“Here she is!” Olivia said triumphantly to the members of her tribe. “I told you we’d be able to add a Windsor to our club. Okay, Michele, this is Madeline Belmont, Renee Whitney, and Amy Van Alen. You’ll of course recognize their last names.”
None of the names rang a bell for Michele. She sat gingerly in her designated chair. “Hi. So … what is your club exactly?”
Madeline gave Olivia a quick glance, as if to get permission to speak, then explained, “We’re the only students here from families of the New York Four Hundred. Our mission is to take over where Mrs. Astor left off and rule the next generation of society with elegance, and defend against the antics of the nouveau riche—who just make us look bad.” With that, Madeline turned and sniffed in disgust at the sight of a miniskirt-clad girl giving her boyfriend a whole lot of PDA at the next table.
“Uh, I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michele admitted. “The New York Four Hundred?”
Olivia stared at her, clearly astounded by her lack of knowledge on the subject. One of the other girls, Renee, hurriedly explained, “Caroline Astor ruled New York society from the late eighteen hundreds through the turn of the twentieth century, and she’s, like, the most famous socialite in American history. Anyway, she created a list of the four hundred most important people in New York to invite to her balls, because only four hundred people could fit in her ballroom. Genius, right?”
“Totally,” Michele said dryly. No one seemed to notice her sarcasm. Across the dining room, she spotted Caissie sitting with a cute African American guy who Michele figured was the Aaron she had spoken of. For some reason, the two of them looked strangely annoyed by the sight of Michele sitting with this group.
“Anyway, to be a part of the Four Hundred was the most important honor of New York society,” Renee continued. “You got written up in all the papers, and, well, you pretty much ruled. The Four Hundred was made up of the two hundred most prominent families in America, really. And we come from them!”
Amy looked darkly at the PDA-happy couple, who were surrounded by a throng of friends. “But nowadays, people don’t recognize our importance and they’re all over the latest trashy new It people.”
“Well, that’s probably because we really didn’t do anything to deserve any attention; our great-great-great-grandparents did,” Michele commented.
“What?” Renee and Olivia gasped in unison.
“Well, it’s true,” Michele said mildly. “And honestly, I have no desire to rule society or anyone. I just want to make it through the year.”
“Just wait. Your pride will kick in soon,” Amy insisted.
As Olivia started on a tangent about the legendary cachet of being one of the Four Hundred, Michele’s mind drifted off. If these were her friend options at this school, then she’d have to settle for being a loner. Thoughts of her life with Marion and her friends in California haunted her, but she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force them from her mind. That life was gone now.
Michele would have liked nothing more than to escape her current reality. And that was when Clara Windsor’s diary flashed in her mind. True, the whole thing might have been one insane hallucination … but it could have been real. And if it had been real, maybe it wasn’t as terrifying as she thought. Maybe it was her escape.
That night, Michele had a new dream of the handsome stranger with the striking blue eyes.
She was in his arms at a Windsor Mansion ball. An orchestra played Schubert’s stirring Serenade as the two of them danced, waltzing like they were floating on air. She beamed up at him, and he smiled down at her.
Suddenly, Michele saw the scene from a different perspective. She was no longer in the boy’s arms. He was dancing alone, but as though with an invisible dance partner. He smiled at no one, held an invisible waist. Party guests gawked and murmured uncomfortably. I don’t exist, Michele thought in horror.
Michele woke with a start but didn’t attempt to go back to sleep. Instead, she pulled on her robe and tiptoed down the two flights of stairs until she reached the ballroom. Taking a deep breath, she swung open the door and switched on the lights.
It was like the ghost of the ballroom in her dream—no guests, orchestra, or glittering gowns and jewels, but undeniably the very same place. Michele suddenly had the eerie sensation that she was not alone. She could hear snatches of sound—a man’s dignified chuckle, a woman’s light giggle, the crinkling of fabric as skirts swished against each other on the dance floor. And then she heard the song that had been haunting her dreams.
In her nightgown and bare feet, Michele started to dance to the music with an invisible partner, the same way the boy in her dream had danced with her. She couldn’t see her handsome stranger, but she felt him smiling down at her, moving with her. As she swayed to the music in her head, Michele once again wondered if she was going crazy … but this time she didn’t care.
“Michele! What in the world are you doing here?”
Michele jerked awake to find that she was lying on the cold ballroom floor, morning light streaming in through the glass doors. Annaleigh stood frozen in the doorway.
“I—I must have been sleepwalking. I did that sometimes in California,” Michele fibbed, stiffly pulling herself up off the floor.
“I got worried when you didn’t come down to breakfast today and you weren’t in your room,” Annaleigh fretted, leading Michele out of the ballroom. “I’ll have the cook put your breakfast in a lunch bag for you to eat on the way. You’d better hurry and get ready if you want to make it to school on time.”
“Thanks, Annaleigh. Sorry to have worried you.”
Annaleigh looked at her uneasily. “Sleepwalking in a big house like this seems pretty dangerous. Let me make an appointment for you with the Windsors’ doctor—she could have some suggestions to help you sleep normally.”
“No, I’m fine,” Michele interrupted hurriedly. “It’s nothing. It hardly ever happens, seriously.”
“Okay,” Annaleigh said, sounding unconvinced. “As long as it doesn’t continue.”
“It won’t,” Michele assured her. “I’ll go get ready.”
Upstairs in her room, Michele dressed at a breakneck speed, but her mind was in a dreamy fog the whole time. She could still see his eyes in her mind, could still feel the electrifying touch of his hand on hers—whoever he was. The music echoed in her head, and she hummed under her breath as she splashed some cold water on her face in the bathroom. As she looked up into the mirror, she could have sworn she saw a sparkle of blue … his eyes watching her.
As soon as she got home from school that afternoon, Michele raced up to her room and seized the diary. But before opening it to Clara’s next entry, she glanced in the mirror at her school clothes. She didn’t want to shock Clara again by wearing another “abominable” outfit. Maybe it would help put her at ease if Michele dressed a little more … vintage.
She quickly searched until she found what she had worn to a wedding the year before: an iridescent blue chiffon floor-length dress, with three-quarter lace sleeves. She styled her hair in a bun and couldn’t help giggling at her reflection in the mirror. She looked like an old-fashioned ballerina. But she would probably fit into 1910 much better in this getup.
Michele scribbled a note to leave on her bed, in case she didn’t return in time for dinner. Going to study group and then dinner with some people from school. Not sure how late I’ll be out. See you soon. She crossed her fingers that her grandparents and Annaleigh wouldn’t question her alibi. As she reached for the skeleton key on her bureau, her mind flashed back to her recurring dream. On impulse, she opened her jewelry box and rifled through it until she found a plain gold chain. She attached the key to the chain and clasped the new makeshift necklace around her neck. Michele turned to look in the mirror and shivered—it was just like gazing at the reflection from her dream. Her hand rested on the key, and she suddenly felt that she must never take it off.
Michele returned to the diary, h
er fingers trembling with anticipation as she flipped to the second entry, dated 10/25/10. She figured she would try to repeat the October 10 phenomenon by bringing the key to the old diary entry. What if it doesn’t work this time? Michele worried. But no sooner had she thought that than the dizzying journey back in time had begun again, with the roller-coaster plunge downward and the room changing before her eyes at the speed of light—only the whole process was much quicker this time. And then Michele landed once again with a thud on the bedroom floor, arriving to the sight of a very pretty red-haired girl slipping on a pair of white suede gloves. The girl’s face broke into a delighted smile at the sight of Michele.
“Clara?” Michele’s jaw dropped. “You look so …”
“Different? I know.” Clara laughed ruefully. “The day after I arrived, I was scrubbed to perfection, my hair dressed in a pompadour, and my face doused in powders. And now this.” She smoothed the skirt of her bead-trimmed pale green silk princess-style dress, which matched her eyes. “Society ladies and debutantes have to wear dresses like this simply to go out shopping. I still can’t fathom being one of them.”
Clara suddenly took in Michele’s appearance, and she said in a tone of utter surprise, “Why, you look quite pretty yourself! Though I cannot imagine why you don’t wear gloves. Would you like to borrow some of mine?”
Michele laughed. “No thanks, I’m good. Besides, you seem to be the only person who can see me, remember?”
Clara nodded and then clasped Michele’s hand excitedly. “I am so happy you’re back—my very own friendly ghost! After you vanished like that, I was afraid I had imagined you. And you picked just the day to return—Mr. and Mrs. Windsor are hosting a Halloween masquerade ball! It’s my debut in society, so I couldn’t be more nervous.”
Michele’s chest suddenly tightened with grief as she remembered the Halloween costume party she and her friends had been planning and the costumes her mom would have designed, all that she would have had if only …
“Are you all right?” Clara asked, clearly noticing Michele’s expression.
Michele refocused on Clara and slowly nodded. Remembering the date of the diary entry, she asked, “Is today October twenty-fifth?”
Clara nodded. “Henrietta Windsor is taking me to Lord & Taylor now, for the final fitting on my dress for tonight. Would you like to join us? Though I know no one else can see you …”
“I’d love to go,” Michele said, feeling a flicker of excitement at the prospect of a 1910 sightseeing trip.
Clara put on an extravagant picture hat adorned with clusters of osprey feathers and set with a veil. Michele gave the hat an incredulous look, and Clara said, “What, have you never before seen a Le Monnier hat? It’s my first. Mrs. Windsor gave me a good scolding yesterday for being seen in public without it.”
Michele bit back a giggle as she imagined Kristen’s and Amanda’s reactions to Clara’s Edwardian ensemble. She followed Clara down the stairs to the Grand Hall, and she was entranced by the sight of the Windsor Mansion in all its Gilded Age glory. While the house in 2010 had a bit of an old-relic feel, like something out of a museum, the 1910 version was like a freshly painted portrait. Everything from the walls to the floors sparkled with newness, and the home was abuzz with activity as some twenty servants scurried about, preparing for the ball. This is no hallucination, Michele realized with a firm knowledge that surprised her. I’ve really done it; I’ve really gone back in time!
As they descended the staircase, Michele spotted four women waiting for them in the Grand Hall. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the most beautiful of the group, one of the most striking girls she had ever seen. She looked around Michele’s age, so Michele figured that this must be the new older sister Clara had spoken of—Violet Windsor.
Violet’s black hair was piled atop her head in a waterfall of curls, and her eyes were the very color of her name. Her eyebrows were perfectly arched, her lashes seemed endless, and her lips formed a bee-stung pout. She wore a floor-length dress of ivory satin, festooned with ruffles and a long train. Even with all that clothing, Michele could see that she had an enviable figure—tall and slender, with curves in all the right places. These people sure dress up to go shopping, Michele thought, taking in Violet’s doeskin gloves, strands of white pearls, and picture hat every bit as elaborate as Clara’s.
An older woman stood beside Violet, and Michele guessed that she was Violet’s mother, Henrietta Windsor. Though Michele figured she must be in her forties, since her youngest child was only ten, she looked significantly older than the women of her age from Michele’s time. Henrietta’s copper-colored hair was streaked with gray, and there was no makeup to diminish the lines and creases in her face, but she was attractive in a regal way. She looked powerful and proud in her black velvet dress and pearls. Her hat outdid both Clara’s and Violet’s, with not just plumes but fake fruit on it!
The remaining two ladies were both young maids, one of whom Michele recognized from her first meeting with Clara. They stood deferentially off to the side, in their matching plain long black skirts with tucked-in white blouses. Two footmen flanked the front doors of the mansion. Michele chuckled at the sight of them, thinking that they looked straight out of the movie Cinderella, with their striped vests, gray knee-length trousers over white stockings, and black patent leather Louis XVI–style shoes.
When Clara and Michele reached the foot of the stairs, Henrietta Windsor gave Clara a curt nod of hello. Clara quickly dropped into a slight curtsy, clearly eager to win over her foster mother. Violet didn’t acknowledge Clara’s presence with anything other than a narrowing of her eyes, and Michele could instantly tell that she was hardly thrilled about the new addition to her family.
“We are ready now,” Henrietta announced to the servants. The footmen quickly swung open the front doors and led the two Windsors, Clara, and the ladies’ maids to the horse-drawn carriage awaiting them at the entrance. The footmen helped the women into the carriage, beginning with Henrietta and ending with the maids. The invisible Michele climbed inside after them, squeezing between Clara and one of the maids.
“Wow,” Michele whispered, enthralled by the elegant and cozy carriage interior, which was upholstered in maroon silk and lit by gilded lamps.
Once they emerged from the Windsor Mansion gates, Michele caught her first glimpse of turn-of-the-century New York. She let out a gasp of amazement. It was entirely different than she had imagined. The looming apartment and office buildings and upscale shops around Fifth Avenue were gone, replaced with grand marble and limestone homes. In fact, a dramatic redbrick and white stone mansion, with gables and balconies facing both Central Park and Fifth Avenue, now stood at the site of Caissie Hart’s apartment building next door. That must be the old Walker Mansion, Michele thought. It reminded her of a French château.
Gone were the modern cars zooming through the labyrinth streets, but the cobblestone roads of 1910 were just as clogged with traffic. All kinds of carriages, a few old-fashioned buggies, and several boxy cars like Henry Ford’s Model T filled the streets. Policemen, both standing and on horseback, were at the center of packed intersections, trying to manage the lines of vehicles as the extravagantly dressed pedestrians waited to catch a safe moment to cross. Above, a steam locomotive chugged on elevated train tracks. The rumble of early automobiles, the ringing of trolley bells, and the clip-clop of horses were like a strange symphony to Michele’s ears.
The Windsor coachman persevered through the traffic, then stopped at Broadway and Fourteenth Street. Michele gave the street signs a double take, unable to believe that this was the area known as Union Square. The Union Square Michele knew from film and TV was an unexceptional, thoroughly modern part of the city, surrounded by trendy restaurants, the W Hotel, office towers, and New York University buildings. But this Union Square was something else entirely. Surrounding the expanse of the square were blocks and blocks of resplendent department and specialty stores, bringing to mind the famed shopping
boulevards of Paris. Elegant carriages lined every curb, with liveried footmen standing on the sidewalk before them. Michele recognized a few of the names on the store awnings, like Lord & Taylor and Tiffany & Co., which looked even more lavish than its current incarnation on Fifth Avenue.
“Here we are, then, Ladies’ Mile,” the coachman announced, leaping out of the driver’s seat to help the women out of the carriage.
Clara and the Windsors exited and Michele jumped down after them, then followed as they walked into Lord & Taylor. As soon as they entered the store, two young men in formal uniforms appeared at Henrietta’s and Violet’s elbows, showing off their latest wares and urging them to try on the newest gloves and jewels. Michele thought that this was pretty pushy and annoying of them, but only Clara seemed overwhelmed. Violet and Henrietta were perfectly at ease with the badgering salesmen.
“Clara, please do not linger or we won’t have much time to ready ourselves for the ball,” Henrietta suddenly called sharply. Clara flushed and quickened her steps to meet their pace.
A liveried salesman handed an enormous garment bag to one of the Windsor ladies’ maids, who led Clara into the dressing room. Several minutes later, Michele watched as Clara emerged in a shimmering beaded gown with a white satin over-skirt and bodice over a white and cream brocade underskirt.
“Wow!” Michele mouthed to Clara, who smiled shyly. Out of the corner of her eye, Michele noticed Violet’s expression sour at the sight of Clara in the stunning gown.
“That will do,” Henrietta said disinterestedly. She turned to give instructions to her other maid, and when she was out of earshot, Violet commented, “Well, it is very nice—for Lord & Taylor. But you must know that all the best gowns come from Worth in Paris. That’s where my gown for tonight is from, of course, as well as Mother’s. I wonder why Father didn’t order your gown from there as well.”
Timeless Page 7
