly after the babe was born, and they were wed. They went to Virginia to Thomas Whitfield, their uncle.”
Louisa didn’t bother to ask Mary Dobbs about Finlay Whitfield. She already knew. Finlay had been Valerie’s husband and the father of her son. He died in the Tower after being tortured for information following his involvement in the Gunpowder Plot, the purpose of which was to blow up the buildings of Parliament, killing King James I and all the members as the session opened on the morning of November 5, 1605. Finlay Whitfield had been twenty-five years old and left behind a pregnant wife –- Valerie. From what Louisa had been able to piece together, Valerie married Finlay’s brother with whom she’d had a daughter, Louisa.
“How was my sister when you last saw her, Mrs. Dobbs? Did she marry Mr. Alec soon after? Does he care for her?”
Mrs. Dobbs gave Louisa a conspiratorial smile and rolled her eyes heavenward. “Oh, he cares for her, all right. Mr. Alec lost his heart the minute yer sister turned up on his doorstep. He had been broken up over his first wife’s death, but he forgot all about Violet as soon as Mistress Valerie showed up. Too bad Master Finn beat him to it. He was like that, Finlay. A real charmer, he was, and so handsome. Master Alec is very handsome too, mind, but in a different way. Master Finn just had to look at a girl and she’d be lifting her skirts for him.” She giggled like a young girl. “He loved yer sister very much. I’d never seen him so besotted. It was a terrible thing he did, getting involved with those thugs. Everything could have been so different.
Mistress Valerie and Mister Alec were beside themselves with grief after Master Finn died. They comforted each other, but did not wed until the spring. She loves him, yer sister. Don’t fret. She didn’t just marry him to give her son a father. They were meant to be, those two.”
Louisa felt something unclench inside her stomach. So Valerie married Alec for love. She was glad to know that. Valerie had not had much luck in the romance department, and Louisa was thrilled that Valerie found two men who loved her, and were able to give her the children she wasn’t able to conceive in the twenty-first century.
“And where did ye come from, dear?” Mrs. Dobbs asked, taking another sip of tea while watching her from under the voluminous brim of her mob-cap.
Louisa smiled
at Mrs. Dobbs. The poor woman had been dying to ask since the moment she saw her, but didn’t want to be impolite. Louisa had her story all ready.
“I’ve lived in Holland these ten years. My husband was Dutch, but he passed last winter. I prefer to use my maiden name in England, since people are so wary of foreigners. It’s much easier than Van Horn. Valerie and I lost touch after I married.” Louisa cast down her eyes, trying to discourage more questions. The fewer lies she told the better.
“Have ye no children?” Mrs. Dobbs asked, her eyes full of pity.
Louisa shook her head, still staring into her mug of tea. “The Good Lord did not bless us with any children.”
Mrs. Dobbs patted Louisa’s hand in sympathy. “There is still time, dear. There is still time. Ye are young and beautiful, and the Good Lord works in mysterious ways.”
“Oh, I do hope you are right, Mrs. Dobbs. I’ve always longed for a child.” Her eyes suddenly filled with tears as she looked at Mary Dobbs. “I hope you are right,” she whispered, “but first I need to find Valerie.”
“Ye stay here with us tonight, and then on the morrow, John can take ye into Plymouth. Ye will find a ship there, although there is no telling how soon that might be. Do ye have the means to make the crossing?” she asked carefully.
“Yes. My husband left me well provided for.” Louisa had no idea how far her money would go, but she was fairly sure she had a tidy sum. She wondered how much it would cost to make a trans-Atlantic voyage.
“Good. Ye’ll need to find a girl as well. John can help ye.”
“What girl?” Louisa asked, confused.
“Why, a maid, of course. Ye cannot go on yer own. Maybe women go traipsing about on their own in Holland, but not here. Ye’ll need someone to take care of ye and act as chaperone. John can help ye find a suitable person in Plymouth. There are many young women who are looking to sail to the Colonies to start a new life, especially since 1617.”
A Leap of Faith (The Hands of Time: Book 2) Page 2