Ahhhh, it felt so good to hold a guitar-like instrument in my hands again. It sounded a little different, but nothing I couldn’t deal with. The curved back wasn’t as comfortable against my stomach, but it had a beautiful tone. I started picking a song and humming to myself. Closing my eyes, I was soon lost in my own world. Gone was 16th-century France. Gone was this chilly, damp, dark castle. Gone were the blue eyes staring at me. In my mind, I saw my home, my parents, my friends. In my arms I held my own guitar, fingers picking a song as familiar as my own. Funny. When a girl wants comfort, she turns to Taylor Swift. I had done so unknowingly, this time picking out her song with Ed Sheeran, “Everything Has Changed.”
I sang the last verse and thought it very fitting for my circumstance at this moment. Things had changed for sure, it seemed. As I strummed the last chord, I looked up to see the prince sitting right across from me, eyes staring deep into my own. Whoa, is it just me or did the temperature in this room suddenly skyrocket? I had no idea what he was thinking, but I had to tear my gaze away from his. It totally unnerved me. I made to get up and put the lute back in its place, just to hide the sudden butterflies jumping around inside me. But he jumped up as well and helped me up by the elbow, gently taking the lute from my hands. Our fingertips brushed and sent a shock right down to the fluttering going on inside, causing pandemonium. What the heck? I needed to get out of there before he noticed the ever-increasing blush creeping up my face. This was crazy. I have a boyfriend, I have a boyfriend, I have a boyfriend. Well sort of. What was his name? Ugh.
“Your voice is enchanting, m’moiselle,” he complimented, coming up behind me to escort me out of the room. He covered the torches to put them out as we went. Picking up a candle that he must have lit at some point, he motioned to the door. Thankfully the candle didn’t provide as much light, so the blush on my face wouldn’t be so evident. At least I hoped.
“Er, thank you,” I answered.
We walked quietly once again along the corridor. This far away from the king’s main hall, it seemed as if we were the only ones in the castle. The silence between us was heavy, like we should be talking about something, but I had no idea what. He stopped in front of another door and pushed it open, standing aside to allow me to go in. The room was bathed in moonlight and everything looked silver, though I think it was all light blue and white. He went to the fireplace and stirred up a fire in the grate. I hadn’t noticed when I walked in, but it was kind of chilly. The room had chairs by the fireplace, a dressing table, a stand with a bowl and pitcher, and a canopied bed, again, draped in fabric. I hadn’t noticed how tired I was until I saw that bed. All I could think about was wrapping up in those covers and closing my eyes.
“I hope the room is sufficient for your needs,” Charles said after building up the fire.
“Yes, I’m sure it will be.” I replied.
“I will send up a maid to help you undress.”
Uh, maid? To undress me? There goes the blush again.
“No, that’s fine,” I said quickly, “I’m sure I can manage for the night.” Anyway, it was probably just a line. I mean, who still had maids help them undress? “I’m so tired I’ll be asleep before anyone gets here,” I added.
He nodded and handed me the candle. “Then I shall bid you good night.” He said, bowing. He straightened and walked to the door.
“Uh, Prince Charles?” I asked, just as he reached for the door.
“Yes?”
“So you believe now that I am what I say I am? A musician?”
“Yes, you have proved yourself in that regard, m’moiselle,” he admitted. “However, whether or not you are also a spy remains to be seen.” And then he slipped out the door, closing it tightly behind him.
I let out a breath I was unaware that I’d been holding. Somehow, I felt deep in my bones that indeed, since the day before, something certainly had changed.
Chapter 7
“Ooof!” A large flying object hit my bed and jarred me awake.
“Wake up sleepy,” I think the voice said, although it was hard to tell exactly as I groaned and rolled over with the covers over my head.
“Not yet...” I mumbled. Until the covers were yanked from my grip, and someone tugged at my arms to pull me into a sitting position.
“Come. It is nearly noonday. Surely you don’t mean to continue to sleep?”
I brushed my long, tangled hair off my face and managed to open my eyes. Erghhh, where was I again? I looked about the room, sunlight streaming through the window. Oh crap, I was still in the castle. This can’t be for real. I turned and looked at the overly peppy girl bouncing on my bed. It was the girl, Nicole, I had met the night before. And she was still wearing 16th-century garb. A different dress, mind you, but still. Aren’t we finished with this whole play-acting thing? I rubbed my tired face, and ran my tongue over my furry-feeling teeth. Could use a toothbrush, I thought.
I turned and looked at my new friend, fresh and bright as a daisy in a white and yellow gown.
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “‘tis unsafe to keep your door unlocked at night. You never know what lurks in this castle in the night. Remember Genevieve...oooh, to have seen her face when you left with the prince last night. It was red as a beetroot.”
“Uh, she’s welcomed to the prince,” I told her, stifling a yawn. “He’s so stuck on himself. And rude!”
“Are you referring to the prince? Prince Charles? Why every lady in the court and beyond thinks he’s charming and oh, so beautiful.” She sighed a dreamy sigh and fanned her face.
“Oh sure,” I agreed, pulling my knees up and wrapping my arms about them. “He’s pretty to look at, but his personality, as far as I’ve seen, does not match up.”
“Hmmm. Well perhaps he may seem cold at first, but surely he did not offend you? ” She clapped her hands, “What did he say to you? I must know!” She jumped up on her knees, sitting back and spreading her dress about her on the bed, ready to hear some gossip. I really liked this girl. She made me smile. I felt like I’d somehow known her for years.
“Well for starters….every time I’m around him he grabs my arm and leads me about like I’m a recalcitrant puppy, as if I’m going to run off, or ruin the furniture, or something. What’s up with that?” I rubbed my arm remembering his grip there the night before. “I don’t believe he truly knows how to smile or have fun. He’s so serious all the time. Who would want someone like that?” A brief memory of the night before flashed in my mind: a dark room lit by candlelight, blue eyes staring through me to my very soul. The butterflies started acting up again and I had to put a hand on my belly to get them to stop. Better not conjure up such images!
“Wait….are you blushing?” She started bouncing again, so easily excitable was this Nicole. “Did he make advances? Oh my, that was quick work.” Clearly becoming overly excited at the thought, she started fanning herself with her hands.
“No!” I exclaimed, outraged. “Why in the world would he? We just met!” Goodness, I need to turn the subject away from the prince somehow.
“Well, what then? The look that crossed your face would suggest otherwise.”
“Oh, it was nothing. The slightest thing brings a blush to my skin.” I decided to tell her the truth, because really, what did all of this matter anyway? It wasn’t real life! “Last night he showed me the music room and I played the lute and sang a song without thinking. And when I finished, he was staring at me intently and I thought, well, I don’t know. I thought we’d shared a ‘moment.’ You know, where the air was charged like lightning striking or something.” I pushed on my belly again as I remembered, calming the fluttering. “But then he got up, and lead me out of the room and that was that.”
“Anyway,” I said. “I have a boy...err...beau...back home. And the prince has Genevieve, so I’m sure it was just my imagination.” I brushed it off with a hand in the air.
“A moment,” she sighed, taking my hand. “Oh, it just sounds so romantic. I’ve never had a
moment with anyone. I must know all about your beau back home. First,”–she dropped my hand and clapped hers together–“Marie!” she called. And in came what looked like a maid, carrying a gown with her. She set the gown on a chair and curtsied toward Nicole.
“Isabelle, this is my lady’s maid, Marie. I hope you don’t think me forward, but since your parents have not yet arrived with your belongings, I figured you might be in need of a morning gown. Also, the help of a maid. So here we are, at your service. Let us ready you for the day.” She grabbed my hands again and this time, pulled me out of bed. Marie took the pitcher from the stand and went to fill it with water. Suddenly, I was very aware that I needed to use the ladies’ room.
“Um, Nicole,” I started, “where’s the ladies’ room?”
“The ladies’ room? The Queen’s rooms, you mean, where we spend our mornings?”
“No, no.” What was the word for it? “The privy? The necessary? The Water Closet?”
“Oh, that! Why didn’t you say so? Actually, there is one WC in this castle, but it is far from here. Did you not see the pot under your bed?” Sure enough, she went over to the bed and pulled out a ceramic pot and gestured to it.
“There you go. I’ll step out into the hall to give you some privacy. Call out when you have finished!” She turned to go, but I stopped her once again.
“Wait, what do I do with it when I’m done?”
“Why, that’s a silly question,” she looked at me quizzically like I’d just said the strangest thing in the world. I mean, call me crazy, but this ceramic dish did not exactly come with plumbing and a flushing system.
“One would think you’d never used a pot before,” She tilted her head to the side and looked at me quizzically. “Don’t worry about it, just slide it under the bed and Marie will take care of it for you.” And then she left me to contend with my little bowl.
OK, this was embarrassing. I’ve traveled with my parents and I’ve been introduced to some crazy toilets, in France especially. Hello, the squatter? But I’d never had to sit on a pot and put it under my bed. Too late, I forgot to ask her about toilet paper. Surely there was some around here? Tissue perhaps? A quick glance around the room ruined any hopes of that. Guess I’d have to drip-dry. I certainly hoped my mom and dad would show up today before I had to use the potty again. Wait, potty? Is this where the term came from? Huh, I’d have to ask my dad. Meanwhile, here goes nothing. I gathered up the shift I’d worn to bed like a nightgown, sat, and finished as quick as I could.
“Finished!” I called out. Nicole and Marie came back in to dress me for the day. Also a very strange thing. I haven’t had someone dress me since….well OK, my mom helped me yesterday, but that’s because of that crazy dress I was wearing. Then I thought of how I’d struggled last night with the hooks and laces just trying to get out of the thing and decided a maid helping just might be a good idea.
“Pull off your chemise,” Marie commanded. Wait, what? I thought the shift was always worn. Goodness, this was confusing. She turned to pour water from the pitcher into the bowl and dipped a cloth into it. Ah, a sponge bath. OK then. I pulled the nightgown looking shift over my head. And heard both women gasp. Oh dear, now what?
I looked down at myself in my Victoria’s Secret bra and matching underwear. It looked fine, I thought. Nude colored and edged with white lace. Surely they’d seen underwear in real life? We didn’t have to keep up the pretense between women did we? But they both came closer, to examine the bra, not thinking much about personal space I might add.
“What?” I said, trying to step back from their bulging eyes. “This set is modest compared with most of the underclothing they sell at Victoria’s.”
“Who is this Victoria?” Nicole asked in awe. “Is this a new fashion? I have not yet seen it. Have you Marie?”
“No, m’moiselle. It is most intriguing.”
OK, I’d had enough of the gawking. My face was turning red again, my neck and chest as well. I grabbed the wet cloth from Marie and started bathing myself, quickly, so I could throw my shift back on. Day two in the same undies were just going to have to do for now. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be for long.
“You’ll have to tell me about all the latest fashions you know of.” Nicole insisted. “I do love to know what everyone is wearing in Paris.”
Marie helped me into Nicole’s gown. Luckily we were nearly the same size, although I was a tad taller, so the dress came up an inch or two off the ground. Better for me since tripping would be less of a danger. The gown was a light blue with a silver overlay, and long flowing sleeves. The bodice was pulled tightly again with laces. Thank goodness women don’t still dress like this, I thought. Why was it ever popular? Wonder if Siri had an answer to that? Oh, Siri. I needed to grab my phone from last nights dress and carry it with me in case I found an outlet and a plug. Surely, someone had an iPhone plug hidden away somewhere.
Marie put the finishing touches on my hair, an intricate up-do with braids and pins everywhere. I had to admit it was pretty cool. I wished I could take a quick selfie and post it to my SnapChat story, but that was going to have to wait, obviously. Darn iPhone batteries.
“There!” Nicole exclaimed. “You look gorgeous. Let’s go make Genevieve jealous.” She smiled a wicked smile, winked, and pulled me toward the door. I just rolled my eyes and started to follow her.
“Oh wait.” I said. Running back to my dress from the night before, I grabbed my phone and slid it into my pocket. And then we were off down the hallway on our way to the queen’s rooms, I supposed. Wherever it was, I sure hoped there was a venti skinny caramel macchiato hiding somewhere. I’d even settle for a Diet Coke, or Coca Light as they called it here in France.
* * *
As we walked through the castle, I started noticing more strange things, like guards standing around looking like statues, swords in their belts. Uh, OK, is this like a Royal Guard thing, like at Buckingham? But no, that’s to guard the real Queen of England. Why would there be guards in this castle? Was it for the tours? Maybe all the actors were putting on a show for the tourists or something. Although, I don’t remember anything of the sort from when we took the tour a couple of weeks ago. Nicole was chattering on about who-knows-what while we walked along. I was just glad she knew where she was going. We started walking along a long corridor with arches on one side that opened to the outside. Fresh air blew in, along with noises from below. I moved over to look down and see where we were. Grabbing Nicole’s arm I pulled her to a stop by one of the arches.
“Nicole,” alarm started to fill my voice. I tried to tamp it down. “Where is the town of Amboise?” For as I looked through the arch, I saw only a courtyard below filled with carts and wagons, people walking to and fro with baskets on their arms. It looked like a market. Like a market from the 16th century. People were dressed in drab linens, women wearing aprons and dirty scarves covering their heads. It looked as if I had walked on to a movie set. In fact, with all the play acting I’d been doing, it felt like I was in the middle of a movie. Except for one thing. Beyond the gates of the castle I could see the Loire River. And the bank of the river. But no townhouses. Or more specifically, not my little-rented townhouse with the bakery attached to it.
“Isabelle! Truly, your face is white. Are you feeling faint?” Nicole grabbed both of my arms, and looked directly in my face. “Take a deep breath. Look up!” She called for a guard standing nearby to bring us a chair, which he did immediately. I felt myself being pushed to the chair, in a sitting position, my head being lowered to my knees and Nicole continuing to tell me to breathe. I felt like it was an out-of-body experience, as if I were watching from beyond. It must have been shock or something because try as hard as I might, what I had just seen outside compared to what I knew existed there just yesterday did not compute.
As I continued to breathe in and out I could see in my mind the quaint cobblestone street leading down from the castle, the colorful townhouses on each side of the road, with beautiful anti
que street lamps lining the sidewalks. The outdoor cafés, with their metal bistro tables and chairs. The smell of butter, flour, and sugar wafting from the bakery. People walking around with dripping ice-cream cones, or riding bikes with baguettes poking out of their baskets. Kids with earbuds in their ears, bobbing along to the music. That was yesterday, just yesterday. What had happened??
The anxiety was too much. I leaped up from the chair and started pacing, recalling the events of the day before.
“Are you feeling better?” Nicole asked with concern.
“Nicole! I can’t explain it. Something isn’t right.” Dressing with mom. Going to the party with both mom and dad. Dancing, eating. Was it something I ate? Drank? The bonfire. The tunnels! Could it be the tunnels? My heart was beating a rapid-fire rhythm.
“Nicole, I need to ask you a question. And I need a truthful answer; no acting, no pretending. The truth.” She nodded for me to continue with a solemn look on her face.
“Can you please tell me the date? Day, month, year?”
“Is that all?” she twittered, relief showing on her face. “Of course! Today is the 25th day of June, since yesterday was the Fête de St. Jean. Remember the bonfire celebration? It is the year of our Lord 1518.”
“No. That’s not possible.” This time I felt the blood drain from my face, and tears building up behind my eyelids. I needed to get out of here. I needed to think. Picking up my skirts I ran. I didn’t even know where I was going. I could hear Nicole calling after me, but I kept running. Through more hallways, down the stairs. Into the king’s room, past the curious eyes that followed me, and out the door that lead to the gardens. I ran across the terrace and barely registered that it was all different. The garden, the shrubs, the flowers. All different. Impossible in a twenty-four-hour period. I saw an orchard to the left and ran in that direction, finding solace in the steadiness of the trees. Sitting down under one and feeling the warmth of the trunk against my back, I pulled my knees in, flung my arms around them, put my head down, and let the tears come.
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