“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?”
“No.”
“You have a boyfriend here?”
“Quiet!” hissed Cassandra.
“Mom, Mother! What were you thinking?”
“I could not help it! It is like he just fell out of the sky and into my quiet little life here. He moved into a manor house a couple of miles from here in April. He is a musician, James, a violinist, and he is so talented and worldly, and so different from other people of this time. He is open-minded and interesting and…really sexy.”
“Oh, dear God, I really do not need to hear this.”
“I am sorry, but I have not been able to tell anyone! I have been keeping it a secret, but it has not been easy. Everyone knows we are friends, but I think they may suspect more. We try to be very careful.”
“Careful about what? No, I don’t want to know. How old is he?”
“He is my age. I mean, he is the age I claim to be.”
“You mean he’s several years younger than you.”
“Well, yes, but James, that age difference does not exist in the here and now. Everyone thought I was thirty, until I assured them I was thirty-eight.”
“Yeah, thirty-eight.”
“That is enough out of you.” She picked up a
piece of bread and nibbled it.
“Well, I see it’s a good thing I came after all,” remarked James. “Things are getting a little out of control.” He wolfed his own bread in a few bites.
“Oh, really?” replied Cassandra. “And what do you intend to do about it?”
“Keep an eye on you, that’s what,” he said, chewing.
“I can handle myself, I assure you. I think I have managed to fit in quite well, in spite of the many challenges. You will see. Anyway, now that you are here, I really am so glad to see you, and I think it will be fun to have you around, as long as you behave yourself—”
James laughed. “I think you’re the one who needs to behave herself.”
More than he knows, she thought, and wondered if she would be able to keep up her rendezvous with Ben. She would have to send him a note in the morning, informing him of James’ surprising arrival. She hoped they would get along, and had a sense they would.
Once mother and son had finished eating, she showed him around the house, which Mrs. Merriweather had lit up for them, and took him upstairs to his room. He was delighted with everything, and finally, before going to bed, asked if it were possible to have a bath.
“Oh, the servants will be thrilled,” Cassandra said, “I just had one this afternoon. It is quite a lot of work.”
“I know, I had one yesterday at the White Hart.”
“Oh my goodness, the White Hart! How did you like it?”
“I loved it. The food was great.”
“Isn’t it? The food is one of the best things about being here; it is so fresh! Well, except when the meat goes bad.”
“Ugh,” James grunted.
“Did you remember to use the bug powder at the White Hart?”
“Absolutely, are you kidding me?”
“Good, but you will not need it here. How long were you in London?” she asked.
“Just the one night; I was anxious to get to you.”
“You must be exhausted. I will order your bath, but you know, you cannot plan to bathe every day. Between me and you, we shall wear the servants out.”
“It’s weird to have servants.”
“I know, but you will get used to them.”
“Maybe I’ll save them the effort of the bath and take to washing in the stream,” he joked.
“That will be interesting. Well, my love, I will leave you to unpack, and I shall send up your bath. Mrs. Merriweather will bring you whatever else you might need. She thinks of everything.”
James gave his mother an affectionate hug. “I’m so glad that you’re okay. This is going to be fun.”
“We shall see,” she teased. She kissed him on his forehead.
******
In the morning, he came down to breakfast to join Cassandra, and once again he marveled at the array of foods. Anna was thrilled to have someone in the house with a large appetite, and she provided bacon, ham, poached eggs, fried potatoes, stewed tomatoes, smoked fish, hard and cream cheeses, sweet rolls, toast, porridge, jam, fresh butter and cream, milk, coffee, and tea, everything fresh from the nearby farms, and prepared moments before by her expert hands. On a plate in front of Cassandra were two slices of dark grain toast with butter, and one scrambled egg with wild mushrooms, gathered by Mr. Merriweather.
James piled up his plate. “This is incredible!” he uttered between bites. “I’ve never tasted anything like this. The flavors are absolutely vivid!”
“I know,” Cassandra replied, “which is why I try not to eat too much of it; it is irresistible. Anna is a wonderful cook, and everything is fresher here than you and I have ever known.” She tried to keep her voice down.
“And this house, Mother, I was exploring around upstairs. Eight bedrooms! And they’re all beautiful. Then I noticed there’s a garret above my room with a little stairway leading up to it. It seems like a great space for reading and stuff.”
“You would think,” observed Cassandra, “But it is bit hot now in the summer, and a bit cold in the winter. There is one above my room too. Did you go up to the nursery as well? It is quite comfortable because you can get a breeze through, or light a fire in the winter. It is so spacious and bright. The Collins children must have loved it.”
“That’s the family that owns this place, right?”
“Yes. Apparently they lived beyond their means. They are in Bath now.”
“Oh, I want to go to Bath!” cried James, “It would be great to see it three hundred years—”
“James, shh!”
“I mean… I’ve never seen Bath.”
“Right. I have been planning to go when the weather cools off a little. For now, though, you must prepare yourself to make the rounds of introductions. You will have to get to know all of the principle families in the neighborhood. They will be out of their minds to meet you.”
“Are they going to be any fun, or will they be boring?”
“Some you will enjoy, and some will be boring. But you must endure them all at least once, just like I did. I have become quite good friends with many of them, and there are several young people closer to your age.”
“Okay, I’ll deal with it.”
“Do not say okay,” she reminded him. “After breakfast, I shall send off notes announcing your arrival and requesting visits. Then, how about you and I take a walk around the grounds so you can take it all in? It is so spectacular. Then we can talk more freely.”
“Sounds good,” he agreed, and applied himself to his breakfast, while Cassandra mused over how truly nice it was to be with her son.
An hour later, they met at the kitchen entrance so she could first show him the vegetable garden. They then wandered around behind the house to the great lawn and down to the lake. James noted with interest that the boathouse perched on the bank contained several rowboats with oars. After examining them, they headed west toward the woods and stream. It was a warm day, with an overcast sky. James expressed his appreciation of the peace and quiet, the lack of any sign of modern civilization, and the simple, soft, beauty of the English countryside. They continued walking.
“So, when am I going to meet this boyfriend?” he asked her.
“His name is Ben, Benedict Johnston. I sent a note off to him this morning. I am sure I shall hear from him soon. And what about your love life? Are you dating anyone?”
“Yeah, I met this girl in London, I mean, in 2120, of course.”
“I figured.”
“She’s nice, but it’s nothing serious.”
“Hmm. And how is your music going? I imagine your band in Boston misses their lead aether-guitarist.”
“Yeah, they do. I’ve been sitting in with these other guys sometimes on Saturday nights in Chelsea. They’re pretty good. It’s going to be hard to be here without my aether.”
“That is why I am so glad to have a wonderful piano. And can you blame me for being drawn to someone that I can play music with? It is a dream come true! But besides that, he is kind and funny and sweet. You shall see.”
They walked for more than an hour taking in the pleasure gardens on the west side of the house, including Cassandra’s flower garden, and then meandered through the low hills off to the east, on down to the Merriweather’s cottage. Coming back up to the house, they passed the stables, and Cassandra introduced James to William. The stablemaster complimented Cassandra’s newly acquired horsemanship, and asked if James rode. He replied that he did, and Cassandra was suddenly grateful for the years of horseback riding lessons he’d taken near her parents’ summer home.
As they were heading back in at the front of the house, they noticed a gentleman approaching by horse, and Cassandra recognized at once that it was Ben.
“Oh my goodness,” said Cassandra, feeling flustered, “well, I guess the time has come for you to meet Ben.”
“This is going to be interesting,” said James.
“All right now, careful of your speech.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Especially the cont
ractions. I slip sometimes, which is easy to do.”
“I shall be careful.
“Good.”
“Good morning!” cried Ben from his horse, though it was now just noon.
“Good morning,” replied Cassandra, “I see you got my note.”
“Yes, I could not wait for permission. I had to come straightaway to see the apple of your eye.”
“Well, here he is.” She squeezed James’ arm affectionately.
“Hello there!” said Ben. A stable boy came running to take the horse as Ben dismounted, and the two men shook hands.
“Ben, this is my son James Franklin; James, this is Mr. Benedict Johnston.”
“I cannot tell you how pleased I am to meet you,” said Ben.
“The pleasure is mine,” replied James, smiling broadly.
Cassandra stood by nervously as Ben and James exchanged small talk about the house, the grounds, James’ journey, and other generalities. Cassandra then motioned them into the house, and they entered the sitting room while Cassandra ordered some refreshment.
The two men seated themselves on the sofa and Cassandra went to sit across from them in a chair. Once the tea things were brought, she proceeded to serve them. Ben went on to inquire about the reason for James’ sudden departure from America, and James related his story about the woman that jilted him with well-acted resentfulness. Ben was sympathetic, but they soon moved on to other topics. Ben wanted to know about Harvard, and since James’ attending the school was an actual fact, rather than a just a part of his fictional history, he could describe it with vivid detail. He had to alter his personal time line, however, because in reality, he had just completed his masters’ degree and was about to begin his doctoral studies. In non-reality, he was still, at the age of nineteen, working on his bachelor’s degree in World History. He said he hoped to be a professor— it was one reason Rebecca van Riper had thrown him over—it was too lowly a profession. Cassandra thought that was a nice touch.
“Do you play an instrument, James?” Ben asked, glancing at the piano.
“Uh, well, I did study the piano, but I am afraid I no longer apply myself. That great talent belongs to my mother, of course.”
“Yes,” Ben replied. “She is exceptional.” He nodded to Cassandra with a smile. She poured him another cup of tea, eyes downcast.
The Time Baroness (The Time Mistress Series) Page 13