The next morning I awoke smelling of soap and ran my hands through my hair. It was thinner than my own, and the wrong color, but it was mine for now, and it felt damned good to be clean. And it felt really good to have made a connection with Harriet. For the next few days, I watched but never saw her. Instead, I sat on a stool for endless hours as men with woolen capes draped over their arms bowed before Elizabeth and requested certain lands or that she punish a new neighbor for the harm he’d done to someone else’s livestock. I watched women in elaborate, filmy headdresses glare and gossip about other women in elaborate, filmy headdresses. The whole court charade was less entertaining than TV’s worst reality show, which in my opinion included all of them.
The morning I gouged my sixteenth notch on the table, sounds of an awakening palace drifted into my room, but they seemed muted, as if coming from a distance. The louder noise was a persistent beating.
I shot up. Rain. I threw on my robe and raced down the hallway to the nearest window, Vincent clicking softly at my heels. I loved that the little guy was so devoted to me. Chris didn’t really like dogs, so my only chance for Dog Time was here at Whitehall.
Outside, deliciously gray and ominous clouds emptied themselves onto London. Lightning flashed in the distance. Thunder boomed. I counted the seconds between light and sound. My heart soared when I realized the lightning was close.
I raced back to the room. Lady Mary had already left, so there was no one to help me dress in my Blanche clothing. I dug out my servant’s dress from under the mattress and slipped it on. I would give some serious money to see the look on Blanche Nottingham’s face when she found herself back in 1560 wearing such a low class dress. All her dresses were embroidered with beads and intricate stitching.
I put on my heaviest slippers and a thick cape. No use giving Blanche pneumonia as we switched bodies.
Shaking now, I dashed through the palace for the nearest stairwell, then made my way to the center of the knot garden near the fountain. Vincent stood in the open doorway, whining and pacing.
The lightning had reached me in Dr. Rajamani’s office, so I should be in good shape outside. Cold rain smacked my cheeks as I threw back my head and opened my mouth. Water, blessed water. After two minutes, my slippers and skirt were soaked, but I’d drunk enough water I no longer felt like a wilting plant. With one last glance at Vincent, whom I would miss, I moved west to the large lawn of open space. I could see people inside the palace gathering at the windows to point at me. Apparently, a walk in the rain wasn’t a standard 1560 activity. I waved, unable to contain my excitement.
My mind spun with what to do when I got home. First, find Chris and hold her until my arms ached. Second, find Dr. Rajamani and tell him I was going to sue his ass off for mental anguish and torture. Was there even such a category?
Lightning silently reached down somewhere on the southern shore of the Thames, miles away, and my vision dissolved in a rush of speed and blue, and I was blind. I was Dr. Raj’s ideal of a freed consciousness, untethered to a body. It was frightening, and it was freeing. I was not myself, and I was only myself.
* * *
When the spinning stopped, I opened my eyes and nearly fell over, but I managed to stop myself by grabbing a rack of books. I looked around and nearly shouted with joy, then I glanced down. This was my body! I was back!
I stood in a Waterstone’s Bookshop holding a book about Queen Elizabeth I. Slowly, I returned the book to the shelf. Two seconds ago, Blanche Nottingham had been in this body, in this bookstore, holding this book. Now she was back in 1560, standing out in the rain with the entire palace watching, wearing a servant girl’s dress. The thought was more satisfying than I’d imagined, even though I had no idea what Blanche was like, and none of this was her fault (except for the stupid plotting with Winston.) I listened for the hum that had been in my dream but there was none. I was really home. The nightmare was over.
My head spun with all the information rushing at me at once, as if too many trains had arrived at the station simultaneously. I was obviously not lying in a coma in a hospital, with my family and Chris at my side. I was functioning. I looked around for Chris but couldn’t see her. That Blanche was comfortable enough in my body, and in this time, to be browsing a bookstore on her own, spoke volumes.
Something pinched at my waist. I looked down and gasped. I was wearing a black push-up bra under a black velvet cut out blouse. I blushed from my navel to my breasts, the whole route far too visible. The blouse was tucked into a lime green skirt, which was so tight a muffin top bulged out. Hell’s gate. What had Blanche been eating?
Still unsteady, I wandered through the bookstore to make sure Chris wasn’t there, then I made my way out onto the street into a steady drizzle. Passing headlights reflected off the wet pavement as I popped open the umbrella in my hand. When I determined I was at the Waterstone’s near the London School of Economics, I scooped up a discarded issue of Metro and checked the day. Wednesday. Chris should be at school.
I fumbled for my phone, found it in my skirt pocket, then called Chris.
“Hey, babe. What’s up?” Her smooth voice flowed over me like warm syrup.
“Holy shit, Chris. I’m back. I’m really back.”
She snickered. “I know you were worried about making the trip to Waterstone on your own, but it’s not as if you’ve traveled around the globe or anything.”
“No, worse than that. I’ve been gone for almost three weeks. God, baby, I miss you so much.”
Confusion thickened her voice. “Blanche, are you okay?”
“Why are you calling me Blanche?”
“Because you begged me to!”
“Seriously? Oh, that bitch. What else has she screwed up?” I clenched my teeth. “Look, it’s a very, very long story. Are you at your office?”
“Yes, but—”
“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” I was only a few miles from school, so after making sure I carried a wallet with cash, I flagged down a taxi. I was not going to spend any more time than necessary away from Chris. Images blurred through the windshield as the wipers failed to keep up with the downpour, but I didn’t care. The city had never looked more beautiful. Even the squeaking of the wipers, the scratchy radio coming from the front seat, the smell of old, wet leather….all were precious to me.
I called my mom.
“Hey, Jamie! So good to hear from you. We’ve been worried sick.”
At the sound of my mom’s cheerful voice, tears began streaming down my face. “Why have you been worried?”
“Chris told us about that freaky accident, but she said you were too upset to talk. Your dad and I nearly bought tickets to show up at your apartment—sorry, your flat. I love that word. But Chris kept insisting you’d be fine. Then when you finally did call us, you just didn’t sound like yourself.”
I ached to tell her the truth. “I’m doing better,” I choked out.
“Doesn’t sound that way. I can tell you’re crying.”
I wiped my face. “It’s just good to hear your voice.”
“That’s it. We’re coming. Your dad can get a few days off, and I can get a sub for summer school.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m okay. Just really, really tired.”
In the silence I could hear my mom comparing my voice with my words. “You’re sure.”
“Absolutely.” What if another storm were to whisk me away and return Blanche while my parents were here? Would she be kind? Would she pretend she was me? Somehow I doubted it. “I’m sorry you’ve been kept out of the loop. I’ll call more often, okay?”
“We’d love that,” Mom said. She filled me in on my brothers’ lives and my dad’s latest home repair calamity.
By the time we were done talking, I finally felt at home. I was here, in the twenty-first century, and I needed to make sure that’s where I remained.
I tossed the driver the fare plus a huge tip and stepped out into the rain right in front of Chris’s building. I splashed through a huge puddle, black water reflecting the gray day, and ducked when thunder boomed overhead. I only had time to cry “No!” before darkness descended again.
* * *
I staggered a few steps, nearly thrown off balance from my drenched skirts and looked around. I stood just inside one of the arched entrances to Whitehall Palace. Furious, I threw back my head and howled at the world through clenched teeth. The sound shivered through me and sank deep into my soul. Such rage pounded through me that I wanted to hit someone.
Rosemary stood in front of me. Judging by her hand cradling a pink cheek, and the horrified way she stared at me, I might have already done that. Vincent barked at me, his lip curled back in a snarl.
“Hush, Vincent,” one of the women snapped.
“Rosemary was just trying to help you,” said another. Damn it. Blanche must have slapped poor Rosemary. How did I apologize for something I hadn’t done? I tore off my soggy cloak and flung it across the room. It knocked over a small carved table against the wall; candles and brass holders clattered across the stone floor. Vincent now approached me, stiff-legged and growling. The soft fur along his back stiffened with rage.
“Vincent, it’s me,” I said.
I turned and stormed down the hall, up the stairs, and into my room. Lady Mary was being helped into a dress for that evening’s performance by a theater troupe. Her eyes widened at my servant’s dress, which I yanked off and fired against the wall. It hit with a hard, wet slap and slid to the floor. I changed into a dry chemise and climbed into bed.
“My, we are moody this day,” Lady Mary cooed.
“Bite me,” I muttered. How could life be so unfair?