The Elsingham Portrait

Five


At exactly two o’clock on the following day, there was a discreet rap on milady’s bedroom door. Bennet rose from the chair where she had been reading her Bible and went quietly to open the door, trying not to waken the woman who was asleep on the great bed.

A footman whispered importantly, “Lord Peter Masterson, Mr. Randall Towne, present their compliments to her ladyship. Beg to wait upon her.”

Bennet’s first impulse was to deny the intrusion. Then she recalled that these gentlemen were his lordship’s closest friends, and as such might feel it incumbent upon them to inquire after Lady Elsingham. And there had been pitifully few sympathy calls. Her beautiful charge had no friends in London. A kindly gesture might encourage her, lift her from the depression into which she seemed to have sunk. So, finger to lip, she considered the situation. After a moment she replied, “I shall see if her ladyship is awake.”

When she reached the bedside, her charge was regarding her through eyes wide with alarm.

“Oh, what is happening, Bennet? Is it more trouble?”

Bennet’s soft heart was wrung with pity. “No, no, milady, ¼tis only two good friends of his lordship’s, come to pay their respects. Are you well enough to receive them?”

Kathryn sighed with relief. “Lord John’s friends? Of course I’ll see them. Who are they, Bennet? Do I—know them well?”

As she raised the beautiful shoulders, plumped up pillows, straightened the covers and smoothed back the glorious hair, Bennet was worriedly considering that very problem. Strange and terrible as milady’s story was, Bennet had become a believer. She had encountered nothing remotely like this situation in all her quiet, God-fearing life. Considered sensibly, the story was impossible. Worse, it smacked of witchcraft and the forbidden arts. But Bennet had looked deep into the strange green eyes, and listened to the tortured voice, and something inside her accepted the fact that this woman believed she was telling the exact truth. Bennet hadn’t got any further than that. She prayed every night, and served her charge every day, exactly as she had loved and served and prayed for Lord John when he had been a small boy and her special responsibility.

She answered Kathryn’s question. “Yes, you know them. But it is said in the servant’s hall that you don’t like them very much.”

“Oh, dear! How do I address them, Bennet?”

Bennet surprised herself. “Milady, I think you should begin as you mean to go on. If you intend to maintain your story, you must be—yourself.”

This startled a small laugh from Kathryn. “No compromise! ‘Full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes!’ That’s a quotation from Admiral Farragut, and it’s good American, Bennet. Bless you!”

“Full speed ahead,” acknowledged Bennet, confused but loyal, “and—er—damn the torpedoes!” She returned to the door, and flinging it open with quite a fine flourish, told the startled footman, “Her ladyship will see the gentlemen.”

What Kathryn saw as the visitors entered her bedroom was, first, an enormous bunch of flowers carried by a man even taller than Lord John and reassuringly pleasant of countenance. His attitude as he advanced toward her was easy and open. And then she saw that the eyes, a hard dark gray, were scrutinizing her face intently. She turned to look at the other man with a sense of escape.

The second man was younger, dark, almost sullen-looking. He seemed to be avoiding her glance. Instead he addressed himself to Bennet. “What ho, Mistress Bennet! It is good to see you again!”

Kathryn turned to the big man, who was proffering his flowers. He laid them gently on the coverlet. “My lady. I hope we see you much improved,” he said, formally.

“Yes, indeed, sir. Dr. Anders tells me that my arm is knitting nicely. I was a little apprehensive, since your doctors haven’t discovered antibiotics yet, but Dr. Anders seems both kind and competent in the medical knowledge of this century.”

Even Bennet looked startled. This was carrying the war into the enemy camp with a vengeance. Kathryn felt a stir of pure pleasure at the dangerous game she had decided to play. Be yourself, Bennet had advised. Well, Kathryn Hendrix of the twentieth century would do it!

The big man was frowning slightly. “Anti—what was that, milady?”

“Antibiotics. Chemical substances which inhibit the growth of bacteria. Or have your doctors discovered the existence of bacteria yet? I can’t recall. After all, I was a history minor at my college, not a pre-med student.”

Avoiding Bennet’s cautioning glance, Kathryn looked instead at Lord John’s friends with as keen a scrutiny as they were directing at her. The slighter youth had dropped his jaw in a reflex of astonishment. The bigger man had his lazy eyes fully open now, and they were puzzled rather than hard. Kathryn decided rashly to pursue the attack before they could recover and regroup. She’d show these arrogant Englishmen!

“I’m told you are the two best friends Lord John has, so I would like to be civil to you. I don’t know which of you is which. Would you be gracious enough to introduce yourselves? I am Kathryn Hendrix of New York, very unwilling to be here in this rather fulsome body, and disturbed by the situation Lady Nadine seems to have gotten herself into. Since,” she concluded with a wry smile, “I seem to have inherited the unpleasant results of it.”

Lord Peter saluted her with a smile of reluctant admiration. “No quarter, ma’am? You are determined to maintain your position, however—untenable?”

“As I have just told Bennet, my course must be full speed ahead, and damn the torpedoes! Which is a quotation from one of our American admirals in a civil war fought between the Northern and Southern United States starting in 1861.”

“I salute your courage, ma’am, but beg to offer you a warning,” replied Lord Peter quietly. “The story you are telling is incredible. Have you carefully considered the consequences of persisting in such—”

“Such a preposterous lie!” interrupted Randall hotly. “I’ll give you the truth with the bark on it, madam. Whatever devious game you’re playing, you can’t win. No one can win. The kindest judgment will be that you are mad—the worst, that you are dabbling in witchcraft!”

Kathryn stared at the flushed, angry face of the young man. “If the cry of witchcraft is raised, I would have you consider that I have been the victim of it, not the instigator. I am snatched from my own time and place and brought to this—” she glanced at Peter and checked what she was going to say, substituting, “this very inhospitable situation, locked into the body of a woman for whom no one can have anything but contempt. You are Lord John’s friends. What would you advise me to do?”

“Have done with playacting and go back to Ireland,” snapped Randall. “You’re nothing but trouble here.”

Kathryn turned to Lord Peter with a faint smile. “And you, my lord? Do you subscribe to this severe judgment?”

“Severe, madam?” Randall interjected. “¼Tis the soul of leniency! After what you’ve done to Johnny—”

“What I’ve done—!” began Kathryn in protest, then, facing Randall’s scornful expression, she sighed and turned to his companion.

“There are reasons why it would be very hazardous—perhaps disastrous—for me to leave London at this moment,” she began, aware of the hardening of suspicion on Lord Peter’s face. “I need to remain as close as possible to the place through which I entered your world—”

“Faugh!” interrupted Randall. “More of your mystical nonsense! I don’t know why we listen to you!”

“You actually haven’t, have you? Not really.” She sighed. “I was taught to be properly appreciative of gifts. And so, Lord Peter or Mr. Towne, whichever you are,” she smiled wanly at the big, serious Lord Peter, “thank you very much for the beautiful flowers. And to you,” she turned to the angry Randall, “my thanks for your honesty. I understand my position more clearly now. Good day.”

It was dismissal. The gentlemen made their bows and got out of the room with what grace they could muster. Randall was fuming.

“Trickster! Liar! Cheat!” he muttered, as they went down the great stairway. “When I think of Johnny tied to that Irish termagant—!”

When his friend did not respond at once, Randy eyed him sharply. “Don’t tell me she’s pulled the wool over your eyes?”

Lord Peter shook his head. “I think the honors go to her. We didn’t really listen, did we? We had our minds made up before we came.”

Randall spat out an oath. “How much do I need to know? I tell you the woman tried to seduce me! Not two months ago! ‘Whoever you are,’ says she, like Mistress Prim and Proper. I’m Johnny’s best friend. She knew it then and she knows it now!”

Lord Peter shook his head. “Whatever the case, the sooner Johnny ships her off to Ireland, the better things will be for both of them.”