by Paige Elwood
Slowly rising from the bed on shaky legs, Sophie took a deep breath and blinked back tears. She knew believing in something so unbelievable had to be insane. Yet, she couldn’t deny what she’d experienced so far felt real, was real.
She thought of her family and friends back home in California. Especially Claire. Would they be worried now? Would they have noticed? They couldn’t have noticed; that time hadn’t happened yet. This was so confusing. If she was here, she couldn’t be in her time. Would she still exist in her time or had she irreversibly changed it when she arrived? Was time frozen in her century?
Her head hurt from all of the thinking, so she put it all to one side for now. She couldn’t answer any of those questions, and she couldn’t actually do anything about it right now. All she had control over at the moment was getting dressed and not looking out of place, so that’s what she would concentrate on. She took off the young man’s cloak, her fingers fumbling on the brooch before she managed to find the clasp and undo it.
Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the bare stone walls and the floor. They landed on the chamber pot and her bladder reminded her that she really did need to go. She’d somehow been able to ignore it with everything else going on, but the urge was back now stronger than ever. She really wanted there to be a proper toilet to use, but as her father used to say, if wishes were horses then beggars would ride. So, she swallowed her pride and used the chamber pot.
She supposed it wasn’t so bad, but should she tip it out of the window now, or not? Did everyone do that? Or, because she was staying in an inn would there be somebody who did that? Was she even a paying guest, she wondered? She certainly had no money. Dread filled her as she considered what she would do if the innkeeper showed up at her door demanding payment. Maybe she’d have to empty all the chamber pots for free! She shuddered.
A small wooden closet graced the space next to the bed, and she assumed that was where the clothes lived. She opened the doors to find a few garments hanging there. Where had they come from? She hadn’t existed in this time a mere twenty-four hours ago, so she certainly didn’t own any time appropriate clothing. She grabbed a handful of the rough, brown material of one of the dresses. It might be drab, but the brown dress would blend in with the other women much better than her luxuriously soft nightdress. Sophie pulled it out of the closet, unsure how to put it on properly.
It’s just a dress, and you have a fashion degree, she chided herself, but looking at the ties on the dress she just didn’t know where to start.
She decided to begin with something easier instead, and so she looked around for a mirror to sort out her undoubtedly messy hair. She found a murky slab of glass she assumed was a mirror. It was mounted in a wooden handle and lay next to a large bowl that held a stone jug of cold water. The sink, she supposed.
She tipped some water into the bowl and picked up the mirror to inspect herself. The murky glass gave a poor reflection, but it was enough to make out that she really did look a terrible mess.
As expected, her hair stuck up in several places and seemed matted in others. Her filthy, dirt-steaked face made her look like a beggar, or a crazy person! Sophie searched the room for a comb, but found none, so she resorted to using her fingers. She splashed her face with water, gritting her teeth against the chill.
The wet material of the nightgown clung around her thighs and calves, and her legs itched from being in contact with the sodden silk. She was about to remove the offending nightdress and do her best to work out how to put on the brown dress, but then a soft knock on the door disturbed her. She froze, startled. Was it the innkeeper come to demand the money she didn’t have? Or Edouard deciding that he would come and help her regardless of her wishes? The soft rapping came again, followed by the sound of a woman’s voice.
Sophie relaxed a little. Maybe they did have maids to empty the pots, and this was who was at her door. She walked to the door, still a little unsure, and then flung it wide open.
To her intense shock, Helene stood there, an ivory comb in her hand. “Helene!?” Sophie exclaimed, throwing her arms around the familiar face without caring how or why she was here. The woman struggled under her effusive embrace, and when Sophie pulled back, she saw that Helene looked confused.
“Helene?” she said again, studying the other woman’s face. The same face she’d seen behind the reception desk at the hotel, although perhaps a little younger. The hair held a little less gray and had a few darker streaks, but it was still undoubtedly Helene.
“I am Sabine,” the woman said, in Helene’s voice and excellent English, perhaps slightly more accented. “Your friend sent me to check you are managing.”
“But I know you,” Sophie said, her voice cracking at the end. She’d been so pleased to see a familiar, friendly face in this horrible place. And how could this woman look so much like Helene? It wasn’t just family resemblance, not from all those centuries ago.
“He is concerned you are taking a long time. May I come in?” she asked, her tone polite, but she waltzed through the door before Sophie had a chance to protest.
“Is this your undershift?” Sabine asked, waving a hand at Sophie’s nightdress. “I have not seen one like this before.”
“It’s my nightdress,” Sophie said, bemused.
Sabine made a little ‘huh’ sound and pulled out a long, shapeless white garment from the closet. “Then you shall wear this undershift,” she announced, handing it to Sophie and gesturing that she should take off the chemise. Sophie did as Sabine asked, a little embarrassed at stripping in front of the strange woman that looked like her friend.
She pulled on the white garment, which she found to be a little softer than the brown dress had been. Still, it was certainly not the most comfortable item of clothing she’d ever worn. Sabine rummaged in the closet and pulled out a dark green dress that looked nicer than the brown one.
“These are not my clothes,” she confessed to Sabine, worrying about what would happen if the real owner of the clothes came back. Was this somebody else’s room?
“I know,” Sabine said. “They are my sister’s. We left them in this room when she passed away.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sophie said. Sadness for Sabine’s loss filled her, along with a little horror at the idea of wearing a dead woman’s clothes.
“I think I’m crazy,” she said to Sabine. “Last night I went to sleep in the twenty-first century…in…in my time, and then I woke up here. In the fifteenth century. That’s crazy, right?” The words tumbled out of her. Maybe she really was insane, and Sabine would take her to the crazy house. If she was crazy, maybe they could help her there.
Sabine nodded but didn’t respond, pulling the girdle on the dress tight and fastening it. Sophie squeaked a little at the restriction.
“Am I crazy?” Sophie asked, her voice getting higher and higher pitched. “I just told you I time traveled.” When she didn’t respond again, Sophie whirled round and grasped her shoulders, shaking her a little. “Hello!” she yelled. “I traveled back in time. I’m from the future!”
Sabine wrinkled her nose as though Sophie smelled bad, and removed her grip from her shoulders. She sat Sophie down firmly on the bed.
“I know,” she said.
“What do you mean you know!?” Sophie squeaked. “How do you know?” She shook her head and then hope gripped her. “Do you know how I get back?” She pleaded, grasping Sabine’s apron and pleading. “If you know, tell me how,” she said.
Sabine shook her head. “I do not know exactly how you get back,” she said, keeping her eyes locked steadily onto Sophie’s. “I do know you will go back.”
“How do you know? What do you know about how I got here?”
“I have heard of time travelers. I knew one once,” she said. “There must be something for you to learn here, and when you do, you ca go home. There are powerful forces at work. But be assured, you will go back to your home, to your time.”
“Learn? What do I need to le
arn?”
“That, I do not know, but I am sure you will find out soon. I do not believe anyone time travels against their will for very long. Do not panic.”
“Don’t panic?” Sophie almost laughed at the absurdity of it. This strange woman was telling her, in a matter-of-fact tone, that she’d time traveled but not to panic because she’d go back at some point? When? How?
“Try to stay calm,” Sabine instructed again. “You will learn what you need to, and then you will return. You are not trapped.”
“How do you know?” Sophie said, her voice still an octave higher than usual. She could feel her pulse thumping in her neck.
“You are never trapped, this I just know,” Sabine said, fussing over Sophie’s dress again as a signal that the conversation was over.
So, I’m supposed to just take her word for it, Sophie thought. Maybe she’s crazier than me!
It was a little reassuring to be believed, and Sabine really did seem completely at ease with the whole concept. Maybe people did just appear in medieval France all the time?
Just go with it as much as you can, she thought. At least one person doesn’t think you’re crazy, and she does seem sure that this is temporary. If you do have something to learn, you’ll need to be present and paying attention. Otherwise, how will you know when you’ve learned it? She rubbed her eyes wearily. This was ridiculous, but what choice did she have?
Sabine pulled the comb through Sophie’s hair. Sophie thought she’d done a reasonable job with her fingers, but the comb kept finding tangles that made her wince as it tore through them. After that, Sabine used a cloth to wipe Sophie’s face. Sophie felt like a small child again, having somebody else do such basic tasks for her.
When Sabine was done, she held up the mirror for Sophie to see. Now that she was fully dressed, she was calmer, resigned to just dealing with the absurdity for now. She smoothed her hands over her silhouette, wishing there was a better mirror.
The girdle had pulled the material in at the waist, so her hips jutted out. She also noticed that the green material accentuated the emeralds in her ring. It seemed to fit well enough considering it was not her dress. A little loose on the bust but otherwise it seemed fine.
“Thank you,” Sophie said, squinting to see in the terrible mirror. Her face was clean, her hair was shiny, and the dress seemed to accentuate her modest chest. She had to admit, she looked a lot better.
As Sabine placed the mirror down, a small brooch she wore glinted in the sun, catching Sophie’s eye.
“Your brooch,” Sophie said, pointing to the delicate Celtic knotwork of the silver brooch. “It’s unusual, like my ring.” She held up her hand with the ring on so that the other woman could see it. “Isn’t it strange that it’s the same pattern?”
Sabine shrugged. “Your ring, it is from Paris?”
“Yes,” Sophie said.
“There are only two jewelers in Paris, and one has a fancy for this style.”.
Sophie narrowed her eyes. Why didn’t Sabine find it odd that Sophie had no idea how to dress herself, or that she apparently had no clothes.
“Why did you let me wear your sister’s clothes?” Sophie asked.
“Edouard said you needed them,” Sabine replied, “and my sister does not need them.”
Sophie nodded, still certain that there was a piece of this puzzle that she was missing. She let it go. It was obvious that she wasn’t going to get any more answers right now from Sabine.
“You are hungry?” Sabine asked.
Sophie nodded. “I don’t have any money though,” she confessed, her eyes to the floor. “For the room, either.”
“Edouard has taken care of it. Follow me,” she instructed, leading Sophie down the stairs to the kitchen.
They passed through a bar area where a couple of men ate and drank silently at large wooden tables. Sabine ushered her through the door to the kitchen. “It is not good for a woman alone to sit here,” she explained, “the kitchen is better.”
The kitchen was bustling with activity. Two women and a kitchen boy busied themselves preparing food, and an enormous cauldron sat atop a blazing fire, billowing steam that made the kitchen almost uncomfortably warm.
Sabine sat her at a small table near the back of the room and placed a bowl of what looked like oats in front of her. Moments later one of the other women placed a hunk of fresh bread down next to the bowl.
“Bon appétit,” Sabine said, before leaving Sophie alone in the kitchen with the help, who were too busy getting on with their work to pay Sophie any attention.
She turned her attention to the food in front of her. The tankard contained a weak, watery ale, and Sophie wrinkled her nose. She’d definitely rather have coffee. Ale, in the morning? But then she realized she actually had no idea what time it was.
The porridge looked gray and tasted a little salty, but Sophie devoured it anyway. She savored the warm, soft bread, which had obviously been baked freshly that morning. The food was plain, but filling, and Sophie was refreshed after eating. Paris was playing havoc with her resolution to eat fewer carbs!
She sipped reluctantly at the watery ale, unsure about it. But her thirst clawed at her throat and she only had the ale available to slake it in the absence of a faucet, or a vending machine.
Dressed and fed now, Sophie felt a little more human. Unfortunately, along with that came a sense of being solidly in this reality, this unfamiliar time. How long would she be here? How did she get here? She glanced at the ring that still refused to budge, sure that it had something to do with this. Would the situation right itself, would the ring just take her home soon? If it didn’t she’d have to put her entrepreneurial dreams on hold. Would she end up working in a kitchen like these women?
She watched them kneading, chopping and deftly preparing food. They knew their way around the kitchen and how to use all of these primitive utensils to make food that was unfamiliar to Sophie. They probably learned from their mothers. Sophie’s mother had taught her some cooking skills, based on modern kitchen. She could peel a potato, but could she cook with a fire and a cauldron instead of an electric hob and oven?
Hopefully she wouldn’t be here long enough to need to discover how she might earn enough money to live. She’d get home somehow, and never take her modern life for granted again!
Chapter 12
Before Edouard could rush into the inn to find Sophie, the heavy wooden door of the inn let out a loud, juddering creak, announcing the arrival of Sabine.
“Duc,” she addressed him in a low tone, “the girl is dressed. She is eating in the kitchen at the moment.”
“Does she seem to be accepting the situation?” Edouard asked nervously. The girl’s mood had fluctuated on their way to the inn, and he was concerned she might have a hysterical breakdown once she was in her room alone.
“Mostly, although she did ask me many questions. I think she is suspicious, and she seems intelligent enough to spot lies,” Sabine said. “You need to be careful with her.”
“I know,” he assured her.
“I don’t know that you do.” Sabine’s tone was insistent. “You need to treat the matter…delicately.”
“I can be delicate, Sabine,” he said, his irritation thinly veiled. He didn’t need warnings, he knew exactly what was at stake, more than Sabine did. He hoped Sabine hadn’t done something stupid, like tell her the truth.
“Perhaps,” she agreed. “You have only a short time to break the curse. After that, we are beyond all help.”
“I will be careful,” he assured her, brushing his irritation aside. Sabine just wanted this to work, he reminded himself.
“Timing will be everything, don’t rush her and don’t miss an opportunity when it presents itself,” she continued.
Edouard nodded. Delicacy was not his strong suit, but Sabine was right. Too long and he’d run out of time, too soon and she’d flee back to her own time and all would be lost. He needed somewhere more comfortable for Sophie to stay while she
adjusted to this time.
“Sabine, could you go to Madame Petellier’s for me?” he asked. “Tell her our special guest is arriving soon and I will, of course, pay all expenses.”
Sabine nodded. “Yes.”
“Thank you.”
“It is in all of our interests that the girl stays, isn’t it?” She shrugged, before she strode off in the direction of Madame Petellier’s home.
Edouard watched her go, the seriousness of his situation weighing on him. He was standing at a crossroads, the chance to change his future. Everything depended on how he handled the situation now. He entered the inn, quiet at this time as most locals and merchants were out working. Only a handful of men sat at separate tables, eating and drinking quietly. The place would be a raucous drinking den later this evening, Edouard knew. He’d spent many an evening in this inn, escaping the tediousness of endless society parties and the politics his father wanted him to learn. He’d much rather be singing folk songs with a tankard of ale and a bowl of bean cassoulet then eating fine food at his father’s table and cozying up to lords and would-be kings.
He took a seat at one of the wooden tables. Eric, the innkeeper and Sabine’s husband, brought him a tankard of ale. Edouard thanked him and sipped at the ale. He would have preferred wine normally during the day, but it was expensive to import from the southern regions and so most inns had only ale. As the only inn in Paris, the Inn De Sarlat had enough guests to keep them busy, but they were mostly traveling merchants who would rather sleep out on the Quai than pay a lot of coin for their lodgings, and the locals who drank at the inn were not the kind of people that would drink wine. The ale was passable, though, and he considered asking Eric for a hunk of fresh bread to go with it.
He forgot his appetite when his gaze was drawn by the beautiful young woman exiting the kitchen. She glanced around nervously, as if unsure where to go, and Edouard was astonished at the transformation in her. Sophie’s hair was now combed and hung in a smooth and sleek sheet to her shoulders. Gone were the streaks of dirt that had decorated her face, her porcelain skin was clear and even with just a hint of pink in the apples of her cheeks. The dark green dress she wore accentuated the curves of her body, and the emeralds in her ring twinkled as if they were designed to wear with that dress. Despite the dress being cheaply made, and her hair not being swept up in the fashion of the day, Sophie looked every inch the lady.