A Twist in Time (Kendra Donovan #2)



In the park below, the huddled figure watched as the woman came to stand in front of the upstairs window. Though he knew she couldn’t see him in the darkness, he found himself sidling closer to the trees, using the foliage as cover. He couldn’t see her clearly, either, as the mist that had crept in off the Thames made her features indistinct. Her face was a pale cameo, warmed by the glow of the candles positioned around her. And she only looked out for a moment. Then she turned away, appearing to talk to someone. She moved out of his line of sight.

The woman didn’t return to the window, nor did anyone else, but he remained where he was, burrowing deeper into his coat and scarf in an attempt to keep warm. Watching.





7




One day down. Fifty years to go.

Or maybe less. What was the life span of a woman in this era?

Kendra refused to think about it as she rolled out of the big four-poster bed with its cream silk canopy and feather tick mattress to begin the morning rituals common to the early nineteenth century. She relieved herself in the chamber pot tucked discreetly inside a wooden washstand in the small alcove and brushed her teeth using a tooth powder mixture of soda, chalk, and salt (courtesy of Mrs. Tobin, who ran the stillroom at Aldridge Castle). And after stripping off her nightdress and donning undergarments—a simple chemise and stays—Kendra went through her own morning ritual: bending, stretching, and twisting in a series of yoga positions.

“Mornin’, Miss.”

Kendra glanced over from the side-plank position as Molly, a young maid called a tweeny, came into the room carrying a tray with a coffeepot, sugar bowl, and cup and saucer. In addition to helping the other staff with their duties, Molly had become Kendra’s de facto lady’s maid, since it was nearly impossible for a woman to dress in this era without some assistance.

“Thought ye’d be awake doin’ . . . wot’ever it is ye do.” Molly no longer watched in fascination as Kendra went through the rest of her exercise routine. She’d become used to what she regarded as Kendra’s eccentricities, believing yoga to be something every American did before they ate their breakfast.

Funny how the strange becomes familiar, Kendra mused. Like pissing into a chamber pot. She no longer thought twice about it. And that frightened her more than anything.

So don’t think about it.

Molly poured coffee into the cup, sweetening it with a lump of sugar. She brought it over to Kendra as she pushed herself to her feet. “Ain’t London Town grand, Miss? Oi’ve never seen the like. Never been outside of Aldridge Village. It’s ever so excitin’— Oh!” Her pale, freckled face scrunched in consternation. “’Course, ’tis a terrible thing about ’Is Lordship. Pay me no mind. Oi’m babbling like a brook, as me ma says.”

“It’s perfectly natural for you to be excited about being in a new environment, Molly.” Kendra smiled at the tweeny as Molly bustled around the bed, straightening the sheets and fluffing the pillows.

“Aye, Miss.” Molly moved to the enormous wardrobe to inspect the gowns inside. She shot Kendra a quick glance. “Mrs. Danbury reckons the Countess’ll be ’iring ye a proper lady’s maid.”

“You’re proper enough for me.”

It probably wasn’t much of a compliment, Kendra decided wryly, given that everyone at the castle thought she was a freak. But Molly flashed her a quick smile and pulled out a green cotton muslin, which she laid on the bed. She left the bedchamber, returning ten minutes later with a pitcher of lavender-scented water and a bowl of lemon wedges.

Last night, the servants had hauled up a copper tub and steaming buckets of water so she could bathe. This morning, Kendra settled for a quick sponge bath from the porcelain bowl that Molly poured the scented water. She tried not to think of the quick morning shower she indulged in before going to work in the twenty-first century. She also tried not to think about the hundreds of convenient antiperspirant sticks that were available in her time.

As she swabbed her armpits with the slices of lemon, which acted as a natural deodorant, she wondered what Molly would think if she walked into a modern store and saw the entire aisles devoted to the countless brands of deodorant that promised to stop the stink, stop the sweat, stop the stains. For men, for women, even for teens, as if a sixteen-year-old’s perspiration was somehow biologically different from a twenty-five-year-old’s. Would Molly be enthralled? Or would she think the greatest fear in the twenty-first century was unpleasant odors?

“W’ot?” Molly asked.

Only then did Kendra realize that she’d given a small laugh. She shook her head. “Nothing. I was just thinking how different my life was before arriving in England.”

“Ooh, Oi’d love ter hear about America. It’s ever so far.”

Kendra smiled slightly as she pulled on the dress the maid had selected. “It is far.”

After Molly buttoned her up, Kendra sat down at the mirrored vanity. Fifteen minutes later, the tweeny had managed to coil Kendra’s dark hair into some kind of twisty chignon, anchored with silver combs and long hairpins.

Kendra left the bedroom. In the hallway, a couple of maids were already sweeping the carpet with sturdy whisk brooms and polishing the side tables with beeswax that carried the faintest odor of honey. They gave her quick curtsies, which surprised Kendra. Then she realized that they must have heard that she was now the Duke’s ward, an elevation in status that required their deference, at least outwardly. Given their carefully blank faces, Kendra had a feeling that they thought something else entirely. Servants in grand households like the Duke’s were notoriously snobbish.

She found the Duke and Sam Kelly in the dining room, halfway through the English breakfast that had been set up on the buffet.

“Good morning, Miss Donovan,” Aldridge greeted her. “I hope you slept well.”

“Yes, thanks. I was out like a light.” Only when she caught Sam’s perplexed stare did Kendra realize that the idiom made virtually no sense in an age without electricity.

Aldridge looked only amused. “Um. Yes, indeed. Anyhow, Mr. Kelly has informed me that Lady Dover’s maid, Miss Marat, has agreed to meet with us later this morning.”

“Aye. She’ll be here at eleven.”

“Good.” Kendra filled a plate with eggs, sausage, and stewed tomatoes, poured another cup of coffee and added sugar, and brought it over to the table.

“I’ve ordered a slate board and supplies brought to my study.” The Duke picked up his teacup, and surveyed them over the rim. “We shall use that room to discuss sensitive matters. It’s imperative that we resolve this investigation quickly.” He paused, then added, “I’ve learned that the House of Lords will convene soon to decide my nephew’s fate.”

Julie McElwain's books