Laurie Brown - What Would Jane Austen Do?

“You must be joking. The estate, the house, the servants—”

“All of which cost beaucoup sous to keep functioning. Digby is a strange mixture of extravagance and economies.”

Carl gestured around the luxurious room. “Economies?”

“I’ve told you. It’s all in the details. For instance, the bed linens the girls used for costumes had been mended multiple times by different seamstresses, some more skilled than others.”

“Extras. With so many guests …”

“Possible. But lots of little details add up. The house and grounds, though grand and well-maintained, have not been updated for many years—nothing in the newer styles of furniture and no modern conveniences. I noticed the drapes used on the stage were sun-faded on the back and had not been replaced or even relined. Several pieces of furniture need to be reupholstered. At dinner last night my chair wobbled so badly I feared I might land on my backside if I crossed my legs.”

“Perhaps Digby has no interest in furnishings. Many men leave that to a wife, which he doesn’t have.”

“Does he also take no interest in the gardens? New plants are the rage every year. He has none. The paths remain quite wide, a style popular twenty years ago, so that a man could escort a lady wearing the voluminous skirts of the time without stepping into the grass or flowerbeds.”

“Gardening may not—”

“I’ll give you only one more example, even though I could go on for hours.”

“Please, no.”

Shermont smiled. “The wine cellar.”

“Surely you have no complaints regarding the wine and potables served. Digby has an excellent nose. The stock is first-rate, maybe even exceptional.”

“You are a better judge than I am in such matters, but I agree. However, on the tour Digby gave me when I first arrived, I noticed something peculiar. No new vintages have been laid away for future use.”

“Hmmm.”

“I see you’re still not convinced. Start looking, and I’m sure you’ll find examples of your own. Especially in behind-the-scenes areas.”

“What about the third motivator? Who does Digby love?”

“Other than himself?”

“But it is a possibility?”

“Love?” Shermont leaned back and closed his eyes so Carl wouldn’t see the truth reflected there. “You never know what a man will do for love.”

Eleanor had no idea what to expect. Even though the thought of a bath was appealing after washing from a basin, she walked to the bathing chamber with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner shuffling to the firing squad.

What was so difficult about a shower that it took so many years to invent? Shermont had done it with a gargoyle and a coal scuttle. More important, why had she complained about her tiny little bathroom with the ugly Pepto-Bismol pink tiles and the showerhead that whined and sputtered? She sighed at the heavenly memory.

Mina walked beside Eleanor and asked, “Is something the matter?”

“My mind is hundreds of miles away, that’s all.”

“Thinking about your home in America?”

“Yes.” At least that part was true.

Approximately halfway toward the end of the hall a screen had been set up to block the view. On the other side, they ducked past a curtained entrance into a wide alcove. A brass tub at least eight feet long and three feet high dominated the area. Warmth radiated from the fireplace that covered the entire wall to the left. Several big iron pots hung over the flames, and steam filled the air. Five maids bustled around the room, busy with various tasks. Deirdre and Mina sat on the bench that ran around the other two walls.

Eleanor hesitated. She’d never been a fan of group cleansing rituals. As a chubby teen, gym class had been torture.

“Step to it,” the old crone seated by the fireplace barked. “Water’s not getting any warmer.”

One maid took Eleanor’s robe and hung it on a hook. Another bent down to remove her slippers. Then two others each took one of her elbows and guided her up the steps leading to the foot of the tub. Three more steps led down into the deep water, and she wasn’t given time to take off her chemise. Apparently, Regency women didn’t bathe naked.

While Deirdre and Mina chatted, Eleanor chose honeysuckle-scented soap and a cloth from the tray offered. After she’d quickly washed herself, one maid scrubbed her back with a soft brush, and then another washed her hair. She was instructed to stand, and a bucket of fresh warm water was poured over her head to rinse her off. She climbed out of the tub. They wrapped her in a large sheet and guided her to a place on the bench beside Mina.

Two maids each dipped a bucket of water out of the tub, and two others adding steaming hot water.

“Step up. Step up,” the crone said.

Deirdre jumped up to take her turn.

“I’m glad you’re quick,” Mina said. “Mrs. Tuttle doesn’t like us to dawdle.” She indicated the crone by the fireplace.

“Then she’s the butler’s wife?”

“Good heavens, no. She’s his mother and very strict about the rules. We humor her because she’s been with the family forever. She was father’s nursemaid, maybe even grandfather’s.” Mina partially covered her mouth so no one else could hear her whisper. “We heard that at a certain house party, an unmarried couple was found bathing together, in the middle of the night no less.”

Eleanor eyed the large tub, and her imagination provided an inviting image of Shermont soaking there. Several enjoyable aquatic activities came to mind. “Oh, that’s … astonishing.”

“Something like that would never happen in Mrs. Tuttle’s bathing chamber.”

Too bad. “Of course not.”

A maid brought another tray with an assortment of creams and oils, but since Eleanor didn’t know what they were for, she shook her head. She also refused a cup of lemon verbena tea.

When Deirdre was done, she took a seat on a small stool by the fire, and Mrs. Tuttle brushed her long blonde locks.

“Whenever I think about cutting my hair, I reconsider,” Deirdre said to Eleanor. “However did you get the nerve?”

Eleanor shrugged. She’d worn her hair long most of her life, but after her breakup, she’d decided she needed a drastic change. She’d donated fourteen inches of hair to Locks of Love and decided she preferred it short. “It’s so much easier to take care of this way.” She fluffed her curls with her fingers and wished she’d brought a comb.

“A gentlewoman’s hair is her crowning glory,” Mrs. Tuttle said, her voice little more than a rasp. “If you cut it, you cut your chances of an advantageous marriage.”

“Well, I’m going to cut mine,” Mina said as she took her turn in the tub. “Not really short as in the Titus style, but I want those adorable little curls that frame your face. I’m going to wait to see the fashions when we get to London.”

In the warm bathing chamber, Eleanor’s thin chemise dried quickly and she feared she would sweat, thus negating any good done by the bath, “I’m going back to our room,” she announced as she stood.

“Have a good rest,” Deirdre said. “I’ll tell Twilla to wake you in plenty of time to get dressed for the ball.”

A maid rushed to hold Eleanor’s robe and another brought her slippers. As she ducked through the curtain, she encountered Fiona, Hazel, Beatrix, and their mothers.

After the normal pleasantries, Beatrix started toward the curtain. Mrs. Holcum blocked the way and folded her arms over her ample bosom. “We’ll wait until they are done. I don’t hold with public bathing. We’re not ancient Romans, you know.”

Eleanor fought the urge to roll her eyes. Obviously, Mrs. Holcum didn’t consider the servants members of the public.

“I don’t know why young people today are so obsessed with bathing,” Mrs. Maxwell said. “It’s unhealthy to immerse yourself in water so often. In my day, twice a year was considered more than adequate.”

“Moth-ther,” Fiona and Hazel said together.

“I agree,” Mrs. Holcum said. “It’s the schools that put these preposterous ideas into their heads. Before she went to Miss Simpkin’s Academy, my daughter hated bathing and had to be bribed every spring and fall.”

“I was a child then,” Beatrix said. The whine in her voice disproved her claim to maturity.

“My daughters were the same,” Mrs. Maxwell said. “But once in the tub, I had the devil of a time getting them out.”

Knowing from experience with friends and coworkers that motherly bonding could extend to hours of comparisons, Eleanor used the lame excuse of damp hair and the possibility of taking a chill to escape. As she walked down the hall, she heard Mrs. Holcum say, “See, Beatrix. You could learn from such a sensible, old-fashioned girl.”

Eleanor was still smiling when she entered her bedroom. The drapes had been drawn and the bed turned down in preparation for her nap. Even in the dim light she recognized her visitors.

“No need to ask if you’re having a good time,” the ghost of Mina said with an answering grin.

“Where have you been?” Eleanor asked. “I’ve called and—”

“You made us promise not to interfere,” Deirdre’s ghost said. “We’re only keeping our word.”

“Oh, yeah … well … then why are you here?” Were they going to take her back? Now that the time was near, she realized she wasn’t quite ready.

“We wanted to let you know how pleased we are with your progress so far,” Mina said. “You’ve adapted amazingly well.”

“We will return at midnight tonight,” Deirdre said. “So you have to chaperone us for only ten more hours. But the most difficult hours are ahead. With so many people at the ball, you must pay close attention and not allow yourself to be distracted.”

“But we have every confidence in you,” Mina added.

“Do you mean it hasn’t happened yet? I haven’t stopped it? What about last night in Shermont’s room? You do know what happened there?”

The ghosts looked at each other. Deirdre nodded to Mina.

“Yes, we saw. As to whether only one incident can predicate a duel, we can’t be sure,” Mina explained. “Since we’re here with you, we won’t have any memories of what you do until we return to the future.”

“But we have every confidence you will be successful,” Deirdre said.

“You could make this easier if you’d tell me exactly where and when this seduction happened.”

Again, the ghosts looked at each other before answering.

“That’s impossible to determine,” Deirdre said. “You see, there are certain pivotal points in each person’s life. In between those points, events can shift around without making a huge difference. You prevented one incident, but another may yet occur. However, if Shermont does not seduce one of us by midnight tonight, then it won’t happen.”

“That’s when we met Ackerly and Clifford and decided we should marry brothers,” Mina added.

“Not them,” Deirdre said.

“Good heavens, no. But they did give me the idea that—”

“It was my idea.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Girls!” Eleanor said in exasperation. “It doesn’t matter whose idea it was.”

“Quite right. Anyway, it was a pivotal point and one that will prevent the duel. After that, neither of us wanted to pursue Shermont any longer.”

“Fine. But it would be easier if I knew which girl to follow. If they … you … separate before midnight—”

“We cannot break our sacred vow,” the ghosts said together.

“Arrrgh! How do you expect me to follow both of you?”

“There’s only one of him,” Deirdre pointed out.

With that cryptic comment, they winked out of sight.

* * *

Eleanor hadn’t expected to sleep, but when Twilla entered with a tray of food, she woke from a dream. She had been Cinderella, Shermont her Prince Charming. The refrain from the musical stuck in her brain: Impossible things are happening every day. She tried reciting a poem and the multiplication tables to dislodge it, but until she hummed the Oscar Mayer jingle, that song wouldn’t budge. Then, of course, she was stuck with the commercial tune, but at least it didn’t make her think of her midnight deadline.

After eating the light dinner Twilla had brought, Eleanor dressed in a deep yellow silk dress she’d made to go with her amber cross necklace, which was back in place around her neck. Twilla insisted on helping with her hair. The maid attached a gold ribbon three times across the crown of her head for a diadem effect. Mina had lent a white feather rosette with a pearl center that Twilla pinned over Eleanor’s ear.