The Time Duchess (The Time Mistress Book 4)

by Georgina Young-Ellis

  James wracked his brain. If he were to make up some other elaborate story, it was likely to get him in even deeper trouble. He had to be careful now of what he said.

  “I am sorry to leave you here,” Cecil continued, frustration barely concealed in his voice. “Think on it. If there is something that occurs to you that would clear your name, and that of your aunt, beckon me. If not, well, there is nothing I can do.” He held out his hand to shake, but the prisoner turned his back on him.

  Behind James, the cell door slammed shut.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cassandra awoke to…was that a horn honking? She foggily took in her surroundings before it all suddenly came back to her like a terrible dream. She sat up. She was still dressed in the same clothes she’d been wearing, everything in place. The man was gone. The room and the space were…different. The bedspread was not exactly modern, but far from Elizabethan―some kind of thin cotton of dusty pink with a vague fleur de lis pattern―and the grayish-white sheets too, come to think of it, were wispy and unsubstantial, unlike the thick linens she’d grown used to in the past weeks. The deflated feather pillows and mattress were machine made, and though the bed frame had a vaguely antique look, it was definitely not circa 1598. There was a bulky armoire in one corner, a sink with a chipped mirror over it, and a flimsy table in another corner with two mismatched chairs nearby. On the wall across from the bed an electric light burned behind a dirty glass sconce. And there was that sound again, like a vintage car horn. She jumped out of bed and ran to the window, moving back the gauzy curtain. Rather than a scene from Elizabethan England, it was London of the 1920s that unfolded: women in shapeless knee length coats with cloche hats on their heads, and boxy black cars trundling along the shabby street. She recognized an Austin 7―an inexpensive English car of the early twenties. Her head swam. What was going on? Somehow she had time traveled during the night, though how was impossible to fathom.

  She spied her shoes on the floor at the foot of the bed. The man must have taken them off and put her under the covers. Her heart began to pound. Clearly, she had been drugged. Yet she did not seem to have been assaulted. Her clothes were in place, except for her cloak and doublet which were crumpled on the floor, and there were no sensations of violation to her person. She slipped her shoes on and tried the door. It was locked with a key from the outside. The place had to be a hotel or boarding house of some sort. Was it the same room she’d arrived in last night? She felt like it was the same room though she hadn’t had a very good look at it. If it was the same, was it also a portal, or was there a portal nearby? This meant whoever had abducted her last night was a time traveler.

  A key clicked in the lock. Cassandra hefted a wooden chair and prepared to defend herself. The door flew open, and Nick Stockard stood there holding a gun.

  “Nick!” She let the chair slide to the floor.

  “Hello Cassandra.”

  His silver hair was cut short into the hairstyle of the 1920s. Otherwise, he looked just the same as when she had last seen him three years before. He was a still a handsome man: dark, penetrating eyes, a firm jaw and sensual mouth; yet she had long since stopped thinking of him as attractive.

  “What is going on here?

  “You’ve been rescued.”

  “I’ve been kidnapped!”

  “Kidnapped? I’d think you’d be grateful. I rescued you from the Queen’s banishment.”

  “How could you know about that? What were you doing in 1598?”

  “Watching you, of course.”

  A shiver of disgust rolled down her spine. “You were stalking me?”

  “Stalking is such an ugly word.”

  She was instantly furious. “So is delusional!” she shouted. Then a realization came to her. “Oh my God! It was you who sent the note!”

  He nodded in assent and inspected the nails on his left hand, “Mm, a blunder I suppose. It probably would have been better to pretend the note was from Oxford since he wasn’t likely to be doing anything in particular with his time.” Strangely there was not the slightest hint of irony in his tone. He was utterly serious as he continued his little monologue without a pause. “Still, it got you to leave your house alone.” He paced the room as he spoke. “If you hadn’t had the mishap on the river, this all would have been much easier, you see? I could have brought you here then, rather than going through all that difficulty of snatching you away from the Queen’s men.” He suddenly stopped his pacing and looked directly into her eyes, seeking…approval? “No easy feat,” he continued unabashed, “I must say, but ultimately, quite heroic, don’t you think?”

  Best to keep him talking, and see how much information she could get. “How did you overcome those guards on horseback?”

  “Sleeping elixir in a dart gun.” He shrugged and held back a small laugh, “The same stuff I used on you.”

  Cassandra couldn’t keep the scorn from her voice. “You haven’t changed.”

  “I make a concerted attempt not to.”

  It was as if he only heard what he wanted to hear.

  “Now, come on,” he continued in a breath, “you’ve got to change clothes.” Though he placed the gun in his pocket, his body remained tense, alert even as he presented her a shopping bag that read HARRODS on its side. “The roaring twenties,” he exclaimed, “as I’m sure you’ve figured out.”

  “Yeeess, of…course,” she stammered. It was essential to stay calm even though her inner voice screamed, he’s insane!

  “Got to look the part, you know?” He held out the bag, and grinned conspiratorially.

  “But wait,” she said. Perhaps she could remind him of the common ground of science they shared. “I don’t understand. Where is the portal, and who do you have running it?”

  “Look, let’s not get hung up on details right now. Put this on, then we’ll go have a nice breakfast.” When Cassandra didn’t make a move to take the bag from him, he gently set it on a chair. “A lovely saleslady helped me pick out your size. Really Cassie―” he added quietly. Something of the man she once loved shown through for a moment. It was almost convincing. “Just take a look.” He tipped the bag in her direction.

  She couldn’t help it. Curiosity getting the better of her, she peeked, and with a sigh of appreciation, pulled out a light blue coat, similar to the ones she had seen the women wearing on the street, but much more expensive looking, with a blue felt hat to match. There was also a pair of tan leather shoes with pointy toes, a strap across the instep, and inch high heels that curved coquettishly inward. She set the things on the table.

  “I asked the saleslady to put it all in one bag. They love to pile you up with parcels and boxes.”

  Cassandra looked deeper inside and removed two packages wrapped in tissue. She opened the first and discovered a tan dress, low-waisted with a pleated skirt and three-quarter length sleeves, the square collar trimmed in a delicate border of lace. It was light as a feather. In the other package was lingerie: stockings, two roll garters, a full slip, a sort of brassiere, and some waist-high panties. All of silk.

  “Unfortunately, there’s nowhere private to change, but I’ll turn around,” Nick said. “Though I’ve certainly seen you naked enough times,” he added with a smirk.

  Her inner anger rekindled, but, for now, what choice did she have but to go along with him? “Actually, I’ll need your help.” She turned around to expose the back of the tightly fastened Elizabethan garment she was wearing.

  His footsteps were soft on the carpet as he moved toward her. He touched the top button on the bodice. She flinched involuntarily.

  “Don’t worry; I’ll remain a gentleman,” he whispered in her ear, his breath hot. Slowly, with great deliberation, he undid each button until she felt the last one loosen.

  “Turn around,” she insisted. “I can take it from here.” She watched over her shoulder until he did as instructed.

  Feeling a small amount of satisfaction, she shrugged out of the bodice, and untied her overskirt. So
mething clinked in its pocket. She put her hand in and pulled out several coins. The rest of her money and belongings may have been long gone in that carriage, wherever it was now, but this had come along. With a shrug she let the change fall back into the pocket and concentrated on getting out of the clothes, not easy all by herself. Finally, she was down to her chemise.

  With a quick glance over her shoulder to see that Nick still had his back to her, she slipped her underpants down, feeling exposed though the chemise still covered her. She grabbed the new panties and slid them on first, then took her arms out of the sleeves and used the garment as a tent as she put on the brassiere. It was more of a bandeau with straps than a bra, but at least it fit. She let the Elizabethan chemise fall away and pulled on the slip, a thin garment with spaghetti-straps that fell to her lower thigh. She grabbed one stocking, and with her foot on the bed, eased it up her leg to a few inches above the knee, secured it in place with the garter, then rolled the stocking down over the top. Only the fact that she’d seen old movies about the 1920s gave her a clue of how it was done. She put on the other stocking and garter, then carefully donned the dress, afraid of ripping the delicate fabric. There was only one button to be fastened at the back of the neck, which she managed herself with difficulty. She put on the shoes and the coat, then plucked the coins out of the pocket of her Elizabethan skirt and divided them evenly into the coat pockets. The modern clothing was light and easy to move in, but she hated to part with her sixteenth century clothes. They were her connection to that time period, and to leave them meant she wouldn’t be going back. She fought back tears; she wouldn’t cry in front of that bastard.

  “What do I do with all the stuff I just took off?”

  “Leave it on the bed. The landlady will take care of it. She’ll probably think it’s a costume and sell it to a theatre company.” He turned around. “Whew,” he whistled. “You look beautiful.”

  She ignored him, laying the garments on the bed. She took the hat and went to the mirror. Her hair was still done up in the ornate style Mistress Flint had arranged…when was that? The morning before, she supposed, when she and James had gone to the theatre to find Shakespeare. Everything had happened so fast after that: the guards taking them to the palace, Elizabeth’s banishing her, her flight to Dover, and Nick’s abducting her. It was hard to believe it had all happened, technically, within the last twenty four hours, though thinking in terms of hours seemed a bit small when centuries had passed. She smoothed the escaping auburn curls as best she could and settled the cloche hat in place. Her hair was totally the wrong look for the era, but if she left the hat on, no one would see it. “I guess I’m ready,” she said, struggling to control the tremor in her voice. If this room had anything to do with the portal, leaving it would mean leaving any chance of getting back to James.

  Nick dropped one hand into the pocket with the gun, and opened the door with the other. “After you.” He walked behind her through the silent hallway and down the stairs. No one stirred in the house. When they got to the door, he handed her a pair of glasses with black lenses that wrapped around the sides. “Put these on,” he hissed.

  As she did, her sight was completely blocked except directly below. Nick took her elbow and guided her out the door. They walked across the sidewalk to a waiting car. Nick ushered her into the back seat and got in with her.

  “Let’s go,” he said to the driver, who must already have known their destination.

  Cassandra sat still, taking in the musty odor of the car, the gritty leather of the seat under her hands. They drove, stopping and starting in traffic for what seemed like a very long time, during which Nick said nothing. Finally the car came to a halt.

  “You can take off the glasses,” Nick said, and she did.

  They had pulled up in front of an elegant hotel. They got out of the car and walked up marble steps to the entrance. A doorman held open gilded doors for them.

  “What are we doing here?” she whispered.

  “I told you we’re having breakfast, oh, and this is where we’re staying. You don’t think I’d let a woman like you stay in a dump like where we spent last night, do you? But first things first. Aren’t you hungry?”

  She was suddenly starving. “Yes. And I need a restroom.”

  “Right through there,” Nick pointed her to across the spacious lobby, where well-dressed people came and went. “By the way,” he said casually, “there’s no place to escape from in there, I checked.”

  He’d been snooping around in the ladies room? She shivered. It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t been in her mind, but really, what would be the point in her escaping? Where would she go? Who would help her, the police? What would she tell them?

  “Whatever you say,” she responded with a tight smile.

  When she came out of the bathroom, she found him waiting near the door. He offered his arm and she reluctantly placed her hand on his sleeve. They walked together to the hotel’s dining room where a tuxedoed host led them to a table. The spacious restaurant was light and cheerful. Floor to ceiling windows lined the side of the room that overlooked a garden. Tasteful chandeliers sparkled from the ceiling, and white linen tablecloths and fine china dishes adorned the tables. A waiter came and Nick ordered coffee and a full English breakfast for them both.

  “So, where have you been hiding out, since we last saw each other?” she asked with resentful curiosity and a forced smile. “The authorities have been looking for you for a long time.”

  “Right here. London, early twenties. Though I cruise over to Paris when I get the chance. A person with money can go where he pleases and meet whom he chooses among the artists and literati. It’s been a fascinating time. However, as soon as I found out you were going to be in Elizabethan England, I decided it might be fun to see what you were up to.”

  “It’s not possible! How could you know I would be there when you were here, in the 1920s I mean?”

  “Oh, I don’t spend all my time here. I get around, you know.” He dabbed a napkin to his lips and looked up at her. “I’ve even been in Boston fairly recently.”

  “You’ve been spying on the Chronology team?”

  “It’s not the team I was interested in.”

  That shiver returned. “And what about London?”

  “What about it? We’re in London,” Nick quipped, holding the handle of his coffee cup daintily.

  “You know what I mean,” she whispered. “How did you know I was in that coach?”

  “Spies, my dear,” he smiled. “You’d be surprised how many urchins there are who’d do anything for a penny or two. That dear young man in your son’s employ, Henry? He was key in reporting that you’d been taken to the palace, returned to your home to pack up your things, and which way you were headed out of London. Tracking you was quite simple really.”

  “Little Henry? I don’t believe it!”

  “Don’t be naïve, Cassandra.”

  The waiter delivered the coffee. She added cream and stirred vigorously for a moment, anger and disappointment tightening her throat. She took a sip of the warm, rich beverage, and it calmed her. She took a breath and continued her inquiry. “Last night you brought me to Southwark. When I woke up this morning, I felt like I was in the same room, the same building, only it was centuries later. Is the portal there, in that room, in that house?”

  “It doesn’t matter to you. You’ll never find it again.”

  That meant it was there somewhere.

  The breakfast came and Cassandra couldn’t help herself. She dove into it. There was so much more she wanted to know, but the food was too good to stop eating. Nick nibbled and watched her intently. They didn’t speak again for several minutes.

  “I’ve never for a moment stopped caring about you, you know,” he said suddenly.

  She put her fork down, and looked into his eyes

  “I’ve never stopped loving you, ever,” he continued, his words breathless.

  How pathetic he was. Her rage came to a
head. “Love? You have no idea what love is! Hurting people is not love!” She was shaking now, barely controlling herself. “I will never forgive you for what you did in New York and Italy!” People at nearby tables were nervously glancing in their direction. Cassandra lowered her voice to a harsh whisper and leaned across the table. “Lives were lost because of you!”

  “I don’t care,” he shot back, his voice cold as stone. “In Italy I did what I had to do. You were with Lauro Sampieri and that fact drove me nuts.”

  ”But how did you know about that?”

  “Oh, I had someone working for me there too.”

  “Impossible! No one on the team would betray us to you. They all hate you,” she spat.

  He smiled faintly.

  Obviously not all of them, but why anyone would help him was a mystery. The faces of the team members passed through her mind. It couldn’t be Shannon or Karen, or Yoshi. It couldn’t be Suhan…. Then the light dawned. “Suhan?”

  One of his eyebrows twitched.

  “I don’t believe it!”

  He turned slightly away from her.

  “She was immersed in the Siena project,” Cassandra sputtered. “She was there with us every step of the way: preparing us for the journey to 1509, our return…especially once we returned to the future. She helped us with everything.”

  “Yes, everything.” He was smiling again. “Including helping me elude capture.”

  “Why would she do it?” It was as if a family member had stabbed her in the back. “Was it money?”

  “It’s because the little fool loves me, and has since we first met.” Nick’s eyes sought Cassandra’s again. “She couldn’t stand the fact that I was in love with you. But rather than hurting you, she tried to win my favor by helping me. She’s a useful tool, but I have no feelings for her.”

  “Did she know you were planning to stalk me and kidnap me? That seems like it would be at cross purposes with her desires.”