The Time Contessa (The Time Mistress Book 3)

by Georgina Young-Ellis

  “I don’t know if I agree with that theory,” said Jake.

  “It’s proved true every time.”

  “It didn’t happen to you when you traveled to 1920s Harlem, Elton,” Jake said to his boss.

  “No.” There was hesitation in the professor’s voice. “But I was married, so I made a point to resist, but it could have.” He shook his head slightly. “Anyway, I’d just feel better if Cassie went along with you, perhaps posing as your wife.”

  Jake was like the brother Cassandra had never had. Pretending to be married to him? Just the thought made her stomach go sour.

  He was looking at her too, his face a greenish hue. “No,” he said. “My sister maybe, not my wife.”

  “I just don’t think I can do it, Elton,” she said after a long exhale. “There’s got to be someone else.”

  “You know, Jake was there for you when you needed him. Who was it who went back to London, back to 1820, as your scout? Who took the risk of checking out the portal exit for you to make sure it was safe? Who brought gold to open your bank account with, found a music store for you, and even a place to buy clothes? Jake dealt with all those realtors, secured you a beautiful mansion to live in, and traveled all the way to Hampshire to make sure it would suit you. You couldn’t have made that trip if he hadn’t set it all up for you.”

  “He knows how grateful I am.” Though she hated to admit it, her boss was right.

  “Then do this for him.”

  Another long breath. “All right.”

  “Good. At any rate, both of you will be responsible for keeping each other clear of ‘the spell.’ I’ll petition the Board for their approval and once the funding is in place, we’ll look for a place to build the portal near Siena. We can probably be finished in a month; that will put it at mid-June, which will give you about three weeks before the date Francesco Marino is to have died to turn things around. We’ll send Suhan to Italy now. She’ll look for a location outside the center of Siena that perhaps was in the countryside six hundred years ago, a place to establish the wormhole connection where no one will see you when you suddenly appear out of thin air.” He grabbed the hologram and discarded it with one motion of his hand. He looked at the two scientists pointedly. “Then you go back, and you fix this.”

  Chapter Two

  Jacob Grenefeld, June 30, 1506—All hell has broken loose! Giuliana’s father found out about us and is raging around Firenze looking for me. Since I’d planned to leave in a few days anyway, I’ve decided to go tonight in order to spare my own hide, but I will have to do it without saying goodbye. I will disappear, and Giuliana will have no idea what happened to me. I suppose she’ll think I took the first boat back to England.

  This is what happened: one of the apprentices at da Vinci’s studio, Cesare Bianchi, saw how we looked at each other whenever Giuliana and her father, Signor De Lucca, came to check on the progress of the painting he commissioned. In order to earn a few extra lire, I imagine, Bianchi told Giuliana’s father about his suspicions, and was paid to follow us. Well, he followed us to the oak tree, and, apparently, hiding somewhere nearby, saw us kiss. Damn him! I knew he was a rat!

  I haven’t seen Giuliana since. I only know Signor De Lucca exploded because one of his servants told Maestro da Vinci’s servant, who told da Vinci. Da Vinci counseled me to hide, and when darkness fell, to flee. So, I gathered up my few materials, ran to the inn and got my things; now Maestro d a Vinci is keeping me hidden in his home until I can escape tonight. He thinks I will be hiring a horse and riding to the port of Livorno.

  I am in agony, sheer and utter agony, at leaving my Giuliana like this! I was almost… almost at the point of deciding to stay, or rather of going back through the portal and asking permission to stay, having the team replicate several hundred more Florins for me, returning again, and asking her father to let me marry her instead of Piero Guerrini. Now, I have no choice but to leave her with no good-byes, no explanation, not knowing what will become of her in this forced marriage she’s entering into.

  I’ve lost my head. She has to marry Guerrini. I’m an idiot for letting myself get so wrapped up in this world that is far too dangerous to consider really being a part of: just last week, I ran away from the spectacle of a man being stabbed in the middle of the Piazza della Signoria. Apparently, it was revenge for dallying with another man’s wife. What am I thinking, getting involved with a woman who is promised to another? Enough now. The sun has set. I must go, though I hate myself for slinking away like a coward. It’s just a short distance to the church of Santa Croce. Pray God I get there without being discovered or De Lucca’s hired thugs will kill me, and this journal will be left for them to read.

  Cassandra set the book aside with an involuntarily shudder. It was true; the Italy they would be traveling to the next day was a treacherous time and place. She sat on the balcony of her hotel, overlooking the Campo, the famous, half-shell shaped plaza in the middle of Siena, the city she’d become so familiar with this last month as she and the team had made preparations for the trip. At the moment, the town center was the picture of serenity. The sunset was turning the sky pink and gold, and the buildings around the Campo reflected the glow of the fading sun. The beauty of the city belied its violent history.

  She ran her hand across the rough stone of the balcony railing. Though only six hundred years old—young by Siena’s standards—the former palazzo must have seen its share of clashes in the Campo it overlooked. If she simply focused on the carved stone of the balcony, she could imagine the building as the palace of a wealthy Senese family. The ornate marble lobby she passed through every day reinforced that truth. But the moment she walked into her modern hotel room, the illusion of the ancient palazzo disappeared.

  Anyway, it was more interesting to focus on the view below though it was a benign scene: tourists shuffled into cafes, and the vendors who sold hats and T-shirts in the Campo were beginning to pack up for the night. A man with long, silvery hair caught her eye before he ducked into a restaurant. There was something familiar about him, something that brought Nick to mind. She’d rather not think of him right now, the man she thought she once loved, the man who had betrayed her when she time - traveled to New York of 1853. He had interfered in the journey, trying to be a hero, but his jealousy had driven him to do a terrible thing.

  Bells rang across the plaza, pulling her thoughts back to the present. The Mangia Tower that soared above the Campo still reminded the citizens of the passing of the hours, and the town hall, or Palazzo Pubblico, from which the tower rose, presided as it had for centuries. It was good the team hadn’t built the portal there in the middle of so much activity. When Jake had traveled to Florence five years ago, he’d taken a huge chance being seen arriving through the portal exit in the small alleyway near Santa Croce, or leaving through it when he’d fled. If anyone had seen him, they would have thought he was some kind of sorcerer, appearing, or disappearing, into thin air. He’d arrived in Renaissance Florence with a large satchel of clothing, money, and supplies, and was lucky he’d made it to a good inn without being robbed or killed.

  They would be doing things differently this time, arriving with much less baggage since it would be a quick trip , and not as much preparation was required. While the portal lab was being readied, their traveling clothes made, and ancient money replicated, Jake and Cassandra had been doing their part by working hard on perfecting their Italian, and traveling the ancient city of Siena through virtual reality tours to get to know it well. Gliding through those streets recreated by VR artists and historians was fun, but their accuracy was limited. When she and Jake saw the city the next day, there were sure to be many surprises. Hopefully, they could navigate the challenges they would encounter, and emerge alive, mission accomplished.

  The ground was suddenly firm beneath Cassandra’s feet, but her head still spun from the dizzying passage through time. The dark green of a tree branch came into focus. The last thing she’d seen leaving the portal lab was
the door of the wormhole chamber sliding closed, the members of the team disappearing from view. Now, as her vision cleared, the branch resolved into an entire grove of Cypress trees, surrounding her in a protective cluster. No one would have any indication this was the portal exit of the wormhole connection, the only way back to the future world.

  The sound of Jake gasping for breath made her turn and look. She grabbed his hand and looked into his eyes to reassure him. He was pale, beads of sweat standing on his forehead. Church bells rang in the distance. She inhaled deeply the minty smell of the Cypress, mixed with a sweet, woody odor of olive blossoms delivered on the warm June breeze.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” he breathed. “I’m okay.”

  She let go his hand and ran hers over the snug bodice of her deep blue muslin gown, tugging the drawstring of the scooped neckline to be sure it was tied securely. The long, puffy sleeves of the blouse flowed gracefully with the movement of her arms. She gave her long skirt and petticoats a shake and the coins that were sewn into various pockets jingled. She’d have to move carefully so others wouldn’t hear them. She adjusted the bag she carried across her shoulder and touched the simple white scarf, tied at the nape of her neck, which covered her reddish curls. Something stung on her arm: the place where Professor Carver had pinched her just before they’d stepped into the portal chamber. For luck, he’d said. How peculiar; he’d never done that before.

  Jake hoisted the large satchel he was carrying onto his back. It contained a few changes of undergarments and other necessaries for them both. He also had a wealth of coins hidden about his person. The brown doublet of coarse fabric and the muslin shirt he wore over his compact and muscular frame, along with the woolen leggings and scuffed boots, gave the illusion of him being nothing more than a man of the middle class, yet certainly a worthy bodyguard for his sister. She smiled. He looked uncharacteristically fierce with his brow furrowed and an expression of stern determination on his face.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Now that we’re actually here, now that the reality of it is setting in, I don’t know if I can do it. I never thought I’d be back in this time and place.”

  “It’s a little late to have second thoughts, Jake.” She patted his arm, and then gave him a nudge. “Come on, we’d better get moving.”

  She set her sights on the reddish-tan city perched on a hill about two kilometers away and moved toward it. Soon, they fell in with horses, wagons, and people coming and going along a rustic path. She clutched the sheathed knife in her skirt pocket.

  “I wish we had a more cohesive plan,” she said, keeping her voice low. “I feel like we’re flying without a net.”

  “We have a plan: find Sampieri’s studio, tell him we’re there to commission your portrait, meet Marino, find out if he and Giuliana are lovers, or may potentially become lovers,”— he clenched his jaw as he spoke—“and if so, distract them from each other. We’ll fill everything else in as we go along.”

  “There are so many ‘what ifs.’ What if Marino isn’t in Siena, or Giuliana isn’t, or we can’t find them?”

  “It’s a small town. Everybody knows everybody. If they’re there, we’ll find them.”

  Well-laid plans could back-fire…but she kept that thought to herself. More travelers joined the road, and Cassandra couldn’t help meeting some of their stares. One man had a large, red hole in his cheek; another had a mouth covered with scabs. An old woman with a huge hooked nose scowled at her, then wondered aloud to her companion what the beautiful northern woman was doing, walking, rather than riding on horseback. Though the Senese dialect was hard to understand, Cassandra caught the gist of the remark. She glanced at the woman’s friend; she was horribly pock-marked, and the clothes she was wearing were covered in grime. The kerchief tied around her hair was little better than a rag. Perhaps she was a farmer, or a laundry woman. Perhaps she slaughtered pigs for a living. The smell that drifted toward Cassandra from her direction made it seem like a distinct possibility. When their eyes met, the woman sneered at her. Cassandra quickly looked away. Her heart beat faster.

  Four ragtag men walked toward them from the direction of Siena. Best to keep her eyes down. It was possible there could be trouble if they considered her and Jake too out of place, or too rich, or too…clean, maybe. If only they had thought to dirty themselves up a little more—that probably would have been wise. She looked at Jake. His chest was puffed out in a defensive manner. The men drew near, and in her peripheral vision , she could tell they were looking her up and down. Her heart beat faster still. Jake took her arm and pulled her close. One of the men laughed and shouted some words in Italian. The others guffawed loudly. She understood little; something about red hair, and perhaps an obscene reference. She quickened her pace, as did Jake. The men passed them and kept going.

  Thank God they were almost to the southern gates of the walls surrounding Siena though the closer they got to them, the more prominent the stench of the city. They passed through and hurried on to the town center. They threaded their way along the cobbled steps, the smells of urine and excrement everywhere. Then suddenly the sweet smell of bread baking would g a i ve some relief, and or the woman who walked by selling herbs from a cart. Even in broad daylight, some of the streets were so dark from two and three story buildings packed together overhead it was only possible to see a sliver of blue sky above. It was necessary to look both up and down at all times—down, to keep from stepping in puddles of filth, up, to avoid something equally horrible being dumped on their head. It wasn’t possible to really examine the town yet, though undoubtedly it was fascinating. Just keep moving.

  It took fifteen minutes to reach the Campo; emerging into the plaza was a chance for a deep gulp of air, not exactly free of odor, but better. There was a breeze. The sun shone, the sky opened up above Cassandra’s head. There was the Palazzo Pubblico and the Mangia Tower, the same as they would be in the future; but all the other buildings were different. Those that surrounded the Campo, palazzi of some of the richest citizens, were perfectly uniform in design, creating an effect almost of one single exterior that curved in an oval around the town center. The only thing that really distinguished one from another were the turreted towers of different heights that rose from their roofs, competing for the skyline, none, however, matching the soaring Mangia Tower. It was a completely different city from the one she knew so well in the future. The virtual reality experience of ancient Siena had not been adequate preparation for the impact of all the sights, sounds, and smells. If only she were free to walk around the plaza and study each edifice, feel the smooth, polished stone of the buildings, wander through the center and observe the activity there: laundry being done in the Gaia Fountain, a group of men gambling with dice, a gaggle of women with their baskets gathering to gossip, children running and playing, young couples walking arm and arm, beggars, dogs, chickens—it was all very interesting, but very dangerous for an outsider.

  She gestured to a sign with a carved image of a bed, just off the Campo. Maybe it was an inn. They went toward it. She let Jake open the door and enter first. She followed him into a low-ceilinged room with a brick floor and reddish mud walls. The place was empty.

  “Buona sera!” Jake called.

  A head covered with thick, black hair popped out from around the side of a rounded doorway. “Buona sera,” the man said, returning the greeting of good evening. His dark eyes sparkled as he quickly moved to his place behind a desk of coarse wood.

  Jake asked if he had a room for himself, and one for his sister. The man responded in the affirmative.

  “Di dove siete?” The innkeeper wanted to know where they were from.

  “Inghilterra.” Jake told him they were from England.

  “Ah, what brings you to Siena?” the innkeeper continued in Italian.

  “We’re here to commission a work of art.”

  “Oh!” The man looked Cassandra and Jake up and down.

  �
�True,” Jake laughed. “We don’t look like art patrons. Our master sent us to find one Lauro Sampieri.”

  The man looked at him skeptically. “Your master?”

  “Yes. The man we work for. My sister and I have been in his employ since birth.”

  Cassandra lowered her eyes and curtsied. Jake’s story didn’t seem plausible, but she was glad he hadn’t revealed the aliases they would be using with others: Count Grenefeld and Countess Barrentine. He must have thought it was better for the man not to know they were wealthy.

  “I will give you the finest rooms I have. I’m sure your master must have sent you with ample funds.”

  “For the basic necessities, yes. Whatever you have will be more than sufficient,” Jake responded.

  “Do you mind if I ask for payment in advance? I don’t mean to be indelicate, but one cannot be too careful these days.”

  “Of course.”

  “The price is….” He looked up at the ceiling, calculating, no doubt, what his new guests might be able to pay. “A scudo for both rooms, per night.”

  “A scudo?” questioned Jake. “That seems high.”

  “Well, it is Friday and tomorrow is market day. You are lucky I still have two rooms available.”

  “Perhaps we should look elsewhere,” Cassandra said in Italian.

  Jake responded in English. “It’s getting late and we may not find something else. I think we should take it. It’s not like we don’t have the money.”

  “I know. I was playing the game.”

  “Let’s agree on this.” The innkeeper jumped in. “If you stay through the Sabbath, I will charge you only half price for that night. You will not find a better deal in Siena for rooms of my quality. And if you stay longer, I will better the bargain.”

  “If the rooms are as nice as you say,” Jake said, “we might stay indefinitely—until we finish the transaction for our master. I hope you will give us the best price possible in that case.”