Page 26 of The Girl Out of Time
Amy disappeared behind the corner. After a few minutes, a male servant arrived, and between him and the driver, they maneuvered Leon toward the servants’ entrance and down the hallway into a small, bare room with a narrow bed. More servants emerged from other doors, like moles popping out of the ground, curious what the ruckus was all about, but the portly woman shooed them back to their errands.
Emmeline bit down on her fist. She felt so useless, but she didn’t know what else to do. As she stood by the foot of the bed, another woman in a high-waisted gray dress and a simple linen shawl walked into the room, carrying a small trunk with several jars, tin cans, and bandages.
“I see,” she said matter-of-factly, as her eyes landed on Leon, then looked to Emmeline. “Not a lovers’ quarrel, I hope?” The remark was cheeky, rather than accusatory. “Give me some room, please. You too, Amy.” She nudged the younger servant girl aside, deposited the trunk by the bed, and leaned over to inspect Leon’s shoulder.
Emmeline watched in a daze as the healer pried away the bloodied bandage and cleaned the wound. The woman didn’t emit a single peep orsqueak in the process, even though Emmeline’s stomach nearly turned at the sight of the gnarled, crimson flesh.
“Poor boy’s been shot,” the healer murmured. “Several days ago, if the state of this wound is anything to go by. He needs a surgeon.”
“Shot?”Emmeline blurted.How?
“Her Grace will not approve of sending for a surgeon for some unknown man,” the servant lady who first approached Emmeline said. She looked at Emmeline. “Who is he?”
“He—uh—” What to tell them? That he was her friend from the ship—the ship that sailed from Southampton nearly a week ago, and now they were back here, somehow?
And where washere, exactly?
“Can I talk to the master of the house?” Her voice felt far away, as if she were only partially in charge of it.
“His Grace will not want to be bothered,” the servant lady said. “But you may be able to speak with the duchess if you wish. If this man is your acquaintance—”
“Yes! Yes, please. Let me talk to her.” Whoever this duchess was, Emmeline could handle it; Mother had taught her that much. The servant nodded, indicating for Emmeline to follow her. As she exited the room, the carriage driver tugged her sleeve.
“Excuse me, Miss,” he said. “If you’re about to speak to the duchess, would you mind giving her a message? I’ve several other errands to run.”
“Of course.”
“Excellent. Please, tell her Miss Grey has fallen ill and won’t be able to visit for several days. That’s all.”
Emmeline repeated the message to herself, making sure she memorized the name. The driver bowed, and they left in opposite directions—hetoward the exit and Emmeline down the hallway, following the servant deeper into the house.
A small door at the end of the hallway opened into a two-story spanning foyer with white marble floors, lit up by a giant chandelier. Emerging from the hole that was the servants’ entrance, Emmeline gawked at the vaulted ceiling and dark wood-paneled walls, covered from top to bottom in paintings: serene landscapes, hunting scenes, and portraits of men sporting powdered wigs and embroidered coats, and women in corseted dresses bordered with delicate lace.
How was this house—this family—so close to Cousin Reggie all this time, and she’d never met them?
The servant gestured to a door across the foyer. “Wait in there, Miss. Her Grace will meet you shortly.”
The room beyond was a classic sitting room, as opulent as Emmeline had expected. Upholstered settees and armchairs in a pink fleur-de-lys pattern. A fireplace with another painting above it, this one depicting a family posing in front of this very house—a gentleman and a lady, and three young children, all dressed in a manner similar to the other portraits. Heavy velvet curtains were pulled aside so the tall, sash windows offered a view of the immaculate lawn outside.
Emmeline’s feet led her to the nearest settee, and she collapsed onto it, her legs shaking from shock, exhaustion, and confusion.
She’d never had a dream like this before. So intense, and feeling so real. And yet, it had to be a dream. Nothing else could explain why she was back in noticeably altered Dorset, and Leon was here and wounded. Her sleeping brain had mingled the events of the past week into an insane story.
“Yes, I’ve seen the carriage arrive,” a raspy woman’s voice came from the foyer. “Tea will be fine, Mrs. Herwick.” The door opened, revealing awoman of about fifty. Her dress, while in the same high-waisted fashion as the others, immediately set her aside from the servants; it was a pristine, cream muslin, accompanied by an extravagant embroidered silk shawl, large enough the woman could wrap herself in it. She wore a ruffled white cap, screw-like golden curls framing her pointy face.
Emmeline rose to her feet, but before she could say anything, the woman strode toward her and spread her arms in greeting. “My dear Miss Grey. What a pleasure to meet you at last.”
Emmeline froze.
“You must be exhausted after that journey. I’ve sent for tea. Do sit down.”
Emmeline sat, still speechless.
“You can tell me all about it later.” The duchess sat and spread out a fan. “My dear, if you don’t mind me saying so, you look quite frightful. I hope all is well?”
Emmeline’s brain finally caught up and unleashed the realizations all at once.
The driver told her that a Miss Grey couldn’t make it here.
