“How are you feeling, Miss Baxter? You fainted again on the upper deck. I was terribly worried, ma’am.”
Louise couldn’t believe that this girl, who looked old enough to be in high school, was calling her ma’am. Actually, it was hard to believe that anyone would call her ma’am; she was only twelve years old.
“I’ve changed you into your bedclothes. That dress was most constricting; I thought you should be comfortable,” the girl explained eagerly.
Louise turned an embarrassed shade of scarlet, as she realized that the soft and silky feeling she’d noticed earlier was from the satin fabric of an unfamiliar slip she was wearing. She pulled the quilt up to try and get a better look at herself. She had never worn a silk nightgown in her life, and the thought of this stranger undressing her and changing her into one was mortifying.
“Do you not like the gown, ma’am? Is everything to your taste? I found it in your steamer trunk. I can put another one on you if you’d prefer.”
“No!” Louise answered quickly, alarmed at the sound of her own voice, a bit strange, but very real. “I mean, ummm… no, thank you. That’s fine. And, excuse me for asking this, but… who are you?”
“Oh dear, Captain Smith said your memory was a tad foggy. You don’t remember me?” the unfamiliar girl asked, her knitting needles paused in mid stitch.
“I’m sorry, but no.”
“I am Anna Hard, your maid.”
“My what?” Louise asked, shocked. What is happening?
“Yes, ma’am. Don’t worry; the ship’s doctor said your memory will gradually return. You just need to get your rest. The doctor will be back to check on you in a bit.”
“Anna, where are we?” Louise asked while looking around the elegantly decorated room in awe.
“Why, we’re on the White Star Line headed toward New York. Isn’t it magnificent?”
“I suppose it is,” Louise said as she nodded slowly. And it was. “This is auh-mazing. I just didn’t expect to be here. What if my mom starts to worry?”
“Your mother?” Anna repeated, looking confused as she got up from her chair. “Why, she knows you’re here, ma’am. She was on the dock at Southampton seeing us off.” She placed a cool, wet cloth on Louise’s forehead and handed her a crystal glass filled with water. “Please, ma’am, stay in bed. You need some rest.”
“Well, maybe a little rest would be okay.” Louise sank back into the comfortable downy pillows. Wherever she was, she was definitely getting the first-class treatment. And she certainly didn’t mind missing a day of Fairview, where she got anything but first-class treatment.
“Please, Miss Baxter, stay put. Mr. Baxter will be here shortly. He’ll know what to do.”
Louise had forgotten there would soon be a Mr. Baxter to contend with! “Mr. Baxter?” she inquired, shocked. “You mean I have a husband?”
“Goodness no,” Anna replied, laughing. “Mr. Baxter is your uncle. He also happens to be your manager, in case you’ve forgotten that as well. He’s booked the adjacent suite, as your mother didn’t think it proper for you to travel alone at your age.”
“Thank Gawd,” Louise said with a sigh of relief. She hadn’t even had a real boyfriend yet. Marriage definitely wasn’t on her to-do list. “But why do I have a manager?”
“You’re an actress,” Anna replied, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “How could you possibly manage your career, too? And at only seventeen years old.”
“That is unbelievably awesome!” Louise had a sudden gust of energy, realizing she had apparently been granted everything she’d been secretly wishing for. “Anna, I’m glad I’m here. I think this is exactly where I’m supposed to be right now.”
Anna shook her head, seemingly amused and a little offset at her, or rather Miss Baxter’s, unusual behavior.
She fluffed the pillows under Louise’s head and left to prepare some chamomile tea and toast, locking the door behind her.
Once she was alone, Louise pushed off the cumbersome bedding, excited to get up and explore the suite.
The bedroom chamber was paneled with dark cherry wood wainscoting and maroon tapestry wallpaper. There was a decorative fireplace with intricately carved ribbon molding opposite the four-poster bed, and a large still-life oil painting of flowers and fruit hung above the mantel in a gold frame. An opened antique rolltop writing desk in the corner was neatly stacked with White Star Line stationery. Louise tested out a plush chaise lounge that looked like something Scarlett O’Hara would be draped on in Gone with the Wind.
The hardwood floor was cold on her bare feet as she tiptoed into a second room off the sleeping cabin. She walked into a parlor furnished with a couch, a loveseat, and two matching armchairs upholstered in an ornate beige-and-gold pattern. The decor was all very formal; nothing looked comfortable or inviting. She thought of a compact little floating palace, elegant, rich, and old-fashioned. Louise noticed there were no windows or portals in this room, either. The wood panels were starting to make her feel like she was in a coffin. She ran her hand along the velvety textured wallpaper as she walked around the circumference of the room.
Louise spotted another, smaller area off the parlor. She padded across an intricate reddish purple Oriental carpet into a separate dressing alcove and closet. A vanity table was covered with bottles of perfume and jars of creams. A powder puff was poofing out of a lilac blue canister of powder, some of which was scattered like snowflakes on the glass. It smelled like a department store at the mall.
A sepia-colored photograph was displayed in between the perfumes. Louise carefully picked up the tarnished frame with the amber-tinted image, so as not to knock over any of the bottles.
She was holding a picture of a beautiful woman wearing a pinkish dress, and clasping a bouquet of pale roses in her hands. Her flawless complexion, dark hair gently falling in waves to her shoulders, and gray eyes framed by long eyelashes made her look like a movie star from Old Hollywood.
“This must be Miss Baxter,” Louise whispered to herself, shakily placing the picture frame back on the vanity with trembling fingers.
She walked deeper into the closet, drawn to Miss Baxter’s steamer trunk, which was opened in the middle of the room. The black leather trunk had a gold padlock and was more like a wardrobe than any suitcase she had ever seen. It was taller than Louise and deep enough for her to walk right in. This woman did not pack light. It seemed as though someone had been interrupted in the middle of unpacking, as the clothes were in disarray.
Whoever Miss Baxter was, she definitely had an unbelievable closet filled with the most fabulous clothes Louise had ever seen. Dresses of violet chiffon and canary yellow silk with peach ribbons spilled carelessly out onto the floor. A few items had been hung up on hangers in the closet—a fur coat, a dressing gown, and a pink dress that looked exactly like the one Louise had tried on with Brooke at Marla and Glenda’s Traveling Fashionista Vintage Sale. It seemed to be the same dress she had been wearing earlier that afternoon on the ship’s deck!
Louise once again held the dusky pink dress in her hands. It was unmistakably the same dress she had tried on in the store, except now it was in perfect condition, without a rip or stain anywhere. The downy hairs on her arms stood up as she held the fabric to her nose, inhaled deeply, and found it smelled like perfume and powder, like the way her mother smelled when she was getting dressed to go out to dinner.
Louise closed her eyes to smell the fabric again and was overtaken by a wave of homesickness. She had the same aching feeling once before on the first day of summer camp. She had begged her mom to let her go away to sleepover camp, but then once she got there and was alone on her top bunk, all she wanted to do was be back home again. It seemed to Louise that she was a long way from Timber Trails.
Before she could investigate further, Louise was distracted by a glimmer from the back of the closet. Light was being reflected off what appeared to be a full-length mirror. Slowly, she walked up to the ornately gold-framed mir
ror on the far side of the closet.
It didn’t make any sense. How was she being mistaken for this beautiful, older woman? If this woman was actually Miss Baxter, how could anyone in their right mind mistake Louise for her? Is that who Louise looked like now?
She hesitantly looked up at her reflection and felt a wave of disappointment to see that it was, in fact, herself, twelve-year-old, brace-face, frizzy-haired Louise, staring back from behind the glass. Really?
Louise lowered herself carefully to the floor and hugged her knees to her chest. It seemed as though on the inside she was Louise Lambert, but to everyone else she was this Miss Baxter, a gorgeous teenage actress. Definitely rich. Probably even famous. She smiled and unconsciously began twirling a strand of her hair between her thumb and index finger. That was how she did her best thinking, and none of this made any sense. Somehow she had woken up in the body of a woman who was taking a first-class trip on the White Star Line, with her own personal maid and her uncle/manager, from England to New York City. Like, one hundred years ago. She guessed she needed to figure out how to get back to Connecticut and to the twenty-first century… but not quite yet. This was going to be way too much fun to miss.
“Ma chèrie! Have you missed me?” boomed an older singsong male voice from the hallway. Mr. Baxter?!
“I’ve arrived, my precious niece! Have no fear…”
Louise jumped up, ran out of the closet, through the sitting room, slid across the hardwood floor, and dived for the enormous bed. She was still wearing nothing besides the flimsy nightgown Anna had dressed her in, and she certainly did not want to have her first encounter with her manager wearing that. She heard the scratching of a key turning in the lock as she buried herself under the mound of thick aubergine blankets.
The door swung open and in walked Anna carrying a sterling silver tea service. She was followed by a round, squat, middle-aged man wearing pressed khaki pants and a navy blue suit jacket and tie. He had no hair on the top of his head, but overcompensated for it with a bushy handlebar mustache and big caterpillar-like eyebrows.
“I’ve heard all about your adventures on the high seas. I’ve come to rescue you!” Mr. Baxter bellowed.
Louise, who was slowly starting to suffocate under all of that down, timidly peeked her eyes and nose out.
“Oh good, Miss Baxter has awoken from her slumber. I’ve brought Dr. Hastings to check on you.”
Anna quickly wrapped Louise up in a buttercup yellow dressing gown made of thick velvet. She was nearly doubled in size covered in all that material. It had a satin sash and a hideous frilly lace collar. Before she could object, Anna plopped a floppy lace hat on her head and tied it under her chin with a yellow ribbon. Louise felt completely ridiculous.
Dr. Hastings, a tall, thin old man, loomed in the doorway, like a vampire waiting to be invited in. He cut a menacing figure with midnight black hair, sunken eyes, and gaunt, hollow cheeks. Wearing a coal black suit and tie, he looked more like a mortician than a doctor. He approached the bedside, and leaned over Louise to feel her forehead with the back of his cold, dry, ghostly pale hand.
“Harrumph,” he mumbled by way of introduction, removing a tongue depressor from his black leather medicine bag.
“Say ahhh,” he instructed.
Louise hesitantly opened her mouth, and he roughly pressed her tongue down with the flat wooden stick.
“Harrumph, very interesting.” Dr. Hastings put the depressor back in his satchel and took out a penlight that he shone directly in her right eye, then her left eye, then her right ear, and finally her left ear, making a “harrumph” noise each time. With surprising force, he pressed his hand on Louise’s stomach.
“Ouch!” she cried out, feeling a shooting pain with his touch.
“Well, what is it, Doctor?” Mr. Baxter asked anxiously. “What is all of the harrumphing about?”
Dr. Hastings stood up and looked down at the concerned uncle, who seemed like one of the seven dwarfs next to him.
“Fiber,” Dr. Hastings said.
“Excuse me?” asked an incredulous Mr. Baxter.
“She has a severe fiber deficiency. That would explain the tenderness of the stomach and the amnesia.”
“Fiber?” Mr. Baxter repeated.
“Yes. She needs to eat five prunes each morning and evening.” The doctor began rummaging through his black leather bag. “I’m sure I have some in here.”
“Are you a real doctor?” Louise asked, rather rudely.
Dr. Hastings looked up angrily. “Of course,” he snapped.
As he continued to search his bag for the elusive fibrous fruits, Mr. Baxter stood behind the doctor and started flapping his arms like a bird and puffing air into his cheeks like some bizarre combination of blowfish and chicken. Clearly Mr. Baxter realized what a quack this guy was. Louise was turning bright red as she tried not to laugh, but she couldn’t help it. Her eyes were tearing with the effort, and a few giggles escaped her tightly sealed lips.
The doctor emerged triumphantly holding a rusted tin can labeled Pitted Prunes. For the first time, there was a flash of life in his murky black eyes.
“This will do the trick!” he exclaimed. “I predict she will have a full recovery in two days’ time.”
“Pitted prunes! Perfect, my good doctor,” Mr. Baxter replied with gusto, patting him heartily on the back and winking at Louise.
Dr. Hastings grumbled one last time in lieu of good-bye and then slunk out of the room.
“Well, at least he didn’t try to cure you with leeches,” Mr. Baxter joked as he examined the tin of prunes left on the bedside table.
“I guess,” Louise responded, not quite getting the humor. That doctor gave her the creeps.
Just then, a handsome man who looked to be in his twenties with slicked-back blond hair and dressed in an old-fashioned charcoal gray three-piece suit poked his head into the room.
“Miss Baxter, my dear. I hear you weren’t feeling well this afternoon. I wanted to check in on you.”
“Benjamin,” Mr. Baxter greeted him curtly, extending his hand to the cute stranger. “She is doing just fine now. Thank you for checking. Although I don’t think the timing to be quite appropriate, considering Miss Baxter is trying to get some rest.”
“Even when you are under the weather, you still look as beautiful as ever,” Benjamin said to Louise with a wink.
Louise blushed. Did this guy just make up a poem for me? Unless she was completely off base, totally hot Benjamin was actually flirting with her. And at a time when she must have looked like a two-hundred-pound Little Bo Peep. Didn’t Anna realize that no one looks good in this shade of yellow?
“I hope I’ll see you both at dinner this evening. Please, Miss Baxter, don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything. Anything at all.”
“Thank you.” Louise nodded and smiled after a long pause, still in shock.
Mr. Baxter hastily showed Benjamin to the door like an overprotective father. He seemed to want to get rid of him as soon as possible. “Guggenheim, what a cad,” he muttered as soon as he left the room.
Guggenheim? As in the museum? Louise definitely hoped she would be running into him again soon. Even though that doctor was weird, Benjamin Guggenheim more than made up for it. Finally, she had met someone who was truly crush-worthy.
“Perhaps it would do wonders for you to get out of this bed and have a good meal tonight. They say the food on this ship is second to none. We have a fabulous table in the first-class dining salon—Jacob and Madeleine Astor, Isidor Straus—I’m sure his wife, Ida, has been worried sick about you. It would be good if you made an appearance. As they say in the biz, the show must go on!” Mr. Baxter sang as he delicately dabbed his sweaty bald head with a bright pink pocket scarf he had tucked in his jacket pocket.
“Yes, that sounds nice,” Louise agreed nonchalantly, trying not to show her enthusiasm, even though she was so excited to get dressed up in Miss Baxter’s fabulous dresses and run into Benjamin again.
“Marvelous, I’ll leave you to get your beauty sleep. Shall you meet me at the Grand Staircase this evening at half past seven?”
“Sure,” Louise mumbled, trying to say as little as possible so he wouldn’t catch on that she wasn’t the real Miss Baxter. She had no idea how she was going to continue fooling everyone into thinking she was this other woman. How the heck had this happened again?
“Please, my sweet pea, please do try to bring a bit more energy to the table,” Mr. Baxter said, exasperated. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you. You remind me of a sullen young girl.”
Louise raised her eyebrow. He had no clue how right he was.
Mr. Baxter gave a dramatic wave with his flamingo pink handkerchief and left the room. Anna immediately began bustling about, gathering clothes and stockings, and running the bath water. Louise climbed down from the raised bed and stood frozen, not sure what to do with herself.
“Do you need any help?” Louise asked.
Anna stopped dead in her tracks, her arms full of shimmery evening gowns that needed to be hung and pressed.
“Pardon me, ma’am?”
“I said do you need any help? What can I do?”
“Are you still not feeling well, ma’am?” Anna asked, concerned.
“I feel fine. I just feel guilty standing here while you do all the work,” Louise replied.
Anna paused and gave her a long, inquisitive look, as though she were looking at her for the first time. “No, I don’t need any help. Why don’t you rest? I’m drawing you a bath.”
“Can I watch TV?” Louise asked, eyeing the room for a television set or a flat-screen.
“What’s Tavee??” Anna repeated, confused.
“Right, never mind,” Louise said with a sigh, remembering what era she was in.
She had never rested so much in her life. It was starting to make her anxious. If she was actually lucky enough to be living the life of a fabulous actress, she definitely didn’t want to waste it bored and hanging around her room.
The Time-Traveling Fashionista Page 4
