There was so much to do I didn’t know where to start, so Vincent and I walked through the forest until I had a plan. But before I could put it into action, Jacob arrived with a cart of wood. I thanked him and told him he’d make someone a fine husband some day. He blushed so fiercely I feared spontaneous combustion. For some reason I cannot fathom, I said, “Jacob, what is your full name?”
“Jacob Peter Maddox.”
I sat down so suddenly my teeth clacked together. “Maddox?”
He smiled shyly.
Jamie Maddox. Blanche Maddox. Jacob Maddox. I started to laugh when I realized what I needed to do. I would do this for Blanche’s sake since she would never do it for herself.
I stepped close, then put both my hands on his chest. “Because I am with child, it is very unlikely that you would agree to this, but…Jacob Maddox, would you marry me?”
Jacob’s eyes nearly popped out.
“I realize my personality has changed, but what if I once again became the ‘astonishing and feisty’ Blanche? Would you have me then?”
He swallowed several times. “I have loved you since you were a girl, but you’ve never been interested in a commoner like me.”
“I have been blind, but now I see clearly.” I patted his cheek. “You will be good for her…I mean, me. But we must get the Queen’s permission.”
He hugged me so hard I grunted, then he kissed me like a man desperate for oxygen. “Oh,” he said as he jumped back. “The baby. Pray forgive me.” Then he sprinted down the path toward the palace to see the Queen. I thought about following, then realized it was too much. I’d begun feeling odd, vaguely unsettled, as if something were happening in my body. Great, just great. Watch me give birth before I could reach St. Paul’s.
Thirty minutes later, Jacob returned, flushed with success. We would marry that afternoon. He kissed me again, leaving me a little jealous that Blanche was so passionately desired.
“Do we require a license?” I asked.
“Yes!” And off he ran again.
* * *
That afternoon, most of the court was hunting; they’d passed my cottage, noisy with laughter, the horses tossing their heads and snorting. So I felt comfortable roaming the palace until I found an empty desk with paper, pen, and inkwell. I pulled out one sheet, dipped the tip into the black ink, and began.…
Dear Blanche,
Writing this note may be a total waste of time and paper, but it’s important to me. If things go as I hope, by now I am back in my own body, my own time, and you are back in yours. I will make sure we both remain where we are, where we belong.
You are likely to give birth very soon after you return to this time. You are married not to Lord Winston but to a palace guard whom you have known for years—Jacob Maddox. While he is not the rich lord you’d hoped for, he’s a very good man. He loves my dog, Vincent. I know you have been cruel to the dog in the past, but I would reconsider this if I were you. You don’t have many friends in this world. In fact, Vincent is currently your only friend besides Jacob. I know you think being ruthless and selfish will hold off the poverty you fear, but you no longer need to do that. Jacob loves me (you), and will never let any harm come to you…if you treat him right. Treat him and Vincent badly, and you will find yourself poor and alone.
Of course, what is now 1561 could all be in my mind. When I regain control of my body, where do you go? Do you inhabit my 1561 fantasy? While that’s what I wish, it may not be so. Perhaps you’ve created your own fantasy world. God knows what that looks like.
Why did this happen to us? Are you a part of me that I created to make Chris happy? Are you a part of me, long buried, that’s come to life?
I’m not sure I’ll ever know the answers to any of these questions. All I want is to wake up in my own body. I want to hug myself, see my face in the mirror, hear my parents’ voices. Chris and I are over, but I am ready to move on. I need to find out how much of me is Jamie, and how much is Blanche.
Signed,
Jamie
I blew on my signature to speed the drying, then folded it and tucked it into my incredibly tight bodice for Blanche to find.
* * *
The April 2nd ceremony was small and held inside my cottage. I wore my drab blue gown, the only one that fit. Jacob and I stood together, with two of his guard friends behind us as witnesses, Vincent by my side, and the vicar before us. It was over in a few minutes. Blanche—if she really existed—would be furious to find herself married to a mere guard, which made my heart soar. I did worry about her future treatment of Jacob, but I’d seen enough of his character to know he would be kind and patient with her until she came around. Surely Blanche would be smart enough to know she needed his support to raise a child.
After we lifted our glasses and toasted with ale, I once again took Jacob aside. “Because we are now married, and this is legally your child, I would like to go to St. Paul’s tomorrow, early in the morning, in order to pray for the health of our child. Would you take me?”
He took my face in his hands and kissed me like he meant it, leaving me a little lightheaded. Blanche had better be grateful. “Yes, I will take you, even though Westminster is much closer.”
“It’s St. Paul’s for me,” I murmured.
An hour later when Jacob’s friends folded themselves into deep bows, I turned toward the open door and sank into a curtsy as Elizabeth walked into the cottage. I gasped as I began to sink too low, weighed down by my belly. Thoughtful Jacob caught me and helped me up.
Elizabeth took both my hands. “Our Spark has made a most unusual marriage, but we wish you both good health and many children.” She motioned with one finger, and a servant dashed forward with a small box. He handed it to me.
“We wanted to give you a gift,” she said, “as a token of our affection.”
I opened it to find an exquisite baby gown, ivory with pearl beads stitched onto the front panel. It was The Dress. Too choked up to speak, I just stared at the delicate, brilliant white piece of my life nestled into the box.
“Ma’am, it’s lovely,” Jacob said.
The Queen and I exchanged happy looks.
Then it hit me. This would be the last time I would see Queen Elizabeth I alive. If the lightning returned me to my own time, all I would see of Elizabeth again would be her tomb. I would squeeze through the narrow entrance at the left side of the Henry VII Chapel in Westminster Abbey. I would stand next to her tomb, with its black iron railing surrounding the tall columns that supported an elaborate platform. Beneath this platform would be her marble effigy, reclining on a marble bed and wearing a large neck ruffle and beautiful crown. She would be holding a scepter in those long, elegant fingers. In the coffin beneath this cold white sculpture would be Elizabeth’s bones, long since turned to dust.
I swallowed hard to fight back tears.
“Oh, dear Spark, you are moved by our gift. Pray, it is nothing. Now do not forget. When you have delivered this child, you shall find a wet nurse and come back to court. I long to hear the rest of Harry’s story.”
I blinked through my tears. Elizabeth was just at the beginning of her reign and had so much ahead of her—Sir Francis Drake and Sir Walter Raleigh would explore the world. Elizabeth’s navy would defeat the Spanish Armada. She would meet and encourage Shakespeare. And the religious turmoil boiling through the country would calm under her leadership. For more than a second, I was tempted to stay here, living in this fantasy, so I could watch it all unfold.
Elizabeth was still holding my hands. She gave them a slight squeeze, then gathered up her skirts and swished away. I turned away so Jacob would not see my tears.
After our evening meal, Jacob chose to sleep in his own quarters because I was so large and the bed so small. Relieved, I lay down to rest, and Vincent hopped up. He barely fit, but as usual, he curled up behind my legs and kept me warm. I was going to miss him.
* * *
I could not sleep and soon began to feel restless. My legs ached. My back ached. Maybe I just needed to walk, so I stepped outside and paced around. The sun had long since disappeared behind the trees, leaving the cottage shadowed, but the path still visible.
Would my plan work? Would the lightning take me on the morrow? Would I end up back in my body, or remain stuck in this time period?
Vincent stopped, staring into the trees as I gasped at a cramp in my lower back. I tried massaging it out, but the cramp moved south. God’s knees. I could not have this baby yet. It was Blanche’s baby to have, thank you very much. But what if the child were to be born before the lightning strike tomorrow? Could I give birth then leave the baby behind?
“No, I couldn’t,” I said to Vincent, who was whining at something. “Once he or she is born,” I said, “I’m not sure I trust Blanche to take care of the baby.” Since hope and I had reconnected, the life I carried within in my body had become real.
A twig snapped behind me. Ears flying, Vincent leapt toward the sound. When I turned, two men stepped out from behind the trees and grabbed my arms. I struggled, but one of them put a cloth over my mouth, and my knees went limp. Vincent barked frantically, and one of the men yelled out in pain. I fought to stay conscious but failed.
* * *
When I came to, I was lying on the bottom of a boat that smelled of fish and feet and mold. Oars splashed regularly into the river. I curled up, holding my stomach protectively. This was not part of my plan. Whatever had been on that cloth to knock me out made me sick to my stomach.
The sounds of revelry somewhere along the bank penetrated the blanket the men had thrown over me. Slowly, so they wouldn’t know I was awake, I moved my head to the gunwale and peeked out from under the blanket. Lantern reflections danced all around us, but I couldn’t tell where we were. Then the boat turned to the left toward a stone arch directly over the water. Two metal gates swung open toward us.
Fire truck. It was the Traitor’s Gate, the way prisoners could be slipped by boat into the Tower of London at night. Princess Elizabeth had been brought in this way when her sister had her arrested.
Two lanterns walked down the stone steps as our boat bumped against the wall. Then one of the men in the boat dragged off the blanket. “Ah, the little fishy we caught is awake.”
They helped me out of the boat, then two men each grabbed an arm, squeezing so tightly I knew they’d leave bruises. The lantern barely lit the cobblestone street so I stumbled, but the iron grips kept me upright. I considered screaming, but I was in the Tower of London. No one would come to my aid. My jaw tightened as the men dragged me up the stairs and along the walkway. If this was really happening, then I was screwed. If this was all in my head, then what kind of wacko gives herself the hope she’ll escape only to then create men who capture her? Sick, sick, sick.
They led me into the Salt Tower, Ray’s room. The two men who’d kidnapped me waited until the guard muttered to himself, then dug out some coins and tossed them each one. Without a word, they left.
The guard stood in the doorway. He wasn’t the one who’d let me visit Ray. “Bed’s there. No wood for a fire. Food comes midday on the morrow. Be quiet and you won’t be harmed.”
I stood as tall as I could. “I am Blanche Nottingham, and I demand to be released at once. The Queen will be very upset to learn her favorite has been wrongly imprisoned.”
He snorted. “Don’t be daft. You yourself arranged this, so don’t be bringing the Queen into it.”
“I arranged this?”
“Last fall, ye dropped the coins in my very hand and said to throw you in the Tower the night of April second and that I was to keep you there for one night and one day, no matter what you said.”
I closed my eyes. Blanche, while I’d been back in my own body, had been very, very busy while in hers. She’d known about the lightning strike tomorrow. While she might have won this round, I was not giving up just yet. “I’m with child. Are you prepared to deliver a baby in the Tower?”
“Won’t be the first time, m’lady. Now get some sleep. If your time comes while you be here, I’ll see to having a midwife sent around.”
The heavy door clanked shut and a key turned the lock. The guard shuffled away, coughed, and spit.
When an intense cramp hit my back, I stumbled to the bed and slowly lowered myself. The cramp disappeared, but twenty minutes later, it returned, stronger than before, taking my breath away.
Excellent. I was locked in the Tower of London and going into labor.
This just could not be happening.
But it was.