Moonlight Wishes In Time

by Bess McBride

  “I think the answer may lie in the full moon upon which we both made our wishes,” he murmured, almost as if he talked to himself. “It will not be full again for thirty days.” He threw her a sideways look. “I am not quite sure what you wished for, and I beg leave to keep my desires private, but I cannot help wonder if they did not have a commonality which in some strange way brought us together.” He cleared his throat and reached for his tea. “Speculation, of course. We may never know.” He met her eyes briefly over the edge of his cup and looked away.

  “So, are you suggesting that on the next full moon—in a month—we both make a wish for me to return?”

  William set his cup down and clasped his hands in front of his stomach. He nodded.

  “That is correct. At exactly ten-thirty in the evening.”

  Mattie rested her chin on top of her knees. A month. Too long? Not long enough? She gazed at William with an inward sigh. Not long enough, she thought.

  “Do you have any idea what I should do until then? Is there somewhere—”

  “You will stay here, of course. I have had little time to form a plan, but I have some rudimentary thoughts. It would be disastrous should anyone discover that you have come from the future. We will have to acquaint my mother and sister with our…secret”—his lips twitched again—“so that they may assist us in finding you suitable clothing and a plausible story for your presence here in the house. My mother has scheduled several parties and at least one rout during the month.” He gave her a wry smile. “She wishes to see me married and is going to great lengths to achieve that end.”

  Mattie’s heart dropped to her stomach. Nowhere in her fantasies did her dream man marry someone else!

  “I see,” she murmured. “Well, I really don’t need to be much trouble. If there is a small room, maybe where the servants sleep? I could stay out of the way.” She offered him a helpful smile, though it wavered at the end.

  “That is out of the question, Miss Crockwell. I do not think you are a servant. If I may ask”—William hesitated—“what is your station? You mentioned you work in a bank. Do you assist your father, perhaps? Some male relative? I am not familiar with women in banking.”

  “My station?” she repeated as her smile broadened. “This is straight out of a Jane Austen novel, I swear. I really didn’t think people talked like that.” She pressed her wayward lips together at the narrowing of his eyes.

  “I’m sorry.” She winced at the severity of his look. “Yes, my station. Well, I work for a living. No, my father doesn’t own the bank. I am just an employee there.”

  “An employee,” he repeated thoughtfully. “And your family? Are they landowners?”

  “Well, my parents owned their home in Nebraska, but they both passed away several years ago. They were older, and I was an only child.”

  William brought his eyes together in a frown and inclined his head.

  “My condolences, madam. I am afraid I have not heard of this…Nuhbrasska…but assume it is in America. And with whom do you reside at present?”

  “I live by myself…in an apartment.”

  He quirked a surprised eyebrow.

  “Alone? In your own apartments? Without a companion? How unusual!”

  Mattie grinned. William was definitely having a hard time wrapping his head around her lifestyle, and she didn’t blame him. She’d read enough Georgian- and Victorian-era literature—even the good stuff—to know that most young women did not live on their own, and certainly no women of the upper classes.

  “No, William. No companion. Just me.”

  He shook his head.

  “Perhaps we could avoid sharing that bit of information with my mother and sister. The former would be shocked, and the latter would no doubt pounce upon such a notion as an excellent idea.” He gave her a quick bow. “I certainly do not mean to impugn your customs.”

  “Of course.” Mattie nodded with a smile.

  William checked his watch once before stowing it away in his vest.

  “Well, Miss Crockwell,” he said heavily, “I think it is time I go to see my mother. We must enlist her aid if I am to keep you safe over the coming month.”

  Mattie watched him rise, admiring the long, lean lines of his legs and thrilling to the words “if I am to keep you safe.” She stood to follow him to the door. He turned before he opened the door, looking down into her upturned face.

  “You would do well to finish your breakfast, Miss Crockwell. You will need your strength, for my mother will surely wish to interview you at length, and much more rigorously than I.”

  Mattie’s heart thumped with anxiety, and it must have shown in her face. William softened his voice and regarded her kindly.

  “Do not worry, Miss Crockwell. You will remain here at the house under my protection. I am master here.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Sinclair. Good luck,” she murmured as he slipped through the door.

  ****

  William tapped on his mother’s door and entered on hearing her response.

  “Good morning, Mother. How are you?”

  Lucy Sinclair relaxed on a small sapphire-blue velvet sofa sipping hot chocolate, a fetching lace cap perched on her blonde curls, a confection of white lace and pink satin covering her from neck to toe.

  She looked at him in surprise and offered up her cheek for a kiss. William obliged and straightened. He dropped down into a matching blue velvet wingback chair.

  “What brings you here so early, William? I would have thought you to be riding this morning. It looks to be a fine day.” His mother’s crystal blue eyes strayed toward the open window.

  “I have a matter to discuss with you, Mother, and it cannot wait.”

  His mother lifted a well-groomed eyebrow. “Indeed. Good news, perhaps? Did you meet someone last night after all?” She set her cup of chocolate down on a mahogany side table and eyed him with interest.

  William, who had been staring at the floor, jerked his head up at her words. He stared at her for a moment.

  “One might say that.” He could not help but smile. His mother seemed to have a sixth sense about many things, but had no inkling how close she was to the truth—and yet how far.

  “And who is the fortunate young woman?” She seemed almost to hold her breath, if one could ever witness her doing such a common thing. William hated to disappoint her, but disappoint her he must.

  He jumped up restlessly. “If you have no objections, Mother, I think Sylvie must be here. It would be foolish to discuss the same matter twice. With your permission, I shall call her in.”

  “William? Is something wrong?”

  He had reached the door when he turned to see her staring at him with an expression of alarm. He thought to allay her fears but realized he really could not.

  “That remains to be seen, madam.”

  He strode across the hall in three steps and tapped on his sister’s door.

  “Enter,” she called in a voice husky with sleep.

  William opened the door to find the room in darkness, Sylvie still drowsing in bed. He crossed the room to open the heavy velvet drapes, ignoring the subsequent protests.

  “Out of bed, sister. I need you to come to Mother’s room.”

  Sylvie shot up with a look of alarm matching his mother’s face. “Is something wrong? Mother?”

  “No, no. She is fine. I have a matter of some importance to discuss with both of you, and it cannot wait for long.”

  Sylvie slid nimbly out of bed and grabbed a shawl from a nearby chair while William waited at the door. When she came within arm’s length, he ruffled her hair as he had done when they were younger. She tried to tousle his as well, but failed to reach his head, even on tiptoes.

  “So, what is this important matter?” she mumbled through a yawn as he opened the door to allow her to precede him.

  “You must wait until we reach Mother’s room. I feel I can only explain this once, therefore I wanted to speak to you both at the same time.”

&
nbsp; Sylvie paused to stare at him. “This sounds serious, brother. Need I be concerned?”

  With a hand on his mother’s door, William cocked his head and gave her a small half-smile.

  “I am not sure, my dear. Perhaps,” he murmured, his smile broadening despite his best intentions to remain grave. Interspersed with moments of gravity at the implication of Miss Crockwell’s presence were moments when he felt an unexpected giddiness. He supposed it was from lack of sleep.

  They stepped into the room to see their mother seated on the settee in an alert manner.

  “Good morning, Mother. What do you suppose our Will is about this morning?” Sylvie mumbled as she shuffled across the room, kissed her mother’s cheek and settled next to her in a corner of the settee.

  “I have no idea, dear. We so rarely have these ‘family’ meetings and almost never at this hour.” Mrs. Sinclair turned a pointed look toward the Ormolu clock on the mantle.

  William ignored her look and leaned against the mantle, regarding the women of his family. Fully aware he was making matters worse by prevaricating, he was uncertain as to how to proceed.

  “Well, William?” his mother prompted. “What is it? I admit to being quite intrigued, although somewhat concerned about the frown upon your brow. Somehow, I feel that you cannot have felicitous news to impart.”

  William made a conscious effort to smooth his brow.

  “I apologize for intruding upon you both so early this morning. If I felt the matter could wait, I would certainly have allowed you to take breakfast before approaching you, but as it is, I think I need your immediate assistance.”

  “Whatever is wrong, William? The matter sounds urgent.” Sylvie straightened and leaned forward, her mother’s blue eyes mirrored on her own face.

  William regarded the two women on the settee, so alike in appearance and temperament. Intelligent and gracious with impeccable manners, as befitted their station and training. His sister possessed a natural kindness, which his mother shared—albeit with somewhat more reserve.

  He drew in a deep breath, depending on their graciousness.

  “Last night, I stepped outside and took a short stroll in the garden.”

  “To which I expressed my displeasure,” Mrs. Sinclair murmured.

  “Yes, I am afraid I needed some air, Mother. The dinner parties can be so…stifling at times.”

  “The caged bird sings,” she responded with a sardonic half-smile.

  “Go on, William,” Sylvie urged. “You went outside…” she prompted.

  “I found myself wishing on the moon…” He paused and raised a hand to his mouth to cough slightly, wishing he had left that detail out as his mother’s eyebrows quirked once again and her smile widened.

  “Ah, the moon,” Mrs. Sinclair interjected in a faintly acerbic manner.

  “William! How sweet!” Sylvie chuckled.

  “Yes, well, that is beside the point,” he added hastily. “As I was saying, I was in the garden for only a few moments. When I turned to return to the house, I stumbled over something—a fairly large something.” A vision of pink fluff brought an involuntary twitch to his lips.

  “Well, what was it, Will?” Sylvie prompted.

  “A woman.” A gasp and a rustle of silk wrappers warned him to hurry through his explanation before the expected barrage of questions came his way. He clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace, avoiding their eyes for the moment. “I am not yet sure how she came to be there, but she had fainted. I picked her up and brought her into the kitchen, where Mrs. White saw to her until I was able to return after the dinner party to see if she would require a doctor.”

  “William!” his mother predictably remonstrated. “This is most irregular. You should have sent for a doctor at once.”

  William paused and faced his mother.

  “I doubt you would say that had you been in my situation, Mother. You see, she was in her…em…well, she was in her sleeping garments.”

  “Out on the lawn? Our lawn? Surely you jest, William,” Mrs. Sinclair said incredulously.

  “Who is she? Did you send for the physician? What happened?” Sylvie perched on the edge of the settee, her eyes sparkling.

  “I do not know who she is,” William replied with a shake of his head. “She did not appear to need a physician, as she appears to be quite well.” He resumed his pacing to give himself time to parry his mother’s inevitable questions.

  “Appears?” his mother said sharply. “William! Is she still in the house?”

  He paused and nodded.

  “Yes, she is—”

  “But, Will, who is she?” Sylvie interrupted with wide eyes. “Does she not have a home of her own? How could she wander about in her sleeping garments in someone’s garden? Is she a guest of one of the servants?”

  William shook his head and held up a hand.

  “Be patient, Sylvie, and I will finish the story.”

  His sister sealed her lips and waited. His mother’s mouth was closed as well, but her lips seemed to be pressed together as if to bite her tongue—for the moment. He knew the look well.

  “You will believe me to be crazy or you will believe her to be crazy, so I will just say this as best I might. She is clearly not from England and states she is from America. She is not staying with anyone and has no idea how she came to be in the garden except that”—he hesitated, dreading his next words—“she also wished on the moon at the same time…from her own home in America.” He looked away from his audience’s confused expressions. “We believe some phenomenon has occurred, that in fact, she may very well have”—another cough behind his hand to clear his throat, which threatened to seize—“traveled through time.”

  Instead of the expected onslaught of questions, his words were received with acute silence. He had halted his pacing and turned to face his mother and sister, whose expressions could be called comical if he were in such a fanciful mood. Even his elegant, usually unflappable mother had allowed her jaw to slacken as she stared at him. Sylvie matched her expression.

  He took a deep breath and exhaled deeply as he dropped into the blue chair near the settee. What was the worst that could occur? They would laugh at him? Scream?

  Surprisingly, it was Sylvie who first broke the silence with a whisper.

  “Is that possible?” she whispered as she leaned forward.

  William, grateful for such a muted response, shrugged.

  “I do not know, but I have no other explanation for her presence. When you meet her, you will know that she is…not one of us.” He pressed his lips together. He could have phrased that in a better manner. “That is to say, she seems…different.”

  “Where is she, Will?” Sylvie scooted to the edge of the settee once again. “I am anxious to meet her.”

  “She is down the hall in the green bedchamber, Sylvie,” said William, his eyes on his mother, whose cheeks were unusually red. “I shall introduce you in good time.”

  “You put a stranger on the same floor as your sister? Was that wise, William?” William was not surprised to see his mother stiffen.

  “I had no other suitable room for her, Mother. I did not want to pique the servants’ curiosity by putting her in their quarters. Mrs. White is the only one who knows she is here. She seems harmless, albeit as confused as I about her current circumstances.” He gave a slight shake of his head.

  Mrs. Sinclair rose swiftly.

  “Is she awake? We shall dress and go to meet her at once.”

  William jumped up.

  “Well, you see, that is part of the problem. She does not have any clothing with her except what she would normally wear to…bed.”

  His mother turned a narrowed eye on him. “Ah, yes, so you said. Sylvie, run back to your room and put on a morning frock. I will dress as well. Return in twenty minutes, and we shall go to meet our ‘guest.’ Since she will not yet be dressed, perhaps it would be better, William, if we visited her alone.”

  “No, Mother, that will not
do. I intend to be present when you meet her. She is frightened enough and is depending on me.”

  He was aware that Sylvie jumped up and watched the battle of wills between them with rounded eyes.

  “As you wish,” his mother murmured with a slight inclination of her head.

  William held the door open for Sylvie, who dashed across the hall with unbridled excitement. He checked his watch and returned to his own room, there to pace while he waited for his mother and sister to finish dressing. He studied the closed door of the green room as he passed, wishing he could pop in and reassure Miss Crockwell, who undoubtedly thought she had been abandoned by now, but he thought it best to keep his mother and sister from the knowledge that he had already seen her in her undressed state that morning, let alone slept in her room.

  He heard the creak of a door opening in the hallway and poked his head out. Sylvie, now dressed in a light blue silk day dress and busily trying to pin her unruly golden curls atop her head, dropped the effort and beckoned to him.

  “Will!” she whispered as he approached. “This is so exciting. How lucky you are to have such an adventure.”

  William grinned and shook his head. He took his sister by the shoulders and turned her around to pull the drawstrings of her dress tight in the back and tie them, a task he had performed more than once during their youth.

  “I am not certain that is the case, my dear. Mother seems less…enthusiastic than you, I am afraid.”

  “Thank you, Will. I know I look a fright, but I did not wish to wait for the maid to help me dress,” Sylvie murmured as she took his hand. “Come, Mother must be dressed by now.” Sylvie dragged him across the hall and tapped on their mother’s door.

  Upon the sound of Mrs. Sinclair’s voice, Sylvie opened the door and stepped in. Their mother, lovely and elegant in a cream-colored frock, sat on a stool at her dressing table and adjusted a few curls as they peeped out from her frothy lace cap.

  “Thank you, Mary. That will do,” Mrs. Sinclair said to the older, gray-haired woman who gathered up her mistress’s discarded nightclothes.

  “Yes, mum.” Mary, a plump, motherly woman, dipped a quick curtsey and worked her way out of the room with a swipe at an imaginary dust speck here and there, and a beaming smile for her mistress’s two children.