The next week was painful as I felt close to bursting. I either couldn’t find Meg or we had to pass on the grounds without talking as I attended the Queen. We communicated with our eyes—amazing how much one can say with just a few facial muscles—but I longed to hold her again, wondering if it would feel as good the second time.
Finally, Meg appeared in the Queen’s chambers one morning, having been summoned to read to Elizabeth. I sat on a nearby stool, trying to focus on my stitching instead of on Meg’s animated face, but I only managed to stitch the collar onto my skirt again.
I didn’t hear a word of what Meg read, instead scrolling through a “book” in my head of all the things I wanted to say to her, all the things I wanted to ask her. We knew so little about each other.
When Meg finished, the Queen once again thanked her for the scavenger hunt. “We felt more joy in those few hours than we have felt since the crown has been weighing down our head.”
Meg curtsied. “If it please the Queen, perhaps you would like to take some fresh air by way of the palace balconies. You could make a tour of the balconies, stopping to enjoy each one.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, that would be something new. Come, ladies, we shall make a journey without leaving the palace.”
Meg winked at me as I followed the group. What was she up to now?
At the fourth balcony, as we looked out across the jousting arena, Lady Clinton bent over the railing and pointed to the ground two stories below. “What, pray tell, is that?”
We all gathered at the railing. A number of white rocks had been placed on the brown, crushed stone walkway. “The rocks appear to have been laid out in the shape of an eye,” Elizabeth said. “How unusual.”
At the next balcony, Lady Mary pointed to the ground. “Now here is a heart made of the same white rocks,” she said.
Eye. Heart. I love. My hands and feet began to tingle.
At the next balcony, we all rushed the railing at the same time. “J!” Elizabeth cried. “Eye heart J. I love J. But who is J?”
I struggled to keep my expression neutral. Meg loved me. The thought brought tears to my eyes, and I looked away to hide them, only to come face-to-face with Meg herself.
She curtsied to the Queen. “If you will allow me, ma’am, J stands for James. He is a new earl come to court.”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “We have not met any James. Who is this man?”
Meg was clearly trying not to laugh. “He has not yet been presented to you, ma’am, but I have heard the others talk about him. He is the Earl…the Earl of Doonesbury.”
The others murmured at this news. My jaw was clamped as tightly as possible, and I pinched the back of my hand to hold off the laughter.
“Yes, and I am told he is quite handsome, tall and well-bodied, with eyes the color of amber.”
More murmuring now. “In fact,” Meg added, “I just saw him a few minutes ago. He was heading to the Great Hall and seemed the most masculine of men.”
That was all it took. The Queen led the way and the women followed. I hung back, met Meg’s eyes, then pulled us both behind the heavy drapes lining the door to the balcony. The kiss was long and hot and weakened my knees. Then we pulled apart.
“Don’t stop,” I whispered.
“If we don’t stop now, we won’t be able to.” Meg sweetly kissed the corner of my mouth. “What would Blanche and Harriet say to that?”
“I don’t care.”
We kissed again, then Meg stroked my sides, tapping her knuckle against my stomacher. “You must wear this all the time?”
We kissed again. “It’s kind of like the Elizabethan version of Spanx.”
“Ahh, the knickers that hold in all your flabby bits.” Then she pushed me deeper into the drapes and kissed me so hard my knees did finally collapse. She pushed against me to hold me up.
“Goddamn it, Meg. Maybe Blanche and Harriet wouldn’t mind.”
Groaning, she stepped back and let me go. “Another minute with you and I might abandon my ethics.”
Once outside the room, she headed left with a happy wave, then I turned right to join the search for James, Earl of Doonesbury.
* * *
After more days of catering to Elizabeth’s every whim, which included daily walks, requests for games and dancing, and under-the-cover discussions about either Dudley or Harry Potter, I was worn out. At least Elizabeth was back to her normal self, thanks to Meg.
Distracted by my thoughts of her, I didn’t notice the change in weather until Lady Mary pointed to the sky. Slate gray clouds rolled toward the palace like a team of out-of-control horses. Thunder cracked sharply in the distance. We picked up our skirts and began running toward the palace, Elizabeth laughing as fat raindrops plopped onto our heads and shoulders.
Once I was safely inside, my mind spun. Where would Meg be? I ran to the maids’ storage room, but she wasn’t there. “Gone to the cellars,” one woman called.
I’d never been there, so I ended up racing through three wings of the palace until I found someone who could point me to the stairs leading into the cellar. By now my heart pounded faster than was healthy. How much time did we have? Thunder boomed directly overhead, and hard rain drilled the gravel streets.
I found the stairs and descended, ducking my head to avoid the low ceiling beams. The bricked walls and dirt floor reeked of mold and damp.
Meg was in a far corner helping another woman with a crate of bottles. “Meg—I mean Harriet, I need you to come with me.”
The other woman glared at me. “She be helping me now. You can have her when I’m finished.”
“The Queen has sent for you to read to her, Harriet. She hates to be kept waiting.” The sounds of the storm didn’t reach the cellar, so Meg didn’t know.
With a mumbled apology to the woman, Meg followed me up the stairs. We were halfway down the hallway when the thunder rolled through again. “Holy shit!” she snapped. “This is our chance!”
We ran out the door and into the nearest flower garden. The rain beat against our faces and blew off my headpiece. “Fire truck, this hurts,” I yelled. We stood huddled together against the bruising rain.
“Why does rain have to be so cold?” Meg shouted against the thunder. Her teeth chattered, but she was grinning. “We’re going home, Jamie.”
“Don’t forget. No matter where you are, get yourself to Dr. Rajamani immediately and demand the serum. That’s the only thing that will stop us from coming back during the next storm.” Soaked now, my entire body trembled from cold and excitement.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s meet at his office.”
“Deal!” I shouted over the thunder.
The sky crackled like a downed power line, and I flew through the air. But instead of riding lightning, I slammed against the ground in the middle of a flowerbed. The rain pelting my face forced me to sit up. Aching, I climbed to my feet. “Meg!” She lay crumpled in the path ten feet away.
I tripped over my sodden skirt, fell to my knees, and ended up crawling. Just as I reached her, she sat up and rubbed her forehead.
“Are you okay?”
She frowned, then winced at the driving rain. She looked down at her skirts and examined her hands. “Thank you, Lord Almighty, for your forgiveness.”
“Meg, look at me. Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “Lady Blanche, I am Harriet. And God has seen fit to answer my prayers and return me to the world.”
My heart soared and plummeted at the same time, which I’d never thought possible. I was thrilled that Meg had made it back into her own body, and horrified that I hadn’t.
* * *
Meg left me on October 10. That was when I stopped notching my table leg calendar. The only way to survive was to shut down emotionally. I waited a week for another storm. Then two weeks, then three. When I asked one of the male servants about the weather, he said that October was always the rainiest month. And it did rain. And it even stormed twice. But I was still here. A tiny part of me wanted to believe that Meg had gotten the serum from Dr. Raj, but then I stopped thinking about Meg as a real person. Believing that time travel was possible was just part of my mental illness.
After four weeks, the truth had settled into my soul like pneumonia. Chris and Dr. Kroll were right. This was all in my head. I’d created Meg/Harriet and Ray so I would have some allies in my private fantasy. I’d created the entire Elizabethan experience from what I’d read or movies I’d seen.
I’d created Kat Ashley, and Lady Mary, and Jacob, to remind me of my friends Ashley and Mary, and my brother Jake. I’d even created little Vincent.
I wasn’t actually in the body of Queen Elizabeth I’s lady-in-waiting. I was in my own body, my own time, locked somewhere deep inside my own brain while “Blanche,” my alter ego, ran the show. Clearly, she’d managed to talk Dr. Kroll into the electroconvulsive therapy. She won.
I had done all this to punish myself for not being the woman Chris wanted. I had dissociative personality disorder, and there was nothing I could do about it.
Fuck.