Chapter Eight

 

 

It was as though she were living a fairy tale.

When she had awakened it was to three costumed women bustling about her room, withdrawing the heavy curtains around her bed, lighting fires, serving her honey wine and delicious biscuits. She had been pampered, groomed, and left to ponder the incredible turn of her life. Sitting in a chair, gazing out to the rose garden below… Maggie again wondered if she’d had a nervous breakdown and was actually sitting in an institution hallucinating. Yet, as her fingers touched the heavy, rich material of her gown, she realized that everything felt so real, looked so clear, even the breeze coming in through the window smelled more sharp, cleaner.

And what about last night with Nick! Now that was about as real as anything she had ever experienced. He was… she fought for a word. Incredible. It had to have been the ale. Something. She could not be forty years old today and considering love with a singer who claimed to be living four hundred years in the past!

If she had gone crazy, she was certainly in a great place to be “out-there.”

Inhaling deeply, Maggie looked out to the lovely rose garden and stood up. Even though she’d said she would help Elthea, she simply had to escape, for she found herself being drawn more and more into this fantasy. His fantasy. It was seductive….

A mental picture of Nick wishing her a good night raced through her mind. She had thought, just for a moment, that he might kiss her. He had been staring at her mouth for the longest time, as though wondering what it might taste like. At least she’d been wondering, and that, alone, should be proof enough that she needed to find an escape. If she remained, Maggie feared she just might believe she had time traveled… and that would mean, of course, that she was insane and should be institutionalized! Her brain was starting to hurt from trying to analyze everything.

Dressed in her refreshed ruby gown, Maggie looked once around the chamber and walked toward the door. It was now or never.

What did Aunt Edithe say? There is no safety, nothing guaranteed, in an adventure?

Ironically, Elthea had scolded her with almost the same message.

Don’t think about it now, she admonished herself as she pulled up the metal latch and opened the heavy door. Looking out to the empty stone hallway, Maggie moved forward and tiptoed to the stairway. She would just go down it, walk through the great hall, and out into the garden. Once there, she would meander toward the entrance to this place and run.

That was her only plan. It had to work.

She opened the door at the bottom of the stairs and entered in back of the great hall, behind the head table. Several people were working, sweeping and assembling tables, and some raised their heads and stared at her.

Startled by their presence, Maggie squared her shoulders and took a deep breath as she closed the door behind her and entered the massive room. She kept reminding herself to stay calm as she walked farther into the hall, and appreciated the high, stiff collar of her underblouse that forced her to keep her chin up.

Two women, sweeping, bowed and lowered their heads as she passed.

“M’lady,” they whispered in unison.

Maggie smiled and nodded with a simple, “Good morning.”

Several others followed the ritual, and she found herself smiling and nodding as she briskly walked past them. This was her first honest attempt at role-playing and she felt foolish. Maggie almost laughed at her nervousness. How can one be honest and be playing a role, other than herself? Don’t think, her mind commanded, and she was reminded that her immediate objective was to get to a door, either door to the sides of the fireplace, and leave this crazy place that seemed so real.

Success!

Once out of the great hall, Maggie hurried to the main door and slowly opened it, wincing at the creaking of the old oak. Closing it behind her she inhaled the fresh air and immediately walked to the nearest rosebush, while attempting to remain as nonchalant as possible. She stopped and, while waiting for her heart to slow down the hammering inside her chest, sniffed the delicate fragrance coming from the pink rose.

She’d made it… at least so far no one had questioned her or tried to stop her. Encouraged, Maggie slowly walked to the next flowering bush and the next and the next, all in the direction of the gated door that would lead across a wooden bridge and to freedom.

She felt a twinge of remorse for leaving Elthea like this and more than a twinge about Nicholas, but none of it was really normal, and she needed to get back to normal people who took showers and had working indoor plumbing, telephones, and drove cars and spoke in a language that wasn’t archaic. Oh yeah… and men who didn’t look in her eyes and read her soul. Normal people. Her aunt Edithe would help solve this mystery, she thought as she inhaled the scent of another delicate rose. If there was a weird group of people that practiced living in the Renaissance, she was sure Malcolm and Edithe would know about it.

“The loveliness of my mother’s flowers surely pales before thy own beauty, cousin.”

Startled, Maggie, none too gracefully, stood upright and turned toward the sound of the deep male voice. A man dressed in dark green britches and a white shirt with intricate lace on the high collar and flowing sleeves was walking toward her with a smile upon his face. Behind him stood several men, who seemed pleased to be witnesses.

“Forgive me, Your Ladyship, for interrupting such a private moment, yet I could not help myself in finally making your acquaintance. I am most happy to see the blush of good health upon thy comely cheeks.”

He stood before her and Maggie felt the pounding of her heart in her ears and in her fingertips. It was Lord Robert! She was sure of it, as his mouth held the same pleasing tilt as Elthea’s. Now what was she supposed to do?

Immediately, she remembered last night with Nicholas. Just change the names, her mind commanded.

Slowly, Maggie lowered herself into a deep curtsy and bowed her head.

“I am honored, Lord Amesbury,” she whispered, as a bird let out a loud cry above them.

“Prithee, rise, dear lady and allow me to gaze upon thy countenance, for I fear the small portraiture I have held these many months does thee no justice whatsoever.”

Oh shit, now he’11 know, Maggie thought, and took a deep breath as she accepted his outstretched hand and slowly stood upright. Raising her chin, she gazed into his eyes and smiled, wondering if he would see she was an impostor and end the charade right then.

“Thou art far more lovely than I had expected. The years have been kind to thee, dear cousin.” There was flirtation in his dark eyes and some kind of knowing in his full smile. He wasn’t bad-looking… at all. Tall, dark with a full head of hair that curled around his handsome face and quite sure of himself, too.

For some reason, Maggie didn’t like being around him. It could be because Elthea and Nick had warned her about him, or it could also be that she wasn’t all that fond of a man, even a good-looking man, assuming anything about her. For some weird reason, he reminded her of her ex-husband, physically, and in that barely contained arrogance of a man who knows how to get what he wants from a woman. She had to also remind herself that he, like all those around her, actually believed he was someone else and his someone else was betrothed to the Lady Margaret. What a web they all were weaving. It was hard to keep the roles in order. Now, how was she supposed to answer him?

“You are very kind, m’lord. Thank you.”

Seemed polite enough.

“Your cousin, my lady mother, informs me you have suffered a misfortune while on your travels to Greville Manor. I pray you are recovered sufficiently, m’lady? Perchance, a recounting of your tale would enable that I might dispatch my guards posthaste to apprehend the scoundrels who accosted you, and your cortege. Such an affront upon a person of the nobility is punishable by—”

“Dear cousin Margaret,” Countess Elthea called out, as she hustled through her garden. “Thou gave me quite a fright, I fear.”

Caught for sure, Maggie could only smile with an odd mixture of the disappointing failure to escape and immediate relief to be rescued. She was not doing well on her own with Robert. “I was admiring your beautiful roses,” she murmured, as Elthea joined them and looked cautiously from Maggie to her son.

“Good morrow, my dear lady mother. It appears our lovely cousin Margaret shares thy passion for flowers.” He raised his mother’s hand and lightly kissed her fingertips. “’Twas here I happened upon her, a most inviting vision of loveliness she presented, that I was compelled to seize such advantage and dispense with formal introductions. You might have warned me my future bride was so pleasing that the winged birds above would sing her praises. I am most pleased.” He glanced to his cronies behind him and smirked.

Okay, now she really didn’t like him. He not only overplayed the part of lord of the manor, but he also actually believed that his opinion of her looks was important. What arrogance! Immediately, she remembered that he thought Lady Margaret was about to marry him, and so he would flirt. She glanced at Elthea and recognized her pleading expression, as though begging her to go along with the charade. There was something, almost fear, in the woman’s eyes, and Maggie found herself bowing once more in answer to his compliment.

“Impetuousness can wither even the strongest of hearts, my lord and son.” Elthea gave him a mildly chastising glance. “We shall make the formal introductions in the proper manner, Robert. Such an untimely meeting before an audience is most unseemly, is it not?” And she glanced to the men, who were still staring with great interest. “Pray thee, allow me to escort this lovely child from here and return her to her chamber, where she may recoup fully from her arduous journey and prepare for the coming festivities.” She squeezed Maggie’s hand.

Robert smiled to his friends, then bowed with great flourish. “I beg your forgiveness, my lady mother and dear cousin Margaret. My heart overwhelmed my good senses.” He took Maggie’s hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles in an intimate gesture. “Until this evening… when we may be formally introduced, then we shall feast and celebrate our betrothal with fine food and drink. Anon, m’lady…”

Maggie pulled her hand away quickly, grabbed her skirt, and curtsied with a quick bounce. “Good day, m’lord,” she whispered, while staring the man down. Nicholas might not approve, but she wasn’t lowering her head to this pretentious man again.

“We beg thy leave, Robert.” Elthea curtsied once more, pulling Maggie back with her.

“Come,” Elthea said, “I have sent for the mercer, the draper, and the stapler. You might be surprised at the quality one finds this far from court. As soon as your silks and linens have been selected, the tailor and seamstresses are prepared to replenish your wardrobe posthaste.’ Already the draper has arrived and is waiting in your chamber, dear cousin.” Maggie knew that speech was more for an impression than truth. Elthea took Maggie’s arm and looked back to her son watching their departure from the garden.

Neither woman said another word as they walked through the courtyard and back toward the main door. Just before they entered, Maggie distinctly heard Robert laughing with his men and one of them saying, “Fie me, but thou hath lucked well again, m’lord. Not half as sorry-looking as thou had imagined!”

Maggie’s back stiffened as she barely heard Robert’s reply. “I am pleased.”

“Child, do come along,” Elthea encouraged, as Evan opened the huge front door and exchanged an expression of relief with the countess.

Once inside the hall, Maggie pulled away from the woman. “I can’t stay here! I have to leave and get back to my own people!”

“Hush,” Elthea warned, and looked around the foyer for others who might overhear. “’Tis neither the time nor the place for this discussion. Come with me to my chamber, that we might converse in private.”

And so Maggie found herself back in the castle, back in the deception, and back into insanity.

 

“Prithee understand, the fabrics delivered are for the true Lady Margaret, and I regret our stapler cannot finish a new gown for you prior to this night’s gala,” Elthea whispered as she patted Maggie’s hair, which had been twisted into a coronet. She checked the pins on the circle of diamonds that rested on top. “You are an angel, child,” she breathed in appreciation of her creation.

Maggie sat frozen at the vanity table, unable to speak, just staring into the hazy mirror.

“Regardless, tonight you are so lovely, familiarity of thy raiment shall be overlooked. All shall be taken quite agog, I am certain, by your piercing blue eyes.” Maggie could tell Elthea was trying to smile reassuringly. “Practice caution, child, for the eyes are the windows to the soul… and our deception must be convincing for tonight’s performance. Once the feast has concluded, you may retire. Then an outing shall be arranged for you to search out thy…”—she paused— “… thy maze and the illusions surrounding it.”

Maggie spun around. “Illusions?” she asked with exclamation. “You simply don’t understand that my people are out there,” and she again pointed to the window. “There are people outside this place that don’t act like you, people who are normal! Just let me leave, and I’ll find them, Elthea. I can’t go through with this charade. Robert will find out I’m not this Lady Margaret. I know almost nothing about the Renaissance, except what my aunt told me, and that was about cultural freedom, not about political maneuvering. I’m telling you, I can’t do this!” Maggie turned back to the vanity, sighing with defeat. She leaned on her elbows and rested her chin in her hands forcing her face into a pout.

“You can, and more importantly, you must, child,” Elthea said firmly and turned Maggie back to the mirror as she finished dressing Maggie’s hair. “For not only is Master Nicholas’s life endangered, but mine own welfare is threatened by exposure. Can you not see these cultural freedoms you speak of will be withdrawn if a monarch takes the throne and is supported by the Church? Rome would like nothing better than to keep all but a chosen few in ignorance, for then power is retained and those who sit in power in Rome are very greedy indeed. This is not about you, dear child. ’Tis history, in the making, and remember… history is written by the victors. Those who follow us shall only know what the victors want them to know.”

Again Maggie spun back around. “Listen, Elthea… I can tell you. England stays Protestant. Rome never again regains power here. There’s your history. So you and Nick and everyone else who are so worried right now can relax because you’re the victors.”

Elthea rested her hands on Maggie’s shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Repeatedly, you have insisted you are not of this age, but of a future world. I am inclined to believe many things beyond my comprehension, and such a thing has brought you to my home. And yet, these remain dangerous times in our England. The Queen is aging and has no legal heirs to ascend her throne. She has spent her entire reign outwitting the Spaniards, the French, the Papists, and her own nobility. By not marrying any earthly man and declaring herself married to England, she has safeguarded her reign, yet the throne is still vulnerable to the machinations of those whose only desire is power, not the good of the people. If you know the future, who sits on the throne after Elizabeth?”

Maggie stared blankly into the woman’s eyes. “I don’t know. I can’t remember. And none of this really matters, because it’s not real. History is over and—”

Elthea’s fingers tightened on Maggie’s shoulders. “You must cease this denial once and for all! I know not how you came to be here in this troublesome time, but you are here, not in the year 2000. Such talk is unbalanced, should anyone save myself hear it.” She inhaled slowly. “On the morrow, I shall arrange for you to ride back to the woods and search for your fantastic maze, the faire, your relatives, yet I doubt their existence.”

Maggie felt tears well up in her eyes, and her throat felt like it was closing. “I know they exist… somewhere. I had a life, and I want to get back to it. I must get back to it.”

Elthea closed her eyes briefly and sighed. “Dearest Maggie… how can I make thee comprehend ’tis best not to ask the ‘why’ in all things, but to accept them as possibilities. I know not how such fantastic things happen, yet I do know they have. I have studied ancient scripts, talked to mystical scholars, and have seen writings which mention beings who are verily unexplainable. Other beings traveling to us, bringing knowledge and wondrous messages. I am even told of a legend of paintings found within caves in France, telling of these visitors from the sky.” Elthea paused, as if searching her mind. “Might they have been angels? Perhaps they were visitors from the future—”

“I can’t buy this!” Maggie stood up and began pacing the room. “You… you’re talking about angels, time travelers, UFOs and… and all kinds of stuff that has never been proven. I am just a woman, who had an anxiety attack and got lost in the woods. I didn’t come with any knowledge or great message. Nick brought me here for help to get back home, and now I must insist that you allow me to return when it’s light out again.” She stopped and gazed at Elthea pleadingly. “Look, I’ll help you tonight. I’ll go through with this feast thing, and men I’m done. Tomorrow, I am leaving here if I have to tell Robert myself mat I’m an impostor. It that understood?”

Sadly, Elthea nodded. “I have no desire to hold thee against thy wishes.”

“And you won’t use anything to drug me… no more sleeping potions?”

“I vow to honor thy decision, child. On the morrow, thou shalt depart and hopefully find thy path home. But that is anon. Prithee, be at ease this night, and walk a while in Lady Margaret’s shoes? Rather, you might find this eve to be enjoyable, and an honor. This intense desire to leave quickly just may be vanquished.”

Elthea continued with an inviting lilt. “You have come to this place… to us… at this time, for a reason, child. Perhaps it is to assist us in keeping Rome away from the English throne… it may only be a personal revelation for yourself. Whatever the reason, you are here… in this moment. Seize it, Maggie.”

Memories of sitting in front of the fire during her small breakdown with Aunt Edithe flashed through Maggie’s head. She closed her eyes in disbelief. The irony was too much.

“This night is thine and all shall honor thee.” Elthea tenderly touched Maggie’s chin. “’Tis a burdensome role you have assumed, yet I pray know in thy heart I honor you, Maggie, and am in your debt.”

“Okay… all right, Elthea,” Maggie murmured. “I’ll do it.”

“Then let us depart this chamber, for I believe the festivities in thy honor have begun.”

Maggie couldn’t resist this woman’s smile, nor her charm. Whatever delusions she was suffering from hadn’t diminished her intelligence, her grace, and her kind heart. In any other time, Maggie knew she would want to be Elthea’s friend, for she really did remind her of her own aunt. Smoothing down the ruby-velvet material of her gown, Maggie nodded.

“I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” she muttered.

“Well-done, child. Together, we shall enter the great hall and thy loveliness shall cause all to whisper the Norreys name with awe.”

Maggie chuckled in disbelief. “Yeah, right… Poor Lady Margaret will be known as the silent one after this fiasco.”

“I shall explain all to my blood cousin, the true Lady Margaret. You do bear a strong resemblance to her… enough that she will be astonished should she ever see you, as though she were looking in a mirror.” She paused, then added, “But sometimes, silence is the best path after all. Who am I to know?” she asked, shrugging her shoulders.

Opening the door, Elthea whispered, “Thy reticence will be admired, especially by Robert, who does not seem to appreciate the intuitive side of the female. He shall be relieved that you hold no opinions of your own and thus he will be pleased to know his marriage will be a smooth one. Let it worry thee not, child. Smile. Bow. Murmur sweetly. Women have always known it does not always serve to show we have minds of our own. The punishment can be severe.”

As they approached the stairs, Maggie stopped. “It has always grated on my nerves that a woman with intelligence frightens men.”

The smaller woman took a deep breath and looked around her to make sure they were alone as they continued down the long corridor. “It’s always about power, child. Never forget that. Power and control. Once, long ago, there was a strong religion dedicated to the Goddess. It is said ’twas through Her that life began. Yet, presently it is taught that oneself is to believe life came through a male, even if nature shows us that cannot be possible.”

They continued descending the musty stairwell poorly lit by candlelight.

“Oh, shi… oot,” Maggie corrected her cursed stumble. She had thought it better to refrain from obscenities, since she was living vicariously as a noblewoman.

“Do be mindful of the treads, Maggie dear,” Elthea urged in a caring tone.

“Sorry…” Maggie whispered. “You were saying, if it weren’t for us gals, there’d be no guys… but that’s not exactly what we’re taught.”

“Aye, precisely, child. How better to ensure the female face of God remain obscured, than to deny the godliness of the female? Her Majesty, by marrying England, saved her own life and the throne from Rome’s clutches. Yet, it is not yet secured without threat. Rome will never acknowledge that God is also female, for their whole structure would crumble and the cries of thousands upon thousands of women who perished during the Inquisition would deafen their ears and haunt them.”

As Elthea’s words trailed off, Maggie found they’d come to a high-ceilinged room with ancient furnishings. On the length of the room there were massive, dark wooden tables against opposite walls loaded with bolts of beautiful fabric.

Maggie shuddered while gooseflesh popped up over her skin, as though a ghost had walked past her. “You’re like an undercover agent, aren’t you, Elthea? You’re not working for the Protestants. Your interests are—”

The countess halted suddenly and brought a finger to Maggie’s lips. “Hush. Do not speculate at this time. I smile. I bow. I murmur sweetly,” she whispered, and parodied a demure curtsy, “for I am but a mere woman.”

Maggie felt herself drawn into Elthea’s energy, for there she saw someone to be admired. A woman with absolute integrity. She couldn’t wait to speak with her in more depth, to find out what her story really was. “Tonight. You will tell me tonight?” Maggie implored.

“I shall answer all thy questions whence we return to our chambers. The greater irony is with us tonight, Margaret. Women may not act upon a theater stage, yet we are here, on a stage of Life. Shall we show this audience an extraordinary performance?”

“It’ll be an Oscar nomination for me, I’m sure!” Maggie joked, raising her eyebrows.

A smirk came over Elthea’s face. “I accept thy riposte as an ‘Aye,’ my dearest cousin, Maggie. And I speak this endearment even without proof of blood, for that which I have witnessed in thine eyes tonight confirms in me we are yet bound together in this struggle for balance. I am doing my part as I am shown… and likewise, thou art. Verily, I tell you, Margaret Whitaker is indeed, a lady. It is my honor to bow before thee.” Slowly, with a graceful curtsy, she paid tribute to Maggie.

And in the moment as Elthea rose, Maggie recognized something inside of her that refused to be denied. Elthea was either the best actress in the world, or somehow, by some incredible circumstance… she found herself living with people who honestly believed they were in the year 1598. What had happened when she’d run from that maze? How could she have run into the Renaissance? This stuff just doesn’t happen!

But this wasn’t a movie. This was her life!

As they continued their journey through a network of small chambers, short hallways, and more damp stairwells, Maggie had to ask the question that was now resounding so loudly inside her she couldn’t suppress it any longer.

“Elthea… you honestly believe that someone could… well, time travel, from one place to another? That they could time jump hundreds of years?” She could hear the desperation in her own voice.

Startled, Elthea grabbed Maggie’s wrist, and whispered, “Calm thyself, child. Now is not the time, nor place, for thee to understand the deeper meaning behind this adventure. There is a feast prepared in thy honor, and that is our priority. Anon, we shall discuss all of this, and then thou shall make a more sound decision about leaving.” She waved her hand out to the staircase. “Lady Margaret… thy presence is awaited.”

Maggie found she was shaking and held on to Elthea’s hand as they slowly descended the final stairway. It couldn’t be possible. She hadn’t time traveled into these people’s lives, into this madness. She just couldn’t buy into it.

The sound of conversation and laughter became louder as they approached the great-hall entrance. “Oh, Elthea, I don’t know if I can do this. I’m not a good actor.”

Elthea turned to her, before opening the door, and captured her frightened gaze. “Of course you are. Are you not a woman? Prithee, hear me clearly, you shall do all that is necessary to survive,” she encouraged in a voice that was firm. “Maggie dear, how else are we still here, I ask, when our rights have but all been stripped away? I dare say our time will come again, but until such a time of balance, we will do what we must, for sanity and to ensure darkness does not reign freely once more. Now, prepare to greet thy peers, admirers, and opponents, Lady Margaret.”

The large paneled door was flung wide open before them by a servant.

The clamor slowly diminished until it stopped completely as they entered the great hall. Maggie became acutely aware all eyes were on her. The air was palatable with expectation. She could feel the blush creep up her neck to settle on her cheeks. Wow, what a huge guest list Elthea must have worked on, and how did she have time to plan all this? There were at least fifty people who’d stopped milling about, and this was only half the crowd Elthea said was coming to the wedding ceremony.

A clattering of cups and plates resounded as plainly dressed servants began moving hastily around the room pouring wine and checking tables. All these other people, well, they looked like normal people, just dressed up royally… as a matter of fact, the scene was almost exactly like what she’d seen at the Renaissance Festival.

Talk about déjà vu.