by Kristy Tate
“You didn’t tell me why Chambers wants to destroy the Bible,” she said, as they walked toward the distant spires.
“I suppose that means no.”
She cut him a glance. “What do you think?”
“I think that you would be safe in your room.”
She laughed. “Sure. Whatever. Don’t tell me, but I could help.”
Emory held her hand as they walked through the grove. After a moment of obvious internal debate he said, “Chambers and unfortunately many others believe that only priests, those who have studied and been ordained by the church, should be allowed access to the Bible. They believe all laymen need a mediator with God.” He must have read her puzzled expression because he added, “In other words, priests.”
“It’s a power thing,” Petra guessed.
Emory smiled. “Yes. A power thing.”
“Well, they won’t be successful.”
He studied her. “How can you be sure?”
Thinking about all the hotels all over the world with a Bible on every bedside table, she smiled. “I just am.”
Suddenly, Anne’s being there made perfect sense. “You’d said Anne’s brother had been killed for truth and light.”
Emory nodded. “He was killed protecting the translators.”
Chapter Seventeen
Servants are not just employees. They are members of the household who live with the family. A good maid is attentive, discreet and a little bit psychic. She was there when you needed her but never in the way. She should be gentle with hairpins and corset laces.
—Petra’s notes
“You must ask him about falconry, miss,” Mary said as she ran the comb through Petra’s hair.
At the dressing table, Petra caught the maid’s glance in the mirror. “Falconry? I know nothing about falconry.”
Mary poised the comb above Petra’s head. “It matters not.” She might as well have added the word “duh.”
“How can I talk of something I know nothing about? I’ll look like an idiot.”
Mary raised her eyebrows as if to say so what?
Mary dragged the comb through Petra’s hair with brutal force. Her face screwed with intensity. “He’s into falconry. If a bird can capture his interest, then I am sure my lady might do the same.”
“Okay, I get you dislike being a chambermaid, but at least you have a job,” Petra said.
Mary blurted, “What if he marries someone who already has a maid? I would be emptying pots for a lifetime.” Mary shuddered.
“Since I don’t have a maid, that you know of, you think Lord Garret should choose me? That seems a weak basis for a marriage.”
Mary placed the comb on the table, giving Petra a moment of relief before she began to vigorously twist Petra’s hair into long coils. “Unless haste is taken, Lord Garret will not choose his wife.”
“No?”
“No.” Mary blew out a sigh and thrust pins into Petra’s hair with such force that her scalp tingled. “The master will decide.”
The master, she knew it was a turn of phrase common to the day, but it gave her a sinking feeling. What if Anne and Garret belonged together?
“And the master has chosen the Bevan estate,” Mary continued. “Mistress Bevan has her own maid.”
“Most would, wouldn’t they, but not me.” Petra studied Mary’s unhappy face, there was more the maid wasn’t saying. “Is Miss Bevan so bad?”
Mary sniffed. “I have friends at the Bevan estate and have heard stories of their mistress.”
Although it was difficult to feel very sympathetic to someone poking her scalp with hairpins, she watched Mary with more compassion. “I’m sorry, Mary, there is no way I’m going to marry Lord Garret.”
Mary closed her eyes and pursed her lips as if in pain and suddenly Petra remembered what Rohan had said, “You are here for the same reason I am here. To help.” Mary’s position could mean her survival. “I can’t make Lord Garret fall in love with me, and I certainly won’t marry him.” She saved this last sentence for when Mary had finished with her hair.
Standing in front of the mirror, liking the way the deep blue gown matched her eyes, Petra thought about how she could help Mary. “You know, I think Lord Garret likes Anne.”
Mary looked baffled.
“The tapestry girl.”
Behind her, Mary shook her head, addressing the mirror. “Impossible.”
“Why not?”
“Because earls sons do not marry artisans.”
“I think he might be in love with her.” Petra pulled at the lace of her cuffed sleeve. “I’m not sure about her, though.”
Mary scoffed. “They’ll not be looking for a love match.”
“We should all be looking for a love match,” Petra argued.
Mary inhaled deeply. “What makes you think he favors her?”
“It’s in his body language,” Petra said.
“His what?”
Petra thought back to her AP psychology class. She folded her arms and leaned away. “See, this means I’m closed.”
“Closed, like a shop?”
“Sort of,” Petra said. “It means I’m not interested in what you have to say. But if I lean forward, connect my eyes with yours, like this,” she demonstrated, “it means I’m engaged.”
“Engaged?” Mary squeaked.
“Not that kind of engaged. It means I’m open to what you have to say.”
“Gor, miss, this is a lot to remember.”
“Most people don’t remember. They just act instinctively, and others pick up on it. For example, if someone wants to kiss someone, they look at their lips.”
“Kiss?” Mary muttered, looking doubtful.
“And another sign that they’re interested is they cock their head, like this,” Petra tilted her head at a forty-five degree angle. Mary imitated her, and they both laughed.
“Anne is coming this afternoon with a tapestry, right? Let’s watch their body language.”
After Mary left, Petra sat down at the dressing table and studied herself in the mirror. She looked different here. It was more than simply the lack of makeup, the dolled up hair and fancy dress. She felt different.
Putting her chin in her hands, Petra realized she’d been thinking so hard it was making her head hurt. Nothing at home had caused this much --- perplexion. Was that a word? If it wasn’t, then it needed to be. She creased her forehead, dragging her thoughts back to her problem.
If she helped with the distribution of the King James Bible, that would be huge. She couldn’t think of anything having more of an impact than the Bible, yet bibles dotted the globe and were found in grocery stores, mansions and huts. It wasn’t as if she were here to right a wrong. But what if she didn’t help? Then maybe they wouldn’t. But of course, they would. Right? After all, it was the Bible.
There had to be another reason for her being here. Had she come to the seventeenth century to play matchmaker for Anne and Garret? That didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. Her being in the 1600s seemed like an elaborate and cruel joke. It might make a smidgeon of sense, perhaps, if Garret and Anne were her long forgotten ancestors, but Petra knew her father’s people came from Denmark and her mother’s family was German.
And Emory? Her heart twisted when she thought of Emory. She wouldn’t think about him. He was like a guy at summer camp. A month of fun and then back to reality. Without him. A month? No. A week, tops. It’d already been three days.
Three days. What was her family thinking? That she’d run away? Were there posters with her picture up on telephone poles? Was her profile circling the web? Were police and dogs roaming the canyons searching for her?
What if Rohan was wrong and her being here was random? She couldn’t help anyone, could she? In this place she wasn’t even capable of taking off her own dress. What if the fortuneteller had sent her here just to be mean? Could a fortuneteller have that kind of power?
A rattle of stones on the drive announced visitors. Petra mo
ved from the mirror to the window. Anne and her tapestries had arrived.
***
Garret studied the tapestry with his head at a forty-five degree angle. Petra sent Mary a glance to see if she’d noted the telling “I’m interested” head tilt. Mary’s shrug said it was a hopeless match.
Garret appeared to be considering the tapestry’s colors and scenery, but to Petra everything in his face said that all he saw was Anne. No footmen, Petra, Mary, or Chamber—for Garret there was only Anne. Chambers cleared his throat, clearly hauling Garret back to the heavily populated first parlor.
Anne stood at his shoulder, oblivious, and waiting.
“The birds.” Garret waved a hand at the tapestry. “And the flowers.”
Garret was tongue-tied. Petra wanted to help him, but he had his gaze fixed on Anne’s lips. Petra decided there was little she could do about that.
“Possibly you would like to see it on the wall?” Anne suggested. “In a different light?”
“Have you others?” Garret blurted.
“Is this not to your favor, my lord?” Anne looked hurt.
“Tis not that. Not that at all. I just thought that if you have others, perchance I might consider those as well. Before I make a decision.” Garret cleared his throat. “Before I commit to a purchase.”
“Yes, I suppose.” Anne cocked her head at Garret.
Petra wanted to raise her hands and cheer. She’d known that Garret had a thing for Anne. Now, given the head cock, she guessed that Anne felt the same. Petra had to at least try and fuel the fire. “Perhaps Miss Gilroy has more at her home,” Petra said.
Anne flashed her a startled look. “T’would be highly irregular for Lord Garret—”
“I will come to your home,” Garret said, a happy flush staining his cheeks.
“But my father is away,” Anne stammered.
“Mine too,” Garret said, as if thrilled by this shared commonality.
“My Lord, it would be highly unseemly,” Chambers said, stepping forward.
“We shall go now. Prepare the carriage.” Garret turned to Fitz, his back to Chambers. “Will you do me the honor of escorting me to your studio?” he said, offering Anne his arm.
Studio? Anne had little more than a two room cottage, but she didn’t look embarrassed or unhappy about Garret dropping in. In fact, she glowed.
“My Lord, your father would not approve,” Chambers began. As he moved to block Anne and Garret’s departure, he stepped onto the tapestry.
Garret cleared his throat and looked pointedly at Chambers’ boots. Chambers looked down at the lovers he had stepped upon, but didn’t budge.
“My father would wish me to make an informed acquisition.” Garret turned to Petra. “My Lady Baron, would you please accompany us?”
“Oh, yeah,” Petra said.
Chambers cleared his throat.
“Of course, Chambers, you may also come.” Garret rose to his toes. “And because I am hungry we will stop at the bakery for tarts.” He looked at Anne and Petra as if daring them to contradict. “Which flavor do you prefer, Miss Clar?”
Anne looked pleased. “Currant jelly?”
Garret laughed as if she’d said the cleverest and wittiest thing. “Is that an answer or a question?” He snapped his fingers at Fitz. “Tell Chester to prepare the carriage.”
Because Garret and Anne spent the ride to the bakery discussing tart flavors, Garret bought one of each flavor. At the cottage, Garret took Anne’s hand to help her down from the carriage and then touched her face with a finger to wipe away a small smear of jelly.
Chambers wore a sour expression, and Petra guessed it had nothing to do with his rhubarb tart.
***
“I must see her again,” Garret said, leaning into the velvet cushions.
“You’ve already bought her entire tapestry collection and commissioned another,” Petra said, tapping her chin and thinking.
The carriage passed fields, a collection of barns, geese, and mill wheels; it looked like a perfect backdrop for fairy tales. Garret and Anne were like Prince Charming and Cinderella and everyone knew how that turned out. Although Petra knew not every romance had a happily ever after, she wanted to nudge Anne and Garret together.
Chambers glowered at her, as if he read her thoughts. “My lord, your father will never approve.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” Garret began. “I can afford tapestries.”
Chambers sat up. “It is nonsense to engage the girl’s affections.”
Garret flushed red and studied the landscape flashing past. “I have said nothing of her affections.”
“It is a great unkindness to trifle with her,” Chambers said.
Garret looked at first at Petra and then at Chambers. “Do you think I have engaged her affections?”
“My Lord, have pity on the girl, I pray,” Chambers said. “Do not lead her to where you cannot follow.”
Garret returned his attention to the passing countryside, his face sad.
“It would never do,” Chambers persisted. “You know your father.”
“Yes, but—”
Hooves beat after the coach and a man’s voice called, “Hail!” The carriage lurched to a stop. The horseman drew even with the coach, pulled the reins and brought his horse to a prancing halt. A horse tethered behind him pulled up short.
The horseman took off his black hat and Petra recognized one of the pitchfork-wielding men from the barn. “My lord, well met,” he said, catching his breath.
“Well met, my good man,” Garret said.
“I’ve come from Hampton Court,” the man said, “with news from the Earl.”
“My father?” Garret leaned out the window. “Is he well?”
The man tipped his head. “He is well. He sends his regard and requests your immediate attendance, my lord.”
“Now?” Garret asked. “That seems highly irregular.”
The man cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, not you, my lord. ‘Tis Master Chambers he wishes to see.”
“Ah, very well then.” Garret leaned back into the carriage, looking pleased.
Chambers did not look pleased. Petra watched Chambers and the horseman exchange loaded looks. The horseman rubbed a hand over his horse’s neck, trying to calm the animal. “Post haste, sir. I have taken the liberty of bringing you a mount.”
Garret smiled, but Chambers did not.
“Please ask my father to send word of when he plans to return,” Garret said to Chambers.
Chambers climbed out of the carriage and leveled a glance at Garret from under his heavy eyebrows. “I will do that, my lord.”
“Good day then, Chambers.” Garret’s voice had a singsong quality. “God speed.”
“Good day,” Chambers said, sounding as if he expected nothing good to come of it.
The carriage seemed empty without him, but empty in a nice, friendly way, as if a bad-tempered dog had been removed. They continued down the road in an easy silence and after a moment Petra asked, “How about a ball? A masquerade ball!”
Garret stared at her, considering. “But what if… no one will come?”
“I think everyone you want to come will come.” Petra knew by “no one” he meant Anne. She tapped her chin.
“What makes you say so?”
Petra shrugged, liking her idea. “I just know but it will have to be soon. Chambers probably won’t stay long. He didn’t even take a bag.”
“Chambers I can manage,” Garret said. Left unspoken was, but not my father. Which to Petra, sounded very brave and a little stupid, but she didn’t challenge him.
***
Within the hour Petra, Mary and Fitz arrived at Anne’s cottage. Fitz set down the trunk on the porch with a woof, and rolled his shoulders. Mary laughed. “I will be making it up to you, Mr. Fitzroy,” she said.
Petra smiled. She didn’t want to know how Mary planned on repaying Fitz. She rapped on Anne’s door, and Anne answered with a puzzled look.
“Good day, Anne,” Petra said, smiling and pushing her way into the room. “I’m here for two things.”
Anne, who had her hair tied in a knot on her head and a smudge of ash on her nose, looked flustered and unhappy to have Petra in her home.
“First, I’ve brought you this.” Petra handed Anne an envelope. “It’s to a ball.”
Anne looked at the invitation with a pained expression.
“And this,” Petra motioned to the trunk, “is full of ball gowns.”
Anne opened her mouth to protest.
Petra put up a hand. “Oh, you’ll go. And you’ll wear one of the gowns. You might even have a wonderful time.”
Anne shook her head, but Petra stepped forward and opened the trunk. Inside were three of the Countess’ dresses: a red brocade, a blue silk, and a creamy lace. “I’m sure they’ll fit,” Petra said, smiling. She knelt by the trunk and held up the red one. The edge of a note peeked out from the bodice.
Anne stepped forward, curious.
Petra stood. After an over-the-shoulder glance at Mary and Fitz who waited like statues at the door, she turned and whispered, “I have a message for Emory. You’ll both be interested.”
She didn’t know if Mary or Fitz had an allegiance with Chambers, but she was sure Anne would read the note and pass on the information. Glancing down at her ink spotted hands, she hoped her struggle with the quill would pay off and that Emory would follow Chambers to Hampton Court immediately.
Anne’s expression turned from wary to curious.
“You have to come to the ball tomorrow night,” Petra said, no longer whispering. “Promise me.”
Anne looked at the invitation and then at the slip of paper poking out of the red bodice, a small crease between her eyebrows.
“I think the red will look stunning,” Petra said.
Chapter Eighteen
Masquerade balls were elaborate dances held by and for members of the upper classes. The parties became notorious throughout mainland Europe in the 17th and 18th centuries. They had a reputation for “improper” behavior such as unescorted women, lover trysts, and other secret activities. They deserved their bad reputation.
