Eleanor shot her hand to her throat, but relaxed once she felt her amber cross still in place. She hadn't told anyone about the necklace she'd inherited from her grandmother. If the family legend was true, it had belonged to Jane Austen, and Eleanor could sell it for enough money to put her business on solid footing. That is, if she could bear to part with it, a decision she hadn't tackled just yet.
"Miss Jane Austen was not a close friend of ours due to our age differences," Mina continued, "but we certainly were well acquainted. We attended many of the same functions, since she lived nearby. Just down the road. At Chawton Cottage."
"Yes, I know."
"Ah, I see you are familiar with her life. Are you a fan of her books? Would you like to meet her?"
Eleanor could see she wasn't getting rid of this figment easily. Maybe if she went along with the dream, it would get to the inevitable conclusion of waking up. Then she could take a couple of antacids and get some rest. "Fine. Yes, I'd like to meet Jane Austen. Who wouldn't? Are you going to make her ghost appear?"
"Don't be silly. We are going to travel back in time to when we were alive, and you will meet her there."
"But that's impossible."
Mina grinned. "Actually…"
Deirdre reappeared with a bright flash of rainbow colored lights. "I heard what you said. I knew you had another crazy scheme stuck in your bonnet."
"I know it will work this time," Mina said with a pleading look at her sister.
"No, it won't," Eleanor interjected. "Time travel is a physical impossibility."
Deirdre faced her with a raised eyebrow. "Have you never heard of Einstein's theory?"
"Everyone has."
"Then you know his theory that gravity affects time has been proven."
"Yes, but—"
"And you know that gravity is simply another form of energy."
"Yes, but—"
"Therefore, it logically follows that energy affects time."
"We pool our energy," Mina interjected in an excited voice, "and use it to create a powerful vortex that will take us all—"
"We can take you back in time, but we are not going to do it." Deirdre turned to her sister and whispered, "Must I remind you of what happened last time? We only made matters worse, and that's why our Teddy was killed."
"Who's Teddy?" Eleanor asked.
"Our dear brother," the ghosts said in unison.
"And this time Eleanor here is going to save his life," Mina continued. "It's a perfect plan. We take her back. She prevents Shermont from seducing… us, thus preventing the necessity of Teddy defending our honor and hence dying in the duel."
Deirdre shook her head. "It'll never work."
"Of course it will," Mina argued. "We can help her with everything she needs to know."
"There's too much to learn. Dancing, proper address, conversation, deportment, and manners. We studied from the time we were little girls. She has no chance of success."
"All she has to do is keep us out of Lord Shermont's way," Mina argued.
"We had a chaperone for that—to little avail."
"Ha! Aunt Patience's only concern was Teddy's welfare. She couldn't have cared less about us."
"That's not true."
They volleyed reasons back and forth like tennis players until Eleanor put her hands over her ears. "Stop!" When the sisters looked at her with surprised expressions, she folded her hands in her lap. "Please stop arguing," she said in a moderated tone. "My head is already pounding."
"We were only—"
"Whatever," Eleanor said. "The discussion is now over. Time travel is impossible. Therefore the question of whether I can do the job is moot. Now, I would like to wake up or go back to sleep—whatever it takes to end this dream and make the two of you go back to wherever you came from." She stretched out on the bed and put the pillow over her head.
"But you did say you would like to meet Jane Austen?" Mina asked.
"Yes. Now, good-night."
"And you agree to help us if we can introduce you to her?"
"If it means you'll go away and let me get some sleep, I agree to whatever you want. I'll fly to the moon. I'll dance on a flying carpet of gold. I'll—"
"Good. Deirdre and I will take care of everything."
"No we won't."
"Listen to…"
And then there was silence.
After what seemed like several long minutes, Eleanor sat up and looked around. The room appeared normal and best of all empty. She let out a deep sigh of relief. "What a crazy dream," she mumbled as she snuggled back under the covers.
She regretted it had just been a dream. Wouldn't it have been cool if it had been true?
When she sat up once more to turn out the lamp, the room began to spin. Bolts of rainbow-colored electricity zoomed around the walls. The bed seemed to rise and float.
Eleanor was usually a woman who confronted her problems head on, but this was too weird, outside the realm of anything she'd experienced before. The spin ning room made her dizzy. The flashing lights hurt her eyes with their laser intensity, and her head throbbed with what she could only describe as unheard sound. She dove under the pillow, covered her ears, and closed her eyes tightly.
Two
ELEANOR WOKE AND HAD NO IDEA WHAT TIME IT WAS. She fumbled for the watch that she'd left on the bedside table. At least she thought she'd left it there. Had she put it in her carryon? She sat up and blinked in the pale light.
Mina and Deirdre were seated by the window.
Eleanor pinched herself. "Ouch!"
"Good morning, slug-a-bed," Mina said with a bright smile. "It is half past ten on Wednesday the twenty-third day of June in the year 1814."
"Oh no," Eleanor said, shaking her head. If she wasn't dreaming, that meant the ghosts were real. "Why are you still here? Why are you haunting me?"
"We promised we would be here to help you with the nuances of Regency life," Mina said.
"Even though there is much you cannot possibly understand, especially in the short time available," Deirdre added.
Eleanor held up her hand. She needed a minute to deal with this… whatever this was. What was it they always said to ghosts on TV? "You should go toward the light. Move on to whatever—"
"We explained that we can't leave this property."
"Right. I remember. Look, I'm only going to be here for a week. There is no other room where I can stay, so why don't we come to an agreement? I'll try to not bother you if you'll try to not bother me. Sound reasonable?"
"But we can help you—"
"I don't want your help. In fact, I don't want to see you anymore, or hear you, or… or sense your presence. Is that clear?"
Mina nodded, her expression sad.
Deirdre crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. "You are not properly prepared to manage—"
"Whatever happens this week, I'll figure it out. Now, I want you both to promise you'll leave me alone."
"Perhaps you should listen to her," Mina said with a nod toward her sister.
"Arrrgh!" Eleanor flopped back on the bed and pulled the pillow and blanket over her head. "Go away!"
After a few minutes, Eleanor realized she might as well get up because she wasn't going back to sleep. Yet she hesitated. What if the ghosts were still there?
She heard the door open and someone moving around. In one quick move, she whipped off the cover and sat up. "Why are you—"
A scream stopped her mid-sentence. A maid stood in the center of the room, her hands to her mouth, her eyes as wide as if she'd seen a ghost.
Eleanor apologized for startling the girl, who didn't look much over the age of fourteen. At the same time, she was impressed that even the maid was dressed in an appropriate period costume for Regency Week. She wore a white mobcap and a simple gray ankle-length dress covered by a long white apron.
"I weren't expecting no one to be here," the maid said as she picked up the dropped linens and draped them over her arm.
"Understandable." Eleanor gave the young girl a sympathetic smile. "I arrived late last night, and Karen Simms put me in here."
"I don't be knowing no one by that name, but they made a terrible blunder. This be the mistresses' suite. Miss Deirdre won't like a stranger sleeping in her bed."
Eleanor didn't want to hear more about the ghosts. "I'm sure everything will be fine." She got up and put on the robe she'd left on the foot of the bed. "My luggage should be arriving from the airport, if it hasn't already. I'd appreciate it if you would keep a look out for my suitcases. Two, both black. My name is Eleanor Pottinger. I'm from America, but I'm sure you already deduced that from my accent." The girl still seemed nervous. "What's your name?" Eleanor asked to put her at ease.
"I be Twilla." The maid curtseyed, maintaining her role, but she had a confused expression. "Miss Eleanor from America. Two black cases arriving from the port." She repeated the information as if memorizing foreign language phrases. Suddenly her face lit with comprehension. "Aye, you must be the cousin they been expecting for over a fortnight."
"Actually, I'm—"
"I'll be right back with a pitcher of hot water."
Now Eleanor was confused. But she had no time to question the maid before the girl scurried out. Eleanor looked around the bedside table for her watch. She got down on her hands and knees to look under the bed.
"Miss?"
Eleanor sat back in surprise. She breathed a sigh of relief when she realized it was the maid, not the ghosts. Perhaps it really had been no more than a dream.
"I forgot to ask if you want a breakfast tray. Cocoa? Toast?"
"Coffee would be great." Eleanor stood and brushed off her hands, even though there was no dust on the floor she could have picked up. "Thank you."
"If you was looking for the chamber pot, it's in the corner," Twilla said. "Behind the screen."
Eleanor turned in the direction the maid indicated. She didn't remember seeing the three-panel Chinese screen before. A chamber pot! She was all for realism in attire for the conference, like not using zippers or polyester fabrics. It was fun to imitate the manners and activities of the Regency, but expecting the attendees to sacrifice use of a modern toilet was too much to expect. She turned to say something, but the girl was gone.
The respite gave her time to realize the maid was not the appropriate person to speak to about sanitation arrangements. When Eleanor went downstairs, she planned to have a talk with the inn manager, Mrs. Ruth Simms. Until then, she would play along with the program.
Twilla returned, a pitcher of steaming hot water in one hand and a bundle in the other. She deposited both behind the screen. An even younger girl followed her into the room carrying a tray with a silver coffee service, delicate china cup and saucer, plate of toast, and a large snowy napkin. The child set the tray on the table near the window and then curtseyed on the run as she scurried out.
"I've brought everything I expect you'll need for your morning ablutions. Be there anything else, Miss?" Twilla asked. "Simply ring when you are ready, and I will return to help you dress." She indicated the bellpull that hung next to the painting over the fireplace.
Eleanor hadn't had anyone help her dress since she'd learned to tie her own shoes. "Thank you. That won't be necessary."
The maid quickly masked her surprise and nodded. "As you will, Miss. Nuncheon is served for the ladies at eleven o'clock. The dancing master is in attendance today."
"Thank you."
"Just ring when you are ready, and I will take you downstairs."
Eleanor was sure she could find her way without a guide, but she nodded rather than argue. As soon as the maid left, Eleanor headed straight for the bathroom. The rosette latch on the armoire wouldn't budge. She tried every bit of decorative carving, in case she had remembered the location of the latch wrong. Nothing moved.
"Damn it."
Locking the bathroom door was taking matters too far. Mrs. Simms was in for an earful.
In desperation, Eleanor was forced to use the chamber pot. Without her suitcases, she had to make do with the materials provided by the inn. She added the skimpy linen washcloth and hand towel to her list of complaints. On the plus side, the tiny square of handmade soap that smelled of honeysuckle was an unexpected pleasure.
She examined the wide-toothed comb that appeared to be tortoise shell. Since that was illegal, like ivory, it must be plastic. Good imitation. She pulled the comb through her hair, glad she'd recently cut it short and allowed it to curl naturally.
Then she examined the wood-handled tooth brush with strange brown bristles. She set it aside with a shiver of revulsion. A small round can labeled "tooth powder" contained a white substance that tasted like baking powder with a touch of mint. Since her disposable toothbrush was locked in the bathroom, she used her finger to rub a bit of it over her teeth.