The Changeling Bride

by Lisa Cach

  Elle stood and turned to go, catching sight of herself in the mirror. She looked awful. With her hair pulled back and close to the head, it made the pouf of handkerchief over her chest and the oversized, overdecorated hat look out of proportion. The styles were made for a great mass of frizzed and ringletted hair. Her face was but a small white blur caught between hat and kerchief.

  Her heart hurt, her body hurt, and she looked terrible. Grief crept like arthritis through her bones. Her muscles were stiff with it, her joints creaked, and as she looked in the mirror, she could see the hollow loss in her eyes, deep and dark and without end, the flesh beneath her wounded eyes shadowed in violet.

  Without another word to Marianne, she left the room, finding her way to the main staircase and down to the ground floor. Each detail of the house that differed from the familiar was a reminder that she was far from home, a reminder that she was trapped alone in an unknown world. For all that these people spoke English and lived in a culture that had given birth to her own, she did not know how to live amongst them.

  She did not know how the house was cleaned, or the food cooked. She did not know how to mail a letter, or travel alone from one place to another, or what to wear at what time of day, or for what occasion. She did not even know how she’d deal with her period when it came.

  Tatiana found her as she was plodding down the steps of the terrace, and bounded over to her in canine high spirits. Elle sat on the stone steps and let Tatiana lick her face and rub her white fur all over the dark blue gown, a reluctant smile coming to her lips. Tatiana at least would think this place a wonderful improvement over Portland. No more cramped apartment; no noisy, smelly cars and trucks to run her over; no visits to the veterinarian; and she would never be left alone while Elle went to work.

  “The beast has found her beauty.”

  Elle looked up. Henry stood at the base of the stairs, hands clasped behind his back. A small clump of white fur was stuck to his breeches, marring an otherwise perfect sartorial statement. He looked well rested and in as complete control of himself as ever.

  “Good morning,” she said, bending her face to Tatiana’s, letting the hat hide her from his view. She dimly recalled having sought comfort in his arms last night and didn’t want to think about it. Anyone would have done just as well, as long as they were warm and alive. Henry just barely qualified.

  “Good morning. It is rather odd, but no one seems to have any recollection of your dog before yesterday.”

  Elle peeked up from under the brim of her hat. What explanation could she possibly give?

  “Still,” Henry continued, “it is quite evident that she knows you. Curious, how such a remarkably noticeable animal could have so thoroughly escaped notice.”

  “Yes, quite curious. Are we leaving soon?” The longer she remained in Eleanor’s home, the more likely she was to do things that Eleanor wouldn’t, and have them noticed. At least when she was alone with Henry, he wouldn’t know what was normal, and it would be the most natural thing in the world for her to ask questions.

  “I had thought to give you some time in which to wish your family farewell, and then to be gone by the noon hour.”

  “Then I should go pack.”

  “Surely your maid has seen to that by now? I believe that several of your trunks have already been loaded on the coach that will carry both her and your belongings.”

  “Oh. Of course. It’s just the good-byes that are waiting, then.”

  “Eleanor—”

  “Elle, Henry. If you’re going to call me anything, please call me Elle.”

  “My apologies. I thought you might wish to rescind that verbal intimacy after our wedding night.”

  “As I recall, it was intimacy of only the verbal sort that I was interested in pursuing.”

  “So it was. And now you have a full day in a closed carriage with me to indulge your wish.”

  Elle frowned at him. Was there humor in his voice? The man was so damn unreadable. “Right. I can hardly wait. Where are we going for our honeymoon?”

  Although his answer came in a cool, disinterested tone and nothing in his composed stance changed, she had the feeling that the question made him uncomfortable. “A wedding trip will not be possible at this time.”

  “Oh.” She wondered if money had anything to do with that decision. “So we’re going straight to your place. Where is it again, exactly?”

  “Dorset, near the Frome.”

  She had no idea where either Dorset or the Frome were. Or what, exactly, the Frome was. “What else is nearby?”

  “Dorchester is not far.”

  She was afraid to ask any more. Something in his look told her she should know all this already. “Mmm. Well. I’m very much looking forward to seeing your home.”

  “Our home, now.”

  “Yes. Ours.” It was a strange but not completely unwelcome thought.

  The family good-byes, when they came, were remarkably easy. There was the same well-wishing, the same confusion of voices, the same promises to write as there were in the modern world. Several guests had come down to the front hall for the final farewell, adding a note of merriment to the more somber mood of the immediate family. The only person she was sorry to leave was Louise, who pulled her aside for a semiprivate tearful and melodramatic good-bye.

  “My dear sister, you are married, and must now live under the rule of a man you despise! You shall write to me, and never fear but that I shall be here when you are in need of succor.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Louise, he’s not an ogre. He’s not going to beat me.”

  “But you despise him, and how can the tender heart of woman survive in such a cruel, loveless environment?”

  “I think the tender heart of woman will do just fine.”

  “Do you mean you have found some tenderness for him?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “I must admit, I was surprised when I saw him. You had led me to believe he was most uncouth, and disagreeable to look upon.” Louise’s voice dropped as she continued, “And he does look to be a cold man, but he is not without appeal. One wonders what goes on behind those black eyes, whether there are wicked thoughts that he hides from us.”

  Elle realized that Louise had never actually met Henry before the wedding: Whatever she had known of him had been based upon discussions that Eleanor had had with her. “I’m sure with a little training, he’ll make a most civil husband.”

  “I am glad to hear I am not an intractable case,” Henry said from behind her.

  She felt the warm weight on his hands on her shoulders, a proprietary gesture that bespoke an intimacy they did not share, although she could not deny a reluctant pleasure at the touch. She smiled weakly at Louise, then turned. “They say that the first step in change is to recognize that you have a problem. I am encouraged to hear that you have surmounted that obstacle.”

  “With the patient guidance of your gentle hand, no doubt I will soon overcome all barriers to domestic bliss,” he replied.

  Elle narrowed her eyes at him. She was deeply suspicious he had meant that as a double entendre, only he couldn’t have known she caught it. She set her jaw and suffered through the remainder of the good-byes, ignoring her husband as well as she could.

  The carriage that awaited them was nowhere near so grand as the one that had taken her to the church, even to her untutored eye. There was no gloss to its black exterior, and the coat of arms on the door was faded and chipped. She realized with a queer feeling that that heraldic symbol was now hers, as well. Her family back in Oregon could trace their family tree for three or four generations at best, in only a few directions. Some of her great-great-grandparents were completely unknown, shadowy figures with neither name nor face. Henry probably had records of his family going back several hundred years.

  The interior of the coach was no better than the outside. The leather seats were cracked in places, the cushions indented from the pressure of years of behinds. Tatiana promptly s
at herself upon a seat near a window, panting happily at the bright scene outside. Henry followed the dog inside, apparently not caring that he was to share the carriage with a shedding canine. Elle reluctantly gave him points for not asking her to put Tatiana in the servant’s coach, as someone like the loathsome Toby would have done if he could. Then again, it wasn’t as if there was much damage the dog could do to the decrepit conveyance.

  Elle sat beside Tatiana, her back to the front of the carriage. Henry sat across from her, his legs stretched out on a diagonal that, while not interfering with her own legroom, all the same left her very aware of his presence. There was a final chorus of farewells from the steps of the house, and then they were off, hooves clattering and springs squeaking.

  Elle kept her face turned to the window, studiously observing the scenery as they rolled and jolted by. Her initial purpose was to avoid looking at Henry, but the trees and rolling countryside reminded her of Oregon, and soon she was lost in her own thoughts. Tears stung her eyes, and the corners of her mouth turned the slightest bit down despite her efforts to remain stone-faced.

  She felt Henry’s eyes upon her and stiffened, praying that everything about her posture suggested she wished to be alone. He seemed to take the hint and remained silent. After a time she risked a glance at him, and saw that he had slouched down in his seat, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes shut. He was napping. Insensitive clod.

  Gradually, as the carriage rocked and jolted over mile after mile of uneven road, her stomach began to roil in protest, replacing emotional misery with physical. She was getting carsick. She took off her hat and tossed it on the seat beside Henry, then pulled the kerchief from her bodice to dab the sweat from her face. Sweating was a bad sign, as was the saliva flooding her mouth. Tatiana seemed in a similar predicament. The Samoyed was lying on the seat now, her ears flattened to her head, her white-rimmed eyes gazing up at Elle beseechingly, big and brown and unspeakably woeful.

  A deep pothole gave the carriage a lurch that bounced Henry’s head off the wall, waking him from his nap. His eyes went to her, taking in her dishevelment, and then Tatiana gave a little huffing cough. It was all the warning he needed.

  “Stop at once!” he called out the window, rapping at the same time on the roof of the compartment. Before the wheels had completely stopped turning, he had the door open, the step lowered, and was quickly assisting her to the ground, Tatiana pushing her way past Elle’s skirts. Elle tried to push him away, but he held tight to her, leading her to the ditch and holding her as she leaned over and retched. She heard Tatiana hacking in her own misery a short distance away.

  Elle straightened up, her ribs aching. The convulsions of her muscles within the confines of the stays had been excrutiating. She couldn’t remain in this century and live like this. She had to find a way home. She brought the back of her shaking hand up to wipe her mouth, her kerchief having fallen between the coach and the ditch.

  “Let me,” Henry said, pulling out his own kerchief and wiping at her chin, then cleaning off the back of her hand. She felt like a baby being cleaned of spit-up, and only wished she were as free of embarrassment. She stood staring with unseeing eyes at the trees and fields in front of her, trying to pretend this was not happening.

  “Better?” Henry asked.

  Elle blinked and tried to focus on him. She looked over at the carriage, a shudder passing through her. “How much farther?”

  Henry called to one of the footmen for an answer. “We have just passed through Amesbury, which means we have another three or four hours to go. The inns around here are not particularly pleasant, but we could stop at one. Otherwise, there is a place a few miles ahead that would make a pleasant stop for a picnic. There is a hamper of food.”

  “I think I would prefer to be outside.” The last thing she wanted was to eat, but sitting outside on the grass sounded about the speed she could handle. She could nibble some bread and drink some water, and breathe fresh air.

  They returned to the carriage, Henry directing her to sit facing forward this time and to keep her eyes to the window. Tatiana’s tail was low and motionless when the dog was called to return, but she came. Elle gave her a sympathetic smile, she looked so depressed.

  They rumbled off, Elle keeping her eyes glued to the horizon. The fresh breeze felt wonderful on her face, and if it weren’t for the taste of vomit still in her mouth, she could almost enjoy herself. Riding facing forward was a vast improvement, even if Henry now sat beside her. She almost felt sorry for him. She imagined she made an unappealing enough wife, without retching into a ditch. After that little performance, she probably didn’t need to worry about him trying to exercise his marital rights.

  They traveled for some twenty minutes more, then pulled to a halt. She saw nothing but a wide plain of grass from her side, with trees in the distance, and wondered what was so special about this location. Henry opened the door for her, once again helping her down, and led her around to the other side of the carriage.

  Elle’s mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened in surprise and joyful recognition. “Stonehenge! Oh, my God, it’s Stonehenge!”

  She left Henry standing there, and picking up her skirts, ran towards the tall stones, scattering a small herd of sheep. She was laughing to no one, Tatiana running and barking beside her. She knew where she was, had seen these rocks a hundred times in pictures and on TV. They looked exactly the same. Gloriously, wondrously, exactly the same. She reached the first stone and pressed herself against it, hugging it. It was rough beneath her cheek and cool. She closed her eyes. This piece of rock was still standing, just as it was at this moment, in her own world two hundred years from now.

  The footmen came past her, carrying the hamper, and set up the picnic on a stone that was lying on the ground at the center of the circle. She felt Henry come up beside her and turned to smile at him.

  “Thank you for bringing me here. You have no idea what it means to me.”

  “Other husbands buy their wives jewels when seeking forgiveness for their transgressions. I shall remember that I have simply to drag you to a pile of rocks, and all will be forgotten.”

  “You think it will be that easy, do you? Well, they have to be very special rocks. I have to have seen them in pictures, you see, and I have not seen many.”

  He took her arm and led her over to the picnic that was waiting for them. She sat on the edge of the stone and allowed him to serve her from the meats and other foods spread out on the cloth.

  “Have you traveled much?” he asked.

  “I haven’t even seen London. But I’ve seen pictures . . . drawings, that is, of many places I’d like to see, both here and in France.”

  “And what places have captured your imagination?”

  “Well, there’s the Tower of London, for one.” She thought for a moment. “London Bridge.” Buckingham Palace? But maybe it had a different name now. “Loch Ness, in Scotland. Cornwall, I’d like to see Cornwall. The cliffs of Dover . . . Stratford-upon-Avon, and Bath. Winchester Cathedral.” She’d heard of the cathedral in a song. Better to move on to France. Surely she could think of better landmarks there, having been a French Studies major in college. “I’d like to see Notre Dame, and L’Arc de Triomphe.”

  “L’Arc de Triomphe. I’ve never heard of it.”

  Elle bit her lip. It was an enormous arch at the end of the Champs Elysees, but when had it been built? Oh, God, Napoléon built it, and surely not for twenty years yet. “Oh, I just saw a picture of it once and thought it was interesting. It’s a stone archway, but I don’t really know where it is. Then I’d like to see Versailles.”

  “I saw Versailles once, many years ago. It is a magnificent palace, but the poverty that the peasants suffer in the surrounding countryside is almost enough to make one understand why they have revolted.”

  “The revolution.” Here was semifamiliar ground. “The guillotine. Poor Marie Antoinette. Certainly she’s been painted as selfish and stupid, but that hardly s
eems reason to have chopped off her head. I’ve often wondered what it would be like to die that way. I’ve heard that there is some awareness still, for several seconds after the head is removed. Do you think that is true?”

  He looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “No one has chopped off the queen’s head. Where did you hear that? She is in prison, along with her children and the king.”

  “Oh. Well, if they haven’t chopped it off yet, they will soon. The king’s, too.”

  “You sound terribly sure of yourself.”

  “Would you want to die that way? I mean, if you had to choose an unnatural end, would you prefer the guillotine?”

  “As opposed to being shot, hung, or beaten to death?”

  “Well, there’s drowning or freezing. If you get too cold, supposedly you get numb and then sleepy. That wouldn’t be too bad, I don’t think. Not as fast as the guillotine, but considerably less bloody. I wouldn’t like to have to anticipate walking up those steps, like the queen must be anticipating.”

  “I hardly think the French people, as angry as they are, will take that final step. Royalty in France has a certain mystique about it that the British version lacks.”

  “I disagree,” she said with all the certainty of history. “The nobles of France will be hunted down and murdered by the common people. The place will be chaos for years. The days of French royalty are over.”

  “You do not know that. Who would take the place of the king? Do you envision a government like that in the colonies? I hardly think such would work with the French. They are too used to a monarchy.”

  Elle raised her eyebrows at him, feeling rather superior. She was no history buff, but she remembered the basics from her courses, and although the dates were fuzzy, she did know a few things. “A young, charismatic leader could take over and bring the country together. When he has France under control, he could then turn his attentions to his neighbors, seeking to conquer them, eventually involving most of Europe. France could cause England trouble for decades.”