Mrs. D raised her eyebrows, but didn’t take the bait. She just shook her head. “Once you’ve lived your life in multiple centuries, you’ll develop your own unique cache of words and expressions.” She stood from the table and motioned Mary Elizabeth to follow her. “Come. Let’s do it.”
“But how?” Mary Elizabeth rose to follow her.
“First of all, you have to acquaint yourself with the various access points to make the jump. And you just happen to be inside one right now.” She didn’t wait for a response, merely left the kitchen with the expectation that Mary Elizabeth would follow. She walked toward the front door. At the bottom of the stairs, she paused briefly to give the young lady instructions. “Go change into your sixteenth-century costume, quickly, and meet me here at the bottom of the stairs. Only bring what you absolutely need; leave the rest behind.”
Mary Elizabeth did as she was told. When she returned downstairs, Mrs. D was waiting for her. She, too, was dressed in a costume much like Mary Elizabeth’s. “Come.” Instead of turning into the parlour where Mary Elizabeth had been laid out that first evening after her fainting spell, Mrs. D opened a door opposite the parlour with a key. When Mary Elizabeth followed her hostess through the door, she was quite surprised to see how big the space was. It certainly wasn’t a closet, more like a study.
A desk and chair sat against the far wall. There was a window, but it appeared boarded up. Sheer curtains covered the window space to give it the appearance of a functional window. Bookcases lined the walls and, before Mary Elizabeth could take it all in, Mrs. D reached for one specific book on the far wall and pulled it out.
“H.G. Wells.” She peered over her shoulder at the younger woman. “I actually met him once. He was a time traveller—without the machine he wrote about in his wonderful book, The Time Machine.” She held the book up for inspection. “Always a good idea to know where you’re going. This makes a good key, if you want to call it that.”
Mrs. D poked her hand behind the space where the book had been and fidgeted with something. She replaced the book, shifted it somewhat to the right and the entire bookcase started to move. “Come quickly.” She motioned to Mary Elizabeth. “Stand with me.”
Mary Elizabeth did as she was told. She didn’t feel anything. The room just faded and the smell of peat smoke invaded her nostrils, causing her to start coughing. “Greetings Mary Catherine,” the familiar voice of Callum MacGregor spoke from the fireplace starting to materialise before their eyes. “I see you’ve returned with our Mary Elizabeth, but I fear you can’t stay. The regent is on his way here. Again.”
“Aye! We can’t stay for many reasons,” Mrs. D replied. “We have places to go and people to see. We shall return, though, ready to make our cause known, even to the regent himself if need be.”
“Cause? What cause?” Mary Elizabeth bounced a look between the laird and her hostess. “And he called you Mary Catherine. You’re the old lady.”
Mrs. D flashed a quiet, somewhat guilty smile. “Yes, I am. But there’s no time to explain. Come along now.” Mrs. D led Mary Elizabeth to the back room where she had changed that fateful night. It wasn’t so dark; daylight etched patterns across the space from the window opening at the back. “Next stop, your Gran’s house in Toronto.” She gently pulled Mary Elizabeth to stand with her beside the rough-hewn table that sat in the corner. She knocked on the wood, two times, paused, then again three times, and, just as a thundering noise erupted outside and the front door crashed open, the room dimmed and Mary Elizabeth was back at Gran’s, in her study, sitting on the cozy couch as she had done so often in the past while Gran worked away with something at the old spinet desk in the corner. Gran always claimed that Jane Austen herself had given her the desk. It didn’t look old enough to be from Austen’s time, but now that she knew her grandmother was a time traveller, Mary Elizabeth realised anything was possible. What surprised her the most was that there was Gran sitting at her desk.
“Gran?” Mary Elizabeth stood up abruptly. “I thought. . . ” She glanced at her travelling partner. Mrs. D just shrugged her shoulders.
“We’re in Toronto at your Gran’s, but before your trip to Scotland, and before Gran passed away.” Mrs. D gave a brief explanation.
Mary Elizabeth couldn’t wipe the perplexed look off her face. She remembered the day all too well. It was several weeks before Gran had suddenly died. They had been sitting in this cozy study, Gran at her desk, Mary Elizabeth on the couch, just as they had done countless times over the years. They each had a cup of tea (no mugs, as that would be un-Scottish) and were sipping the hot brew slowly, allowing the moment to saturate their senses. There was a tray of biscuits on the coffee table, but neither wanted one. As always, they had lots to talk about: Mary Elizabeth’s work, Gran’s research, the weather, friends, the usual. There was never a lack of subject matter. Gran had been reading an article online about Queen Mary, one of their most frequented topics of conversation.
“Historians have always claimed that the twins were buried on the island,” Gran had said. “But no remains have ever been found. I wonder why.”
“I wondered, too,” Mary Elizabeth said. “Only now I know.”
“What was that, Mary Elizabeth?” Mrs. D startled the young woman out of her flashback.
“Oh, just recalling the conversation Gran and I had the first time this day happened.” Mary Elizabeth wrinkled her brow, trying to focus on her thoughts. “Or was it the first? I’m not sure, now. This time travelling is so confusing.”
Gran laughed her clear, pure, full-of-warmth laugh. Oh, how Mary Elizabeth had missed her laugh. How she had missed her Gran. “Come give me a hug, child,” she said, her eyes brimming with unshed tears of happiness. “I have missed you.”
Mary Elizabeth didn’t miss a beat. She was in her gran’s arms, sharing a hug she hoped would last forever. She sniffled and wiped her nose on the end of her sleeve. “Tissue, Mary Elizabeth dear. Sleeves were not meant for snot.”
“Yes Gran.” Mary Elizabeth reluctantly left the embrace of her grandmother and reached for a tissue. “It’s just so strange and wonderful, to be here with you. And what do you mean, you’ve missed me? How can you miss me when you’re dead?”
“It’s all about time relativity,” Gran said. She resumed her seat at the desk and waved, quite regally, though Mary Elizabeth had never noted that part of Gran before. Mrs. D and Mary Elizabeth took their cue and sat on either end of the couch.
“Now.” She studied both ladies, one then the other, assessing their purpose in a glance. “What’s the meaning of this jump in time?”
“We have an assassin on our tail,” Mrs. D explained. “At least, that is what we fear. And, with any luck, we’ll avoid the poison this time that killed you, or I should say will kill you in a few days’ time. Now, we have a lot of work to do before Jamie finds us and wreaks more havoc.”
“Jamie? You don’t mean the regent, the Earl of Moray?” Gran raised an eyebrow. “He’s always been a bit of a thorn in my side. I didn’t realise he was a time traveller, too. That does complicate things.”
“I’m afraid so. And I believe he’s on his way here right now. On a mission of his own, or so he will say in his defense.”
Turning to Mary Elizabeth, Gran asked, “You have the ring?”
Mary Elizabeth held up her hand to show that the ring was firmly set on her finger. It was safe.
“I see you also have the brooch. Did Callum give it to you?”
Mrs. D answered before Mary Elizabeth had a chance to reply. “Martha gave it to her. She helped her dress appropriately before the regent invaded Callum’s cottage.”
“How did you know?” Mary Elizabeth glanced at the woman with confusion etched across her brow.
The older woman merely shrugged, a weak smile barely creasing her cheeks.
“I think I need some answers.” Mary Elizabeth wrinkled her brow, her confusion evident. “I need to know what’s going on.”
“And answers y
ou shall have,” Gran’s fondness of her granddaughter was evident in her look. “All in good time.”
“Now, Gran. I need them now.”
Chapter Eleven
TORONTO, 2016
The front doorbell shattered the eerie silence of the main floor, sending echoes cascading throughout the house. “Who could that be?” Gran asked. “I’m not expecting anyone.”
Mrs. D and Mary Elizabeth both shook their heads. No one moved. “What should we do?” Mrs. D whispered, suddenly sensing the urgency to remain quiet.
“Shall I answer it?” Mary Elizabeth asked.
Gran walked over to the window, pulling back the drapes slightly. She always kept the drapes drawn. Mary Elizabeth never understood why and, even though she had asked Gran about it several times, she had never received a satisfactory answer. The window faced out the front of the house and, if one peered from a certain angle, you could see the front door. Many times, Mary Elizabeth had stood right where Gran was standing now, assessing the interloper who stood at the door, wondering whether or not she should answer it. During her teenage years, there had been a steady stream of young men, interested in making some sort of deeper connection with her. She had thwarted all their attempts, except for one, usually by refusing to answer the door or the phone. Emails? Texting? She never did like the idea of being connected, which was all the craze in her teenage years during the early part of the twenty-first century. She hated the fascination others her age exhibited for smartphones and texting. In fact, she hesitated to use any form of technology, and the idea of a laptop to do anything other than research was not on her agenda. She just didn’t want the newest, most gadget-filled, high tech smartphone, or high tech anything else for that matter. When asked by schoolmates, and later by workmates, she had simply explained, “I am quite smart enough, and have no need of a ‘smart’ device.”
Gran let out a groan and dropped the drape back in place. “It looks like the regent, but I can’t be sure. I haven’t seen him in a few years and the last time I did he was much older than this.”
“And that was in another century, I believe,” Mrs. D added. “I was there with you. It was the day of his assassination, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was. Mere moments before he left the safety of Holyrood only to be gunned down, the first assassination in history where a gun was used as the weapon.” Gran paced the length of the room, from the window to the desk and back again, passing in front of the other two ladies without a sideways glance. She did her best thinking when she paced.
The doorbell rang again. “We’ll have to answer it.” Gran stopped abruptly. “It’s better to have him where we can see and watch him, rather then lurking around in the shadows waiting to spring out at us unexpected.” Turning to Mary Elizabeth, she instructed. “Go answer the door. I’m sure he’ll be surprised to see you. Though, on second thought, perhaps he won’t. You never know with the regent.”
Mary Elizabeth nodded. As she trotted downstairs, she overheard Gran talking to Mrs. D. “We’d best lock things up and meet him on neutral territory.” Sounds of doors shutting and locks turning trailed Mary Elizabeth to the front hall. “We shall follow Mary Elizabeth downstairs and greet him as he enters.”
Mary Elizabeth pivoted slightly and noticed Gran lock the door to her study before the two ladies started descending the stairs. She reached the door, flipped the lock, and opened it. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she noticed Jamie flinch when he saw her. He recovered quickly and plastered a smile across his face.
“Mary Elizabeth,” he said, his smile forced and his eyes piercing. “How nice to see you again, and all dressed up for a costume party. I think you must like your new look.”
Mary Elizabeth forced her own smile in response. “Come in, Jamie.” She shut the door behind him. Gran and Mrs. D stood at the bottom of the stairs. “You know Mrs. Dickson, of course.”
“Yes, of course.” Jamie’s look was almost gleeful. “How good to see you as well, and so soon.” He lifted an eyebrow and then quickly corrected his expression. “I see you’re dressed for a costume party, too.”
Mrs. D didn’t answer. She kept her pose, standing one step behind Mary Elizabeth’s grandmother.
“And this is my gran…”
Before Mary Elizabeth could say any more, he approached the women and met Gran’s stoic look with one of his own. “I know.” He waved off Mary Elizabeth’s thwarted introduction. “We’ve met before. Many times, in many different times and many different places.”
“James Stuart.” Gran ducked her head slightly in recognition. “How good of you to visit me in my home. What brings you to Toronto? Or perhaps I should ask, what brings you to the year 2016?”
Jamie bent his head in acknowledgement of Gran’s greeting, then paced around the front hall, taking in every nook and cranny. “Quaint.” He stopped to when he came to face Gran. “But not quite up to your usual standards, is it?”
Gran lifted her right eyebrow in response. “Follow me.” She led the way into the sitting room just off the hall. “Have a seat, Jamie. We may as well be civilized.”
Each of them found a seat and sat, Jamie with his back toward the front window, drapes firmly shut as always, the three ladies on the couch facing him. Jamie only sat briefly. Shaking his head, he let out a rumble which sounded more like a forced chuckle. “Civilized. Right. Not much civilization in these quarters, is there, Marie?” He stood and started pacing the room, taking his time to loom over the others, who remained seated on the couch.
“You have no right to call me by my given name, in this century or in the past,” Gran started. “Now state your purpose.”
“My purpose has always been the same.” He held Gran’s eyes, his gaze never wavering. “Marie,” he added with no trepidation. “Or should I be addressing you as Your Majesty?”
“What’s he talking about, Gran?” Mary Elizabeth asked, her eyes darting from Gran to Jamie to Mrs. D and back to Gran. “Why does he call you Marie? And Your Majesty?”
“She doesn’t know, does she?” Jamie slapped his side. “Well I’ll be…”
“No swearing in this house,” Gran warned.
“I think you should tell your granddaughter the whole truth,” Jamie went on, unfazed. “If you don’t, I will.” Gran just stared at the man. “As you wish. Your Gran, as you call her–” Jamie tore his gaze from Gran’s and fixed it on Mary Elizabeth, “– is your grandmother, in both the present and the past, in the sixteenth century. She is Marie de Guise, second wife of King James V of Scotland and mother of Mary Queen of Scots. She was regent during Queen Mary’s infancy and died, some say of poison, in 1560. Your mother, my dear Mary Elizabeth, was none other than Mary Queen of Scots herself. You are the twin who lived. It was Mrs. Dickson, the old lady, as you called her, who brought you to this time and place and actually saved your life. Because you surely would not have survived another day as a preemie in the sixteenth century.” Turning back to Gran, he arched his eyebrows. “Did I sum things up adequately?”
Mary Elizabeth sat stunned for several minutes, then faced her grandmother. “Gran, is it true? Is all that he says true?”
“Of course it’s true, my dear little princess.” Jamie smirked. “I should add, my dear cousin, that we are related, but not quite the way you have surmised. Yes, the resemblance is uncanny, but, then again, the Earl of Moray, James Stuart, your mother’s older illegitimate brother, is my blood uncle. I inherited his title. Now, if you haven’t already guessed, the real purpose of this little charade involving time travel is to ensure that Scotland never does unite with England. And that, my dear Princess Mary Elizabeth–” He pointed a finger at the young woman, “–is where you come in.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” He paused to let the facts sink in. No one spoke. The only sound was the ticking of a clock on the mantle. “Oh yes! I forgot to add that Mrs. Dickson is one of the many Mary’s that surrounded both your mother and your grandmother. She was, and I guess
still is, your grandmother’s most trusted confidante.”
Mary Elizabeth didn’t know quite how to digest all of this information. She had been there, in the past, holding the premature baby girl, Queen Mary’s surviving twin. She had helped rescue that baby. Could she have been that baby? And how could she exist as two beings in one-time frame? It was all too much to take in at once.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Gran scolded Jamie. She slid closer to her granddaughter to offer comfort. She reached her arms around the young woman’s shoulders and patted her tenderly on the back. “Too much information all at once.”
“She has a right to know.” Jamie was defensive, remaining poised at the entrance to the sitting room where his pacing had come to a stop. It was as if he was prepared to take flight if necessary.
“Is it all true, Gran?” Mary Elizabeth angled her ashen face toward her grandmother, tears trickling down her cheeks unchecked. She didn’t know why she was crying. It didn’t make sense. Nothing seemed to make sense any more. “How could I be there holding myself as a baby? A person can’t exist twice in one time and place, can they?”
“Yes, my child.” Gran patted the young woman’s shoulder affectionately. She let out a deep, pent-up sigh. “It is all true, all that Jamie told you. I am your real grandmother, the mother of Mary Queen of Scots, who was your mother. You are quite right that one person cannot exist twice in one time, but this was an anomaly because you had just been born and were not quite living yet. And if my dear friend here, who you fondly refer to as Mrs. D, had not taken you from that time and place and brought you to the present time, you would probably not be living then or now. Preemies did not live long in the sixteenth century, if at all. Mrs. Dickson brought the baby, Princess Mary Elizabeth, you, here to Toronto, and I immediately took you to Emergency at Sick Children’s Hospital to have you admitted into the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit where they placed you in an incubator. They saved your life.”
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