by Susana Ellis
Helena could. "There's nothing like a quiet evening with a book and a cup of hot chocolate," she offered.
"With marshmallows," Lady Pendleton agreed as she seated herself on a pale yellow settee and set her glass down on the table nearby.
"Yes." Did marshmallows exist in the nineteenth century?
“Miss Lloyd, let us get to the point. Where have you come from and why has Ethelberta sent you here? I detect an American accent, but I sense that it is more than that."
Helena pushed her shoulders back. "You are correct, my lady. I am American and I have come from the twenty-first century in search of my family. My true family. You see, I believe it is quite possible that I was born in this time period and somehow transported to the future."
* * *
“I was a baby when my mother—or the woman I’ve always thought was my mother—was killed in a car accident in Tampa. That’s in Florida,” Helena added as an afterthought.
“Yes, yes, I am familiar with Florida…,” said Lady Pendleton in a sharp tone. “Do go on, my dear. I am anxious to know how you came into contact with Ethelberta there, of all places.”
“Oh it wasn’t there,” explained Helena. “It wasn’t until recently that I met her, in London. I had just left my position as a nanny and was trying to decide what to do next when this woman—a gypsy lady—approached me in a sandwich shop. What she said to me was quite intriguing, so I bought her some food and we had a most interesting chat.”
“Yes, that sounds like her,” said Lady Pendleton, pursuing her lips. “No doubt she purported to have left her reticule at home.”
Helena grinned. “You do know her!”
“I do indeed,” said Lady Pendleton, shaking her head. “Do continue. What did she say to you?”
Helena's gaze clouded. "It was so uncanny how she seemed to know what I was thinking. At first I thought it must be a trick—you know how these con artists who claim to be mind readers are just really good at interpreting non-verbal cues."
Lady Pendleton leaned in closer. "She knew what you were thinking, did she? Fascinating. Fortunately, she's never been able to read mine. Go on, Miss Lloyd."
Helena described her first encounter with Mrs. Herne and her decision to follow up the conversation at Gracechurch Street.
“I had nowhere else to go," she explained. "I was forced to leave my last position because the children’s father was constantly trying to seduce me. His wife turned a blind eye for awhile, but I-I—well, I’m not that sort of person. Even if I were attracted to him, which I'm not. But he was wealthy and apparently not used to being turned down, because he's been stalking me. I was seriously considering returning to the States, but it would deplete my savings… and I really don't have anywhere to go once I got there.” She stared down at her hands. "And I really wanted to stay in England. It's like something's been drawing me here all my life."
“Hmm.” Lady Pendleton's lip curled. “Some things never change, not even in the so-called 'enlightened' times of the twenty-first century."
She tilted her head to the side. "So you've always felt drawn to England. But coming to live there was not the answer you were seeking?"
Helena wrinkled her forehead. "No. Yes. Well, there were times when I felt close to it, when I rummaged through antique shops and touched certain objects, like the portrait."
She gave a brief explanation of the portrait she'd found in the antique shop in Covent Garden. "I wish I'd thought to bring it with me. I was in such a blasted hurry… at least I have the locket, and that's only because I wear it all the time."
Lady Pendleton sighed. "You have a great deal to learn, my dear Helena. Young ladies do not swear, you know." Then she brightened. "You have a locket?"
"I do, yes," Helena said, her pulse racing. "Mrs. Herne thought it might be a clue to finding my real parents." She unclasped it from around her neck. "I guess I forgot about it in all the excitement."
“My mother—the woman who was with me when the accident happened—had this in her pocket. That doesn't mean it's mine. After all, she could have stolen it."
She opened the locket to reveal the painted miniatures inside.
“An antiques expert dated it to be from the late 1780's, from a jeweler called Rundell & Bridge. Of course, there’s nothing suggesting Helena was my name. But that’s the name given to me by Children’s Services, before I went into foster care.”
She handed over the necklace to Lady Pendleton, who shook her head in sympathy. "I am familiar with the concept. That could not have been a pleasant experience, my dear."
Reaching into her pocket, Lady Pendleton pulled out a quizzing glass and studied the figures in the locket.
“The man reminds me of someone, but the name escapes me. The woman is quite lovely, but I can’t say I’ve ever seen her before." She locked eyes with Helena. "There is a very good chance we can discover the identity of these people, Miss Lloyd. The quality of the locket indicates an affluent family, possibly a noble one. But it might take time, particularly if they do not frequent London society."
Helena's hands trembled and she felt a bit lightheaded. “It is incredibly kind of you, my lady.”
Lady Pendleton waved her thanks away. “Save your gratitude for the day you and your family are reunited. In the meantime, we have a great deal to do.”
She frowned as she surveyed Helena’s tawdry gown. “Visit the modiste, of course. I cannot possibly chaperone a young lady in society dressed as you are. But first we shall have to come up with a socially-acceptable background for you, one that can be used to explain your absence from your family once your true identity is discovered. We must do that now, before the servants return from their holiday. You know how servants gossip, my dear. Even mine are susceptible, and they are the most loyal servants around.”
It was decided that Helena would be the daughter of one of Lady Pendleton’s school friends—“because no one will remember that far back in the past”—who married an American and sent her daughter to London to seek a husband.
When Helena balked at that last, Lady Pendleton insisted that no mother worth her salt would send her daughter to a virtual stranger for any other reason. “It’s true that you are older than the usual debutante, but you are still youthful in appearance and pretty enough to attract gentlemen, particularly when we make it known that you are an heiress.”
“An heiress?” Helena thought she must have heard incorrectly. “Absolutely not! I did not come here to find a husband, and I will certainly not make up stuff to get one!”
Lady Pendleton sighed. “No, of course not. I forgot that ladies of the future were so—independent. There is so much more for women to do there; no doubt that is why I feel drawn to visit the future so often. Still,” she said, turning to Helena, shoulders set, “you must become accustomed to the fact that there is little for ladies to do here outside of marriage. If you decide to remain here, of course.”
Helena felt a slight heaviness in her stomach. “I don’t know. It all depends…” Would she find her family? Would they accept her? Would she like them? Could she adapt to their way of living? Would the charm Mrs. Herne gave her to return even work? Helena suddenly felt very tired.
It must have shown in her eyes, because Lady Pendleton patted her hands and smiled sympathetically.
“What am I thinking, to grill you so relentlessly so soon after the ordeal of the journey through time? I am always exceedingly tired that first day. You need to rest, my dear. As soon as the servants return, I’ll have them prepare a bath for you. In the meantime, you may rest in my bedchamber.”
She guided Helena up the stairs, where she helped her out of her clothing and into a lavender silk nightgown. “That color looks well on you. I shall remember to inform Madame Fouchier when we visit her shop tomorrow. Although I think you would look well in apple-green. Maybe even pumpkin?”
“Pumpkin? Oh no! I look dreadful in orange!” Helena protested. “Why not blue… or pink?”
Lady Pendl
eton shook her head. “Oh dear me no, not with those green eyes!”
They argued good-naturedly until Lady Pendleton pulled the covers over her. “Rest, my dear. When you awake, the servants will be returned and I’ll have a tray sent up to you. And this"—she said retrieving the red gown from a chair—“will be relegated to the rag bag.”
Too tired to protest, Helena curled up on her side and was asleep almost before her hostess closed the door behind her.
* * *
Helena awoke to an unfamiliar room and the hand of a stranger gently shaking her shoulder. About her own age, the young woman wore a gray-striped uniform and had a white mobcap over her light brown curls.
“Time to wake, miss. Cook has sent up a cold supper.” At Helena’s startled expression, she added, “I’m Izzy Peters. Lady Pendleton's abigail.”
Helena took a deep breath as her memory returned. This was not a dream. She really had traveled back in time to the nineteenth century.
“What time is it, Izzy?” It was still daylight, but Helena knew that in summer it was daylight until nearly ten in London.
“Around half-past eight, miss. Her Ladyship checked on you mid-afternoon and said you was sleepin’ real sound-like. She thought you’d be hungry when you woke and ordered a cold collation as soon as Cook came through the door.”
Her Ladyship. Lady Pendleton. She pushed the covers back and pulled her legs around until she was in a sitting position.
“That is—very kind of her. I am hungry enough to eat a horse.”
Izzy’s eyes widened. “Ma’am, we don’t serve horse meat here. Her Ladyship would never allow it, being as fond of horses as she is.”
Helena chuckled. “It’s just an expression, Izzy.”
The maid lowered her eyes. “Yes, miss.” But it was clear that she didn’t get the point. Maybe because people did eat horse meat in Regency England?
Izzy set the tray on a small table in front of a yellow-striped wingback chair. “Shall I pour the tea for you, miss?”
“Yes, thank you, Izzy.”
She studied Izzy’s thin figure as she fussed with the items on the tray. “Is Izzy your real name? Or is it Isabelle?”
Izzy grinned. “No, ma’am. My baptismal name is Isolde. Cream or sugar?
“Yes, please. Both.”
Helena padded over to the chair and sat down to inspect her meal, which consisted of a plate of neatly-presented ham and cheese, rolls and butter, and a small dish of jam.
“It looks lovely,” she said, as she broke one of the rolls to make a sandwich. “So… your mother was a reader. Do you have a brother called Tristan, then?”
Izzy watched with interest as Helena placed the ham and cheese between the two pieces of buttered bread and lifted it to her mouth.
“Yes, miss. He’s an under-gardener. My mum has been Her Ladyship’s housekeeper since before I was born. Mr. Peters, the butler, is my pa. Her Ladyship insists that all of her servants learn to read. Even lets us read books from her own library.”
“How very generous of her.” Helena made a note to ask Lady Pendleton about this. She vaguely recalled that servants in this era tended to have only a rudimentary knowledge of their letters. Allowing them to make use of her own personal library seemed over the top.
“She is the best mistress, no doubt. So kind-hearted and generous, with off-days for the staff and all. Picks up strays regularly, she does."
Strays like Helena?
"I've never met an American," Izzy continued. “People talk different, eat different, maybe even dress different.” She glanced at Helena’s night apparel, obviously recognizing it as belonging to her mistress. It's too bad your trunks were washed overboard in a storm."
She leaned in closer and locked eyes with Helena. "Have you seen any red Indians there? Real ones?”
“My dear, your tea is getting cold. Izzy, do fetch a fresh pot for our guest.”
Izzy bobbed and scampered away as Lady Pendleton strolled into the room.
"Good evening, Miss Lloyd. I hope you had a good doze, because there is so much to be done. I've spent some time planning out our strategy, and it will be a task of gigantic proportions to transform you into a socially-acceptable young lady."
Helena's head snapped back. "Wh-a-at? I thought you were going to help me find my family, not introduce me to the ton."
Lady Pendleton sighed. "Helena, my dear, surely you do not expect to appear in public without any knowledge of how to conduct yourself. Being American will excuse your speech, but even Americans are expected to conduct themselves in a civilized manner."
She waved away Helena’s look of indignation. “Oh, I know Americans are not the savage boors many assume them to be. Some of my closest friends are Americans… from your century, in fact. I adore the freedom and spontaneity so prevalent in your time. Not to mention the food! I adore Big Macs, for example. But as much as I would like to introduce such a culinary oddity into my kitchens, I must concede that doing so would not enhance my reputation, or that of my household.”
She pulled a chair over in front of Helena and sat down.
“Finish your sandwich, do, before Peters returns.”
“The first thing you must learn—particularly if you should decide to live here permanently—is that reputation is everything.”
Helena spread butter and jam on the remaining roll and asked innocently, “But… isn’t this the same period where the Prince Regent has two wives and a boatload of mistresses?”
Lady Pendleton’s eyes narrowed. “Royals enjoy a certain latitude in their private behavior. But you can be certain that they would never be seen in public wearing their nightclothes, as I have witnessed in your time.” She aimed her probing brown eyes at Helena. “You, my dear, are neither royal nor noble. Your manners must be unexceptionable if you are to be accepted in society.”
Helena sighed. “I don’t understand why we have to waste time with this stuff. I do not wish to find a husband or become a society matron. I just want to find… where I truly belong.”
Lady Pendleton pursed her lips. “Listen to me well, Helena. It's not a society launch I'm planning—the Season is over and you're too old for it in any case."
Helena winced.
"I have agreed to assist you in this endeavor, but there is much you have yet to learn. Once you find your family—supposing we are so fortunate—you won't want to be an embarrassment to them, do you? In this world, the disgrace of one family member is shared by the rest. Would you so easily risk the reputation of the family you wish to find—and perhaps remain with? A sister, perhaps, who is being launched upon the marriage mart will never make a brilliant match if her sister has made herself a laughingstock in society. Is that worth the risk to you?”
Helena swallowed. She’d always been a loner. It had never occurred to her that her conduct could negatively affect someone else. Particularly not a sister. She’d always wanted a sister.
“N-No, of course not. But… we can’t be sure my family is aristocratic. Perhaps they are farmers or something. Aren’t the rules different for them?”
Lady Pendleton narrowed her eyes. "Any respectable family will expect proper behavior. And I should mention that quite often the lower and middle classes are even more rigid." She shrugged. "Of course, if you were stolen from disreputable family, you may be allowed to do as you wish, but in that case, I would strongly recommend that you return to the future."
Well, that certainly put me in my place. If I find out my mom's a hooker and my dad's a john, I don't suppose this is the place for me either.
The conversation lapsed until Izzy returned with a fresh pot of tea and another cup for her mistress. Lady Pendleton dismissed her and poured tea for the two of them. After taking a long sip, she set her cup down, leaned forward, and surveyed Helena intently.
“I understand your confusion, my dear, since I have done a bit of time-traveling myself, but I know of few others who will. I am your ally. When I correct your behavior, it is only beca
use it is imperative that you learn to fit in with our culture here. You may speak freely with me without fear of causing offense, but in the presence of others, you must promise to do your best to follow my lead.”
Helena sighed. “I will do my best, Your Ladyship.” What choice did she have? She was darned lucky to have Lady Pendleton in her corner.
Lady Pendleton smiled. “In the end, you may well find that you cannot commit yourself to remaining here permanently. There is no shame in that. You will have a magnificent adventure to look back on, one that few others will be able to share. I myself pop in and visit other eras occasionally, but my ties are here.” She took another sip of tea. “And with luck, we shall find out the truth about your origins, whatever they might be.”
An adventure. A real one, not a fantasy one to be found at Disney World. Helena’s spirits rose and she felt focused and ready for adventure.
Lady Pendleton smiled with satisfaction and stood. “Let us adjourn to my sitting room and I’ll give you a few more pointers before the house retires for the night. I’ll have Debrett’s brought up and we’ll see if we can find a trace of your family there. And then Mrs. Peters can show you to your room. Oh, and if you are not tired by then—as you slept most of the day—I’m sure we can find a book for you in the library. Have you read anything by Mrs. Radcliffe?”
Helena relaxed. She was beginning to like Lady Pendleton. A lot.
* * *
Regent Street
London
The next day
2:00 p.m.
“Grosvenor Square, Number 42,” Sir Henry called to his coachman as he climbed inside the spacious coach after James had dropped into a seat.
James raised an eyebrow. “I thought it was Tattersall’s today.”
Sir Henry rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Indeed it is. Want you to take a look at a stallion. Looking for new breeding stock after old Gabe had to be put out to pasture last month.” His white teeth gleamed in the shadowy interior of the coach as he grinned. “Duty comes first, though. Sarah reminded me before we left Kent that today is her mother’s at-home." He shook his head. "If dear Lady P discovers I was in Town and missed it, she’ll say something to Sarah that will end by disrupting my happy home.”
