Katie Watson Mysteries in Time Box Set

by Mez Blume

  Sophia looked thoughtful. She sat down on a hay bale and began playing with a loose strand of hay. “I was surprised. I never thought such a thing could happen on God’s earth! But …” — she looked up with worried eyes — “Oh, Katie, can you forgive me? I fear that I am partly to blame for bringing you here.”

  I stood frozen in my woollen stockings. “What do you mean? How could you have …”

  “I did not mean to do it! You must believe me. I have prayed for a friend like you ever since I came here to Otterly Manor. The only person I ever told was Tom Tippery. He brought you here somehow; I don’t know how, but it had to be him.” She stood up and took my hand again. “But however it happened, I vow to you that I shall do everything in my power to return you to your rightful home as soon as may be. And, in the meantime, I hope you shall be very happy here.”

  She looked so hopeful that in spite of all the questions swirling around my brain, I smiled. “I think I will, as long as I can figure out how to walk in those.” I pointed to the pair of leather, clog-like shoes with hard, little heels.

  “They are my recreation shoes. I do hope they fit you.” She eyed the pair of pink tennis shoes I’d tossed aside in a heap of my own, modern clothes. “I fear those would raise too much attention. My, but they are extraordinary!” As I struggled into the clogs, she carefully picked up one of my shoes and turned it in her hands as if she were examining a diamond.

  “Try them on!” I said.

  She looked scandalised, but quickly sat down, pulled off her own high heels and slipped her feet into my tennis shoes. “So comfortable!” she exclaimed, taking tiny, dainty steps.

  The shoes looked so funny with her beautiful gown, I had to laugh out loud. “Oh, I wish I could take a picture of you!”

  Sophia looked confused. “You mean a painting?”

  “No, I mean a photograph. Oh — “I slapped my forehead — “I forgot. Cameras don’t exist yet.”

  “Your world must be so different! I should like to know all about it, but perhaps these are mysteries better left to the future. I am most curious to learn more about you, Katie, for though we may belong to different times, I feel that we are just alike!”

  She was right. “I feel that way too,” I said, standing up for the first time in the leather shoes. “And I want to learn more about you, but first I need some help learning to walk in these things.” The shoes fit, but felt as stiff as wooden boxes.

  “Try to walk across the loft,” Sophia encouraged.

  Hands out for balance, I took my first steps across the hay-covered floor only to topple over and land flat in a hay bale!

  We both laughed so hard, it took a few minutes before Sophia was able to haul me up to my feet again. Once we finally brushed off all the bits of hay, Sophia stepped back to examine me. “You look a perfect lady-in-waiting now,” she said, kindly ignoring my swaying back and forth. “A little more practice walking, and you will fool the entire household.”

  I smiled back, but the thought of trying to fool an entire household of adults from this strange, past world, who might just mistake me for a witch if I behaved out of the ordinary, made my insides go as wobbly as my legs.

  7

  The Chambermaid

  Sophia’s plan was to pretend that I was her new, foreign chambermaid (to explain my funny accent), recently sent by her father to keep her company. She seemed entirely confident this ruse would work, but I felt less certain. Would I be able to pull it off?

  “Trust me, Katie. This household is so very large, no one will bother much about a new chambermaid. Although, perhaps ’tis best to stay clear of the Earl and Countess as you could not have been sent here without their knowledge.”

  “But won’t it be difficult to avoid them?” I was trying to imitate Sophia’s perfect posture and confident walk. “I mean, it is their house after all.”

  “Not at all!” She dismissed the worry with a wave of her hand. “The Earl is oft away at Court or in Oxford, and I rarely see the Countess except at meals. But then you shall dine with the household in the Great Hall, so you needn’t worry.”

  After a few more practice walks up and down the stable carriageway, I said goodbye to Digby, thankful he was too preoccupied filling stalls with fresh hay to pay any attention to our charades. It was time to brave the household and kick off my acting career as a chambermaid. I followed as close as a shadow behind Sophia under the tower gateway and across the grass courtyard, then through the second gateway and across the stone courtyard. When we reached the entrance to the Great Hall, she looked about and whispered to me, “Remember, you belong here, Katie. If you believe it, no one will doubt you.”

  I nodded and held my head a little higher as we stepped across the threshold.

  I could hardly believe the house we entered was the same I’d seen that morning. The Great Hall echoed with the murmurs and bustling feet of servants going about their chores. Where the hall had been empty that morning, now there were three long tables with benches. Sophia popped her head into the buttery to have a word with one of the maids. Meanwhile, I stood gawking at the transformation of the place. The whole room looked as if a wind had blown through and taken the dust of years away with it. The walls were a cheery bright yellow instead of faded, and every brass knob and wooden carving gleamed with fresh polish. Like a wish come true, a fire crackled in the enormous hearth. The room felt so much cosier, and smelled so much nicer, like fresh paint and plaster instead of dust and mildew.

  At the end of the long tables, we turned into the passage that led to the Great Staircase. I liked the tapping sound my hard shoes made against the wooden stairs, and I smiled at the familiar heraldic leopard who now wore a fresh, vibrant coat of paint.

  The long, narrow portrait gallery was just as wonky as I remembered it, but it was friendlier now with the sun coming in from the far window and Tannia’s toenails tickling the floorboards behind us. The portraits gave me that same eerie feeling of watching, only this time I felt they knew my secret that I didn’t really belong here at all. A second later, I discovered that theirs were not the only eyes boring into me.

  A woman marched towards us from the far end of the gallery carrying a basin and a towel. I recognised her pinched, frowning face as the one that had been poking out of the window earlier. Sour was the word that sprang to mind. Her withered lips gave the impression she’d been sucking on a lemon for the last fifty years. Her beady eyes narrowed in on me, and with each step closer, her frown went further south until it was a full-on grimace.

  “Mistress Sophia, who might I ask is that creature accompanying you?” She held me with her hawk-eyed stare, like she was ready to snatch me in her talons should I try to scamper away.

  “You may indeed, Nurse Joan.” Sophia was as cool as a cucumber. “This is my new chambermaid and companion, Katherine.” Then she turned to me. “Katherine, this is my nurse maid, Nurse Joan, who has so kindly tended to me ever since I came here to Otterly Manor.”

  Nurse Joan hardly waited for Sophia to finish before snapping, “Katherine, you say? Just Katherine?”

  Sophia prompted me with a nod.

  I cleared my throat. “No … no it’s … Watson.” Charlie’s nickname for me had come to me in that moment of need, so I didn’t stop to question it. “Katherine Watson.” Watson isn’t actually my surname, so I suppose if I’d wanted to be technical about it, I had told Nurse Joan a lie. But after all, I was in disguise, pretending to be an old-fashioned chambermaid, so I might just as well pretend to be a chambermaid called Watson. And anyway, I thought, what would Charlie say if I broke the first rule of going undercover and gave the suspicious old bird my real last name.

  “Watson?” Nurse Joan was not appeased. “What is your parentage, girl?”

  “My parentage?” I glanced over at Sophia who was still nodding encouragingly. “Oh, you mean, like, my parents? Of course.” I cleared my throat again, trying to think up more important sounding names for Dad and Mum. “My parents are … erm
… Lord Peter and Lady Jemima … Watson. They’re not from around here, so you probably won’t have heard of them.” I hoped to goodness she couldn’t hear how loudly my heart was pounding. I’ve never had much talent for telling lies.

  “No, I should think not.” Nurse Joan stepped closer so that she practically loomed over me. I could feel the breath from her nostrils against my bangs. “You are clearly of foreign extraction. Who sent you here, and why was I not informed?”

  Sophia stepped between the old woman and me, her face set with determination. “God sent her, Nurse Joan. She is an angel.”

  Nurse Joan’s thin mouth twisted in disgust. She propped one bony hand on her waist, hugging the basin with the other arm. “An angel with red hair, Mistress?”

  Sophia gracefully folded her hands. “In my country, the great masters always paint angelic beings with red hair.”

  “Well in this country, we call it devil-kissed,” Nurse Joan hissed. Her eyes flashed at me like warning lights, making me gulp.

  Sophia didn’t flinch, but remained perfectly matter-of-fact. “My aunt, the Queen of England, has red hair. I shall tell her next I see her that Nurse Joan suspects she has been kissing the devil.”

  At that, Nurse Joan went paler than pale and nearly dropped her basin. “That is not … not what I meant,” she stammered. “To be sure, red hair is a mark of beauty. I would not dream of—”

  “I’m sure we all say things we don’t mean at times.” Sophia smiled graciously at the stricken old woman. “I shall forget all about it, Nurse Joan. That will be all, thank you. Katherine is weary from her journey.” And with a graceful nod to Nurse Joan, Sophia pulled me away.

  Grown-ups are always calling me precocious because I read hard books and use big words for my age, but Sophia’s wit was as quick as a hare, and I had to admire how coolly she used it. Nurse Joan still stood frozen to the spot when we turned the corner at the end of the portrait gallery, arm in arm. Sophia waited until we were in a closed room, well out of earshot, then turned to face me. “I thought you did very well, Katie. You mustn’t let Nurse Joan trouble you. She is a meddlesome, superstitious old lady, and far too possessive of me. But she means well, I’m sure.” She set her hand on a shiny brass doorknob. “Would you like to see my bedchamber? And yours, of course, for as long as you are here.”

  “Yes, please!” I already felt much steadier than I had a moment before, and I forgot all about Nurse Joan when we entered the most amazing bedroom I had ever set foot in.

  It was just like something out of Cinderella’s castle! Every surface was covered in fabric fit for a queen: tapestries with minstrels and scenes of lovers covered the panelled walls; there was a giant-sized four-poster bed hung with heavy, red velvet curtains, a Turkish rug to warm the wooden floor, and a velvet cushioned settee in front of the glowing hearth (although it was summer, that draughty old house needed every fire lit). Tannia immediately flopped on her side and made herself comfortable in front of the blaze. I was tempted to follow her example.

  “Would you like some powder?” Sophia stood at the dressing table with an opened silver pot in one hand and a brush in the other. “Perhaps we should make you look a little more up to date, don’t you think?”

  “Don’t you mean back to date?” I joked.

  Sophia laughed. “Natürlich! I suppose I do. Now close your eyes tightly.” With a stiff brush, she dabbed my face with a chalky white powder, then rubbed some wet pink stuff on my cheeks. “There. What do you think?”

  I bent over to peer into the silver mirror and snorted. “I look like a jester!”

  We put on more of the ridiculous powders, rouges and lip paint until we were both laughing so hard that tears clumped the powder on our cheeks.

  I straightened up when a maid came in carrying a tray of tea things.

  “Thank you, Tatty,” Sophia said, gripping her sides.

  The maid didn’t say a word, but looked at my streaky face like she’d seen a ghost. She set down the tray, made a hurried curtsey and dashed out of the room. That only set us off laughing again. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard with anyone except Charlie. And all that giggling worked up my already raging appetite.

  “Oh I love English afternoon tea!” I said as we sat down at a little table in the sunny window alcove.

  “Afternoon tea, do you call it?” Sophia looked bemused. “We only call it dinner, though we did drink tea when the Portuguese emissary came to stay.”

  “You mean you don’t drink tea normally?” That came as a shock. “But what do you drink then?” I asked. If I couldn't count on the English to know about tea, how was I to survive in this strange time?

  “Beer or wine mostly.” Sophia handed me a tiny crystal glass with some yellowish liquid in it. “Here. Try some.”

  I took a mouse-sized sip and nearly gagged. It was so bitter! But I forced myself to swallow and smiled politely. Luckily the table was laid out with other recognisable dishes like soup, bread, meats and cheeses to comfort me in the absence of tea.

  Sophia took a sip from her glass. “The beer is made here at the manor’s brewery, though we make much better in Germany.”

  I raised my own glass to my lips, pretended to sip, then set it down again. “You must miss a lot of things about your home.”

  “I miss my mama and papa, and my older brothers, Otto and Leopold. People think my papa stern, but at home he is full of laughter. We all were in the old days, when we were all together.”

  “It seems a shame they had to send you away,” I said. “Don’t you find it miserable and just so … unfair?”

  Sophia set down her spoon and looked thoughtful. “I suppose nothing is fair when you look at it the wrong way. You might say it is not fair that I was born into a noble family when so many are born poor. Or, from the other direction, you could say it is not fair that common children oft get to live with their families when I must be sent away to live with strangers.”

  I nibbled a bit of bread, trying to imagine how my situation could ever look fair from another direction.

  Sophia took another sip from her cup and put it down with a thoughtful look. “My mother always told me, ‘Sophia, each of God’s creatures must take the lot given him and make something more of it.’ Like the parable of the tenants in the gospels. The good servants are those who take the coins their master gives them, and multiply them two, even ten-fold. The wicked servant is the one who buries his coins in the earth and makes nothing of it, then gripes about his situation.”

  I squirmed a little in my seat, remembering what Mum had said about making the most of my situation. But making the most of things certainly didn’t come to me as easily as it seemed to come to Sophia. I was amazed by her. How could she just accept things the way they were, even when that meant leaving her home forever?

  With an expression as earnest as a philosopher’s, she carried on. “It isn’t miserable to do one’s duty for the sake of her family. By coming to England, preparing for a life at Court, I bring good to those I most love. Besides, there is so much to learn and enjoy here. Although,” — she turned her thoughtful gaze towards the window — “I confess, life here can be lonely at times, especially now Frederick is away at Oxford.”

  Hearing Sophia at least admit to feeling lonely made me feel a little better about myself. I was beginning to think she really was as perfect as her painted portrait.

  She turned her glowing cheeks back from the window. “But I can hardly complain. I have Britannia, and now the Lord has sent me you!” Her smile fell suddenly into a frown. “But how very selfish I am to speak of my home when you are the one truly far from home. And how you must long to return to it. Tonight you must tell me more of your home … Of your family … What your times are like. And tomorrow Master Van Hoebeek is sure to call me to pose for him. You can sit with me and steal a word with Tom Tippery about getting you back there.”

  “I’ll tell you about where I come from if you like. But actually,” — I leaned back in my ch
air and popped a juicy grape into my mouth — “I’m not in too much hurry to get back. Things are pretty rotten at home just now. So I’m lucky to have met you, really.”

  Over the next hours, I tried and failed to describe what the future was like to Sophia, things like cars (carriages that move without horses was the best I could do) and television (portraits that move and act out plays). And although she could hardly understand what I was on going about, we laughed like the oldest friends.

  The maids came and cleared away the dinner things and tended the fire. Then Sophia showed me a journal in which she sketched birds that she observed in the park, and I showed her some of my own drawings from my spy notebook. Though she wouldn’t admit it, hers were better by miles! People often compliment me on my artwork, but Sophia’s sketches were better than any twelve-year-old’s I’d ever seen.

  Then she showed me a screen she was stitching with a Bible passage bordered with lots of little pictures. It was so detailed, I said it must’ve taken years to do, but she insisted it was easy as anything and gave me a lesson in stitching. I was just getting the hang of it when a maid knocked at the door to announce it was time for Sophia’s lute lesson.

  “Oh I am sorry to leave you alone when you’ve only just arrived, Katie. Do make yourself quite at home while I am detained. I shan’t be more than an hour.”

  “It’s alright,” I assured her. “I’ll keep practising my stitches. Hopefully I’ll have got them down by the time you get back.” I did practise the stitching, just as I’d said I would … for about five minutes. But without Sophia there to talk to, the room had fallen ghostly quiet, and I started feeling a bit jittery. I looked over the beautiful objects on the dressing table, put my nose into a bowl of spicy potpourri and tried to decipher the stories sewn in the tapestries. The minutes seemed to be dragging their heels. I looked at my watch, then remembered it had stopped working since I’d fallen through the painting.

  The painting …