The Elsingham Portrait

Two


When Kathryn came to her senses, she was being carried along a beautifully furnished corridor in the arms of the golden-haired man. She stared over his shoulder, trying to orient herself. Marble statues and urns of fresh flowers were set in niches; candles blazed on the silk-paneled walls. Kathryn’s cheek rested against a strong shoulder covered with cloth of dark blue material. She attempted to move, and a sharp agony went through her arm. She gasped. Through a fog of pain she heard the man’s voice.

“You have hurt your arm, ma’am. It will be best if you lie quiet. I’ll have you to your abigail in a moment.”

‘Abigail’? Kathryn raised her eyes to the man’s face. Yes, it was the same golden-haired man who had entered the door just before she fainted. He was glancing down at her. Beneath a wide forehead, clear gray eyes watched her steadily. His face was handsome in a strong, masculine way: firm-lipped, firm-jawed. A newly-healed scar crossed his left cheek. Kathryn became aware that his features were set in an expression of controlled dislike. Dislike? But Kathryn had never seen him before. Why should he dislike her? And then the full terror of the situation swept over her, and she shut her eyes with an involuntary moan of shock.

The big man’s arms tensed. “Have I hurt you? I am sorry for it,” he muttered.

“No, it isn’t that! You’re very gentle!” Kathryn protested. “It’s just that I’m so frightened—I can’t understand any of this—” Her voice faded. The man turned into a doorway which was being held open by a flustered serving maid.

“You missed your footing at the landing, ma’am, and fell down the stairway,” the big man said quietly. “You have hurt your arm. I have sent for the doctor. I’ll leave you with your woman now.” He deposited Kathryn on a bed whose feather-softness enveloped her with a treacherous lack of support. Then he stood back, looking down at her. “I trust you will be more comfortable soon.” His voice seemed to Kathryn to hold wariness, a purely formal sympathy. As though we were enemies, she thought, with a flash of insight.

“When the doctor has seen you, I shall talk to him about your fitness to attend the reception tonight. I’ll leave you now—”

“Oh, please, don’t go!” In spite of his obvious dislike of her, Kathryn felt that his strength was the only reality she could cling to in this nightmare. “Please—just for a few minutes . . .”

The pain swept over her again, a sickening wave, and she sank back defeated into the musty-smelling feather bed. But her appeal had not been useless. The big man, frowning slightly, returned to stand beside her. He said quietly to the hovering servant girl, “Bring her ladyship’s dresser here at once. And light more candles.”

As the girl ran from the room, the man’s golden head bent over Kathryn. “Is the pain very great? What can I do for you?”

Kathryn drew a deep, shuddering breath, caught desperately at her reeling senses. “It isn’t the pain so much,” she began, holding her voice steady with a real effort of will. “It’s this house—the portrait, this body—” She shuddered, looking down at the full swell of bare breast from which rose to her nostrils a gagging odor of musky perfume. She stretched the uninjured arm out to him in involuntary appeal.

And then she really saw the arm. The hand was covered with too many ornate rings, and the nails and knuckles were grimy. “It’s dirty! This hand is dirty!” she wailed, made childish by shock and pain and terrible confusion.

The man continued to frown, but his voice was controlled and soothing. “The shock of falling, ma’am, and the pain of your arm, have disoriented your senses for the moment,” he said. “Rest quietly until Dr. Anders comes. He’ll give you something to make you feel better.” It was the tone a conscientious adult would use to a sick child.

Kathryn shook her head wearily against the pillows.

“You don’t understand,” she said. “How could you? I can’t accept any of this myself. Where am I? Is this some kind of nightmare . . . hallucination? I don’t know what’s happened to me!”

With the enforced patience of one humoring a fretful child, the man asked, “Just what is it you don’t understand, Nadine?”

Kathryn’s eyes flew wide open. “ ‘Nadine’? That’s not my name! I’m Kathryn!”

“What new trick is this?” The man drew back from the bedside, the expression of dislike clear on his face. “I warn you, Nadine: I meant what I said this morning. I have had more than I can stomach of your shifts and wiles. I can hardly believe that you would risk serious injury to try to change my mind—but in any case, it is useless. You leave for Brionny Keep in three days. Taking whomever you please with you,” he added, an angry note in his voice.

Kathryn drew a deep breath. She was dizzy with pain and shock; her head seemed to be hollow and her body, to make matters worse, began to whirl in a vertigo she could not control. But she must think clearly. Her reason was at stake. The big man was openly hostile now. He was the enemy of this woman whose body she so frighteningly was wearing. Yet his steady eyes were honest and trustworthy, and his arms had been gentle and strong. Kathryn made a last effort. Her voice came out weaker than she expected, but she did speak, holding his eyes desperately with her own.

“For God’s sake, sir—help me! I’m Kathryn Hendrix of New York City. I work in a library . . . I was looking at that portrait in a little gallery . . . and then I was here—” Her voice failed and she sank, still fighting desperately, into blackness.

What followed was an extension of the nightmare, with brief waking periods of too-bright lights and physical pain alternating with blackouts. The big man was almost always there in the background. Kathryn’s eyes sought for him in a panic whenever she was conscious, and she heard her voice pleading with him to help her, and insisting that she was KATHRYN Hendrix.

At one point she awakened to see a black-robed woman bending close above her. The mask-like face, its flat black eyes hooded under heavy folds of flesh, was staring down fixedly at her. Where had she seen that intent and rigid stare? Yes! The woman had been watching her from the shadows of the pillar when this nightmare began! It was she! There was something in those inhuman empty eyes which utterly terrified Kathryn. She screamed in fear until someone came and took the woman away.

After a period in which time stretched and telescoped unbelievably, Kathryn found herself, her shoulders supported, sipping at a cup of bitter fluid. It was being administered by a competent-looking man in a dark coat and an odd white neckcloth something like an ascot.

“You’re in costume, too,” Kathryn said, smiling at him. “We’re all in costume! Is it a masquerade?” She giggled. I’m tipsy, she thought. Isn’t this brandy he’s giving me?

The doctor glanced up inquiringly at someone near the bed. Kathryn turned to look. It was the big golden-haired man. “It’s you!” she said happily. “Thank you so much for staying. I’m not afraid when you’re here.”

“Lord Elsingham,” the doctor said, “Lady Elsingham has suffered a broken arm, and a certain amount of shock which normally accompanies the pain. She also appears feverish. I must recommend that she remain very quietly in bed for at least a week, so the arm can mend and so I can observe the course of her malady. I shall come in every day to see how she goes on. I must admit, my lord, that I don’t like this disorientation. It is not normal in the case of a simple bone fracture. Her ladyship appears to be sickening with some disease.”

He stood up and moved toward the other man. Kathryn strained to hear what they were saying.

“Is there someone reliable who can attend her ladyship?” the doctor asked. “She should not be left alone, either by night or day if she continues to be subject to this—delirium.”

“You do not think she will be well enough to leave her bed for some time, Dr. Anders?” It was more a statement than a question.

“Definitely not,” answered the doctor. He hesitated. “I understand that her ladyship had planned to visit her family’s estate in Ireland shortly?”

“That is so,” Lord Elsingham said, wondering angrily how much more was known of his private affairs, and from what source the information had come. “A more immediate problem, however, is that His Majesty has graciously accepted my wife’s invitation to attend her reception tonight. The occasion was to be the showing of a new portrait, just painted, of Lady Elsingham. I shall have to go immediately to the palace to make our excuses.”

The doctor nodded. “You may say that it is impossible for her ladyship to receive him. Tell His Majesty that we fear she may have a severe infection. That’ll keep him away—” he caught himself, then continued soberly, “I’ll not try to cozen you, my lord. Her ladyship may be in real danger. I cannot understand this persistent failure to know who she is. The threat may be—” He hesitated again, glanced sharply at Lord Elsingham.

“To her reason?” supplied the tall man.

The doctor nodded reluctantly. “This continued confusion as to her identity . . . It may be—must be— a symptom of some infection. I shall be in again to see her ladyship tomorrow morning. And if her condition worsens, send someone for me at once. Meanwhile, a competent woman must be in attendance upon your wife every moment.”

Kathryn’s mind was reeling. These men thought her delirious—or crazy! But this was a dream, wasn’t it? An unusually vivid nightmare? Dredged up from her subconscious by the pain and humiliation of Don’s rejection of her. A sort of wish-fulfillment fantasy? The golden-haired man was speaking again. Kathryn fought the sedative the doctor had given her to hear and understand what was being said. It seemed prosaic enough.

“I’ll see that your instructions are carried out,” Lord Elsingham said. “And my thanks, Dr. Anders.”

The doctor was at the bedroom door. He turned. “The woman attendant should not, I think, be my lady’s dresser. The woman seemed to put her into a frenzy.” He went out, closing the door behind him.

Lord Elsingham was frowning as his eyes met Kathryn’s. He appeared to be moved by the pleading, the raw fear, which she could not control. He said, searching her face wearily with his eyes, “Is this another one of your ploys, Nadine? A trick to avoid being sent to Ireland?”

Wordlessly, Kathryn shook her head.

“I promise you,” the man said, “I shall not change my mind. The documents of which I told you exist in my safe. You have no bargaining power. Your choice is the same: an ugly scandal, which will result in a public bill of divorcement, or your immediate removal to your home in Ireland, with a guaranteed allowance from my lawyers as long as you stay out of England. We’ve been over this so often—”

“Lord Elsingham,” Kathryn said urgently. “You are a man of education—an intelligent man. I think you are an enlightened man for—for your time. I must appeal to you as such . . .”

He was staring at her, surprise and perplexity in his expression. “Why do you persist in playing this new role? And who has schooled you to speak so differently?”

Kathryn took heart. At least she had caught his real attention, broken through the polite mask which he donned when he dealt with his wife. She paused, reaching frantically for the right words, the words which might hold his attention and convince him of the reality of this fantastic, incredible situation. She took a deep breath.

“This is literally, for me, a matter of life and sanity. May I ask for the favor of five minutes of your time—and an unbiased attitude of mind? I swear to you that this is not some trick played by a woman you have obviously come to dislike and distrust, probably with justice.” She hesitated, suddenly terrified by the unbelievable situation in which she found herself. Was she insane? Was this whole nightmare the delusion of an unbalanced mind? No! She had to believe there was some other explanation. Perhaps this man could help her—even though it was clear to her that he regarded her as his enemy.

“As one human being to another—five minutes, Lord Elsingham? With your mind open and unprejudiced by whatever has been at issue between you and—Lady Elsingham?”

He was really puzzled now. The frown which had drawn his eyebrows together had deepened, but he came toward the bed, drawing a chair close, and sat down.

“As one human being to another. I cannot deny such an appeal.”

Kathryn felt a surge of relief. At least the look of dislike had left his face momentarily, to be replaced by an expression of guarded interest. Kathryn clenched her hands together in a gesture of intense concentration. “Let me begin by asking you to listen to—a story.” Ignoring his small movement of protest, she went on quietly. “A woman had just received a painful blow to her self-image. The man she had confidently expected would propose marriage to her had revealed his lack of interest in the most humiliating way possible. The woman, blind with pain, wanders down an unfamiliar street in the rain. She takes shelter from the storm in the only available haven, a small art gallery. The woman enters. She sees a portrait. It depicts a woman, very beautiful but arrogant and—evil. The woman who has been rejected is . . . plain and without glamor. She is fascinated by the confident eyes of the painted figure. She cannot break away from the challenging green gaze which seems to follow her and—compel her attention. She experiences a sudden overpowering dizziness . . . falls . . . and finds herself in a strange house, dressed in the garish, shameless gown worn by the woman in the portrait. She is no longer in New York—worse, she is no longer in her own body, but seems to be caught in the living body of the woman whose portrait she had been looking at.”

Kathryn paused, and searched the set face of the man with imploring eyes. Incredulity, impatience, rejection—she could read these in his expression.

At length he said, “Do you wish me to make a rational comment on this—story?”

“No, not yet,” Kathryn hastened to say. “You promised me five minutes—and no prejudice!”

“Go on,” he said after a minute.

“In addition to this nightmare change,” Kathryn said quietly, “I—that is, the woman of whom I speak—fell and broke her arm. She was carried to a bedroom by a man whose eyes were kind, although he obviously disliked the woman he was helping. Now, injured, terrified, in a strange place and what was undoubtedly a different time . . .” Kathryn held her clenched hand against her trembling lips, fought to regain her poise. So much depended upon this—so very much! And his eyes seemed coldly contemptuous. “Lord Elsingham! I am Kathryn Hendrix of New York City. And the date I saw on my calendar, when I went to work in the Uptown Library yesterday morning, was November five, 1974. As God is my witness!”

“Nadine, I must beg you to excuse me,” Lord Elsingham said coldly. “I’ll send your woman to you at once. Dr. Anders would be very angry with me for permitting you to excite yourself in this manner.” He stood up.

Sudden anger flared in Kathryn’s frightened heart.

“How dare you treat another human being with such arrogance, such prejudice? If you are a fair example of the intelligent Englishman, it’s no wonder George the Third lost the Colonies!”

He halted, turned back to face her.

“What new nonsense is this? We haven’t lost the Colonies.”

“You’re going to—in 1775.”

Lord John hesitated, obviously torn between interest and contempt. “I apprehend you are referring to the Boston Tea Party and the subsequent closing of the Port of Boston by Parliament? Let me congratulate you—on your newly acquired political expertise, ma’am. I had not realized you were a bluestocking! But you have your dates incorrect. Let me remind you that the petty disaffection in Boston occurred over a year ago, in 1773.”

“War will be declared in 1775,” Kathryn retorted hotly, still warmed by anger at his unfairness, “and ended by treaty in 1783 with a victory for the United States of America!”

“1783? Eight years in the future?” Elsingham didn’t even try to understand the intense emotional response he was experiencing. He hated and despised this beautiful lying woman—didn’t he? He had only contempt for her tricks, however disturbing and inventive they were becoming. Not once but many times bitten, he would be forever shy of her! So, suppressing the surprise and interest he felt at this unusual tactic, he said, “Doing it rather too brown, ma’am! Can it be that you hope to change my mind? Let me assure you that my decision is firm. I will not be taken in by this farrago of nonsense about ‘United States’ and insurrections. You Irish are all too ready to raise the flag of rebellion! You will leave London for Ireland as soon as you are well enough to travel. I cannot permit you to remain here, dishonoring my name with your public displays of wantonness, for eight more years while we wait for proof or disproof of your ridiculous statements.”

He stared at her, reluctantly admiring, held against his will and better judgment by her beauty and the dramatic story she had told. Then he laughed angrily. “You’re a clever devil, Nadine! You almost had me believing—Politics? That’s a new start for you. You must have acquired a politically-minded lover—or one with a taste for government. My compliments on his skill as a tutor!” His fingers touched the newly-healed scar on his face. “Will he follow you to Ireland?” Then, when Kathryn, silent with despair, did not reply, Lord John continued, surprised at his own violence, yet unable to prevent the words, “I suppose we are to bid adieu to your young artist who has run tame in my house this two months! How disappointing for him that he should be superseded at the moment of his triumph!”

With an ironic bow, Lord John left the bedroom.

Kathryn put her hand to her tear-wet face. “Am I mad? Oh, God, what is happening? Is this delirium—or am I really living in England—in the year 1775?”

Desperately she pulled together her disordered wits. There must be a rational explanation. Was she experiencing a nervous breakdown? She had been deeply shocked, wounded, by the cavalier treatment she had received from Donald Madson. But surely that would not have been enough to cause this kind of hallucination? Perhaps her soaking in the icy rain had given her a fever—but so soon? Or was this a virus infection, strengthened by nervous tension and exposure . . .? Was she in a hospital, suffering fever and delirium? There was some comfort in the thought. Kathryn focused her eyes on the elegantly-furnished bedroom. Surely an elaborate fever dream! Even her wealthiest school friends, who had occasionally asked her to visit at their homes, had never boasted such a room.

The walls were paneled in pale green satin framed in white wood. The hangings were made of the same satin, draped back over sheerest white net with golden cords. The carpet, deep-piled, was a silky pale green. Charming gilt and satin lounging chaises were set on either side of a white marble fireplace, in which now gleamed and danced a cheery fire. Heavy crystal bowls of hothouse flowers perfumed the air. And everywhere there were mirrors—gold-framed, ornate large, small, round, rectangular. This was the bedroom of a woman who worshipped her own beauty.

As she studied the room, Kathryn heard the door open quietly. She glanced quickly toward it, hoping against reason that Lord Elsingham had returned to discuss her situation. Entering the room was the same gaunt, black-clothed woman whose eyes had so terrified Kathryn during the time the doctor had been setting her arm. Kathryn drew the bed covers up to her chin in a futile effort to protect herself from that flat black gaze.

At the woman’s shoulder was the same slender, dark-haired man who had stood behind her in the railed gallery. Very furtively now he followed the woman into the bedroom, shutting the door softly behind him. The two advanced toward Kathryn’s bed.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Kathryn stammered. “Go away! I am sick!”

The gaunt woman stood near the bed, scanning her face intently. Without taking her eyes from Kathryn, she addressed the young man. “Something’s amiss,” she muttered. “The drug was not to have such an effect. I may have given her too heavy a dose—”

“Damn you and your devilish potions,” snarled the man. “Didn’t I warn you against it? I could have won her to me without your messes! You’ve driven her out of her senses, you damned old hag! What good is she to either of us in this state?”

“Keep your voice down,” the woman commanded. “D’you want to bring the household on us? Have you forgot I’ve already been sent away by his high and mighty lordship? How long do you reckon you’ll last around here if she’s gone mad?”

The young man peered angrily at Kathryn. “Well? Has she?”

Kathryn pulled herself together. “I have told you to leave my room. Do I have to summon help to have you put out?” Her eyes went to the heavy bell-rope which dangled by the head of the bed.

The man drew back, alarm on his pale, handsome face. The woman was made of stronger stuff. She adopted an attitude of wheedling servility.

“Come, now, milady, you’re not angry with old Donner, surely? Her that’s been nurse an’ maid an’ dresser to ye since ye were a slip of a girleen, running hey-go-mad on the lovely green turf of home? ¼Tis only a distempered freak you’re feelin’, from the pain in your blessed arm. Let Donner give you a potion, dearie. ¼Twill do ye more good than all that silly doctor’s quackery—”

Kathryn made a convulsive lunge at the bell-rope. Cursing under her breath, the young man leaped to prevent her. But Donner only smiled.

“Let her do it, ye cowardly scut. Sure an’ it’ll completely convince her fine lordling to put her away, if he’s informed by his top-lofty London servants that his lady’s entertaining her painter-boy in her bedchamber!”

Kathryn drew back her hand. Donner grinned. “That’s better, milady. Now suppose you just let old Donner give ye a little draught to calm your nerves, like always?” She drew a small brown clay bottle from the pocket of her dress and began to uncork it. “Off to sleep we go, childeen. Donner’ll have everything right by the time you wake.”

The young man scowled at the servant. “What damned double game are you playing, you witch? I believe you’ve been scheming the whole time to get her sent back to Ireland, to Brionny Keep, where you can queen it over the peasants and run the castle and her ladyship too!”

Donner grinned evilly at him. “Well, little man? And what’s wrong with that?”

“There’s nothing in it for me—that’s what! I’ve no wish to cool my heels in a broken-down Irish castle, consorting with ignorant bumpkins! Damn it, woman, I was to have been presented to the King this very night! And now all’s lost!”

Donner looked at him “Get you gone, then, fancy man. You served to amuse milady and to disgust her fine lordling, but I’ve no further use for you. Run along with you!”

The artist glared at her, cast a humid, languishing glance at Kathryn, said, “Nadine? Beloved, is there no hope—?” Then, when Kathryn did nothing but watch him with fear and disgust, he sighed theatrically, turned, and made an exit whose dramatic value was marred by the extreme stealth which he employed in slipping out of the room. Donner sniffed.

“A pretty little man, and had his uses, but we’re well rid of him. There’ll be many a handsome buck eager to pay court to you when I have you safe back home, childeen.”

“I am not going anywhere with you. I intend to remain in this house until I can straighten out this madness—”

Donner interrupted her. “ ‘Madness’?” she repeated. “Now there’s a word I’d be chary of tossing around, milady. You’ll maybe have heard of Bedlam, and the loonies they keep there, chained up to make a show for the fine folk you’ve been flouting this last year? Are you anxious for them to come and vent their spite on you, and you in the cold cell amidst the filth?”

Kathryn stared at her with horror. ‘Bedlam’? She had indeed heard of the Hospital of Saint Mary of Bethlehem in London, where the mentally ill were confined in degrading conditions, the worst of which, to Kathryn’s mind, was the practice of selling tickets to watch the wretched madmen as though they were beasts in a zoo. “You wouldn’t—you couldn’t—!”

“ ¼Tis not I but that stiff-rumped lordling you’ve outraged so freely this twelvemonth who’ll commit you. Think you your fine husband would lift a finger to save you? Not after the duel he had to fight with Lord Beltane, and nearly killed the poor man for his comments about the lovely Lady Elsingham. Lord Johnny will jump at the chance to be rid of you and all his troubles ended—”

Kathryn shrank back in horror. Donner, sure of her victory, adopted a coaxing tone. “Be reasonable, childeen. Take the easy road. Let’s off to Brionny Keep as his lordship wishes. You’ll have plenty of money, for he’s far from a miser. You’ll be happier there, I promise you!”

“I cannot leave this house,” whispered Kathryn, staring straight in front of her with haunted eyes. “It’s the only link I have with—the future! No, go away!” she almost shouted, as Donner came closer. “Can’t you see what you’ve done? I’m not Nadine Elsingham! I’m Kathryn Hendrix!”

“One little sip of this and all your troubles will be over,” promised the woman grimly. Kathryn stared at her with horrified revulsion. There was an ancient evil around her, a cesspool stench. Donner seized Kathryn’s arm and pulled her closer. The rough grasp sent a searing agony from wrist to shoulder of the broken arm. But the pain was nothing to the fear, the horror which threatened to overwhelm her. She knew in that moment that she must not traffic with this creature of the power of darkness. Frantically she struck at the woman with her free hand, sending the small brown bottle flying. Donner cursed at her, a foul string of vicious filth.

“Go away!” Kathryn screamed.

Whatever else Donner might have done was prevented by a stern voice from the doorway. “Donner, his lordship gave orders you were not to enter her ladyship’s room again. No,” as Donner began to protest, “don’t make excuses. With my own ears I’ve just heard her ladyship order you away. Must I call a footman?” The speaker shook her head, reducing Donner’s outburst to the level of a naughty child’s tantrum. “Such a commotion as this isn’t at all the thing in an English gentleman’s establishment, whatever may be the custom in Ireland!” As she spoke, the newcomer was shepherding the nonplussed Irishwoman from the bedroom in much the fashion of a wise old sheep dog with a bad tempered old ewe. Then she closed the door gently and came toward the bed.

She was a plump little middle-aged woman, dressed neatly in a gray gown with a white muslin fichu and apron. She was obviously a superior servant, grown old in the service of milord’s family, with the freedom of manner earned by years of faithful devotion. She spoke now in a tone of indulgent concern.

“Be easy, milady. Bennet won’t let the nasty creature come near you again. What can I do to make your ladyship comfortable?”

Kathryn’s taut nerves relaxed under the motherly attitude. She regarded this cheerful little woman with gratitude. Was this what it was like to have a mother? This sense of security and affection and hope? Kathryn’s own mother had died when she was five. Boarding schools, however well recommended, do not fill the gaps left by the loss of a family.

“If I could just rest for a few hours . . . I am so weary . . . so confused . . .”

The little woman set about making Kathryn comfortable. In a few minutes the sheets were gently smoothed, the pillows plumped, the drapes drawn against the light, and a cool washcloth was moving refreshingly over Kathryn’s heated face and neck.

“Oh, that’s so good,” she murmured. “Thank you, Mrs. . . .?”

“I’m Bennet, your ladyship. You won’t remember seeing me when first you came from Ireland, what with the excitement of the wedding and all. And of course you haven’t seen me since, because I live down at Elsinghurst Village—that’s in Master John’s domain. My brother has a farm near the village. It was given to us when we came down from his lordship’s estates in Scotland. I was brought down to be Master John’s nurse,” she chatted on cosily. She seemed to know exactly how to help a frightened sick girl to find her poise.

Kathryn felt herself drifting off into a relaxing sleep . . . But she mustn’t! She jerked herself upright. “Bennet—I’ve got to think—plan—find a way out of this . . .” Then the hopelessness of trying to explain again the unexplainable came over her, and she began to cry. “He doesn’t believe me, Bennet! Lord John doesn’t believe me!”

“There, there, dearie,” crooned the nurse, “Whether he does or he doesn’t, he sent me to care for you. ‘Do your best for her, Bennet,’ he said to me before he left. ‘She needs your help.’ And he had his concerned look on his face the while. A very compassionate little fellow Master John was, as a child.”

“But he seemed so angry—” faltered Kathryn. “Oh, Bennet, how can anyone believe my story when I can’t even believe it myself? What am I going to do?”

“The first thing you’re going to do is have a proper cup of tea—hot and sweet, to put strength into you. And then you’ll tell Bennet what’s the trouble, and we’ll find a way out of it.”

Kathryn’s eyes were full of tears. “If we only could! If I could explain it all to you, and then you could tell Lord John—but you said he had left?” she asked, with a strange feeling of loss.

“Oh, yes, milady. His lordship had to rush away to wait upon the King, to explain why he couldn’t entertain His Majesty tonight. He trusted me to see that you have whatever you need.”

“Bennet—you don’t understand. Lady Nadine is in deep disgrace . . . And I’m afraid no one can get me what I need.” And she put her free hand on her burning forehead, as the tears flowed again down her cheeks.

“There, milady, have a nice cry,” urged Bennet so indulgently that Kathryn felt a ridiculous desire to chuckle. “It’ll do you good.” She glanced toward the door. “I told one of the kitchen maids to bring up a pot of tea as soon as I rang.” Suiting action to word, Bennet pulled strongly on the bell-rope. “Now we’ll soon have you sipping a nice hot cup with plenty of sugar, and then a spoonful of the mixture Dr. Anders’ manservant had just brought to the door as I came up—” She bustled over and set another log on the fire. Already the great bedroom felt safer, friendlier. “You’ll soon feel much more yourself, milady.”

Kathryn managed a weak and watery smile. “That’s what I need, Bennet. To feel more like myself . . .” As she thought about the words, she found herself laughing and crying at the same moment. Insane, her shocked mind shouted, but the hysterical laughter went on.

Muttering her concern, Bennet hastened over to the bed and took the younger woman in her arms. For a few minutes she held the gasping, shaking body, patting, soothing, wiping away tears with a large clean handkerchief redolent of lavender. Kathryn, so exhausted she could scarcely think, surrendered herself to the gentle ministrations. Finally she murmured, “Bennet—if I could just have a hot bath! Would there be hot water, do you think?”

Bennet drew back, surprised. “With your injury, milady? It would be a most chancy proceeding.”

“If you knew how dirty I feel—! I’m sure a warm bath would relax me and help me to rest. Please, Bennet?” she pleaded like a small child.

The nurse’s face softened. “Well, milady, if you’re all that set on it—I could give you a sponge bath, keeping you well covered against the draughts.” She surveyed Kathryn doubtfully. “And your hair! Whatever heathen arrangement they’ve made of that pretty hair of yours! My fingers itch to get at it.”

Kathryn gave a hopeful smile. “I need you, Bennet. It’s as though you were sent. Please don’t let them take you away from me.”

Deeply touched, Bennet shook her head. “No one could. His lordship’s orders are obeyed in this house.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Kathryn stammered. “People talk—terrible things are said . . .”

“I never listen to servants’ gossip,” said Bennet stoutly. Her eyes on the girl were steady and kind.

“But if it were true . . . or seemed to be so?” faltered Kathryn. “Bennet, I swear to you that I have never knowingly harmed his lordship or anyone in this—in this . . .” She broke off. It had been impossible to convince Lord John. How much more so would it be to prove to this devoted servant that her nursling’s wife was in fact a woman from the future? She sighed. “Forget it,” she said wearily. “Thank you, anyway.”

Puzzled, Mrs. Bennet bustled about getting a table cleared for the tea-tray, and another set up near the bed with soap and cloths and big towels. “Where’s that lazy girl with the tea?” she muttered, her worried gaze on the pale woman lying so listlessly in the bed.

As she spoke, there was a subdued kick at the door. Bennet opened it to admit a wide-eyed girl bearing a huge silver tray. She set it on the table Bennet pointed out, then listened open-mouthed to Bennet’s quiet-voiced instructions. When the servant had gone, Bennet poured steaming tea into a fragile china cup, spooned in sugar, stirred, and brought the result to Kathryn.

“Drink this, milady. It will do you good.”

Kathryn really didn’t want it, but she sipped dutifully and then with rising enthusiasm. It was good. But then a disturbing memory from childhood reading surfaced in her mind: “Neither eat nor drink in the land of faerie, lest you thereby close forever the way of return to your own place.” A shiver of fear passed through her body. Superstition, she mocked herself; foolishness! But the fear persisted. Bennet, watching her unobtrusively, thought she had never seen so despairing a look on a human face.

“Is the tea to your taste, milady?” she asked. Anything to change that hopeless look!

“Thank you, Bennet. It is good,” Kathryn replied, and Bennet was somewhat comforted to see the younger woman trying to smile. Shortly the little kitchen maid returned with two large brass cans full of hot water. Bennet poured some into a bowl, then turned to Kathryn with a frown.

“Now, milady—are you sure you should make the effort?”

Setting her lips against the pain of her arm, Kathryn said, “I’m sure.”

Bennet dismissed the servant, then gently, carefully, she got Kathryn out of the bewildering complexity of unfamiliar (to her) undergarments. Setting a pillow tenderly under the injured arm, Bennet gave the sponge bath efficiently, as she would have done to a child. She kept up a low-voiced commentary as she worked.

“You’re that lovely, milady, ¼tis no wonder half of London’s talking . . . Tsk! tsk! what’s that woman of yours thinking of? Your feet are grimy! . . . Oh, your poor arm! And your shoulder’s bruised, too.” She sighed. “Dr. Anders will be extremely annoyed with me if I’ve let you do yourself a harm, but you were right. You couldn’t rest with that dirt on you!”

Kathryn chuckled weakly. “Bless you, Bennet! Just get me dry and covered up—and we’ll neither of us breathe a word of this.”

Bennet acknowledged the feeble joke with a smile. This girl had spirit and courage too. She was glad she hadn’t permitted the other servants to gossip in her presence. There was something terribly wrong with Master John, she’d realized it two days ago when she arrived in London for her annual visit to the town house. She’d been ready to dislike the young wife who was apparently causing him so much trouble. But this forlorn child with the wide, frightened eyes—! Bennet thought surely there had been some terrible mistake. In spite of her attitude, she’d heard rumors, but this girl was no wanton, no virago. Bennet, feeling partisan, leaned over and tucked a fresh sheet carefully around the lovely body.

Kathryn looked up at her.

“Pray for me, Bennet,” she whispered.

“Aye, that I will,” Bennet said, much moved. “I’ll just be a minute more, milady. I’ll take the jewels and ribbons out of your hair and those silly wires, and then I’ll give you the laudanum water Dr. Anders sent over. That’ll put you to sleep—”

“A drug? Oh, no!”

“I’ll be staying the whole night right here beside you, milady,” Bennet promised. “Now take your medicine like a good child.”

Smiling faintly, Kathryn drifted obediently into sleep, watching the glow of the firelight on the plump kindly face of Master John’s nurse.