by Gloria Gay
“Yes, I was coming to the same conclusion, Mr. Greywick, I couldn’t leave tonight. I don’t know what I was thinking. But I would appreciate it if arrangements would be made for me to be transferred to your house tomorrow. If you would rather not have me there during my recovery, then would you please have the doctor transfer me to a hospital in the nearest—uh—city? I have no idea where I am. The last I remember is that I was in Lydford. Are we near London?”
“You are still in Lydford, Miss Fielder. Beyond Lydford, Exeter is the nearest city. You are nowhere near London. You said a hospital. Are you destitute, Miss Fielder?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“There is a hospital in Exeter. But hospitals are for the poor and the indigent, Miss Fielder,” said Greywick, glancing curiously at Jane’s wristwatch. “You might come out worse than you went in or not come out at all.”
Jane forced herself not to roll her eyes. She was certain hospitals existed in England. This guy seemed to be very much into the role he played for tourists. He must have been in cahoots with the tour people who made up this scam.
“I have a great many questions as to the very peculiar clothes you’re wearing, Miss Fielder,” Jestyn went on as Jane glanced at him askance, “as well as my alarm at the strange torch you flashed before my horses. Other things such as the small clock attached to your wrist and the very free way in which you speak are very alarming to Lord Halensford’s staff and although I can see you are in pain I fear I cannot wait until you recover to emphasize certain things.”
Jane forced herself not to yell out in protest at his words. It would not do to get him against her. “All right, Mr. Greywick, but first I must ask you to help me get the pain killers I have in my purse. Here…”
Jane was convinced the tour people at the estate were in on the scam and had given her and Cybil something, some drug that made her have hallucinations. That blast of light she had felt suddenly on the moment she had touched the hand on Jestyn Greywick’s portrait was very strange and then waking up in another place? Perhaps the tea had contained something strange or perhaps she had been sprayed with something when she wasn’t looking, something that had made her pass out so that she had been transferred to that dirt road where she had awoken in a weird tourist trap with people dressed for another century.
Where was Cybil, anyhow? She hoped Cybil, at least, was safe and back at the estate.
Greywick helped Jane take the purse from her shoulder and helped her to open it. He then watched as Jane removed a small bottle from her purse, flipped the cap off and took out three oval pills.
“I usually take only one or two of these pills for headaches and such but this pain…I'm about to pass out from it. When is the doctor going to get here?”
“Everything you do seems strange to me, Miss Fielder,” said Jestyn. “The way you talk, the way you act; your clothes. I’m simply astounded.”
“Believe me, Mr. Greywick, the feeling's mutual!” Jane assured him. “For one thing, I can’t understand why you take your role so seriously even when I have stated I’m not a tourist. I haven’t much money with me, you know – only a few pounds and a couple of credit cards with not much of a balance. In fact, one of them is almost maxed out.”
When Jestyn Greywick just stared at her as if she had spoken in a language he didn’t know she shook her head.
“Do you think I could have some water?” Jane asked.
“Yes. Let me ring for a footman, Miss Fielder.”
The footman, dressed in burgundy and light grey livery, entered and glanced at Jane with great curiosity. Jane could tell the “servants” were buzzing with talk about the strange lady upstairs, for the man openly stared at her.
“Ethan, please bring a glass of water and also hot tea and scones for Miss Fielder.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ethan left with one curious backward glance at Jane.
“In what century are you pretending to be, Mr. Greywick?” Jane asked.
“In what century do you think we are?” Jestyn asked.
“The twenty-first century, of course. The year 2015.”
“Well, that’s where the problem lies, madam. The concussion must have muddled your thinking, making you believe you live in another century.”
“What the hell are you saying? My thinking is not muddled,” Jane mumbled. Her head was about to explode.
“Very well, madam,” Jestyn Greywick said, and added, “But please do not swear in front of the servants. They already consider you strange. Let’s not add cursing to your description.
“Arousing curiosity will be unavoidable. There is no way to get around it. But I would not want for people to speak ill of you, Miss Fielder, if I can avoid it. I will try to explain away those breeches you are wearing in a way that may not cause alarm, for they are in breach of our customs.” He turned at a knock at the door.
“I believe that Mrs. Claye has arrived. Please try to speak as little as possible to her, Miss Fielder. I cannot emphasize enough that she is not a person you should trust with confidences.”
“I will keep that in mind, Mr. Greywick,” said Jane, shaking her head. Why on earth would she confide in that woman, Mrs. Claye, a total stranger?
CHAPTER 5
The door opened and Jane saw a grey-haired woman of ample proportions and dressed in a costume in a shade of mauve amble herself into the bedroom.
The woman glanced suspiciously at Jane. Jane could see she, too, was affronted at Jane’s unusual “male” attire.
Mrs. Claye’s white apron was tied under large hanging breasts and a string purse was pinned to the front of her apron. She was neat and had an air of control. Her blond hair was slicked back into a tight braided bun at the nape of her neck while a lace cap sat primly atop her head.
“Mrs. Claye,” Greywick addressed the woman, “Miss Fielder needs help in removing her clothes. The uh – breeches she is wearing have become tight with the swelling. Miss Fielder was coming back from a masquerade ball in which she participated in a theatrical performance when she had an accident. She was wearing the breeches because that was her costume.”
Jestyn’s explanation of her pants sounded silly even to Jane.
Mrs. Claye glanced at Jane with disapproval written all over her face. Jane saw that Mrs. Claye had not accepted Jestyn’s explanation of Jane’s “breeches” as the attire worn at a masquerade ball.
“Yes, sir; I will see what I can do.”
With a last glance at Jane, which still said, ‘Don’t confide in Mrs. Claye,’ Greywick left the room.
“I'm Jane Fielder.” Jane extended her hand toward Mrs. Claye.
Mrs. Claye glanced at Jane's hand with hostility and ignored it.
“If you will allow me, miss.” Mrs. Claye pulled back the coverlet and stared at Jane's jeans as if she were looking at a serpent.
“I don't think I can remove the breeches without cutting them, miss.”
“Mrs. Claye, if you would just pull at the pants – I mean the breeches, I’m sure I can wriggle out of them.”
“It will bring you unnecessary pain, miss. I think it would be better if I just cut them with me scissors.”
Mrs. Claye appeared anxious to cut the “breeches” and to reducing them to rags in the process. She took out a pair of small scissors from their small worn case from the string purse that hung from her waist. She leaned toward Jane.
“No. I do not want the uh – breeches cut, Mrs. Claye,” Jane said forcefully. “I can withstand the pain.” And she added firmly, “Please, just do as I say and help me get out of them.”
Jane didn’t want the only clothes she could lay claim to in this strange environment to be rendered useless. She would not allow anyone to cut her jeans.
Unpleasant whiffs of underarm odor came from Mrs. Claye, which immediately gave Jane a strong urge to suggest a clinical strength deodorant to her.
“Very well, miss, if you insist on this I shall call Nellie to help you,” Mrs. Claye’s face had be
come sterner, if that were possible. She pulled back away from the bed, much to Jane’s relief, for Jane was holding her breath so as not to absorb the floating whiffs coming from Mrs. Claye’s ample underarms.
Mrs. Claye then replaced the small but sharp-looking pair of scissors in its case in her string purse and once more glanced with distaste at Jane's jeans, then at Jane herself with an unmistakable dirty look. Then without another word she left the room.
“Oh, for Pete's sake!” Jane said out loud, “Now I have to deal with that unpleasant woman! No wonder Greywick seemed almost desperate that I not trust her. She’s mean and petty.”
A few minutes later a young slight girl with wispy blond hair walked into the bedroom. Her hair was tied back in a bun at the nape of her neck. She was rubbing the sleep from large light blue eyes rimmed with pale lashes. In her arm she carried a huge wicker basket with lid. She wore a faded blue dress that was apparently a hand-me-down for it was folded at the waist and held in place by a white apron. She glanced at Jane expectantly, as if waiting for directions.
Nellie smiled, a bit sleepily. Jane noticed there was a tooth gap to the side of her mouth.
“Hi, Nellie,” Jane said in a friendly voice as the young girl still stared at her as if she were a ghost, and added, “As I told Mrs. Claye, I don’t want my breeches cut. I want to be helped out of them. Could you just pull at each leg, slowly, alternating little by little? Don’t worry about causing me pain.” Here she was, calling her jeans “breeches” of all things!
After five minutes of excruciating pain and when Jane almost gave up, the jeans came off, inch by painful inch. After that Nellie helped Jane out of her denim jacket which she also handled with great curiosity. Then running her hand over the zipper in the jeans, Nellie placed all articles on the bed with great care, as if she were handling objects of great worth at a museum.
“Thank you, Nellie,” Jane then pointed to a chair. “Could you please place the clothes on that chair?”
Nellie folded the pair of jeans and jacket slowly, apparently reluctant to let go of them.
“You don't want them laundered, mum?” Nellie asked.
“They're dusty, but it's all right,” Jane replied. “Just shake out the dust and leave them on the chair, please, Nellie.”
Nellie then turned to her large basket, which held a bed pan. “If you want, miss, I’ll help you with your…”
Jane glanced at the bed pan and shook her head. “Goodness. I can just hobble over to the bathroom, if you will just help me, Nellie.”
“Bathroom?” Nellie asked perplexed.
My God, thought Jane. Did they also pretend in this infernal place that there were no bathrooms, to go along with their costume farce?
“You have no bathrooms?”
“I – don’t…if you will explain, miss,” said Nellie, her voice anxious.
“Bathroom – a place where one does – what one does in that bed pan.” Jane explained.
“No mum – no – I don’t – that is, we only have the bed pans. Otherwise the outhouse, out in the back, beyond the garden – but it’s for the workers to use.”
“Goodness, no! All right. I’ll just have to manage with the bed pan,” Jane said with resignation. “You’ll have to help me, Nellie, I can’t move my leg.”
***
A few minutes later and just as the young maid was shaking out the dust from Jane’s jeans and placing them on the back of a chair, Dr. Lenn walked in, wearing a long cape and a powdered wig. With him was a thin woman in a gray dress and white apron who was trudging along in his wake. She appeared to be an aide or nurse. The doctor, in costume, presented a curious spectacle. Jane forced herself not to smile in amusement.
“I attended the masquerade ball at Lord Halensford’s, Miss Fielder,” Dr. Lenn said to Jane, after introducing himself, “and hadn’t yet arrived home when a groom from here caught up with me. “You were lucky I live just a quarter of a mile from here!”
Dr. Lenn was a friendly man of middle age with salt and pepper hair and a slight frame. He appeared more like what Jane would have envisioned a vicar to look – a vicar with a white wig. He had pleasant grey eyes in a large round face that did not match his thin frame and made him look like a lollipop. But he had a ready smile and a nice soothing voice.
Jane noticed there was a gap in his teeth, to the side. Apparently gaps in teeth were common here.
Dr. Lenn removed his long brown cape, his wig and his gloves and tossed them on the nearest chair.
“All right, young lady, let us see what we have here. A nasty cut on the head, eh?” Dr. Lenn removed the pillows from under Jane’s head and tossed them to a settee nearby. He then pulled back the coverlet and examined Jane’s leg.
“This leg is very swollen,” he said.
Dr. Lenn pressed Jane’s leg in different areas and Jane moaned with pain. From his medical kit he took a jar that contained a pungent paste. He gave some instructions to the assistant he had brought with him. The woman then applied the paste to Jane’s leg and then bandaged it. He then proceeded to do the same with Jane’s heavily bruised and swollen right arm.
“This will bring down the swelling and ease the pain a bit, miss. You have a bad sprain,” said the doctor. “You were not far from breaking your leg. You were very fortunate. Now let us examine that nasty cut and swell on your head.”
“Thank you so much, Doctor.” Jane sighed with relief. “That feels so much better now,” Jane liked Dr. Lenn, who was warm and homey in contrast to Mrs. Claye, who was acid and unfriendly. He was the only one who called Jane’s leg a “leg”. Everyone else called it a limb.
He examined Jane’s eyes and touched her head in different places and examined her eyes with a magnifying glass. “I don’t believe you have a concussion, Miss Fielder,” said Dr. Lenn, to Jane’s great relief, “but from the slight swelling on the side of your head I believe you came close to it, so you must keep your head still and between pillows for three days. You must also not put any weight on your left leg for at least three days. After the three days you may wobble around, aided by crutches that I will provide for you, but you must be very careful not to use your injured leg for a few days, otherwise you might make it worse.
“I will leave these laudanum powders for you. They will help ease you into sleep. I believe the pain will become worse as the night advances, both the head swelling and forehead cut and from the sprain.”
“I prefer not to take any laudanum, Doctor,” Jane said quickly, “But thank you, anyway. You have been very kind.” Laudanum of all things, thought Jane. These people went to great lengths to make their costume farce believable!
Dr. Lenn appeared surprised. “Very well, Miss Fielder, but I will leave the laudanum with Mr. Greywick, in case you change your mind later on.”
“I will have a word with Mr. Greywick before I leave, Miss Fielder,” Dr. Lenn added when Jane said nothing and continued in his soothing voice. “I believe he wanted to know if you could be transferred to his house tomorrow, as that was your wish. You will be glad to hear that you may do so without fear. No pillows, mind you – no pillows at all until your head heals completely.
“Thank you, doctor.” She was feeling greatly relieved and was very glad Dr. Lenn had been called. “I have my reasons for wanting to transfer to Mr. Greywick’s house as soon as I can. Lord Halensford has been most kind, but I would feel much more comfortable in Mr. Greywick’s house. She did not add that she wanted to see Mr. Greywick’s house, to see if it was anything close to the estate she had visited with her friend Cybil.
“Very well, Miss Fielder; I shall come again tomorrow to aid in your transfer. It will be in the afternoon.”
“Mr. Greywick wishes to know if you are able to speak to him, miss,” said Nellie a few minutes after Dr. Lenn had left.
“Yes, Nellie, please tell Mr. Greywick to come in,” Jane said eagerly.
“Very well, miss.”
Jestyn walked in, leaving the door to Jane’s bedroom ajar
. Jane realized she must get used to a different way of life while she remained in the “past”. She still believed it was a staged event and would continue to think thus until proven otherwise.
So, to continue the farce, a lady did not receive male guests in her bedroom with a closed door. That much she knew from the silly past, when grown women were treated as children.
“I believe you know that Dr. Lenn advised against you being moved tomorrow, Miss Fielder,” said Greywick.
“Yes. I’m grateful to you, Mr. Greywick, for convincing him to allow me to be moved tomorrow afternoon. I don’t like being in the house of someone I don’t know, although I am grateful for Lord Halensford’s help. At least I know you somewhat, since you helped me in the road and you go by a name I’m sort of familiar with.”
“Will you be sleeping in a room nearby tonight, Mr. Greywick?” Jane asked anxiously.
“Yes, Miss Fielder,” Greywick replied. “A bedroom is being prepared for me just a few doors from yours. Tomorrow afternoon Dr. Lenn will help to move you to my house. My elderly Aunt Florinda lives with us. She will be able to provide female companionship for you while you recover.”
“Thank you, Mr. Greywick. We’ll talk tomorrow.” Jane grimaced as she turned away. She couldn’t wait to meet the elderly Aunt Florinda who was to provide companionship for her!
***
Jane spent a restless night in which she awoke several times. And each time she focused her eyes on the moonlit bedroom. Why did the people here insist on it being the past? That part she could not understand. No one seemed dishonest, so why continue with the farce? She had not seen other tourists in Lord Halensford’s house, either, only servants and Dr. Lenn.
It seemed an elaborate setup if it was for tourists and why not admit to it, anyhow?
Everything was different here: the clothes, the people, even the country air seemed alien. And scary. The cacophony of alien smells was those of a primitive farm. Those did not seem staged. The smells and flies were not for tourists. Of that she was certain.
***
Jane awoke to country sounds of a rooster’s cry, birds twittering and the sounds of chickens, cows, ducks and other farm animals. A medley of smells from hay, blossoms, fruit, vegetables, wood smoke and manure assaulted her senses and a wide part between the drapes allowed a strong beam of sunshine into the room. The windows had been thrown wide open by Nellie who was now transferring the contents of a large tray to the round table by the window. Each time a breeze picked up it brought a welcome scent of jasmine and honeysuckle from the vines by the bedroom window, to counteract the other smells.
