Maggie spun around. “Illusions?” she asked with exclamation. “You simply don’t understand that my people are out there,” and she again pointed to the window. “There are people outside this place that don’t act like you, people who are normal! Just let me leave, and I’ll find them, Elthea. I can’t go through with this charade. Robert will find out I’m not this Lady Margaret. I know almost nothing about the Renaissance, except what my aunt told me, and that was about cultural freedom, not about political maneuvering. I’m telling you, I can’t do this!” Maggie turned back to the vanity, sighing with defeat. She leaned on her elbows and rested her chin in her hands forcing her face into a pout.
“You can, and more importantly, you must, child,” Elthea said firmly and turned Maggie back to the mirror as she finished dressing Maggie’s hair. “For not only is Master Nicholas’s life endangered, but mine own welfare is threatened by exposure. Can you not see these cultural freedoms you speak of will be withdrawn if a monarch takes the throne and is supported by the Church? Rome would like nothing better than to keep all but a chosen few in ignorance, for then power is retained and those who sit in power in Rome are very greedy indeed. This is not about you, dear child. ’Tis history, in the making, and remember… history is written by the victors. Those who follow us shall only know what the victors want them to know.”
Again Maggie spun back around. “Listen, Elthea… I can tell you. England stays Protestant. Rome never again regains power here. There’s your history. So you and Nick and everyone else who are so worried right now can relax because you’re the victors.”
Elthea rested her hands on Maggie’s shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Repeatedly, you have insisted you are not of this age, but of a future world. I am inclined to believe many things beyond my comprehension, and such a thing has brought you to my home. And yet, these remain dangerous times in our England. The Queen is aging and has no legal heirs to ascend her throne. She has spent her entire reign outwitting the Spaniards, the French, the Papists, and her own nobility. By not marrying any earthly man and declaring herself married to England, she has safeguarded her reign, yet the throne is still vulnerable to the machinations of those whose only desire is power, not the good of the people. If you know the future, who sits on the throne after Elizabeth?”
Maggie stared blankly into the woman’s eyes. “I don’t know. I can’t remember. And none of this really matters, because it’s not real. History is over and—”
Elthea’s fingers tightened on Maggie’s shoulders. “You must cease this denial once and for all! I know not how you came to be here in this troublesome time, but you are here, not in the year 2000. Such talk is unbalanced, should anyone save myself hear it.” She inhaled slowly. “On the morrow, I shall arrange for you to ride back to the woods and search for your fantastic maze, the faire, your relatives, yet I doubt their existence.”
Maggie felt tears well up in her eyes, and her throat felt like it was closing. “I know they exist… somewhere. I had a life, and I want to get back to it. I must get back to it.”
Elthea closed her eyes briefly and sighed. “Dearest Maggie… how can I make thee comprehend ’tis best not to ask the ‘why’ in all things, but to accept them as possibilities. I know not how such fantastic things happen, yet I do know they have. I have studied ancient scripts, talked to mystical scholars, and have seen writings which mention beings who are verily unexplainable. Other beings traveling to us, bringing knowledge and wondrous messages. I am even told of a legend of paintings found within caves in France, telling of these visitors from the sky.” Elthea paused, as if searching her mind. “Might they have been angels? Perhaps they were visitors from the future—”
“I can’t buy this!” Maggie stood up and began pacing the room. “You… you’re talking about angels, time travelers, UFOs and… and all kinds of stuff that has never been proven. I am just a woman, who had an anxiety attack and got lost in the woods. I didn’t come with any knowledge or great message. Nick brought me here for help to get back home, and now I must insist that you allow me to return when it’s light out again.” She stopped and gazed at Elthea pleadingly. “Look, I’ll help you tonight. I’ll go through with this feast thing, and men I’m done. Tomorrow, I am leaving here if I have to tell Robert myself mat I’m an impostor. It that understood?”
Sadly, Elthea nodded. “I have no desire to hold thee against thy wishes.”
“And you won’t use anything to drug me… no more sleeping potions?”
“I vow to honor thy decision, child. On the morrow, thou shalt depart and hopefully find thy path home. But that is anon. Prithee, be at ease this night, and walk a while in Lady Margaret’s shoes? Rather, you might find this eve to be enjoyable, and an honor. This intense desire to leave quickly just may be vanquished.”
Elthea continued with an inviting lilt. “You have come to this place… to us… at this time, for a reason, child. Perhaps it is to assist us in keeping Rome away from the English throne… it may only be a personal revelation for yourself. Whatever the reason, you are here… in this moment. Seize it, Maggie.”
Memories of sitting in front of the fire during her small breakdown with Aunt Edithe flashed through Maggie’s head. She closed her eyes in disbelief. The irony was too much.
“This night is thine and all shall honor thee.” Elthea tenderly touched Maggie’s chin. “’Tis a burdensome role you have assumed, yet I pray know in thy heart I honor you, Maggie, and am in your debt.”
“Okay… all right, Elthea,” Maggie murmured. “I’ll do it.”
“Then let us depart this chamber, for I believe the festivities in thy honor have begun.”
Maggie couldn’t resist this woman’s smile, nor her charm. Whatever delusions she was suffering from hadn’t diminished her intelligence, her grace, and her kind heart. In any other time, Maggie knew she would want to be Elthea’s friend, for she really did remind her of her own aunt. Smoothing down the ruby-velvet material of her gown, Maggie nodded.
“I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” she muttered.
“Well-done, child. Together, we shall enter the great hall and thy loveliness shall cause all to whisper the Norreys name with awe.”
Maggie chuckled in disbelief. “Yeah, right… Poor Lady Margaret will be known as the silent one after this fiasco.”
“I shall explain all to my blood cousin, the true Lady Margaret. You do bear a strong resemblance to her… enough that she will be astonished should she ever see you, as though she were looking in a mirror.” She paused, then added, “But sometimes, silence is the best path after all. Who am I to know?” she asked, shrugging her shoulders.
Opening the door, Elthea whispered, “Thy reticence will be admired, especially by Robert, who does not seem to appreciate the intuitive side of the female. He shall be relieved that you hold no opinions of your own and thus he will be pleased to know his marriage will be a smooth one. Let it worry thee not, child. Smile. Bow. Murmur sweetly. Women have always known it does not always serve to show we have minds of our own. The punishment can be severe.”
As they approached the stairs, Maggie stopped. “It has always grated on my nerves that a woman with intelligence frightens men.”
The smaller woman took a deep breath and looked around her to make sure they were alone as they continued down the long corridor. “It’s always about power, child. Never forget that. Power and control. Once, long ago, there was a strong religion dedicated to the Goddess. It is said ’twas through Her that life began. Yet, presently it is taught that oneself is to believe life came through a male, even if nature shows us that cannot be possible.”
They continued descending the musty stairwell poorly lit by candlelight.
“Oh, shi… oot,” Maggie corrected her cursed stumble. She had thought it better to refrain from obscenities, since she was living vicariously as a noblewoman.
“Do be mindful of the treads, Maggie dear,” Elthea urged in a caring tone.
“So
rry…” Maggie whispered. “You were saying, if it weren’t for us gals, there’d be no guys… but that’s not exactly what we’re taught.”
“Aye, precisely, child. How better to ensure the female face of God remain obscured, than to deny the godliness of the female? Her Majesty, by marrying England, saved her own life and the throne from Rome’s clutches. Yet, it is not yet secured without threat. Rome will never acknowledge that God is also female, for their whole structure would crumble and the cries of thousands upon thousands of women who perished during the Inquisition would deafen their ears and haunt them.”
As Elthea’s words trailed off, Maggie found they’d come to a high-ceilinged room with ancient furnishings. On the length of the room there were massive, dark wooden tables against opposite walls loaded with bolts of beautiful fabric.
Maggie shuddered while gooseflesh popped up over her skin, as though a ghost had walked past her. “You’re like an undercover agent, aren’t you, Elthea? You’re not working for the Protestants. Your interests are—”
The countess halted suddenly and brought a finger to Maggie’s lips. “Hush. Do not speculate at this time. I smile. I bow. I murmur sweetly,” she whispered, and parodied a demure curtsy, “for I am but a mere woman.”
Maggie felt herself drawn into Elthea’s energy, for there she saw someone to be admired. A woman with absolute integrity. She couldn’t wait to speak with her in more depth, to find out what her story really was. “Tonight. You will tell me tonight?” Maggie implored.
“I shall answer all thy questions whence we return to our chambers. The greater irony is with us tonight, Margaret. Women may not act upon a theater stage, yet we are here, on a stage of Life. Shall we show this audience an extraordinary performance?”
“It’ll be an Oscar nomination for me, I’m sure!” Maggie joked, raising her eyebrows.
A smirk came over Elthea’s face. “I accept thy riposte as an ‘Aye,’ my dearest cousin, Maggie. And I speak this endearment even without proof of blood, for that which I have witnessed in thine eyes tonight confirms in me we are yet bound together in this struggle for balance. I am doing my part as I am shown… and likewise, thou art. Verily, I tell you, Margaret Whitaker is indeed, a lady. It is my honor to bow before thee.” Slowly, with a graceful curtsy, she paid tribute to Maggie.
And in the moment as Elthea rose, Maggie recognized something inside of her that refused to be denied. Elthea was either the best actress in the world, or somehow, by some incredible circumstance… she found herself living with people who honestly believed they were in the year 1598. What had happened when she’d run from that maze? How could she have run into the Renaissance? This stuff just doesn’t happen!
But this wasn’t a movie. This was her life!
As they continued their journey through a network of small chambers, short hallways, and more damp stairwells, Maggie had to ask the question that was now resounding so loudly inside her she couldn’t suppress it any longer.
“Elthea… you honestly believe that someone could… well, time travel, from one place to another? That they could time jump hundreds of years?” She could hear the desperation in her own voice.
Startled, Elthea grabbed Maggie’s wrist, and whispered, “Calm thyself, child. Now is not the time, nor place, for thee to understand the deeper meaning behind this adventure. There is a feast prepared in thy honor, and that is our priority. Anon, we shall discuss all of this, and then thou shall make a more sound decision about leaving.” She waved her hand out to the staircase. “Lady Margaret… thy presence is awaited.”
Maggie found she was shaking and held on to Elthea’s hand as they slowly descended the final stairway. It couldn’t be possible. She hadn’t time traveled into these people’s lives, into this madness. She just couldn’t buy into it.
The sound of conversation and laughter became louder as they approached the great-hall entrance. “Oh, Elthea, I don’t know if I can do this. I’m not a good actor.”
Elthea turned to her, before opening the door, and captured her frightened gaze. “Of course you are. Are you not a woman? Prithee, hear me clearly, you shall do all that is necessary to survive,” she encouraged in a voice that was firm. “Maggie dear, how else are we still here, I ask, when our rights have but all been stripped away? I dare say our time will come again, but until such a time of balance, we will do what we must, for sanity and to ensure darkness does not reign freely once more. Now, prepare to greet thy peers, admirers, and opponents, Lady Margaret.”
The large paneled door was flung wide open before them by a servant.
The clamor slowly diminished until it stopped completely as they entered the great hall. Maggie became acutely aware all eyes were on her. The air was palatable with expectation. She could feel the blush creep up her neck to settle on her cheeks. Wow, what a huge guest list Elthea must have worked on, and how did she have time to plan all this? There were at least fifty people who’d stopped milling about, and this was only half the crowd Elthea said was coming to the wedding ceremony.
A clattering of cups and plates resounded as plainly dressed servants began moving hastily around the room pouring wine and checking tables. All these other people, well, they looked like normal people, just dressed up royally… as a matter of fact, the scene was almost exactly like what she’d seen at the Renaissance Festival.
Talk about déjà vu.
Chapter Nine
Wow. It was all she could think as Elthea escorted her into the huge hall. As she was led through what seemed to be a carnival of curtsies and bows, she couldn’t help but notice the extravagant costumes. These must be designs of the Donna Karans and Bill Blasses of their day. Elaborately layered silk gowns of purple and crimson or cream, all gaudily decorated with jewels, pearls, and silk embroidery floated through the room. How the ladies managed not to bump into each other with their large, belled skirts was amazing to her. My kingdom for a bowling ball, she nearly chuckled out loud with nervousness.
Most of the men were in darker colors; shades of greens and blues, though some wore plain black, and one man, with an extremely effeminate manner, wore white entirely. He sounded like he must be the life of the party from the laughter around him.
What’s with these huge starch-ruffled collars? Most guys she knew complained about a necktie. Ha! They should try and get around in one of these getups!
Don’t start laughing now, Maggie Whitaker, she scolded herself. No eye contact. Nod. Curtsy. Smile.
She saw waist-length velvet capes draped over backs, like the one she’d seen on Nick when they met. But so many had their jackets or vests as garishly adorned as the women’s gowns. Geez, what these people would give for the invention of the sequin, she mused. There was no wool or flax on these folks.
Obviously, this was uptown.
She really had to admit some of the costumes were incredibly beautiful, but the pompadour hairdos under high-crowned bonnets with jewels and plumes had to go. Some of the ladies wore high arched veils rather like wings over their shoulders. She’d seen them in paintings before, and always thought they were a bit silly. She was glad her hair was pinned up more simply and she wore Elthea’s small diamond tiara.
Actually, she was beginning to think she might be a bit underdressed for the occasion, but she figured everyone knew the story about Lady Margaret losing all her belongings en route. Including her pearls. Damn. She wished she had them.
She saw Robert approaching, and the pounding of her heart became louder to her ears as the dispersing crowd made way for his advance.
Feet, don’t fail me now, was her mental prayer.
Stay calm, she admonished herself, just as she also saw Nick walking behind Robert with a very attractive and young woman. It didn’t help her nerves to realize she actually cared what Nicholas thought. Care? Hell, she was falling in love! A trickle of perspiration ran down her spine to remind her she was wearing the same dress he had met her in. Yeah, but at that time, it was covered with dirt because he’d nea
rly run her over with his horse.
It was clean now, and she had bathed and been given scented oils, yet Maggie felt like an object as everyone inspected her—the crazy widowed cousin who came to marry Robert, saving his fortune and supplementing his power. Poor Lady Margaret. What exactly was she getting out of the deal?
Maggie couldn’t worry about that at the moment. Right now, the spotlight was on her.
Elthea curtsied and began the introduction of her distant cousin to her son.
“My lord, may I have the pleasure of formally presenting your duly betrothed, Lady Norreys of Rycote.”
Maggie curtsied very low before him. “Thank you for receiving me, my lord Robert. I am most honored.”
“Lady Margaret, may I present, my son, Lord Robert of Amesbury.”
He bowed deeply. “Lady Norreys, we are graced by thy presence. Welcome to Greville Manor and thy new residence.”
An asylum would be more like it. Control, she mentally warned herself. She had agreed to do this for Countess Elthea and Nick. She was bound to do it genuinely.
Robert extended his hand, and Maggie placed hers lightly upon his palm as the man dryly brushed his lips against her fingers. “And the honor is mine, sweet lady, that thou hast consented to sharing not just this feast, but as well, our lives. I trust the manor accommodations are to thy liking?” He led her to the table at the front of the room.
“Ahh… Yes, Your Lordship. Thank you, my chamber is… most comfortable.” She turned her head slightly to be assured Elthea was close behind for support.
“It pleases me, thou art rightly pleased, Lady Margaret. Come, let us celebrate this night!” He called out for the musicians to begin playing.
She pulled that one off. Maybe there isn’t so much to this role-playing, she thought.
A small group of men immediately struck up a festive tune, playing gourd-shaped violins and what appeared to be a small piano. It sounded like a harpsichord. She really wasn’t into chamber music, but she didn’t figure this band would know any Jackson Browne tunes.
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