The Time Baroness (The Time Mistress Series)

by Georgina Young-Ellis

  “And to please him, you would have to go into his business. Does he expect you to give up music?”

  “I think he wants it very much. He is ashamed of me.”

  “Oh, that is horrible. I cannot believe how money drives a person’s thinking and actions.”

  “Well, it is the way life is,” he observed pragmatically.

  “When I am here with you, I do not care about how life is, or what people think or say.”

  “I know, my love, but soon we may need to.”

  “Yes. Mrs. Merriweather told me the servants are talking.”

  “I know, which is why I want you to consider marrying me.”

  Cassandra was caught off guard again, and to avoid dealing with the situation further, she simply whispered, “I promise, I will consider it.”

  Ben looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully for a moment. Cassandra had a feeling something else was coming.

  “My love,” he ventured, “since we are speaking of that delicate subject of marriage, I have some curiosities of my own.”

  Cassandra felt a butterfly flit through her stomach. “Such as what?”

  “About your husband,” he said, looking at her directly. “You have never told me much about him, only that he was a printer and that he died of fever. I get the feeling from the tone of your voice when you speak of him, that you loved him very much, that he was a good man.”

  Cassandra looked down at the lace eyelet of the sheet. “He was,” she said quietly.

  “Tell me more.”

  She took a breath and thought of Franklin. She’d taken his first name as her last for the purposes of her time journey. Her married name, Reilly, was too Irish sounding, and her maiden name, Kephart, too German. Now, as she spoke of him, she’d have to be careful to separate fiction from reality; however, she couldn’t help but describe the man she really had been married to and so in love with. She needed no hypnotic suggestion to bring on the deep emotion connected with him.

  “He had dark, curly hair,” she began with a faint smile, “but it was beginning to thin. He was also somewhat heavy set, but with a pleasing frame, and he was strong.” Ben watched the emotions travel across her face. “He was from an Irish family originally, but his parents did not live into old age, and I had not many years with them. He was soft-spoken and patient, but could have a temper when riled. He rarely exhibited it to me, however. He was a good father to our son. He was playful and had a wonderful sense of humor. He made me laugh like no one else.” She checked Ben’s expression to make sure he wasn’t uncomfortable, but he seemed to be listening intently, so she went on.

  “He was not a musician, but he loved my music and could sit and listen to me play forever. He was rarely idle, though. He seemed to always have a book in his hand, usually something scientific, because he loved learning, and never stopped. He was compassionate and good to all people.” In her description of her real husband, she forgot the callousness of the fictional man who supposedly invested in the slave trade. “I think that is what I loved most about him, his kindness. But he worked hard, too hard. Sometimes I think at the expense of time he could have been spending with his son, and definitely at the expense of his health. He left me too soon; that is all.”

  She fought back tears. Ben took her hand in his. He kissed her, and she began to give in to him. She would rather her thoughts of Franklin fade. She then noticed that the light coming from the window was dimming, and thought it better not to stir up their fire again. She disentangled herself, ducked under his arm, and hopped off the bed.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I am getting dressed.”

  “No, it is not so late.” He stretched out enticingly on the bed.

  “Yes, it is,” she said, throwing a pillow at him that had fallen onto the floor. At that moment she glanced out the window and saw, through the trees, someone riding close by on horseback.

  “Oh my goodness!” whispered Cassandra. “Someone is out there!”

  “What?” he whispered back, “what do you mean?”

  “Someone is out there on a horse. I cannot tell who it is.”

  “All right, we must be quiet, maybe they will go away.”

  Cassandra crept to the window and peaked around the curtain. The person had spotted the cottage and was now riding toward it.

  “They are coming!”

  “Be calm. Grab your clothes and get in the armoire. I will deal with them.”

  She did as he instructed while he threw his clothes on as fast as he could. There was a knock on the door. Cassandra heard Jeffrey Holcomb’s voice outside the cottage.

  “Hello? Mr. Johnston? Are you in there?”

  There was silence other than Ben scuttling around for his clothes. Had they locked the door, she wondered in panic?

  “Mr. Johnston?”

  She heard the door slowly creak open, and then Ben’s footsteps.

  “Jeffrey!” she heard him say with feigned nonchalance. “What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, I am sorry,” replied Jeffrey, sounding mortified. “I did not know…I mean I was looking…they told me at your house that you had ridden out. As I was looking for you, I spotted this cottage, and the horses, and thought maybe you were here. I came to tell you that there are several brace of pheasant over on my brother’s land and to ask if you wanted to come hunting.” His voice had trailed off. She thought that he must be noticing the unmade bed. Did she have all her clothes? She couldn’t tell in the cramped dark space.

  “Yes, I—” replied Ben. “Well, you have discovered me, I see.” He forced a laugh.

  Cassandra rolled her eyes.

  “Excuse me?” asked Jeffrey.

  “Well, it is my secret hideaway,” he said with another chuckle. “I come here sometimes to um, nap, or play music. Undisturbed, you know. No servants, no interruptions—”

  “Oh, I am so sorry!” said Jeffrey with horror reflected in his voice.

  “No, no, no! It is perfectly all right. So happy that you are here. I would love to go hunting. You are never a bother, Jeffrey, please do not feel so. Just let me get my boots on, here.”

  “Shall I wait outside?”

  “No, no. Just a moment.”

  Goddammit, she thought. Why didn’t he ask him to wait outside? Is he is just going to leave me here?

  “All right, all set.” She heard Ben say. “Hmm, let me see, do I have everything?”

  “I noticed there were two horses outside,” said Jeffrey innocently.

  “Yes,” replied Ben, fumbling for words. “That other one belongs to…Elliot, you know, my head gardener. He rode out here with me to look at some new seedlings. Decided to leave her here while he looked about so she could rest. He is around here somewhere. No need to wait for him. The mare will be fine. Let us go on.”

  “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.

  Chapter 9

  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 woma
n, 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!”