The Girl Who Stole A Planet (Amy Armstrong Book 1)

by Stephen Colegrove

  “Thank you,” said Amy. She wagged a finger at Sunflower. “Now go play somewhere else, kitty. Mommy has to take a bath.”

  Sunflower growled and slunk out of the room.

  Nellie set the buckets next to the tub. “Is that a trained cat, Miss Armstrong? I’ve never heard of a cat that takes orders.”

  “He used to belong to a circus, but don’t ever say that in front of him,” said Amy. “He’s very sensitive.”

  The two maids glanced at each other.

  “Very good, Miss Armstrong,” said Jane. “Do you need help taking off your clothes? What little there is of them?”

  “I think I can manage.”

  Amy waited for the maids to leave, but the girls stood patiently and watched her.

  “I said, I think I can manage.”

  “Very good, Miss Armstrong,” said Jane. “The soap and brushes are on that tray, and the towels and robe are there. You may speak out if you need anything. We’ll be outside the door.”

  “You don’t have to do that. Take a break or have a rest or something.”

  “Not at all. It’s our pleasure.”

  Both maids curtsied and left the room.

  Amy stepped out of the nasty boots and dropped her hat, jacket, and the rest of her filthy clothes onto the rug.

  “This is going to be messy, I bet.”

  Amy poured both buckets of hot water into the tub, and sat in the tiny basin with her legs sticking over the sides. She scrubbed the fascinating collection of soot and grime from her face and body, washed her hair, and then lay back in the steaming water with her eyes closed. It wasn’t the same as a full bath, but still relaxing enough to make her sleepy.

  “This is the life,” she murmured.

  The door vibrated with a loud knock, and Amy startled awake, spilling water onto the bedroom rug.

  “Miss Armstrong, do you need assistance?” asked Nellie through the door.

  “I’m fine. Out in a second.”

  Amy climbed out of the small tub, toweled off, and wrapped a thick white robe around herself. She stuck her toes into a pair of white slippers and opened the door.

  Nellie smiled. “I hope you’re feeling better, Miss Armstrong. Did you find a suitable dress?”

  “Yes, this one.”

  Jane examined the yellow embroidered dress in the wardrobe.

  “I had a feeling you would like this more than the others,” said Jane. “Nellie, help dry Miss Armstrong’s hair.”

  “I like it very much,” said Amy. “Does it have any pockets?”

  “I certainly hope not!” Jane laughed, and cleared her throat. “I mean, I’m certain we can find a handbag or something in which you may carry your … weaponry.”

  “Super.”

  Jane patted a stack of white cotton. “Please drop your robe, Miss Armstrong, and we’ll help with your undergarments.”

  “What? I’m not wearing those things! Where are my other clothes and underwear?”

  “Soaking in lye,” said Jane. “If you ask me, we should have burned the things. Those were scraps of bearskin compared to this fine French cotton.”

  “I’d rather wear bearskin than dress like a clown!”

  Jane held up the cotton undergarments. “Miss Armstrong, there is nothing clownish about wearing a chemise, three petticoats, bloomers, garters, and stockings. You’re not old enough for a corset, but that’s something to look forward to, as my mother says.”

  Amy shook her head. “I’ve never worn anything this silly in my life!”

  “I agree that it must be difficult to ride a bronco and shoot a buffalo while dressed as a proper young lady,” said Jane. “But there aren’t any broncos or buffaloes around here, Miss Armstrong.”

  “All the better for it,” said Nellie.

  Jane curtsied with the yellow dress in her arms. “Trust me, Miss Armstrong––don’t taste the pudding ’til it’s done. You’ll be very pleased with the result.”

  Amy sighed. “Fine, fine.”

  Instead of arguing with the maids about it, she decided to think of the dress and supporting garments as something she had to wear for a fancy Halloween party. After drying Amy’s hair, the maids helped her to dress in the knee-length bloomers and chemise, white stockings, and several petticoats. The yellow dress went over her head and covered Amy like the brass shell casing of a bullet. The upper half above her waist––the bodice––was tight and the skirt was long and full.

  “I feel like a battleship,” said Amy. “A battleship with legs.”

  Nellie clapped her hands. “You look absolutely precious!”

  Jane handed her a mirror, and Amy admired the styling to her blonde hair. The girls had curled her bangs and Amy’s blonde locks were piled on top of her head.

  “Why does it have to be so foofy-doofy? Can’t I just wear a pony tail?”

  “Foofy-doofy?” Nellie tilted her head. “Is that a New York word?”

  “Miss Armstrong is from California,” hissed Jane.

  Amy pursed her lips. “Does pink lipstick go with this outfit?”

  “I should think not,” said Jane. “Proper English ladies don’t wear rouge or any makeup at all. It’s very low class, Miss Armstrong.”

  “Really?”

  “Pardon me for saying so, but yes.”

  Amy pulled at the material around her ribs. “Is it supposed to be so tight? I can’t even see my feet. How am I supposed to climb a tree or run in this thing?”

  Nellie giggled. “She’s joking! I told you, Americans are funny.”

  “Unfortunately, I believe Miss Armstrong is quite serious,” said Jane.

  Amy lifted one side of her skirt as she descended the stairs one step at a time. If she had had a choice of footwear, it wouldn’t have been these high-heeled leather boots. Catch a toe on her hem or miss a step and she’d tumble down the stairwell like a bag of potatoes, but these were the best shoes that Nellie and Jane could find. It wasn’t like they could pop down to Payless Shoes and buy another pair of sneakers.

  Mark waited at the foot of the stairs for Amy. He opened a door and preceded her into the parlor.

  “Miss Amy Armstrong, my lord.”

  Philip had been sitting in the parlor watching the carriages rattle past the window. The teenager had changed into a jacket and trousers of light gray wool with a white collared shirt and pink bow tie. He looked up at Amy’s entrance and almost stumbled over his own feet in the sudden effort to get up from his chair.

  “Great Scott!”

  “I know, right? I look ridiculous.”

  Philip shook his head. “That’s not it at all. This is the first time since I’ve known you that you actually looked like a young lady.”

  Amy wanted to cross her arms, but halfway through the motion realized she’d probably rip something. She settled for sneering at Philip.

  “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

  Philip bowed from the waist. “Please take it no other way.”

  “Well, don’t get used to it. I’m only wearing this costume because your maids pinched all of my clothes and won’t give them back. Also, I don’t want anyone staring at me on the street.”

  Philip adjusted the neck of his tie. “You may not want to hear this, Miss Armstrong, but a young woman with such a striking countenance may find that unavoidable.”

  “What? Speak English!”

  Jane giggled. “Master Philip means that everyone stares at a pretty girl.”

  “That’s enough, you two,” said Mark, and pushed the teenage maids out of the room.

  Amy held up a small purse of yellow silk. “Anyone who looks at me too long gets a countenance full of what’s in this. I promise they’ll need a dentist.”

  “I hope doesn’t come to that,” said Philip. “Would you like some tea? After that, perhaps we could take a walk to the park.”

  “Did you forget what happened last night? I think I’ve done enough walking for the rest of my life.”

  “I promise we’ll ha
ve a better time.”

  “Not if you see a ghost, you won’t.”

  Philip grinned. “They don’t come out in the daytime. I know that much!”

  Mark brought out tea, cheese, and sandwiches on a silver tray. Amy drank a cup of strong tea and ate a marmalade sandwich. She dropped several hunks of yellow cheese into her purse when nobody was looking.

  “Just a short walk,” said Philip. “To the palace and down to Rotten Row.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a good time.”

  “Oh, don’t let the name fool you. It’s where anyone who’s anyone goes to see everyone.”

  Amy sighed but didn’t protest when the maids reappeared with a pair of lace gloves, a white shawl, and a broad-brimmed straw hat. Jane secured it to Amy’s hair using a handful of long and dangerous-looking pins.

  Philip pressed a floppy gray cap over his dark hair––a style that Amy associated with golfers and old Greek men––and offered his arm to Amy.

  “Shall we?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “I’m simply being polite. When strolling with a lady, a gentleman must always offer his arm, whether the lady is a friend, relative, or otherwise. To act in any other way is the mark of a boor, or a cad.”

  “You act like you’re fifty, not fifteen!”

  Philip dropped his elbow and looked down. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to explain how we’re supposed to act. This is the modern world, you know, and not some ridiculous, far-flung future with talking cats.”

  Amy sighed. She pushed Philip’s elbow up and linked their arms together. This caused a broad smile to spread across the teenager’s face.

  “That’s the spirit!”

  Amy stuck out her tongue and didn’t look at him.

  The pair walked along the boulevard, Philip tipping his hat to passing couples and Amy admiring the exquisite brick mansions.

  “Not a security system in sight,” she murmured.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing. So Phil, have you met the Queen?”

  “Once, but it was many years ago. Her Majesty came to visit Clarence House for a few days. Honestly, I don’t remember much about it, apart from the mean German guards who wouldn’t let me play in the garden.”

  “I thought your family was loaded. You should be hanging around the palace day and night.”

  “By ‘loaded,’ do you mean my family is wealthy? That’s certainly true. But wealth and favor at court don’t necessarily go hand in hand. Also, these aren’t the days of Henry the Eighth, with massive banquets, construction of palaces, and celebration of excess. Her Majesty is quite reserved and studious.”

  They crossed into the green swath of Kensington and strolled leisurely along a path of hard dirt lined with trimmed rosebushes. Other couples walked arm-in-arm along the straight paths. Although every man, woman, and child wore a hat, some of the ladies carried a parasol as shade from the afternoon sun. These happy people were a long way from the grinding poverty of the East End, thought Amy, and might as well have been on the Moon.

  With its equestrian character and faint smell of coal, London was certainly different from Pacific Grove, but what struck Amy was the lack of an electrical hum, the faint fluorescent buzz of transformers and store signs and street lamps that formed the background noise of a modern city. London had a buzz––steel on cobblestone, pubs roaring with laughter, the puffing screech of steam engines––but it was a buzz that felt better in Amy’s ears. It was the difference between sheepskin and polyester, natural and unnatural, music and noise.

  Philip pointed to a broad dirt track along the southern edge of Hyde. “There’s Rotten Row.”

  Hundreds of horses covered the long track, cantering singly or stopped in small groups, ridden by elegant men in short black jackets, white trousers, and top hats. The gentlemen chatted with each other as they rode, tipping their hats to any ladies nearby. A long line of carriages and their drivers waited on a parallel street. The crowds, the riders, the equestrian path all seemed to go on forever, and to Amy seemed like a mile-long summer party.

  “Is this a special day?”

  Philip shook his head. “Not really.”

  “Then why is everyone dressed up?”

  “It’s warm today, and the beginning of the season. This is how gentlemen and ladies meet their friends and social acquaintances in public, at least during this part of the day. Don’t you have this sort of thing in your time, Miss Armstrong?”

  “I don’t think cruising downtown on a Friday night is the same kind of thing. Also, you can drop the ‘Miss Armstrong’ crap. Call me Amy.”

  “It wouldn’t be polite.”

  “Geez, Phil! Why are you so prim and proper?”

  Philip turned red.

  “I know that you’re from a different time, Miss Armstrong, where these sorts of things don’t matter. In England when a man and woman call each other by their Christian names, it’s a very personal matter. It signifies a bond that cannot be broken.”

  Amy giggled. “You mean, like ‘sweetie’ or ‘honey’? No wonder you always look so embarrassed when I call you ‘Phil.’ ”

  “I suppose I’ve become used to it, although I wish you would try to avoid calling me that in public. Among unmarried men and women, speaking that way means we’re engaged.”

  “Hey! Don’t get your hopes up, Phil. This girl isn’t getting married anytime soon.”

  Philip touched the brim of his hat as they passed other couples. Amy watched the pale ladies and the men with mutton-chop beards and wondered what kind of life were they going to have in the years ahead. Only a generation separated these elegant couples from a bloody and devastating world war. Would there even be a war in this parallel dimension, this ‘snapshot’ of Earth? The ladies to whom Amy gave a polite smile, would they spend two decades raising a happy family, only to lose their children in the fields of France? Amy wondered if she could make a difference. Where would you start, and would it even matter?

  “What’s going to happen?” she murmured.

  “Don’t worry, I’m sure dinner will be grand,” said Philip. “Mark’s sister will cook us fantastic dishes with heaps of potatoes and lashings of cream. We’ll take the early train from King’s Cross and arrive in Yorkshire tomorrow afternoon.”

  “I was just talking to myself. I meant, life in general.”

  They separated from the other couples and followed a path deeper into the trees of Hyde Park. Philip didn’t say anything for a long moment and Amy wondered if she’d upset him somehow.

  “It’s a good question,” he said. “I’m looking forward to seeing my family tomorrow, but honestly, I never liked them a bit.”

  “That’s a horrible thing to say about the people who raised you.”

  “If you mean the nursemaids and governesses that actually spent time with me, then you’d be right. I never saw my father or mother unless it was to be whipped with a willow branch for something I had no idea I’d done, or to be yelled at and locked in the cellar. Just because my father was rich doesn’t mean that my childhood was bliss.”

  Amy looked across the wide lawn of the park. “At least you had a family to yell at you. Some children aren’t so lucky.”

  “Luck doesn’t enter into it. Trust me, my father won’t have noticed I’ve been gone. I spent two years in that smelly Junktown apartment, and that annoying little bug Nick is missing me more than anyone, I wager.”

  “You want to go back after all the crap I suffered to get you here? That’s rich, buddy.”

  Philip sighed. “I didn’t mean that. I’m indebted to you and Sunflower for what you’ve done, and quite appreciate the sacrifice you’ve made. But you asked about life in general and that’s the whole problem. I don’t know what to do about the future or my family. Knowing too much about history and what can happen is just the icing on the cake, as you Americans say.”

  “Because something can happen, doesn’t mean it will.”

  Philip tipped his hat to
a passing couple. “Yes, and in the opinion of my father, I’m one of those somethings that never will.”

  “He’s just a man,” said Amy, and swung her handbag in a sudden burst of energy. “Remember what I said about the careful application of violence?”

  Philip smiled. “I know I must have said this before, but you’re the most interesting and yet most frightening girl I’ve ever met.”

  “You haven’t met that many. I know I’ve said that before.”

  Philip cleared his throat. “You’re welcome to stay at Clarence House in Yorkshire as long as you like, but I’m afraid the fabricated story about you being a traveling American isn’t going to hold water, even if we increase your age to sixteen or seventeen. Young women don’t travel without a servant or a relative. It’s positively peculiar and definitely not done, and my mother and father will see through it after a few days. They might be forced to contact the authorities.”

  “Do I look sixteen?”

  Philip turned red. “Absolutely. I thought you were older than me at first. Are all the girls so tall in America?”

  “Only the ones that eat Wheaties.”

  “Is that a medicine? Some sort of fortified tonic?”

  “Could be,” said Amy. “I won’t be sticking around, Phil, so it doesn’t matter if your parents don’t believe my story. Good gravy, look at your face! Don’t say you’ll miss me.”

  “Well … I … uh … I’d be happier if you could stay longer. You’re the only person with whom I can talk about traveling to the future. Once I mention talking cats and dogs, anyone else in England is going to think I’m crazy.”

  Amy put both hands on Philip’s arm and squeezed. “I don’t know about that, Phil. Someday you’ll find a girl just as scared of ghosts as you are.”

  Philip burst out laughing and Amy joined him in a loud giggle, giving quite a start to an elderly, well-dressed couple and a Pomeranian.

  The dinner was exactly as Philip described, and Amy went to bed stuffed with roast beef, boiled carrots, celery, roasted potatoes, buttered bread, and raspberry and currant tart. Compared to the mattress back home, the downy feather bed was like sleeping on a cloud, and she drifted off to sleep almost as soon as she closed her eyes.