Chapter 3

Isabelle's warnings were significant, but not enough to change my mind; even if Duncan was able to change hers. It took some time before Duncan managed to convince Isabelle that our plan was a bad idea. By the time he did, I'd already learned enough to do it on my own, if need be.

Once my mind was made up, I took the time to study enough on the sly until I was able to work a spell to teleport myself through time without risking Isabelle by using her as my anchor. When no one suspected what I was up to, I did just that.

I'd cast a spell to travel back in time far enough in advance of the attack on Duncan to allow time to find him, meet him, gain his trust, and then return to the future with him before the fateful attack could take place. I was to return to the future no later than the day before the attack. I hadn't the skills to elongate my visit. If we missed the opening of the portal of time, I wasn't sure I'd be able to work a new spell while in the past. If I’d been teleporting to the future, I wouldn’t have been as concerned. Going back several centuries before my birth put a different slant on things.

Now, here I was, crouched behind an out building and hiding from screeching Mildred while I looked for a way to sneak off with my little trunk of mainstays and the coin I’d stolen from the recesses of a traveling gentry’s receptacle. I hadn't taken all he had and, since I'd heard no mention of it, I doubted he’d discovered its absence before returning home and unpacking. I felt bad for the servants who unpacked him. Surely they would get the blame, but what was I to do? I couldn't function without it. I also had in my possession a small traveler's trunk with a new kirtle, a gown of velvet, a gown of silk, a spare chemise, traveler’s shoes, house shoes, a cape, and other accessories. I'd snuck each article, bit by bit, from rooms of gentry staying at the inn over my weeks of working there. I wasn't sure what role the gentry I'd stolen from played in society, but the embroidered fabric seemed of quality velvet, wool, silk, and linen and the cut fashionable enough for me to believe them of a reasonable status.

I managed to hide the little traveler's trunk in the recesses of the older, less used stable under an enormous pile of hay until things cooled down. The last thing I needed was to be attached to theft. Prison wasn't on my agenda.

Oh, Duncan, my love. The things I do for you!

I needed to leave, but I also needed to time it just right. I could feel Duncan’s energy all around me. The time was close for me to connect with him. I could feel it. I just couldn't hone in on it.

If only Mildred would stop her screeching and let me think. There was no hope for that. I heaved a sigh and hoisted myself from the squatting position I'd curled up in behind a coop. My feet felt like lead as I forced myself to return to duties I certainly wouldn't miss when I was finally free of them. At least I would be left alone to think while doing the laundry.

Their methods of washing and hygiene had a lot to be desired. The caustic soaps and boiling water practically tore the flesh from my slender fingers. A messenger notified Mildred of a small party of aristocracy that would be stopping for the night. The inn was in a frenzy preparing for the guests. I had no idea who they were, but they were important enough to warrant the cleanest sheets in the county and a meal of roast chicken, rosemary potatoes, apple pie and Brussel sprouts, while the rest of the guests made due with mutton stew. When I heard Carl ordering a barrel of his finest wine to be brought up from the cellars, my curiosity was peaked.

My duties didn't include serving the guests. This made it necessary for me to be creative in finding ways to monitor them. Normally, I would stay in the shadows and study their language and mannerisms. I'd managed to find a spot that only Kitty, the scullery maid, knew about. There were times when she'd squeeze in next to me, but most of the time she was too busy making sure food didn't burn or performing one of the grueling tasks the cook forced upon her. During these times, Mildred and Carl were so busy skittering around to make sure their guests were fat and happy, my whereabouts was never a curiosity.

The party was rather large for the little inn, but, somehow, Mildred and Carl found rooms to accommodate them. This resulted in extra chores and duties for the staff, me included. I was so busy making up rooms that I completely missed the pomp and circumstance when the first of the party arrived. I was informed by other members of staff that there were five men and two women of almost royal status. Apparently, they were to be guests at the inn for an anticipated few days while they awaited the arrival of the Earl of Winterspring and yet another small party who was delayed in London. Once he caught up with them, they would travel on to his estate.

It was not uncommon for guests to await the lord of a manor in his home, but this particular party was anticipating the arrival of a young woman who was promised in marriage to the earl’s son. They had not seen each other in months, during which time the earl renovated one wing of the particular property of their destination as a gift to his son’s bride-to-be. He wanted to be by her side when she first laid eyes upon her future home.

Finally, after weeks of toil and monotony, I was privy to the chivalrous romanticism I’d attributed to these historic times; among the fortunate at least. I couldn’t help being a little envious of this bride-to-be when I considered the overtures taken to make her feel at home and happy in her new family. I couldn’t imagine a father of my time going through such a process to please his daughter-in-law.

The extra work load thrust upon me was taking its toll. I was eager for the earl to arrive and whisk his party of elite away. He was expected to arrive at any time and it was none too soon for me. I was exhausted. I doubted there was one inch of my body that didn't ache right down to the marrow of my bones. People were less rushed in that day and time, but the lower class toiled and labored significantly more than someone of the twentieth century. I wasn't prepared for it; mentally or physically.

I was at the washing station tending to the never ending pile of linens when I heard the commotion coming from the kitchen. Cook was in an uproar. When the earl sent his man ahead to notify the inn of his pending arrival, he’d actually put in a menu request. From what I'd witnessed during my time there, special requests for dinner were only granted to the elite. It was one thing for Cook to kill a chicken or two, but an absolute different thing altogether for cook to send servants wily-nilly to market in search of ingredients rarely kept in the inn's humble kitchen. Whoever the earl was, he was an important man in these parts. I decided it was time to find out a little more about him. Perhaps he could be a lead to finding Duncan.

“Ho there,” I called to the buxom tavern maid, Sally, as she waddled past toward the milk house, “I bid you what happens?”

“No time to chat, luv. His lordship is nearly here,” she said with a huff.

“What lordship?” I called out as I watched her waddle by at a speed that was far too quick to be normal for a larger than average body that was proportioned as awkwardly as hers was.

Sally stopped for a moment and stared at me, as if seeing me for the first time. Her oversized green eyes almost bulged away from her round, rosy cheeked face at the disbelief of what I was implying hit her.

“Truly, you know not of the earl?” she asked, incredulously.

“None,” I said as I shook my head.

“How can that be? Where be you from?” She asked as she spied me closely.

My explanation to Mildred upon my arrival was scant and brief, yet believable. It was the story that Isabelle and I started to work on when we conjured up the idea of my traveling back in time. Unfortunately, once Duncan swayed Isabelle's thoughts on the matter, the storyline went unfinished and I'd had to improvise. Even so, telling Mildred that I was of foreign elite accounted for my odd pattern of speech. Claiming that my family's ship perished at sea explained why I was left to find my own way. I had no family in England and all of my money was washed away with the ship. It was agreed between us that I would work for my keep while I sent word to my homeland of my tragedy and awaited rescue. Now that sufficient time had passed, it was not only Mildred who was expecting a fine carriage to pull up and whisk me away like some fairy princess. It appeared the staff was starting to question my story as well.

It was definitely time to leave.

“You know I come not from here. Why would I know this earl?” I snapped, hoping my aggression would halt any further questioning from her.

There was a long moment of deafening silence between us. My nerves jumped to attention as the adrenaline needed to flee one's pursuer surfaced. I felt trapped. What would I do if the tavern maid saw through me? If my memory served me correctly, they were still performing witch hunts. If anyone caught wind that I'd traveled from the future -let alone that I knew a certain amount of alchemy- they'd hang me for sure... or worse; burn me. I could feel the bile creeping up my esophagus from my wrenching stomach. I swallowed it down while doing my best to look calm, cool, and oh so tough.

It worked!

“’His lordship,” she said, emphasizing her words dramatically, “is only the richest man in these parts. He owns half the county side.”

I knew I was pressing my luck on several accounts. One, was that, because of Sally’s lowly station, it was probable she wouldn't be able to answer me. Two, was because I was risking showing just a little too much interest in the richest man in the county.

I asked anyway, “Truly? Pray does he know the Earl of Winterspring?”

The look of disdain she slapped at me was enough to knock me over. Had I not been holding onto a sheet I'd just draped over the line, I very well might have sat down on the muddy ground.

“You jest, surely,” she screeched, incredulously.

I shook my head.

“Ach!” she eked out as she waved her hand in the air as if to dismiss me and started toward the milk house.

“Pray, tell me!” I called after her.

As foolish as I felt I just couldn't give up.

“He is the Earl of Winterspring,” she howled over her shoulder, never giving me a second look.

With that, I did sit down.

Duncan’s father was coming! What should I do? I wasn’t ready. I still had no plan. It wouldn't do for him to find me scrubbing laundry at an inn. From all I'd learned about the classes of eighteenth century England, I'd be lucky to get him to spit in my direction, let alone let me get close enough to do what needed to be done.

“Why are ya dawdling about, gal?” Mildred wailed from the back door of the tavern. “There is no time for day dreaming'. The earl is to arrive any minute now. Come on, get cracking. I need ya inside to help out.”

“I am doing my best, mum,” I called out. “Twill only take a bit longer.”

“See that it does,” Mildred grumbled.

She watched me, briefly, with her hands on her hips as if to make it a point she was in no mood for slackers and then moved back into the inn. I plunged back into the chore of dealing with boiling lye water.

The romantic setting I'd witnessed while watching Duncan and Isabelle reminisce was nowhere to be found in the Colchester I was experiencing. The nobility and gentry were a minority. The chores I drudged through each day were only a fraction of the chores the average resident did on a daily basis just for survival. I learned that most of the income in the small villages in the county went to pay taxes and the crops available to the villagers were barely enough to sustain them. It was a sad, sad scene. If UNICEF and the Peace Corps were around, they'd be kept busy.