Spark

by Catherine Friend

  I laughed in surprise.

  “My dad’s so easy that it still makes him laugh after thirty-five years. Now we all laugh when Mum does it. It’s been a family secret for years.”

  “Thank you. That’s exactly what I need.”

  “Here’s one thing I don’t understand,” Meg said. “How are we able to talk to these people in this time? Our English and theirs are very different.”

  I rolled my shoulders to release tension. “I’ve been pondering that. What if the bodies we inhabit somehow translate what we say into the vernacular of the time? When I say do, Blanche’s body says doth. When I say you, she says thee.”

  “Makes some sense.”

  But then I shook my head. “But what about fire truck? You recognized that word. How could Blanche’s body have not translated that into carriage or wagon or something?”

  “Because truck exists in 1560. It’s a very old word that means agree with. When you didn’t agree with something, you didn’t truck with it.”

  “Damn, you’re smart.”

  “Kind of you to notice,” she retorted. “Now I’ve got to get back to work before they notice their slave is missing.”

  I rose to my knees and hugged her quickly. The urge to do more than hug this woman nearly overpowered me, but we were in the middle of a green visible from one entire side of the palace.

  Two women linking arms, okay. Two women holding hands, okay. Two women in a passionate lip-lock, not a good idea.

  Still, the urge was great.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  The rumors about Robert Dudley hummed through London and spread across England. And if the whisperings among the courtiers were to be believed, shocking tales of Dudley and the Queen as coconspirators blanketed Europe as well. The inquest into Amy’s death ruled it a “death by misadventure.” I was relieved that none of the rumors spoke of an unknown woman visiting Amy on the day of her death. Instead, the gossip focused on how Dudley hadn’t visited his wife for over a year before her death, didn’t attend her funeral, and didn’t arrange for a memorial. And with Amy’s death, Dudley inherited his late father-in-law’s wealth.

  Dudley remained at his palace in Kew, which meant Elizabeth was out of sorts. She was especially hurt by the revived gossip about her late mother, Anne Boleyn. People began once again calling Anne a slut and claiming that Elizabeth was just like her mother. So we were kept busy caring for her and flattering her, but for days we didn’t see her smile nor hear her laugh. She was pale and restless, unable to sit still or concentrate. She held her councilors off, refusing to discuss matters of state, insisting that Cecil could take care of things for a while. That Elizabeth would willingly give up power shocked us all.

  For some reason it fell on my shoulders to make her laugh. I hated doing that at the expense of others—my style was more self-deprecating—but I took advantage of any opportunity that arose. I elicited my best laugh from Elizabeth when Lady Clinton, in lowering herself onto a chair, farted softly. As my brother Jake liked to say, “Silent but deadly.” While the others pressed their hands to their noses, trying not to laugh, I put down my stitching. “Oh, Lady Clinton, that was not one of your better efforts.” The Queen laughed until she had to pull out a handkerchief and wipe her eyes.

  Meg and I worked hard to see each other at least once a day. After a week of snatched moments in hallways, we managed to escape into a far garden one afternoon. We sat on a bench, our hips as close together as my stupid dress would allow.

  “What I don’t understand,” I said, “is why Blanche Nottingham?”

  “And why Harriet Blankenship?” Meg asked, stretching out her short legs.

  “We must be connected to these women in some way, otherwise this is just entirely random and stupid.”

  Meg groaned. “Give me a laptop and access to the library database, and I could figure it out for you.” She started listing the best databases and how to access the paper records from the sixteenth century, but my mind started worrying about another problem. Finally, Meg bumped my shoulder with hers. “You must think I’m dull as dishwater. Where did you go?”

  I made a face. “I’m worried about Blanche. She’s so determined to stay in the future that I’m afraid she’s going to outsmart me. What if she figures out a way to stay?”

  “Then we’ll just have to be smarter,” Meg said. “The next time one of us goes back, we’ll research the hell out of both Blanche and Harriet. When I find out what happened to each of them, we can make a plan.” She groaned and slumped forward. “Sadly, finding material about Blanche will be easier because she was someone, but Harriet’s just a servant. The chances of learning anything specific to her are depressingly low.” Meg straightened. “But I’m glad you’re talking about the future as real, instead of all that dodgy split personality muckety-muck.”

  I toed the loose gravel at my feet. “I’m not convinced either way. It still could be true.”

  She snorted.

  “Seriously, Meg. You think this is real, but what if you’re in the same boat? What if you are really running around London with Harriet’s very confused consciousness in charge, and you’re tucked away in your brain somewhere imagining all this.”

  “Rubbish.”

  “You’ve invented me so you won’t feel so alone. You’re punishing yourself by having to do unpleasant jobs like the laundry.”

  “A city full of rubbish.”

  “Did you have any sort of emotional trauma in the months before Raj’s experiment?”

  She pursed her lips together and stared up into the apple tree above us. “My favorite cousin, who was my age, died suddenly in April.”

  I flung up my hands. “I knew it. You might have created this fantasy as an escape from the pain of losing your cousin.”

  “But why are we both having the same fantasy?”

  I rubbed my temples. “That’s the thing. We aren’t. You could have created me in your 1560 world, and I could have created you. You can’t trust anything about this world.” She was shaking her head, so I touched her arm. “Just think it through, Meg. Give it a minute.”

  We sat there watching a bumblebee struggle down between the petals of a red snapdragon. After a few seconds, the bee backed out and flew to the next flower.

  “Bloody hell,” Meg finally muttered. “That would mean we’re both mad as a bag of ferrets.”

  I laughed. “We crazies need to stick together. I could ask the Queen if we could set up house in one of those old cottages at the edge of the park. We could sit by a cozy fire all winter drinking ale and reading to each other. We could go off our trolleys together.”

  Meg’s eyes sparkled. “Smashing. Two nutters from the future setting up house.” Then she gave me a smoldering look that curled my toes. “Might be fun, though.”

  Laughing, we strolled back through the garden, across the bowling green, and back to our lives. As I watched Meg disappear around the corner of the palace, my heart swelled.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Despite my constant efforts, Elizabeth continued to mourn the loss of her horse master. We encouraged her to eat, but she only picked at her food. Her cheekbones became too prominent, and her skin took on a gray hue. She rarely called for a dance or for musicians to play for her. I managed to draw out a chuckle or two every day, but it wasn’t enough. Soon the rest of us slowed down, as if the same heavy cloud blanketed us as well.

  I finally sought out Meg at the laundry. Her face and bare arms were red as she stirred a huge pot full of sheets. She winked at me as I approached, an innocent moment that revved my pulse into high gear.

  The other women were working far enough away that we had some privacy, but the steamy area, smelling of burning wood and soap, sent perspiration running down my forehead and neck. I motioned her away from the heat.

  Meg dipped into a half-hearted curtsey with an insolent grin. “What may I do for you, m’lady?”

  “Oh, stop,” I said with an answering smile. “I need your help.”
I described the Queen’s mood. “Do you have any ideas? I’m out of them. She won’t even listen to ten minutes of Harry Potter before she rises and wanders away.”

  Meg nodded thoughtfully. “I do, actually. I know lots of kids’ games.”

  “These are grown women.”

  “No matter, Blanchy, I’ve got a great idea.”

  “Seriously? Blanchy?”

  She gave me a gentle push. “Off with you. I’ll only need a few hours.”

  True to her word, Meg showed up in the Queen’s chambers after we’d eaten a lunch of soup and thick bread.

  She approached Elizabeth and curtsied, a real one this time. “Ma’am, I respectfully need your help, and the help of your ladies.”

  Elizabeth managed to muster enough attention to ask “What sort of help?”

  “I am returning to my village for the fall festival soon, and it is my task to bring a game for all of the village to play. But I have not yet tried out my idea, so I do not know if it will be a fun game or a boring game.”

  I bit my lip and felt my eyes fill as Elizabeth’s face lightened up. She loved games. “Pray, tell us about this game.”

  “I call it a scavenger hunt, ma’am. If Your Majesty and the ladies could form three teams, then I will give each team the same list of items. The first team to find all of the items shall be declared the winner.”

  Elizabeth’s competitive streak flamed to life. “And where shall we find these items?”

  “Anywhere on the palace grounds. You may not pay for them, nor steal them, but only ask to take them temporarily. Some items will be found in the park, so those may be taken freely.”

  Elizabeth stood and barked off five names, including mine. “We shall form the first team. What shall we call ourselves?”

  “The Lion Cubs,” I called, and the Queen clapped her hands. Then she formed two other teams, each of which chose a name—one was the Ferrets, the other was the Swans.

  Meg handed the Queen and the two other teams scrolls of grayish white cloth that must have a been an old sheet she ripped up. She’d managed to find ink and a quill and had written the same items on each list. The Queen took one look at the list and said, “Let us begin!”

  As we raced to follow her, Meg called out, “The first team to bring all items to me in the west knot garden shall be given a prize.”

  “A prize!” the Queen chortled as she ran. I threw Meg a grateful look over my shoulder as I hurried after Elizabeth. This was exactly what we all needed.

  We collected a book written in Spanish from one of the Queen’s libraries. We found a child’s shoe in the servants’ quarters, assuring the small, nervous woman that we would return it. We found a chunk of charcoal under a laundry pot, and a guard’s red hat from Jacob, who looked at me as if he’d give me the clothes off his back if I’d only ask.

  As a result of this silly game, my heart now was as light as the Queen’s, and I felt, for the first time, as if I could cast off my guilt over Amy Dudley’s death.

  We collected oak acorns from the park, a wooden pin from the bowling green, and a handful of blackberries from the kitchen gardens. When Elizabeth, excited and hungry, ate them all a few minutes later, she sent me back for more while she and the others went in search of a fork. Good luck with that, I thought as I backtracked and let myself into a narrow alley that led to the walled gardens.

  “Jamie!”

  I whirled to see Meg running, her short legs moving fast as she crossed the street and entered the alley. “Maybe you should call me Blanche if you’re going to shout it,” I said with a smile.

  We were standing in the shade, walled in on both sides. The palace was far enough from the garden that no one could see us. Meg’s chest heaved and her eyes were dark with an emotion that took my breath away. Holy crap. I swallowed hard.

  Meg turned, closed the six-foot-high, solid wooden gate, and latched it. Breathing heavily through her nose, she nodded toward the gate at the other end of the short alley. Body buzzing with the possibilities, I managed to walk the twenty steps and latch the gate into the gardens. Now we were locked in…or more importantly, everyone else was locked out.

  We met in the middle and stared at each other. Then she slid her arms around me and we clung to each other for a moment. After feeling alone for so long, being held was marvelous. Meg murmured something into my hair, and I turned my head slightly to see her eyes were dark with arousal. Hell’s gate. Heart pounding, I moved until our lips slid together naturally.

  The kiss was tentative at first, gentle, but then the taste of her silky lips aroused me to a state I hadn’t felt in months. Urgent now, we clung to each other as our hungry mouths took control, melting against one another’s.

  Everything clicked into place. This was what I’d wanted since I’d realized Meg was so different from Chris. As we began exploring each other’s bodies, my heart raced. God, I needed this.

  Meg pressed her mouth against my neck. “What color are your eyes?”

  “What?”

  “I see your soul shining through Blanche’s eyes, but I want to know what your real eyes look like.”

  I struggled for breath as we nuzzled and nibbled each other. “Light hazel. They’ve been called amber, if that helps.”

  “It does.” Then our kisses deepened to the point I could barely breathe, but that didn’t matter. Only her mouth mattered. I stroked her breast with my thumb.

  Meg pulled back and slumped against the brick wall. “Bloody hell.”

  “What?”

  “What are the ethics of this situation?”

  I was trying not to pant like an over-eager Vincent. “What do you mean?”

  She sighed. “This isn’t my body. It’s Harriet’s. And you’re in Blanche’s body. Is it right to be doing this?” She leaned in for one more kiss. “Maybe. But to go further? Is that really ethical?”

  “But they aren’t here. They’ll never know.”

  She gently stroked my cheek. “That doesn’t make it right. You say you’re done with Chris, but Blanche is there, right now, possibly making love to Chris with your body.”

  I slapped my forehead, suddenly furious. “Oh God, you’re right. I hate the idea of ever touching Chris again! Which means we shouldn’t do anything in Harriet’s and Blanche’s bodies!”

  We reached for each other’s hand, then smiled.

  “Fire truck,” we said at the same time.

  We gave in to one more kiss, then she unlatched the gate. “See you in the west knot garden,” she murmured.

  I stood there, numb, as she left the alley. How does this stuff happen? You couldn’t make it up. Did I travel 457 years into the past in order to find my future? I headed for the exit then stopped. The blackberries! In just a few minutes I picked a large handful, then popped a few of the plump ones into my mouth before leaving the garden. The baby inside me said it needed more berries, so I ate more, luckily stopping myself before consuming them all.

  As I began searching for the Lion Cubs, an unfamiliar emotion settled over me. It took a few seconds but I managed to identify it. I was happy for the first time in a very long time.

  * * *

  After fifteen minutes of wandering through the grounds, the sound of women shouting and laughing helped me find Elizabeth and the others. All three teams were running up from the shore of the Thames, the Queen in the lead waving a swan feather. “To the knot garden, my spark!” Elizabeth cried. “We have our last item!”

  At first I thought the other teams were letting Elizabeth win, but the women were red-faced and puffing, so no, the Lion Cubs would win, fair and square.

  I joined them as we dashed—perhaps not the most accurate of terms, since in our heavy skirts the best we could do was shuffle quickly—around the walled kitchen garden, past a cluster of courtiers gossiping in the shade, and into the west knot garden.

  Meg was waiting for us.

  Lady Mary had used her outer skirt as a container, so Elizabeth proudly pulled out each item, i
ncluding a fork. She’d found it in a room full of gifts she’d been given after her coronation. “We have no idea why the King of Sweden thought we would need a fork, but we are glad we kept it.”

  I added the blackberries to the pile, and Meg declared us the winning team. My emotions were such a mess I couldn’t sort them out. Lust from our kiss. Gratitude for this game. Relief that the Queen was more herself than she’d been for days. Confusion over what it meant to fall for a woman living in another woman’s body. Wasn’t my life messed up enough already?

  Meg opened a box of white cakes topped with swirls of yellow frosting. The Queen squealed in delight. After her subjects and Robert Dudley, sugar was her favorite thing. As the defeated teams watched us, Meg then revealed two more boxes that contained enough cakes for everyone. As the Queen laughed and helped distribute them, she told Meg she’d like her to come read for her again. My chest swelled with pride.

  If I were stuck here forever, I could be happy as long as Meg was here with me.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  The next week was painful as I felt close to bursting. I either couldn’t find Meg or we had to pass on the grounds without talking as I attended the Queen. We communicated with our eyes—amazing how much one can say with just a few facial muscles—but I longed to hold her again, wondering if it would feel as good the second time.

  Finally, Meg appeared in the Queen’s chambers one morning, having been summoned to read to Elizabeth. I sat on a nearby stool, trying to focus on my stitching instead of on Meg’s animated face, but I only managed to stitch the collar onto my skirt again.

  I didn’t hear a word of what Meg read, instead scrolling through a “book” in my head of all the things I wanted to say to her, all the things I wanted to ask her. We knew so little about each other.