by Bess McBride
I wondered where his sister was, but he seemed ready to leave, so I didn’t ask him anything else.
“Good night,” I said, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind me.
I leaned against the door, willing the strong oak to hold me up. My legs were weak, whether from exhaustion or traveling two and a half centuries into the past, I didn’t know.
I crossed the room and noted a white garment lying on the bed. Mrs. Agnew must have brought the nightgown in while I was downstairs. I wondered if this too was a garment worn by Colin’s wife. I was a bit squeamish about wearing such an intimate garment belonging to a dead woman, but then again, the alternative was my still-damp jeans and shirt or the beautiful velvet gown that I now wore. No, nightgown it would have to be.
I unlaced my dress and slipped out of it, laying it out across a wooden trunk at the end of the bed. Slipping the nightgown over my head, I marveled at the softness of it. If I had to guess about clothing in the eighteenth-century Highlands, I would have thought everything would be wool, but this nightgown was definitely silk. In fact, I would not have imagined the porcelain tea service or the luxurious hangings, but then again, I was no historian. Or Colin was very wealthy indeed.
I became aware of a discomfort in my nether regions, and I swallowed hard. Where on earth was the bathroom? I had to use it, and I desperately wanted to wash my face.
A white porcelain pitcher and bowl on a side table caught my attention, and I hurried over to it. Next to the bowl was a small chunk of something that looked like soap, and a linen towel. I looked inside the pitcher. Yes! The water was warm. Mrs. Agnew was a saint, she really was.
But toilet first. Where was it? I searched the room for a connecting door but could find none. I couldn’t very well wander the castle at night, knocking on doors. Well, perhaps I could, but I wasn’t going to. I couldn’t hold it till morning either. If nothing else, I supposed I could sneak out to the woods. I rolled my eyes. The sooner I found my way home, the better off I would be.
I plopped down on the bed, contemplating the awful certainty that I was going to have to head for the woods, when my foot hit something cool and hard just underneath the frame. I bent over and looked under the bed, not without some fear.
A fairly large porcelain bowl came into view, and I blinked. Oh, please no. Please tell me this was not a chamber pot! I retrieved the bowl and stared at it.
What could I do? Even if it wasn’t a chamber pot, it certainly beat heading out into the cold, rainy night to do my business.
I won’t describe the next few moments except to say that I should probably have taken the nightgown off before attempting to maneuver myself over the bowl. However, I relieved myself without mishap and pushed the bowl back under the bed.
I fairly leapt for the pitcher of water on the sideboard, poured some into the basin and washed my face and hands. The soap had a faint smell of lavender, quite pleasant really. I dried my face and hands, feeling much, much better. A hairbrush would have completed my toilette, and I moved over to the dressing table to search it.
Yes! Mrs. Agnew had come through again, for there on the table was a very fine silver comb. I combed my hair with the heavy thing, wondering again at Colin’s financial worth. But what did I know? Maybe all Scottish lairds had silver combs.
I saw my blouse and jeans had been picked up off the floor and draped over some sort of blanket holder near the fire. Mrs. Agnew must have retrieved the stand from another room, because I hadn’t seen it earlier.
Face washed, hair brushed, I climbed into the bed, drifting down into the mattress. No foam mattress this, I felt myself enveloped in its softness as I pulled silk sheets and a velvet coverlet across my body. Expecting to lay awake for hours as I fretted about how to get back home, I surprised myself by falling instantly asleep.
I awakened suddenly to a raucous sound, and I pushed myself upright. At first, I couldn’t orient myself. Where was I? What time was it? Darkness continued to surround me, and I suspected I hadn’t been asleep for long.
Embers across the room caught my eye. The fire had died down, and the room was cool. Then I remembered. Scotland! The eighteenth century.
Pppffftt...nonsense! It wasn’t possible. My host, Colin, was a historical admirer—in a rather obsessive, fantastical way—but still, nothing more than a history buff. I had not traveled through time, but had somehow ended up in the castle of a very eccentric Scotsman.
The noise continued—a banging sound somewhere in the castle. Shades of Emily Brontë, I hoped he didn’t have a mad wife locked up in the attic! I slipped out of bed, my feet touching down on the woven tartan rug, one of several scattered about the room. I felt for the candle I remembered seeing on the small table by my bed and, locating it, felt around the base of the candlestick for a box of matches. I knew the silly man must have electricity, but I hadn’t noted any light switches or outlets when I’d searched the room earlier.
I found nothing else on the table though. No matches. Not even a handy lighter.
The banging grew louder, and my heart, already racing, sped up with the forceful immediacy of the noise. I trotted to the door and felt around the edge for a light switch. There had to be one, didn’t there? I dropped my hands when I remembered that I’d seen no overhead lighting in the room either, and certainly no lamps. Mrs. Agnew had taken the oil lamp away with her.
The embers of the fire caught my eye again. Aha!
I headed back for the bedside table, grabbed the candlestick, which surprised me with its weight, and I made my way toward the fire. I bent over and tilted the candle, praying the wick would take hold. Thankfully, it did. I turned back toward the bed, set the candle down, picked up the tartan and draped it around my shoulders before slipping into my shoes.
Picking up the candle again, I approached the door and eased it open. A hum of male voices caught my ears, and I thought they came from downstairs. What on earth was going on?
I peered out into the hallway, now dark. No one was about. I pulled the door wider and tiptoed out, making my way toward the end of the hall, to the landing above the foyer.
Lights flickered downstairs. My first impression was of bright red, the red of a uniform of some kind. I rested the heavy candlestick on the bannister and stared down at the group of predominantly red-uniformed men standing outside the doorway. One tall man stood inside the foyer. Soldiers, or at least men who were dressed as historic soldiers. British?
Colin, dressed in trousers and a white shirt, faced them.
“It is verra late, Captain Jones,” he said. Even from this distance, I could hear the anger in his voice. “Couldna ye have advised us ye were coming?”
“I apologize for the late intrusion, Lord Anderson. Truly. But the river has overrun its banks, and we are trapped on this side of the bridge. We shall not remain overly long, just until the flooding subsides.”
At that moment, the tall captain looked up and saw me. His eyes widened, and he took off his hat, a tricorn of some kind, and bowed at the waist. Smooth, golden hair, caught up in a black bow at the back of his neck, shone under the candlelight.
“Madam,” he said, straightening and throwing me a handsome smile.
Colin, his long hair curling rather wildly around his face at the moment, swung his head around to see me. I gasped at his angry expression.
“Mrs. Agnew, see to Mistress Pratt,” he said.
I then noticed Mrs. Agnew standing back, holding a candle aloft. George and a short, plump woman, whom I assumed to be his wife, stood by as well. All appeared to have dressed hurriedly, their clothing haphazardly unbuttoned and unfastened, the women’s hair hanging down in braids from under caps.
“Mistress Pratt,” Captain Jones repeated. He nodded at me again and flashed me an even brighter smile. “You have a guest, Lord Anderson?”
I jumped back from the landing and lowered the candle, which must have highlighted me in the darkness at the top of the stairs.
“Aye,” Colin sa
id. “A cousin from the colonies.” He had turned away and faced the soldiers once again.
Mrs. Agnew had reached the landing and took me by the elbow.
“Good night, Mistress Pratt,” Captain Jones said.
I said nothing but allowed the housekeeper to propel me back down the hall.
“Och, now, mistress! Ye shouldna have come out of yer room. Yer presence will raise questions. Cousin indeed!”
“What’s going on?” I asked, almost missing the fact that she didn’t think I could be Colin’s cousin. “Colin looked pretty angry.”
“As ye can see, the soldiers wish to bed down again in the castle. This will be the third time this summer. And they eat a fair amount.”
I almost got caught up in the time travel thing again, and gave myself a good shake. Mrs. Agnew had thrown open my bedroom door and was busily stoking the fire.
“Come on, Mrs. Agnew. Can’t you at least let up on the historical act for just a minute? I swear, this is the most bizarre thing that has ever happened to me. And I could deal with it...I could even enjoy it, if someone would at least give me a wink or something.”
“Historical act, mistress? Whatever do ye mean? I fear I canna wink. Why would ye want a wink?”
I set my candle down and tossed myself onto the bed, dangling my feet over the edge as I kicked off my shoes.
“Man, you guys are good! No one comes out of character for a moment. So, are these friends of the laird?” I exaggerated my r’s.
“Friends? Och, nay. They be no friends of the laird. No matter what his father did, the young master is a Scotsman through and through.”
“His father?”
Mrs. Agnew rose, straightened her shawl and turned to me.
“It’s nae proper for me to speak of the family,” she said. I was mesmerized by her dialect. She continued, no matter how improper it was.
“The auld laird sold his soul to the devil, to the English, and he fought on the wrong side in the ’45. But it did him no good. The English still forced themselves upon us as if this house had fought against the Crown.”
“Didn’t all the Highlanders fight against the Crown?” I was completely baffled.
“Noooo, mistress. I ken see that ye know naethin of our troubles in Scotland. Not all the clans and not all clan members sided wi Prince Charlie’s cause to retake the throne. The auld laird was one of them. Because he sent men to fight for the Crown, he kept his land and his castle, but he wasna verra popular in the Highlands. He wasna the only one to turn his back on the bonnie prince though. There were others.”
She seemed genuinely distraught, and I wondered if the wounds post-Culloden really lasted generations into the future.
“That was a long time ago,” I said, almost to myself.
Mrs. Agnew, on the point of lowering me into the bed like a child, paused.
“Nay, mistress. The battle at Culloden was but a few months ago. Some Anderson clan members did fight with the Jacobites, but they all died in battle. It broke the auld laird’s heart. Now, few want to stay in the Highlands. Many have moved away to the colonies or to work in factories in the cities.”
I smiled.
“The colonies aren’t that bad, Mrs. Agnew. Look at me. I survived. They’re really quite lovely.”
For a second, though I was on my second wind and didn’t believe for one minute that I had traveled in time, I felt a longing for America so painful that it took my breath away. It was rather soon to be homesick. I’d only been gone for about a week.
“I canna stay and chat, Mistress Pratt. The soldiers will be wanting their food and drink. It is late, but they dinna care.”
I slipped back into the cocoon of the mattress, luxurious bedding and warm fire. Mrs. Agnew blew out my candle, picked hers up and slipped out of the room.
This time, I did not fall instantly asleep but listened for sounds in the castle. I heard the rain on the windows and a howling that sounded like wind, and I was grateful not to be stuck out in it.
Captain Jones was certainly a handsome man, as different from Colin as day and night. He seemed to represent something a bit more elegant, more refined than Colin. Colin, on the other hand, had a wildness about him that all the finery of the castle furnishings couldn’t tame. Perhaps it was just the riotous mass of dark curls and dark beard that gave him that impression. I recalled that the captain was clean shaven, leaving his expression open.
The evening with Colin had been lovely, informative, and companionable—if a little crazy. I had fallen hook, line and sinker for the time travel theory, and he had played along wonderfully, acting as astonished as I could ever wish when I told him of the planes, trains and automobiles I had used to get to Scotland, not to mention the bus.
But a few minutes on my own, and I had come back to reality. I didn’t know who the actors were in the English uniforms—they could be the national Scottish rugby team, for all I knew—but they were no more products of the eighteenth century than Colin was.
I closed my eyes and wriggled my toes, just to make sure they were still mine. Nope. I was still in the twenty-first century, and I would go home fairly soon. But maybe not too soon.
Chapter Four
Light snuck in through a crack in the red velvet curtains that Mrs. Agnew had drawn against the night, and I opened one eye, then the other.
I slipped out of bed and pulled out the chamber pot with distaste. If I was going to do anything today besides find out where the bus was, I was going to find the bathrooms in the castle. But for now, I pretended I was camping—or in an eighteenth-century castle—and I used the pot.
I rinsed my face and hands in cool water and turned to look at the fire. It burned low but had not gone out. Shivering, I grabbed the tartan from the foot of the bed, wrapped it around myself and scurried to the fire. Lowering myself to the settee in front, I eyed my clothing on the rack. A look over my shoulder showed the amber skirt and bodice still draped over the chest at the foot of the bed.
Given the more rational me that morning, I decided to slip back into my jeans and long-sleeved blouse. I’d had enough of traipsing about in an eighteenth-century costume. It had been fun while it lasted, but if I was to try to rejoin the tour, I thought I ought to do so in modern clothing, if only to avoid questions. I had no intention of telling anyone on the tour about my experiences at Gleannhaven Castle, or of Colin. Unless he wanted me to advertise his gimmick, that was. Then I would. Because it was pretty good!
A tap on my door brought Mrs. Agnew into the room. She brought the girl who had served us supper last night. Appearing to be about sixteen, the diminutive dark-haired girl bobbed a curtsey and picked up the basin of cold soapy water with which I had washed. She turned toward the side of the bed, bending as if to retrieve something from underneath.
I jumped up.
“Oh, I’ll get that!” I said frantically. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t find the bathroom. I hope that was a chamber pot, because I had to use it.”
The young girl stilled and eyed me with bright cheeks on her pale skin. Mrs. Agnew lifted her dark-gray eyebrows.
“Mistress Pratt!” Her voice held a chastising note. “Pot indeed,” she said. “Sarah will empty the necessary and see to yer fire.” She nodded to the girl to continue, and I cringed as Sarah poured the contents of the washbasin into the chamber pot and hauled the heavy porcelain thing out the door.
“The laird thinks ye might be more comfortable taking breakfast in yer room. The soldiers have already eaten and are lying about in the kitchen, getting in Mrs. Renwick’s way, but Captain Jones is dining downstairs at present.”
“Oh!” I said. “No, I’d like to go downstairs, if that’s all right. I’ll just get dressed now.” I turned and retrieved my shirt and jeans from the rack.
Mrs. Agnew, in the act of picking up the amber dress, gasped.
“No, mistress, ye canna wear that clothing, not if ye wish to take yer breakfast downstairs. It isna proper for a lady to wear trousers.”
&n
bsp; I sighed heavily. “Mrs. Agnew, is there no way, no way at all, that you guys can just lighten up for a minute? I’m much more used to my clothing. I mean, it was great getting all dressed up for the night, but I don’t want to drag heavy skirts around for however long I’m going to be here.”
Which reminded me I really needed to get Colin to make a phone call for me. Last night had been one thing, it had been late, but now I needed to contact the tour company and see what could be done to retrieve me. I missed my suitcase, my toiletries, my clean underwear.
Mrs. Agnew shook her head gently but determinedly, and she took my clothes from my hands.
“I will fetch ye another dress, something more suitable for daytime. Sarah will fetch ye some hot water to wash with.”
The hot water sounded nice, and I guessed I had no other choice. Mrs. Agnew was as fanatical about role-playing as was Colin.
“Okay,” I said, resigning myself. I settled onto the settee again. Sarah returned in a moment with the empty chamber pot and a pitcher, which I assumed carried hot water. She put the porcelain containers in their respective places and came over to the fire to add some logs. John had said the Highlanders had used peat and kelp, but I guessed Colin was wealthy enough to provide wood for fuel. He certainly had enough trees on his property.
“Where are the bathrooms, Sarah?”
She rotated on her knees and turned dark eyes on me.
“Bathroom, mistress? I dinna ken the word. Do ye wish to bathe?”
Sure, that sounded good! Breakfast with the good-looking Captain Jones could wait. I wondered where Colin was. Probably taking a hot shower somewhere in the castle
I nodded.
“Yes, I do.”
“There is a bathing tub just behind that screen, mistress. I’ll bring ye some more hot water then, shall I?”
I looked at her in surprise and jumped up to look behind an oversized oak-paneled screen. There, resting on another tartan carpet, was a big brass freestanding tub, remarkable for a lack of visible plumbing. This antique certainly looked as if it was the sort of tub one filled by hand rather than turned on the taps.