‘Miss,’ she bobbed a small curtsey, ‘Lady Rebecca sent me to help you dress.’
‘Lady Rebecca?’ Olivia repeated slowly. She seemed to recall somewhere in the fuzzy recesses of her mind, that Lady Rebecca Morgan was the name Scarlett had gone by during this time period.
‘Yes miss,’ she nodded as she crossed the room briskly and opened what appeared to be a closet door. ‘Her ladyship is taking tea in the parlor; she would like for you to join her once you’re dressed.’
‘Thank you…?’
‘Clara miss,’ she replied.
‘Clara,’ Olivia nodded as she swung her feet over the side of the bed and winced as her skin touched the freezing cold floor.
Clara bustled about efficiently, removing a deep purple colored day gown and laying it on the bed before moving to a polished armoire and removing a clean chemise, stockings and stays.
Olivia took a moment to wander over to the huge sash window and glance down to the street below. There was a heavy layer of snow covering everything in sight but that didn’t seem to deter anyone. The street was bustling with activity, a young lad of no more than ten was on the street corner with a stack of papers, calling out loudly, his cheeks ruddy from the cold and his breath fanning out as mist every time he shouted. The carriages had given way to impressive horse drawn sleighs. Men and women strolled along arm in arm, the men in heavy coats and tall hats, and the tiny women swamped with huge wide skirts, half jackets and shawls, bonnets with ribbons and feathers and their gowns soaked several inches at the hem.
Olivia had to admit, it didn’t look appealing.
‘Miss?’ Clara called quietly.
Olivia turned and looked at the young girl as she stood by the bed expectantly. Knowing it was unavoidable, Olivia blew out a resigned breath and stripped off her nightgown.
Scarlett unfolded the rather large newspaper and refolded it to a more manageable size once she’d found an article which interested her. Laying it down against the lace tablecloth she lifted her teacup and sipped daintily as her smoky colored eyes danced along the finely printed words.
She couldn’t concentrate, the tiny carriage clock on the mantle ticked too loudly, the floorboards above her creaked like the gangplank of a ship and the barely audible hiss of the gas lit lamps crawled across her skin making the tiny hairs stand on end.
She set the paper down with a frown of irritation and once again sipped at her tea.
Her stormy gaze swept across the familiar room, with its Aubusson rug of beige, brown, maroon and teal, its central medallion, a floral bouquet with foliate scroll spandrels, and a meandering c-scroll border. It had been a gift, she recalled dimly.
Her eyes rested on a large antique, French carved, gilt wood over mantle mirror, a little gaudy and ostentatious for a front parlor. The surfaces everywhere were covered in china knickknacks and useless ceramic ornaments, Staffordshire pottery and small brass statuettes.
She knew that during this particular time period it had been all the rage to collect as much meaningless stuff as possible. The houses and homes, particularly of the middle and upper classes were little more than huge display cabinets. The more items you had, the more it denoted wealth and status.
Funny, it hadn’t bothered her much the first time around. Now, it made her feel claustrophobic or maybe it was being back in London a century and a half into the past, into her past.
It made her acutely aware of the present she was trying so hard to avoid.
Her hand unconsciously brushed against the smooth satin of her gown, to the tiny flutters in her belly she was just beginning to become accustomed to. It made her situation all too real. A situation she wouldn’t be able to ignore for much longer. If the tiny movements inside her wasn’t enough, the fact that she’d had to wear a gestational corset which had additional lacing at the sides to allow for an expanding waistline had been a stark reminder.
If her maid Clara had noticed her swelling belly, she’d wisely chosen not to comment on the matter. She’d simply helped her to dress and dismissed herself as politely and efficiently as ever. Fortunately, with the corset in place and the cut of the full skirted gown, her condition was still largely undetectable.
She wasn’t about to confide in Olivia. For as much as they seemed to have reached an unspoken understanding and the fact that Scarlett was grateful that Olivia had been instrumental in her healing after her captivity and torture, she still didn’t know her that well and that meant she couldn’t trust her motives or her priorities.
Olivia was still a Guardian after all. She had the almost unlimited power and magic of all the Hell dimensions at her command. There was no way to know what the witch’s true agenda was.
It was hard enough coming to terms with the fact that she was going to become a mother, with the worst possible timing… and frankly, the worst possible parentage. Even if things were clear cut between her and Sam, the painful and downright terrifying fact was that her child was a hybrid and as far as Scarlett was aware, the first ever of her kind. A union between an angel and a Sentinel, not only came with a whole host of genetic uncertainties but also painted a giant target on her child's back.
Even if she managed to successfully give birth to a healthy baby, the moment Azariel and even worse… Thomas, Sam’s father, found out, they would hunt her child down and slaughter her.
Her fingers gripped her belly as she closed her eyes. She was terrified. She didn’t know if she had the strength to do this alone, to keep her daughter safe. She couldn’t even keep herself safe.
The handle of the door rattled, signifying she was about to have company, a moment before the door swung open and Olivia walked into the room, her full skirts swishing around her and brushing against the thick rug.
‘Olivia,’ Scarlett set her teacup down in its saucer with a faint chink, its contents now cold and unappealing.
‘Morning Sc…’ she stopped herself as the maid Clara followed her into the room, ‘Lady Rebecca,’ she corrected herself.
‘Please,’ she indicated the deeply cushioned chair opposite her, ‘and it’s more like afternoon.’
‘Is it really?’ Olivia glanced over to the delicate carriage clock as it chimed the quarter of the hour.
‘Clara,’ Scarlett glanced over Olivia’s shoulder toward the doorway, ‘if you would be so good as to fetch something to eat for my guest, she must be ravenous.’
‘Milady,’ Clara curtsied and exited the room, clicking the door closed quietly behind her.
‘Sweet girl,’ Olivia mused, ‘until she has to lace you into a corset. She doesn’t look like much, but I imagine she could arm wrestle an alligator if she had to.’
Scarlett tilted her head as she studied Olivia carefully. She looked the part; her deep purple gown suited her coloring perfectly. Her long dark hair had been swept into a graceful coil and pinned at the nape of her neck, with tiny little drops of amethyst at her ears, which twinkled in the light as she turned her head. She sat at the opposite side of the table, perched on the chair with her back ramrod straight.
‘You look a little uncomfortable,’ she remarked.
‘It’s not my first time wearing a corset,’ Olivia frowned, ‘I had to wear one back in Salem but this… this? It isn’t a corset, it’s a torture device. I feel like, if I accidentally sneeze my spine will snap in two.’
‘That’ll be the whalebone.’
‘Yeah… well…’ Olivia replied dryly, ‘my lungs are being squeezed like an accordion.’
‘You’ll get used to it,’ Scarlett’s lips twitched.
‘If I don’t pass out first,’ she grumbled.
‘I’d offer you some tea,’ Scarlett glanced down at the elegant china teapot decorated with pink rosebuds and edged in gold gilt, ‘but it’s gone cold. I’ll have Clara brew another pot once she returns.’
‘Don’t bother,’ Olivia shook her head, ‘looks like the girl’s got plenty to do. I got this.’
She reached out and wrapped her hands around
the belly of the teapot, they glowed for a second and suddenly fragrant swirls of steam rose from the spout.
‘Want a top up?’ she lifted the teapot by the handle.
Scarlett nodded, watching as Olivia filled her cup and then her own.
‘That’s better,’ Olivia sighed in satisfaction, as she drank deeply from her dainty cup. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I like coffee but there’s nothing more satisfying than a cup of tea.’
‘You sure you’re not English?’ Scarlett smiled in amusement.
‘I think at this point I defy classification,’ Olivia shook her head, ‘anyway, sorry I slept so late. I don’t usually get up this late, even when I’m tired.’
‘It’s later than you think.’
‘Sorry?’ Olivia replied in confusion.
‘Olivia, you’ve been out cold for two and half days.’
‘Two and a half days?’ she blinked.
Scarlett nodded ruefully, ‘whatever happened back in Piccadilly Station with Faraday, must’ve completely wiped you out.’
Olivia scowled, deep in thought as she stared deeply into the dregs of her teacup as if it contained all the answers.
‘I don’t get it,’ she finally breathed out loud. ‘I keep going over and over it in my mind. We were standing in front of Faraday, he reached for the compass, there was a struggle and the next thing I know we were buried in some ornate public garden a century and a half into the past. Even if it was the compass that threw us back through time, I’ve used it dozens of times with no effect at all. I’ve been to the Spirit world, the Underworld and been thrown back in time further than this but I’ve never been affected the way I was this time.’
‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’ Scarlett asked, silently acknowledging the irony of her asking Olivia that question.
‘No,’ Olivia shook her head, ‘definitely not, and besides I was actually pregnant when I was thrown back in time to 17th century Salem, but this… this was something different. I just don’t know what exactly.’
They both turned and looked as the door once again opened, this time accompanied by a rattling sound as Clara wheeled in a small walnut trolley with two shelves laden with various plates and dishes.
Their conversation paused as Clara stepped beside the table, setting a large porcelain tureen of steaming and fragrant soup in the center of the table. She then set down a tiered plate of neatly cut triangular sandwiches and beside that a second tiered china plate containing cakes and pastries.
She quickly and efficiently removed the teapot and replaced it with a fresh one, choosing not to comment on its half-used contents, which were still uncharacteristically warm.
Leaning forward she quickly and efficiently ladled the soup into the bowls she’d placed down in front of Scarlett and Olivia.
‘Will there be anything else milady,’ she asked softly.
‘No, thank you Clara,’ Scarlett removed her napkin from the table, unfolding the starched white linen and laying it elegantly in her lap, ‘that will be all.’
Clara bobbed a shallow curtsey and pushed the trolley from the room, closing them in once again.
Olivia stared down at the lumpy brown mixture in her bowl.
‘Um, what’s this?’
‘Brown Windsor soup,’ Scarlett picked up her spoon. ‘Try it.’
‘What’s in it?’ Olivia’s eyes narrowed as her mind inadvertently cast back to her first night in Salem and the stringy mutton stew Theo’s real father, James, had served them, a stew she’d proceeded to throw up along with several of her internal organs… well it had certainly felt that way at the time. ‘It’s not mutton is it?’ she asked reluctantly.
‘Sometimes mutton is used,’ Scarlett looked up in amusement. ‘It’s beef and lamb, made with beef stock, onions, carrots and herbs, trust me, and just try it.’
Olivia reached down and picked up her own spoon. Eyeing the bowl suspiciously, she scooped up a tentative spoonful and put it in her mouth with all the enthusiasm of a five-year-old being forced to eat vegetables.
The delicate flavors burst across her tongue, thyme, parsley and bay leaf overlaid with the subtle heat of chili. The parsnip and carrot were cooked to perfection and the chunks of beef and lamb melted in her mouth. She groaned and began to scoop great spoonfuls up in earnest.
‘Sorry,’ she murmured around a mouthful, ‘so good, so hungry.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ Scarlett shook her head as she spooned up a small ladylike mouthful, ‘you haven’t eaten since we left Mercy three days ago. You must be starving by now.’
‘Last time I ended up back in time, the food was almost inedible, but this is delicious.’ Olivia scooped out the rest of her bowl and looked across to the tureen which was still half full.
‘Go ahead,’ Scarlett nodded. ‘I’m glad you like it, it’s a favorite of the Queen.’
‘The Queen?’ Olivia glanced across as she refilled her bowl. ‘Victoria?’
‘It’s often served at state functions, I’ve been fortunate enough to attend a few of them.’
‘You knew Queen Victoria?’
‘I’ve known a lot of people. When you’re as old as I am…’ Scarlett shrugged. ‘Anyway, you’re going to want to load up on calories, we’re leaving, and we won’t be coming back to this house. Once we’re gone Clara will lock up and it will be as if we were never here. No one will be any the wiser.’
‘Clara will know.’
‘Trust me, she won’t say anything,’ Scarlett shook her head.
‘What about you, I mean the other you, the one in Paris, what happens when that you returns?’
‘Clara never came back to work for me,’ Scarlett replied, ‘the other me won’t be back in London until next summer. By then Clara had met a young man and moved to Bristol where his family are from. Our paths won’t cross again.’
‘Okay,’ Olivia reached for one of the tiered plates and helped herself to a sandwich. The bread was fluffy and moist and between it was a thick cut of meat. ‘So, we’re leaving, where are we going?’
‘I’ve been giving this a great deal of thought while you were sleeping,’ Scarlett lifted her napkin and dabbed the edge of her mouth before setting it down on the table. ‘I never really paid much attention to time travel before. As far as I knew, Sam was the only one capable of shifting back and forth through time and I still don’t know exactly how he does it. I’d never even heard of your compass but now I know it exists, that time travel is not just the result of a rare ability but of an actual, tangible magical object and if there’s one, then maybe…’
‘There are others?’ Olivia finished for her thoughtfully. ‘You really think there are other magical objects out there capable of sending us back through time?’
‘I think it’s worth some investigating. Right now, it’s the best shot we’ve got. Unless we happen to stumble across Sam and can hitch a ride home, we need an alternative.’
‘Why can’t we?’
‘Why can’t we what?’
‘Hitch a ride with Sam,’ Olivia replied, ‘there must be some way we can track him down in this time period or contact him… summon him… I don’t know… something.’
‘Trust me, there’s no point,’ Scarlett said flatly, ‘Sam has his own agenda, he always has. Even if we could contact him, there’s no guarantee he’d help us.’
‘Of course he will,’ Olivia frowned, ‘it’s Sam,’ as if that statement explained everything.
‘Sam sees time differently than we do,’ Scarlett shook her head, her eyes were cool and collected but the set of her shoulders and the tension bracketing her mouth revealed her frustration. ‘He won’t alter the course of events if he believes that they should not be changed.’
‘What… like a fixed point in time? Something that has to happen, I’ve heard Sam talk about them before.’
‘Exactly,’ Scarlett blew out a breath, ‘we can’t risk it. We could waste weeks, months even, trying to contact Sam and even if by some miracle we do, there’s no gua
rantee he’ll be able to help us.’
‘Shit,’ Olivia frowned, ‘so what now? How do we go about finding a time traveling magical object in 19th century London, that may, or may not actually exist?’
‘We ask for help,’ Scarlett replied, ‘I’m taking you to see the fortune teller.’
‘A fortune teller?’ she repeated, ‘a real one I’m guessing.’
‘Well a fake one’s not going to do us much good.’
‘Careful,’ the corner of Olivia’s mouth twitched in amusement, ‘you’re starting to sound like me.’
Scarlett stared at her for a long moment her expression unreadable.
‘Okay,’ Olivia finally broke the silence, ‘so where exactly does one find a fortune teller in London?’
‘Where else,’ Scarlett picked up her tea and sipped, her gray eyes watching Olivia over the rim of the cup… ‘I’m taking you to the circus.’
3
Olivia gathered her skirt as conservatively as possible and stepped down from the back of the horse drawn tram, into the slushy snow.
‘Thank you,’ she glanced up at the conductor, a broad man with a bushy moustache and a black felt bowler hat, who seemed to be regarding her with something akin to suspicion.
She supposed he wasn’t used to seeing American women often and she turned toward Scarlett who stood amidst a sea of bustling people, calm and composed, seemingly unaware of the admiring looks she drew from every passing male.
Her gown was of dark blue, complimenting the burning red of her hair and her creamy skin perfectly. Her short coat split at the back to the waist to accommodate the wide skirt of her gown. In the same shade of midnight blue, it was a deep warm velvet, with black military style ribboning crisscrossing her bodice and lined with two neat vertical rows of black buttons. Her deep cherry colored hair swept back from her face and fell in an elegant cascade of ringlets, beneath her small hat, which was pinned to her head at a slight angle with a large mother of pearl hat pin, nestled among delicate ribbons and feathers.
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