by Laurie Brown
Deirdre dusted her fingertips together as if to dismiss the matter. “There is still the issue of her being ensconced in my bed.”
“It’s not as if you actually need to sleep,” Mina countered.
“Why are you so concerned about a stranger?” Deirdre’s eyes narrowed. “What is going through that conniving mind of yours?”
Mina wanted to consider all possibilities before revealing her thoughts. “Oh, look, she’s waking. Quick, douse the lamp.”
Eleanor blinked away her momentary confusion as she remembered where she’d fallen asleep. Her bleary eyes refused to focus. Watery moonlight seeping through the thick glass of the windows told her it was the middle of the night, but her internal clock and a full bladder insisted she get out of bed. She swung her legs over the edge and rolled to a sitting position.
As she slid forward, she remembered climbing onto the bed and managed to get one foot on the second step of the bed riser. Off balance, she nearly tumbled to the floor, saving herself by lunging sideways and wrapping her arm around the sturdy bedpost. Forward motion swung her around until she slammed into the footboard, stubbing her big toe in the process.
“Ouch.” The pain brought tears to her eyes.
Blinking, she limped toward the bathroom door that was disguised as an armoire and fumbled for the handle without success.
“Damn,” she muttered under her breath. “Where is that release … thingee?”
“A hand’s-breadth higher,” a voice whispered.
Eleanor found the catch that opened the door and rushed into the bathroom, thankful a motion-sensitive night-light had been provided. Once her physical discomfort had been relieved, logic resurfaced. Had that voice been her imagination, or had she really heard someone? She couldn’t remember ever using the term “hand’s-breadth,” not even in her wildest flights of fancy. Did the night-light really have a sensor, or had someone turned it on?
Suddenly nervous, she put her ear to the door. Nothing. She felt a bit silly. If there were intruders, why would they help her find the door latch and turn on the light? Unless she wanted to sleep in the tub, she would have to leave the bathroom sooner or later. She blamed her imagination for her unease. Surely nothing out of the ordinary had happened. She looked around for a possible weapon. Just in case.
She took a deep breath and swung open the door. Her still sore toe caused her to cross the room in a hop-step-hop-step. “Ouch, damn, ouch, damn.” She vaulted into the bed and pulled the covers over her head.
Her heart pounded and her breath came in gasps. Had she seen something? Over by the window … someone? The combination of fatigue, stress, and whatever was in that energy bar had obviously sent her imagination into overdrive. How could she sleep until she made sure no one was in the room? She scooted under the covers to the edge of the bed and snaked one hand out to turn on the bedside lamp. Then with one quick motion, she threw back the cover and lunged to her knees in the middle of the bed, arm raised and ready to throw the bar of soap at any intruder.
Across the room, two delicate women in Regency costume sat primly on the window seat of the tower alcove and stared at her as if she’d sprouted a second head.
After moment of shock, Eleanor recognized the women she’d passed on the stairway earlier. Sensing no threat, her breath left her in a whoosh and she relaxed in relief like a balloon losing air. “I’m afraid you have the wrong room,” she said, tucking her erstwhile weapon out of sight beneath the covers. “And I admit you gave me quite a fright.”
“I’m Mina Cracklebury, and this is my sister Deirdre,” the woman in the rose-colored dress said. “We’re sorry we disturbed your slumber.”
Deirdre shot her sister an incredulous look. “Yes, of course we are, but in fact this is—”
“A perfect opportunity for us to become acquainted.” Mina flashed a brilliant smile. Obviously sisters, both wore their blonde hair pulled back into chignons with a few wispy curls framing their faces. “You may have heard about us. We are the ghosts of the manor.”
“I don’t believe in ghosts.” Suddenly, Eleanor understood. Spike must have recruited these two to scare her. If she left voluntarily, then the girl would be off the hook. “Nice try. You can tell your friend Spike that it almost worked, but I recognize you. I’m not leaving—you are. Fabulous costumes, by the way. Good joke. Ha, ha. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go back to sleep.”
Deirdre jumped to her feet. “We are not friends of that … person,” she said, stomping her foot. “We are fully materialized ghosts, and this is our suite of rooms. And that is my bed!”
“Please excuse my sister’s manners,” Mina said. “We don’t entertain often.”
Deirdre rounded on her sister. “I have never entertained in my bedroom, and I refuse to start now. Whatever mischief you are planning in that devious mind of yours, I will have no part of it.” With a snap of her fingers, her figure disintegrated into specks of light, and then she disappeared.
“Oh dear,” Mina said. “Not an auspicious beginning.”
“Is this some sort of magic trick?” Eleanor asked, peering around the room. “Where’d she go?”
Mina shrugged. “Neither of us can leave the manor grounds. She’s not in this room, which is in itself a measure of her upset. And that will make it much more difficult to convince her to help us.”
Eleanor shook her head. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I cannot be talking to a ghost. There are no such things. When I open my eyes, no one will be there.” She peeked with one eye. The ghost was still there. Smiling.
“You have to believe what you see.”
“No, I don’t. I know what it is. I’m dreaming. That’s it. Only a dream.” Talking to a dream figment was just like talking to yourself. Lots of people who weren’t crazy did that. Right? “How can I make you go away like your … what do you mean, convince her to help us? I don’t want anything to do with you. And for the record, I can think of a dozen dream characters I would much rather talk to. Like Mr. Darcy or Heathcliff.”
“Perhaps I phrased that wrongly,” Mina replied, unperturbed. “I can help you, and you can help me.”
“You don’t even exist. How can I possible help you?”
“I’m so glad you asked.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Deirdre believes we’re stuck here until we do appropriate penance or learn a particular lesson or some such thing. The problem is we can’t figure out what it is. My solution is to travel back in time and prevent … change what happened. Thereby solving the problem at the source. However, we can’t talk to ourselves when we go back, and even if we could, it’s doubtful we’d listen. Do you listen when you talk to yourself? La … I am rambling on without mentioning what I can do to help you.”
“There’s nothing—”
“Didn’t you come here to do some research?”
Eleanor gave her a sharp look. “Can you read minds?” She rolled her eyes. “Of course you can. Since you’re only a projection of my imagination, it stands to reason—”
Mina’s laugh sounded like a tinkling wind chime.
“No, I can’t read your mind. Most guests who come during Regency Week have an interest in something related to Jane Austen. Don’t you? Perhaps I can help with that.”
Eleanor shot her hand to her throat, but relaxed once she felt her amber cross still in place. She hadn’t told anyone about the necklace she’d inherited from her grandmother. If the family legend was true, it had belonged to Jane Austen, and Eleanor could sell it for enough money to put her business on solid footing. That is, if she could bear to part with it, a decision she hadn’t tackled just yet.
“Miss Jane Austen was not a close friend of ours due to our age differences,” Mina continued, “but we certainly were well acquainted. We attended many of the same functions, since she lived nearby. Just down the road. At Chawton Cottage.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Ah, I see you are familiar with h
er life. Are you a fan of her books? Would you like to meet her?”
Eleanor could see she wasn’t getting rid of this figment easily. Maybe if she went along with the dream, it would get to the inevitable conclusion of waking up. Then she could take a couple of antacids and get some rest. “Fine. Yes, I’d like to meet Jane Austen. Who wouldn’t? Are you going to make her ghost appear?”
“Don’t be silly. We are going to travel back in time to when we were alive, and you will meet her there.”
“But that’s impossible.”
Mina grinned. “Actually …”
Deirdre reappeared with a bright flash of rainbow-colored lights. “I heard what you said. I knew you had another crazy scheme stuck in your bonnet.”
“I know it will work this time,” Mina said with a pleading look at her sister.
“No, it won’t,” Eleanor interjected. “Time travel is a physical impossibility.”
Deirdre faced her with a raised eyebrow. “Have you never heard of Einstein’s theory?”
“Everyone has.”
“Then you know his theory that gravity affects time has been proven.”
“Yes, but—”
“And you know that gravity is simply another form of energy.”
“Yes, but—”
“Therefore, it logically follows that energy affects time.”
“We pool our energy,” Mina interjected in an excited voice, “and use it to create a powerful vortex that will take us all—”
“We can take you back in time, but we are not going to do it.” Deirdre turned to her sister and whispered, “Must I remind you of what happened last time? We only made matters worse, and that’s why our Teddy was killed.”
“Who’s Teddy?” Eleanor asked.
“Our dear brother,” the ghosts said in unison.
“And this time Eleanor here is going to save his life,” Mina continued. “It’s a perfect plan. We take her back. She prevents Shermont from seducing … us, thus preventing the necessity of Teddy defending our honor and hence dying in the duel.”
Deirdre shook her head. “It’ll never work.”
“Of course it will,” Mina argued. “We can help her with everything she needs to know.”
“There’s too much to learn. Dancing, proper address, conversation, deportment, and manners. We studied from the time we were little girls. She has no chance of success.”
“All she has to do is keep us out of Lord Shermont’s way,” Mina argued.
“We had a chaperone for that—to little avail.”
“Ha! Aunt Patience’s only concern was Teddy’s welfare. She couldn’t have cared less about us.”
“That’s not true.”
They volleyed reasons back and forth like tennis players until Eleanor put her hands over her ears. “Stop!” When the sisters looked at her with surprised expressions, she folded her hands in her lap. “Please stop arguing,” she said in a moderated tone. “My head is already pounding.”
“We were only—”
“Whatever,” Eleanor said. “The discussion is now over. Time travel is impossible. Therefore the question of whether I can do the job is moot. Now, I would like to wake up or go back to sleep—whatever it takes to end this dream and make the two of you go back to wherever you came from.” She stretched out on the bed and put the pillow over her head.
“But you did say you would like to meet Jane Austen?” Mina asked.
“Yes. Now, good-night.”
“And you agree to help us if we can introduce you to her?”
“If it means you’ll go away and let me get some sleep, I agree to whatever you want. I’ll fly to the moon. I’ll dance on a flying carpet of gold. I’ll—”
“Good. Deirdre and I will take care of everything.”
“No we won’t.”
“Listen to …”
And then there was silence.
After what seemed like several long minutes, Eleanor sat up and looked around. The room appeared normal and best of all empty. She let out a deep sigh of relief. “What a crazy dream,” she mumbled as she snuggled back under the covers.
She regretted it had just been a dream. Wouldn’t it have been cool if it had been true?
When she sat up once more to turn out the lamp, the room began to spin. Bolts of rainbow-colored electricity zoomed around the walls. The bed seemed to rise and float.
Eleanor was usually a woman who confronted her problems head on, but this was too weird, outside the realm of anything she’d experienced before. The spinning room made her dizzy. The flashing lights hurt her eyes with their laser intensity, and her head throbbed with what she could only describe as unheard sound. She dove under the pillow, covered her ears, and closed her eyes tightly.
Chapter Two
Eleanor woke and had no idea what time it was. She fumbled for the watch that she’d left on the bedside table. At least she thought she’d left it there. Had she put it in her carryon? She sat up and blinked in the pale light.
Mina and Deirdre were seated by the window.
Eleanor pinched herself. “Ouch!”
“Good morning, slug-a-bed,” Mina said with a bright smile. “It is half past ten on Wednesday the twenty-third day of June in the year 1814.”
“Oh no,” Eleanor said, shaking her head. If she wasn’t dreaming, that meant the ghosts were real. “Why are you still here? Why are you haunting me?”
“We promised we would be here to help you with the nuances of Regency life,” Mina said.
“Even though there is much you cannot possibly understand, especially in the short time available,” Deirdre added.
Eleanor held up her hand. She needed a minute to deal with this … whatever this was. What was it they always said to ghosts on TV? “You should go toward the light. Move on to whatever—”
“We explained that we can’t leave this property.”
“Right. I remember. Look, I’m only going to be here for a week. There is no other room where I can stay, so why don’t we come to an agreement? I’ll try to not bother you if you’ll try to not bother me. Sound reasonable?”
“But we can help you—”
“I don’t want your help. In fact, I don’t want to see you anymore, or hear you, or … or sense your presence. Is that clear?”
Mina nodded, her expression sad.
Deirdre crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “You are not properly prepared to manage—”
“Whatever happens this week, I’ll figure it out. Now, I want you both to promise you’ll leave me alone.”
“Perhaps you should listen to her,” Mina said with a nod toward her sister.
“Arrrgh!” Eleanor flopped back on the bed and pulled the pillow and blanket over her head. “Go away!”
After a few minutes, Eleanor realized she might as well get up because she wasn’t going back to sleep. Yet she hesitated. What if the ghosts were still there?
She heard the door open and someone moving around. In one quick move, she whipped off the cover and sat up. “Why are you—”
A scream stopped her mid-sentence. A maid stood in the center of the room, her hands to her mouth, her eyes as wide as if she’d seen a ghost.
Eleanor apologized for startling the girl, who didn’t look much over the age of fourteen. At the same time, she was impressed that even the maid was dressed in an appropriate period costume for Regency Week. She wore a white mobcap and a simple gray ankle-length dress covered by a long white apron.
“I weren’t expecting no one to be here,” the maid said as she picked up the dropped linens and draped them over her arm.
“Understandable.” Eleanor gave the young girl a sympathetic smile. “I arrived late last night, and Karen Simms put me in here.”
“I don’t be knowing no one by that name, but they made a terrible blunder. This be the mistresses’ suite. Miss Deirdre won’t like a stranger sleeping in her bed.”
Eleanor didn’t want to hear more about the ghosts. “I’m sure everythin
g will be fine.” She got up and put on the robe she’d left on the foot of the bed. “My luggage should be arriving from the airport, if it hasn’t already. I’d appreciate it if you would keep a look out for my suitcases. Two, both black. My name is Eleanor Pottinger. I’m from America, but I’m sure you already deduced that from my accent.” The girl still seemed nervous. “What’s your name?” Eleanor asked to put her at ease.
“I be Twilla.” The maid curtseyed, maintaining her role, but she had a confused expression. “Miss Eleanor from America. Two black cases arriving from the port.” She repeated the information as if memorizing foreign language phrases. Suddenly her face lit with comprehension. “Aye, you must be the cousin they been expecting for over a fortnight.”
“Actually, I’m—”
“I’ll be right back with a pitcher of hot water.”
Now Eleanor was confused. But she had no time to question the maid before the girl scurried out. Eleanor looked around the bedside table for her watch. She got down on her hands and knees to look under the bed.
“Miss?”
Eleanor sat back in surprise. She breathed a sigh of relief when she realized it was the maid, not the ghosts. Perhaps it really had been no more than a dream.
“I forgot to ask if you want a breakfast tray. Cocoa? Toast?”
“Coffee would be great.” Eleanor stood and brushed off her hands, even though there was no dust on the floor she could have picked up. “Thank you.”
“If you was looking for the chamber pot, it’s in the corner,” Twilla said. “Behind the screen.”
Eleanor turned in the direction the maid indicated. She didn’t remember seeing the three-panel Chinese screen before. A chamber pot! She was all for realism in attire for the conference, like not using zippers or polyester fabrics. It was fun to imitate the manners and activities of the Regency, but expecting the attendees to sacrifice use of a modern toilet was too much to expect. She turned to say something, but the girl was gone.
The respite gave her time to realize the maid was not the appropriate person to speak to about sanitation arrangements. When Eleanor went downstairs, she planned to have a talk with the inn manager, Mrs. Ruth Simms. Until then, she would play along with the program.