“Never mind. It’s not that important, I guess. Wait, why are you still looking at me funny?”
“You’re—you’re rather indecent to be wandering about. If Aunt sees you or—or, oh heavens, if Uncle E. J.—”
“No worries. They’re snoring harder than Geppetto in Pinocchio. Oh, wait. You haven’t seen that movie, so of course that won’t mean anything to you. Actually, you haven’t seen any movie, have you? So weird. And what do you mean, ‘indecent’? This nightgown reaches my wrists and my ankles! Plus, it’s kind of stiff. You’re soooo gonna love fabric softener, whenever that gets invented.”
Maggie continues to blink at me even worse than before. Hmm. It’s possible she is not rolling with this whole time-traveler thing as well as I am. Which I guess makes sense. I never lived in this time, but I’ve grown up learning all about it and surrounded by reminders every day. She probably feels like she’s been dropped into a whole new world, instead of just a whole new century.
“If you want, I’ll go grab a robe or something,” I offer.
Maggie shakes her head quickly. “No. I don’t know how much time we have. With the ball taking place tonight, the staff is surely up and about already, even if Aunt and Uncle are not. And I think I heard your father stirring as I slipped downstairs. We should hurry and switch back.”
She raises her hand and presses her fingers to the age spot on the mirror. When I keep my arms by my side, she tilts her head and says, “I believe we both have to do it at the same time.”
My eyes find hers. “Um, but I thought last night we agreed it would be good for both of us to have time to explore, since we’ve been given this crazy opportunity.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “It was all happening so quickly, and I was trying to process the situation. I don’t—That is, I assumed we’d swap back first thing this morning.”
I sigh. Not how I was hoping she’d respond. I make my voice soft and pleading. “Okay, so hear me out here. I’m not asking for much longer. Just today.”
She gasps. “Oh no. No. No. That’s simply not possible. Tonight is the ball, and I must be there. My portrait is being revealed to all Newport society.”
I scrunch up my nose. “I only need the day. We could switch back before the ball starts. But about that reveal . . . Sorry to be the one to tell you this but, not so much. Your portrait is stolen on this day in history. In a matter of hours, actually.”
She gasps again, and I’m quick to add, “Only, I’m not going to let that happen. That’s what I wanted to tell you. I think I figured out why I’m here—to solve the heist!”
“Whatever do you mean?”
I fill her in on exactly what’s about to go down at the ball tonight—or at least the version I know from the history books—and she clutches her throat. “Heavens!”
“I know, right?”
“I glimpsed that Jonah boy only yesterday. Just before . . . just before this all happened. I’d not seen him prior.”
“Yeah, well, I met him yesterday too.”
“Met him? You talked to him? But he’s—he’s a kitchen boy. I’m—we are not permitted in the basement.” She narrows her eyes. “Please tell me that you did not enter the servants’ area. After Mrs. O’Neil expressly forbade me! Where did you see him?”
Uh, exactly where you’d expect to find a kitchen boy? Only, I don’t say that to Maggie, of course. One, because even though I know a whole lot about 1905, I’m not sure how sarcasm worked then, and I don’t want her to think I don’t like her, when I’m actually totally thrilled we’re talking like this, even if it’s under super-weird conditions. And two, because I’m not entirely sure she won’t fall off her version of this sideboard if she finds out I went down to the staff area of the house.
“Oh, just . . . about,” I tell her. “To be honest, he seemed really nice. And young. I—I actually thought he was pretty cool.”
“Cool? I don’t understand. You felt his skin?”
I bite my cheek to keep from laughing. It’s not her fault she doesn’t know our slang. I have to remember to dial it down, but half the time it just slips out. “No. Sorry. I just mean I thought he was sweet. And shy. Not at all how I would picture a criminal mastermind. Although, I can’t say I’ve encountered all that many criminal masterminds, so maybe more of them have dimples and hair that won’t stay smoothed down than I realize.”
Maggie looks scandalized, like she just found out about the existence of bikinis or something. But she definitely aced etiquette school, because I can literally see her face rearrange itself into something more bland and ladylike right before my eyes.
“Or perhaps he is not the thief?” she suggests mildly.
I can’t help jumping at her words, because they’re so exactly what I was thinking yesterday. And last night as I was trying to fall asleep. And this morning when I woke up. Maybe the reason no one ever found the painting is what I always suspected—because they were looking in the wrong direction. Or at least for the wrong person. If I stick like glue to Jonah all day—to prevent him from getting close to the action—and it turns out I’m right that he’s NOT the thief . . . then what’s been the point of all this? If the real culprit steals the painting instead . . . why was I ever here? No matter who ends up being behind the theft, I have to solve it one way or another.
Maggie is patiently watching as the wheels turn in my head, waiting for me to get back to her.
“Okay, so what if he’s not?” I finally say. “That means it could be anyone. Wait. You probably have some insider information! Quick. Who else would want to own a priceless piece of art?”
Oh, ugh. That’s kind of obvious; the answer to that is “almost anyone.”
Maggie shakes her head. “But the portrait of me isn’t priceless. Of course, Aunt has ensured a lovely souvenir of my thirteenth year. And she does hope to impress Newport society with its unveiling . . . but Mademoiselle Cassatt is not Renoir. She is just a woman.”
“ ‘Just a woman’? ‘Just a woman’? Maggie! I can’t believe you said that! We need to get you up to speed on Girl Power. Where you are now, girls can do anything boys can do. We can command military troops, design skyscrapers, run for president.” I want to shake my fist at her. If she’s gonna hang in my day and age, she’d better start flying her feminism flag higher than that.
Maggie’s gasp is about as loud as a hurricane. “You have a female president? Of the United States!”
I drop my grin. “Well . . . not yet. But we got super-close. And we will again. I have faith.”
“Goodness,” she breathes. “I can’t even imagine men allowing us to vote, much less that men would trust us to run the entire country.”
I sigh, then mumble, “Some do. There, um . . . there might still be some ground to cover, although we do have the right to vote. People are always telling us girls we can be and do anything, and we can. It’s just that I guess we don’t always get the same respect guys do. Most of the time women get paid less for doing the same exact work. Or, like, girls will read books about boys no problem, but lots of boys refuse to read books with girls on the cover and stuff like that. So now it’s more like we have equal rights on paper but we still have to earn them in people’s hearts. I dunno.” I shake my head and laugh. “Wow, that got heavy. Yikes.”
“Still,” Maggie says. “I can’t begin to imagine what it would be like to dream of a career and know it could actually happen. Or to even be permitted to have an actual say in things, instead of just going along with anything my future husband wants me to.”
“Wow, I guess I never thought about it like that. And on the bright side, we might not have a female president yet, but there are already women governors and representatives and senators. Plus brain surgeons. And CEOs of companies. And rocket scientists. You should Google some of them. I mean, if you agree to stay for the day.” I cross every finger and toe.
Her forehead crinkles. “Beg pardon?”
Oh, right. If her mind is blown by the idea of a wo
man running for president, just wait until she discovers the Internet and endless hours of “baby hedgehogs getting massages” videos. It’s a shame I can’t be there to witness it.
Although, technically she hasn’t agreed to let me hang here for another day yet, and even though I could just completely refuse to put my fingers to the age spot, I’d prefer not to, like, steamroll all over her or anything. One, because I’m not an evil person, and two, because the girl is currently occupying my body and what if she gets revenge by chopping off my hair with toenail clippers? For now I plan to plow ahead until she screams “Stop!”
“Okay, let’s circle back to Girl Power later,” I say. “Just in case it might be someone other than Jonah, I need you to tell me any possible person who might have a motive to steal your portrait, or who might have it out for your aunt and uncle. Or you. Anything you can think of, big or small, could help. If the ball starts at ten p.m., I have to use every last hour to solve this thing.”
She seems a little dazed, but she nods. Wait. Does that mean she is agreeing to this plan? Officially? I try to stay all casual, even though I’m doing internal jumping jacks. “Suspects?” I prod.
She takes a deep breath and looks me in the eye. “Well, there are the Gilmores. Only the other afternoon at Bailey’s Beach, I heard Mrs. Gilmore whispering to Mrs. Lehr something nasty about Aunt being ‘new money.’ As if more than half of Newport doesn’t share the same distinction. She’s merely jealous that her houseguest chose to accept the invitation to our ball, rather than accompany her to Saratoga Springs this afternoon. Although, now that I puzzle it out, if she’s to be on a midday train, then of course she isn’t going to be able to steal a painting in Newport tonight. I suppose I would only make a note to keep an eye out for her appearance, should her plans change.”
I nod. “Gilmore. Got it. Who else?”
Maggie grimaces. “Colette. My cousin. Did you cross paths with her yesterday?”
I make a face. “Ohhhhh, yeah. What’s with her, anyway? She’s, like, the biggest ‘mean girl’ ever.”
Maggie sighs. “She resents how Aunt favors me.”
“Got it. Adding her to the list. Can you think of anyone else?”
Maggie closes her eyes, concentrating hard, but soon opens them. “I’m afraid I really cannot. Aunt is a darling of society and charms all who know her. The household is highly regarded.”
Yup. I know this from all my studying up on them too. “Okay, well, at least I have some starting points. Not sure how things are gonna play out on this end, but let’s plan to meet back here at six tonight. Six in 1905 time. Seven in yours. Although, I’m guessing they’ll be setting up in the ballroom by then. Do you think it would attract attention if I shut the door between the two rooms?”
She blinks at me. “Of course not. I often close it when I read in here. You’ll be left alone.”
Right. Just because it’s permanently open in my time doesn’t mean it would be in hers. This is a home for these people, not a museum.
She’s chewing on her lip, though. I hope she’s not reconsidering.
“Um, is everything okay?” I ask. I really don’t want to bully her into this. She may not know it, but I’ve considered Maggie Dunlap a friend for practically forever. Even if it was just a painted version of her. The last thing I want to do is mess things up with the real-life person. What if we could keep meeting in the mirror to talk after we swap into our own bodies? Or maybe even switch again sometimes, just for fun!
“I’m considering,” she says, and my heart sinks. She’s gonna insist we trade back right now. But then she continues, “If we meet at six your time to trade places, it should still give me ample opportunity to dress for the ball.”
“Oh, right. That takes hours, doesn’t it? Don’t get me started on crinolines. It’s like wearing ten skirts on top of one another. Medieval torture devices, if you ask me.”
“I agree,” Maggie says. “I’d love to know when those become passé. I’ve not seen one in your closet alongside all the denim items. Trousers are far more . . .”
She seems to be struggling for words, so I help her out. “Comfy cozy?”
“I was going to say ‘practical,’ but yes. Whatever you said likely sums it up quite well.”
“Hang in there. You’ve got less than two decades before flapper dresses, which look super-chill and breezy.”
Her eyes grow wide. “In my lifetime? I can hardly imagine.”
“Don’t go getting too excited. Gloves are around for waaaaay longer. Which, what even is the point?”
“Perfectly white and smooth hands, of course. All proper ladies must possess those.” I catch her glancing at her (well, but really my) hands, with their ragged, bitten nails and midsummer tan. Her eyes widen, but she’s polite enough to zip her lips.
“Yeah. That’s not really as important in my time,” I say.
She nods. “I haven’t even ventured outside, and I’m gobsmacked by all that has changed.”
Speaking of venturing outside, I wish I could have time to explore all of Newport. I’d love to see it with horses and carriages clogging the streets, instead of tour buses. But no way am I pushing my luck, considering how cool Maggie is being. My only focus is solving the heist, and then I won’t even complain when it’s time to switch back later today. Much.
In the meantime I say, “If we had more time, I’d tell you everything, but we should probably skip the part where I fill you in on every single thing that happens between our two lifetimes. I can give you the CliffsNotes, though. Don’t sail on the Titanic. Grab your money out of the stock market before 1929, but when you get back into it, remember these three words: ‘McDonald’s,’ ‘Disney,’ ‘Apple.’ Oh, and also ‘Hitler’ equals ‘Very Bad Man.’ If you could manage to get a message to any and all of your German friends about that sometime before the end of the thirties, that would be extra amazing.”
Maggie is doing the whole blinking thing again. Oh, man. I’ve totally overwhelmed her. To her credit, she rolls with it pretty well, because a second later she recovers.
Except then her face falls. “Only . . . well . . . what is it I’m to do while I am here?”
“Have fun! Explore! Party like a rock star! Just don’t go too crazy wild and get me grounded for life or anything, because then I’d have to find a way to get back here again and strangle you.”
When I catch her expression, I say, “Kidding. Totally kidding. I always imagined we’d be best friends if we lived at the same time. Us getting to talk like this? It’s seriously giving me life!” I’m quick to add, “I love it!” just in case she wasn’t following along. I know I could probably dial down on the slang—and I’ll be way more careful when I’m trying to pass as her the rest of today—but I’m so excited to be talking to Maggie that I don’t want to have to censor myself around her. I just want to be the same way with her that I would be around any of my friends.
She gives me a small smile but then goes back to biting her lip. “Explore. Yes, that would be logical. I mean, I suppose you think I’m crazy for not leaping at the chance. You’re brave enough to jump straight into solving a crime, for land sakes. But . . . girls in my position are not encouraged to be the exploring type. We are trained to act quiet and peaceful and to follow the expectations laid out for us.”
I know all this from studying the history of this house so much, but hearing the wobble in Maggie’s voice when she says it makes the reality hit home. I mean, I just took for granted that my dad would give me two thumbs-up when I told him I wanted to start a YouTube channel of coding tutorials for kids. And that, instead of rolling his eyes at me when I announced out of the blue that I wanted to give up meat, he’d go to town on an awesome veggie chili recipe. So yeah, maybe I get to do a bunch of things I want to do, without having to worry about scandalizing society. But does that make me brave? I don’t know about that. If I’m being honest, I haven’t even let myself think through any of the details about actually foiling a criminal, b
ecause when I start to, I get this acidy taste in the back of my mouth. But a part of me really likes that she sees me that way, and I don’t want to change her opinion of me.
Besides, if she thinks I’m brave, maybe I can use that to convince her she needs to act that way too, to keep everyone believing she’s me.
“Look, I get it,” I say. “Girls in my time are raised to have a totally different mind-set from what you’re taught. Everyone tells us we can do anything. Maybe you could just adopt a whole ‘when in Rome’ approach.”
“ ‘When in Rome’?”
“It’s an expression. ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans do.’ I don’t even know where it came from, but just . . . just pretend you’ve been told your entire life that you can do whatever you put your mind to, and then . . . act accordingly.”
She looks pretty doubtful, but at least she’s stopped biting her lip. She even smiles a little. “All right. I will endeavor to do that. Wish me luck.”
“Luck!” Then I toss in one other thing. “Little tip, though. If you really want people to buy into you being me, maybe skip using the word ‘endeavor,’ huh?”
“I shall endeavor to. I—Oh! That is to say, I shall do my best.”
“Great!” I tell her, trying my hardest to look extra encouraging and supportive. I briefly consider mentioning that she should slash a line through the word “shall,” too, but I skip it. She’ll probably decide to lock herself away in my room if I make her too self-conscious, and she deserves to soak up this experience too. Even if it means I have to run a little damage control when I get back.
After all, how badly can she mess things up for me in one measly day?
Chapter Fourteen
Maggie
HANNAH. JORDAN.”
The man says Hannah’s name in a clipped tone. Almost like he’s done it that way before. It makes me wonder about what sort of trouble the real Hannah gets into.
But I’m not her. And they can’t blame me. I’ve been trapped in the future since yesterday, and the last hour is the only time I’ve spent in the pink bedroom with the carved headboard and silk drapes that Aunt Herminie keeps for me. Me! Not anyone else.
The Art of the Swap Page 6
