Spark

by Catherine Friend

  I returned to the bed. The lack of a period. The nausea. The vomiting. Winston’s reference to taking Blanche in the park.

  Fire truck. Goddamned fire truck.

  I was pregnant.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Now that I knew I inhabited a pregnant body, my desperation to get back to my own time doubled. Yet life in 1560 dragged on. After too many days of entertaining Elizabeth, we finally got a break when the Queen spent hours consulting her council over some threatening words from France. That gave me the freedom to go in search of Harriet.

  She wasn’t in the any of the palace buildings, so I began searching the outer areas, the woodshed, the charcoal yard, the laundry. When I finally found her in the bakery, my spirits rose. Truth be told, I’d missed her when I was in 2017.

  The outdoor ovens gave off so much heat that I stopped twenty feet away, already feeling my face start to melt. I called to her and waved her over. “I need a favor. Could you come with me on an errand outside the palace?”

  Harriet looked helplessly down at her wet dress, at the same time touching her sweat-soaked hair. “I am not dressed—”

  “You can change your gown.” I waved to the woman who must have been in charge, given the way she glared at Harriet for stepping away from the ovens. “Harriet must accompany me on the Queen’s errand,” I called, doing my best to sound haughty, which was how the other women spoke to servants.

  I didn’t really need Harriet on this errand, but I thought she might enjoy a break outside the palace. And I wanted her calm presence beside me. We were so comfortable together, as if we’d known each other in another life. She shot me a happy look, grateful for the break. While Harriet ran for her room in the building next to the bakery, I tracked down my buddy, Jacob the guard, and asked sweetly if he could take me by barge to the Tower on the Queen’s business. He blushed, said I was looking lovely today, and that he’d be happy to take me.

  As soon as we left the dock, Harriet thanked me for the opportunity to read for the Queen. “I hope to do it again.”

  “You were impressive,” I said. “Latin!”

  “Impressive until I fled the room without permission like a startled rabbit.”

  “She forgave you, but next time a storm frightens you, it would be best if you could keep your head and stay put. When I saw you later in the hall—”

  She held up her hand. “Please. May we move on from that night?”

  I nodded, unsure if she was uncomfortable with her fears or something else.

  The Thames swans, property of the Queen and not to be meddled with upon penalty of death, bobbed and honked as the barge moved through the river. One was so close I reached out and stroked the soft feathers on her back, even though I knew swans weren’t all that friendly. This one, however, didn’t seem to mind, which I took as a good sign. She paddled next to us for quite some distance, even though I could no longer reach her. Her dark eyes were set in a snow-white head, her neck arching gracefully. When she veered close again, I changed places so Harriet could stroke the bird.

  “I miss this,” Harriet murmured.

  “Miss what?”

  “Touching something alive,” she said. She scooted back onto the cushioned bench, not meeting my eyes.

  I knew what she meant. Spending time with Chris, no matter how strained things got, had reduced my isolation a bit. “Are you missing someone’s touch?” I asked softly, glancing at the oarsmen to ensure they were fully engaged in their work. Jacob stood in the bow. At the moment, we were ensnared in a river traffic jam caused by small boats launching and docking along what I called Mansion Row.

  Harriet pressed her lips together. “Not anyone in specific. But since I…since I have come to the palace, I have felt the lack. My parents, my relatives, my friends were all very free and generous with their hugs and kisses. It feels as if my body has become a desert, dried up for lack of affection.”

  Harriet ducked her head, realizing she was confiding in me. I pulled off my gray glove and rested my hand upon hers. That slight touch sent welcome heat up my arm and into my heart. My family was touchy-feely, but with me in London I’d been cut off from that. Chris wasn’t big on affection.

  Harriet lost her haunted look and lowered her voice. “But I do not think you need go too much longer without affection. Guard Jacob seems smitten with you.”

  “No, he’s not for me.” I didn’t say anything about Lord Winston or the pregnancy, still too shocked myself to make it real through speech.

  “He is not of your class, of course, but surely a little dalliance might be fun.” Her wry smile gave her plain face an impishness I hadn’t seen before.

  “No, I really prefer wo—” I pressed my lips together and gazed at the far bank. The river had begun to stink so we both perfumed our handkerchiefs. “I, ahh, prefer men who don’t blush,” I finished weakly.

  When she didn’t reply, I risked a peek. She looked thoughtful rather than shocked. Good. She hadn’t deciphered my babbling.

  The boat gently rocked us as we sat on the cushions without speaking, our hands touching lightly. Soon we slipped under the London Bridge and the high ramparts of the Tower loomed ahead.

  After the barge beached itself on the muddy shore, a man ran planks from the barge to the wooden steps leading to the Tower entrance. We stepped carefully along the planks as the smell of dead fish and wet mud rose up all around us. The Thames was filled with ships creaking at anchor and men shouting.

  When Harriet realized where we were headed, she froze in place. “We go to the Tower?”

  I nodded. “Don’t be afraid. The guards are very considerate and will treat us well. There is a man I must speak with who is being kept in one of the towers.”

  “You know a prisoner in the Tower?”

  I couldn’t tell if she was horrified or impressed. “We both lived in the same village…years ago.”

  At the entrance, Jacob greeted the Tower guard, and soon we were up walking along the wall. The way was too narrow for both our skirts, so Harriet dropped behind me but stuck so close to me her skirts bumped up against my own. I stopped to reassure her. “You can wait outside the cell so you don’t need to go into that confining space.” I waved out toward the Thames. “There are dozens of ships to watch. Please don’t be frightened.”

  Harriet nodded, eyes wide in her pale face, but she eagerly took in the river activities. “Anything is better than staring into a boiling pot of laundry,” she said.

  The Tower guard unlocked Ray’s cell, then he and Jacob retraced their steps to stand at a distance from Harriet.

  Ray sat at his desk, bent over a notebook. When he raised his head to greet me, I nearly gasped. The man looked gravely ill. His red-rimmed eyes streamed, and his face was ghastly gray, as if coated in ash. “Jamie, how lovely to see you. Thank you so much for your gifts.” He wore the blanket around his shoulders.

  I clutched Ray’s hand. “You are ill. Have they not gotten you a doctor?”

  He chuckled weakly. “Doctors in this era know less about the human body than a ten-year-old. I will not have them draining me or attaching leeches.”

  We both shuddered. “Ray, I’m in a terrible mess.” I explained about the plot to murder Dudley and how Blanche had gotten herself all mixed up in it.

  He tugged on a sagging earlobe. “Remember, I know nothing of history, so I’m doomed to experience it as innocently as these people do. What would be the impact of Dudley dying?”

  I explained the belief of historians that Elizabeth remained unmarried because Dudley was alive but unattainable. “Should Dudley die, Elizabeth may lose her resolve to never marry and let her councilors arrange a marriage. This will entirely change England’s path. Because Elizabeth ruled alone, she was able to focus on the things most important to her. If you introduce a king, especially a foreign one, then the country’s goals and choices will totally change. Change England’s history, and you change the history of all of Europe and of every British colony, including t
he US.”

  Ray leaned back in his chair, frowning slightly at some pain. “So Dudley must not die.”

  “But how do I stop it? I could mess up this plot, but the men involved will just try again and again until they succeed. How do I dissuade them? I can’t very well tell them their goal to keep England safe will only happen if Dudley remains alive. They’ll ask to see my crystal ball.” The astrological chart that Ray had carved into the wall caught my eye. “What about astrology? Elizabeth believes in it and often consults Dr. Dee. What if you could come up with some important astrological reason for me to give the plotters?”

  “There is none.” Ray stood and moved to the hearth, where he stirred the coals. “I cannot get warm.”

  Don’t change the subject, I wanted to scream. Any change of subject could lead to discussing what I had learned about Ray Lexvold in the future.

  The elderly man pulled his chair closer to the hearth, and settled back down. “God, I hate this. I’m a fucking old man, but I’m not.” A heavy silence fell between us. “There have been a few thunderstorms, yet you remain in this time period. You, too, have had no luck.”

  I looked down so quickly that I gave myself away.

  “Wait. You have been back,” he said softly.

  I blew out my breath so hard the edges of the notebook fluttered. “I have been back to the present. I managed to remain in our time for over a week. Do you know a Meg Warren?”

  He wiped his eyes on a sleeve, leaving a trail of yellow mucus. “No, never heard of her, I’m afraid. But please, did you learn anything about me?”

  “Ray, I—”

  “Just tell me.”

  How did one deliver such horrible news? Just as there had been no way for my parents to shelter me from Aunt Nicole’s cancer, there was no way for me to make this easier for Ray. I wasted a few moments straightening my skirts around me.

  “Jamie, just tell me.”

  “The same day that you exchanged consciousnesses with Hew, and he was in your body, he must have been very confused to suddenly find himself in such a frightening place. It would seem crazy to anyone from this world, except for Blanche, who seems to have adjusted just fine.” I paused for a deep breath. “Ray Lexvold stepped off the curb into the path of a double-decker bus. Killed instantly.”

  Ray covered his face with both hands, then released a healthy string of curses. “That’s why I can’t get home, even in the middle of the most violent thunderstorm.”

  “There is no body waiting for your consciousness to return to,” I said softly.

  His drawn face broke my heart. “That’s it, then.”

  I leaned forward. “I’m working with Dr. Rajamani, so maybe he can figure something out. Maybe we could find a person who’s about to die, and find a way. Raj is working on an antidote to the GCA, but what if he gave this person a shot of the stuff? Maybe you could return then.”

  Ray shook his head. “I appreciate the idea, but I can’t imagine it would work.” He stared at me through bleary eyes. “Jamie, if you can get home and stay there, do it. Don’t worry about me. It might look as if these curved walls are my prison, but they aren’t. It’s this body that imprisons me, and there’s nothing you can do about that.”

  We sat for a while listening to the banging and slapping of water against the wooden docks, the shouts of the quaymen as they worked. Crows cawed from the four peaks of the White Tower, not far from Ray’s cell.

  “Ray, do you ever wonder why Blanche? Why Hew?”

  Ray shook his head, confused.

  “Why did I land in Blanche’s body? Why did you land in Hew’s?”

  “I chalk it up to fucking bad luck.”

  “I suppose,” I said, “but there has to be more to it than that.”

  I couldn’t imagine how Ray felt. Despondency threatened to overwhelm me daily, yet I still had a chance to get home and stay home. Ray was stuck in this world forever. I must have destroyed his last shreds of hope—a terrible thing to do to anyone.

  “Maybe it’s time for you to leave the Tower,” I said. “I’m one of the Queen’s favorites. I’m sure I could convince her to let you go. We could set you up in a small inn. You’d have a room and food prepared for you. You could roam London and do whatever you wanted.”

  Ray snorted. “Look at this body. Its roaming days are over.” He gripped the edges of the table to stand, then waved me toward the door. “Thanks for coming, Jamie. I appreciate it.”

  My heavy skirts rustled against the dusty floor as I hugged Ray so hard he grunted. But he hugged back.

  “Ray, I’ll visit again, I promise.”

  He held me by the shoulders. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t want you to come back. I want you to find a way home, and I want you to stay there.”

  As I pulled on the iron knob, Ray held out his hand. “As for your problem with Dudley, all I can advise is to be clever. You know history, so you have a huge advantage. Use what you know.” He smiled. “You’ll figure it out. I know it.”

  Blinking back tears, I fled the cell.

  Chapter Twenty

  That afternoon we hung around the presence chamber watching Elizabeth and some ambassadors talk. The only part of this whole scene that I enjoyed was the small band in the corner playing light and airy music with a steady beat. For some reason, this grounded me. Even when the musicians took a break, I found myself humming one of the tunes.

  “Why are you not stitching?” snarled Lady Mary.

  God, these women were exhausting. I bit back a retort and resumed stitching the hem of a lacy white collar. Snapping at Lady Mary seemed cruel because, when I was home and reading about the Tudors, I learned that when Elizabeth became ill with smallpox, Lady Mary cared for her until she caught the disease herself. Upon recovering, Mary was so disfigured from scars that her husband said, “I left her a full fair lady in my eyes, and when I returned I found her as foul a lady as smallpox could make her.” I’d memorized the horrid words. What an asshole. (Aunt Nicole had no problem with that word; she said it reminded her of her ex-husband.)

  Cecil, Elizabeth’s secretary, bustled back and forth between his office and the Queen, presenting long scrolls to sign. When would I be released from this regal hell? I scanned the room for Harriet, but of course she wouldn’t be hanging around the courtiers. Perhaps she was still stuck working in the laundry. Thinking about Harriet helped pass the time. I wondered about her past, and at her feeling as out of place as I did. At one particularly slow point in the afternoon, when the sun shone in on my stool, I grew so sleepy that waking dreams took over. In one, I could no longer travel back to the future. Perhaps the GCA in my system had diluted enough that it no longer electrified me. What would I do if I were stuck here? I would buy a small house for me and Harriet in one of the better London neighborhoods. We would hug each other until we no longer felt like walking deserts. Harriet’s sparkling eyes, warm smile, and trusting love could reduce the pain of being stuck forever in the sixteenth century. Too bad Blanche had absolutely no money.

  “Lady Blanche.”

  I jumped. One of Cecil’s assistants stood before me. “Lord Cecil wishes a word.”

  Grateful to escape the hot, stuffy room, I followed him to Cecil’s lair, a labyrinth of five or six rooms connected by hidden doors. Cecil sat at his desk, scratching at a document with a long goose feather. The smell of warm ink and hot dust tickled my nose.

  I began to sit.

  “Stand, if you please,” he barked.

  I did so. Cecil also stood, his deep red robe swelling over a middle-aged gut. He strolled around his desk, coming to a halt inches from me. I could not step back because of the heavy chair behind me, but the man needed an Altoid. “I know of your scheming,” Cecil said.

  “I don’t know what—”

  “You are plotting with three men. I do not know their names, nor do I know the goal of that plot. You will tell me all.”

  I swallowed. “I have no idea what you are talking about. I
plot with no one.” I wondered if Blanche had a poker face. If not, I was screwed.

  “My sources tell me you have met several times. Male voices could be heard. You appear all kindness and innocence, then you change into a woman of cunning and wiles…then back to innocence. My sources are most impressed with your ability to change yourself. Her Majesty calls you her Spark, but you would more accurately be called her chameleon.”

  I shook my head. “I know nothing of which you speak, Sir Cecil.”

  He snorted, amused. “Lady Blanche, you can be a hard woman, but I can be harsh as well. Your plotting must cease. You have one day in which to reconsider. At that time if you tell me everything, I may be lenient with you.”

  “And if I don’t give you this information?”

  “I will use the Tower to get it,” Cecil snapped.

  I shivered, since I’d seen the Tower’s implements of torture—the manacles hanging from the ceiling, the racks, and a nasty set of irons called the Scavenger’s Daughter. Crap. Now what was I supposed to do? The plotting would end tomorrow with Dudley’s murder. Cecil would have been thrilled to know this, since he was Dudley’s greatest enemy. If Dudley were killed, Cecil would know that had been the plot. He wouldn’t follow through with his threat because he’d hardly punish anyone who killed the man he despised and feared as the Queen’s potential king. I closed my eyes. If I let Dudley be murdered, then I’d be safe from the Tower.

  I didn’t like any of my choices.

  I nodded, curtsied, then backed out of the room. What the hell was I supposed to do?

  * * *

  I paced the length of my bedroom, stopping to open drawers to touch piles of elaborate collars and sleeves then closing them again. On top of one dresser was the small wooden box that I’d assumed was Lady Mary’s, but when I looked at the underside, I found etched into the dark wood, “To Blanche from Daddy.”