Toil and Trouble (24 page)

Well, I guess we had that in common. But as to blackmailing him or extorting money from him, that was the last thing on my mind. “I’m not interested in your money or anyone else’s,” I said firmly.

“Then what, pray tell, are you interested in?”

“I need your help.”

He cocked a brow. “My help?”

“Yes, you sent me here from the future so you’ve got to send me back.” There, I’d said it.

He hesitated before allowing his laugh to echo through the room. “The future, you say?”

“Yes,” I answered, unable to share his humor. Shouldn’t a warlock be a bit more understanding of these things? Maybe he wasn’t a warlock yet? That could be a big problem. “Are you in training yet, Rand?”

He shook his head at my apparent lunacy. “In training for what?”

“Becoming a witch.”

And the smile was wiped clean off his face. His expression became as unreadable as a blank piece of paper and I had my answer. He was a warlock, after all. This was the response of someone who was floored. Hmm, now I didn’t seem quite as crazy, did I?

“H…how… what would make you say such a ludicrous thing?” he stammered, crimson overtaking his cheeks.

I had him. “Because, as I told you earlier, you and I know one another and as you are a warlock, I’m a witch.”

He glanced around the room, appearing worried about eavesdroppers. “Such preposterous allegations do not put you in my favor.”

“You can deny them all you want, Rand, but I know the truth and I need you to help me return to my own time.”

Then it suddenly occurred to me that if I were returned to my own time, did that mean I’d last for maybe a second before Gwynn shish-kabobbed me on her blade? Hmm, I’d have to make provisions for a little extra time once Rand sent me back, that way I’d be prepared for the bitch.

Rand was spared the chance to respond when Christine sauntered through the doorway, giving me an askance expression only to clap her hands together in a great display of glee. “Oh, Dear! Miss Wilkins, I mistook you for the maid for a moment. That frock will not do at all!”

“It’s really fine, Christine.” Both she and Rand glanced at me quizzically and I realized my mistake. “Er, Miss Pelham.”

She picked at my offensive garment as if it were the very definition of filth and then stepped back, measuring me with one eye. “I believe you will fit into my gowns quite nicely.”

“Really,” I started but Rand beat me to it.

“Christine, I would not…”

Christine waved away our concerns. She’d made up her mind—I was going to be her living Barbie Doll. “Miss Wilkins is my friend and as such, she should be dressed as a lady. Come, Miss Wilkins,” she said and offered her hand.

What choice did I have? I took her hand and followed her through the hallway to the bedroom at the opposite end of the hallway from mine. It was bedecked in silk wall coverings with a large canopy bed covered in an elegant velvet quilt. She went to the armoire and opened the doors, revealing rows of wools, velvets, and silks.

She glanced back at me and with one eye closed, seemed to be studying me. “With your lovely blue eyes, I believe my blue organdy would be most appropriate.” She pulled out the chosen gown and handed it to me. I accepted it, noting it felt like it weighed twenty pounds and waited while she called for Elsie.

The disgruntled maid arrived momentarily and her frown deepened as soon as she eyed me with Christine’s beautiful gown in my hands.

“Elsie, we need to change Miss Wilkins out of your frock,” Christine said while she rummaged through her wardrobe, extracting a white undershirt and long lace-trimmed muslin capris, followed by something I was less than enthusiastic about.

“A corset?” I asked, eyeing it dubiously.

“Of course, Miss Wilkins,” Christine started.

“Please, call me Jolie,” I said.

“Then you must call me Christine,” she said with a bright smile, as if we’d just become the best of friends. Well, a friend was exactly what I needed.

Elsie had already begun unbuttoning me and once I was free of her itchy dress, she reached for my underclothes but I grabbed her hands. “Can’t I just keep these?”

Elsie frowned. “I haven’t many, Miss.”

Christine dispelled Elsie’s concerns as she handed her a pile of white undergarments. “You can keep mine, Elsie.”

Elsie’s smile broadened. “Oh, thank ye, Miss Pelham. That is very kind o’ ye.” Elsie wrapped the corset around my middle and started to lace it up. “Hold the bed rails,” she ordered curtly.

With my hands locked around the canopy post, she yanked on the laces so brusquely, I let out a yelp. Christine giggled while Elsie continued to tug on the laces, cinching my waist until I couldn’t breathe.

“This is too tight,” I gasped, feeling like all the blood was being pushed out of my center.

“I barely pulled on ye,” Elsie said.

“Barely pulled on me?” I repeated. “I feel like my liver’s now wedged in my throat!”

Christine cupped her mouth as she fought to get her laughter under control and walked around me, as if admiring a horse at auction. “Your figure looks quite nice,” she commented. Then she faced Elsie again. “Elsie, where is the bustle from Mrs. Marseille’s?”

Mrs. Marseille must have been a seamstress or a boutique proprietor, if I had to guess. Elsie muttered something undistinguishable and disappeared into Christine’s armoire, returning with what appeared to be a straight jacket. Rows of baleen ran up the sides to the back of the contraption giving it structure. Elsie pulled my arms up until they were perpendicular to my body and started securing the contraption around my waist. Christine looked on approvingly, as if enjoying my transformation. I, myself, couldn’t enjoy it and was, instead, visited by images of Hannibal Lecter.

She grabbed a mound of muslin trimmed in lace. “And her petticoats, Elsie.”

Elsie accepted the garments and carefully arranged them atop the bustle until I looked like my waist was all of two inches wide but my ass would stretch from here to Scotland. Scotland…the thought made me twitch with panic. What was I doing playing dressup when I should be in battle? God only knew what had happened to Rand, not to mention Sinjin. Then I suddenly had a thought—maybe the future was standing still now that I was in the past? I could only hope so. But, regardless, I had to get out of here; I had to convince 1878 Rand to help me.

“Am I nearly ready?” I asked, albeit breathlessly.

“Your hair,” Christine started and motioned for me to sit down in front of her vanity. I could barely walk in all my new garb and sitting could only be more difficult. But, as much as I wanted to complain I couldn’t let Christine know I wasn’t used to wearing this type of getup. After all, in California in the 1800s, as a wealthy woman, I probably would have worn the same thing. So, I sucked it up and sat down. Christine lifted my elbow length hair and secured it into a bun at the top of my head.

“That will have to do for now. Dinner will be served shortly.”

I glanced at myself and didn’t know what to think. With the top knot, I looked like some old school marm but the dress really was lovely. The rich blue matched my eyes perfectly. And, I definitely looked well off with the lace billowing from the neckline and tight jacket narrowing over my waist with equally tight long sleeves ending in more lace.

“Thank you, Elsie,” Christine said with a smile as the maid curtseyed and left.

I turned to the task of standing up and didn’t want to alert Christine to the fact that I wasn’t practiced in Victorian fashion in the least. I attempted to stand and once accomplished, I tried to walk gracefully but the circumference of the dress turned it more into a hobble. Christine eyed me suspiciously, her smile about to give way to amusement.

I took baby steps until I joined her at the doorway and together we hobbled down the stairs. She led me into the dining room where Rand sat beside Pelham, who looked pale or rather, green. Christine obediently took the chair beside her brother and I sat next to her. Actually, it would be more fitting to say I sort of flopped into the seat and rolled back up into a sitting position.

“Are you well, William?” Christine whispered, the smile at my ridiculous display vanishing from her face as soon as she eyed her brother’s ashen countenance.

Pelham smiled warmly. “Yes, Darling, I am well, merely vexed with a trifling cold.” Hmm, could this be the beginning of Pelham’s cholera that eventually killed him?

“Perhaps you should be,” Christine started, her face highlighted by the yellow flames of multiple candelabras.

Pelham waved away her concern, then faced me. “In honor of our mysterious guest, I have asked Cook to marvel us with new treats from the kitchen!”

Rand grumbled something unintelligible, making me realize he probably wasn’t going to help me. In fact, this Rand of 1878 was kind of an asshole. I frowned at Rand before turning to Pelham with a bright smile. At least he and his sister were friendly. Rand and Elsie could go screw themselves.

“Thank you, Mr. Pelham,” I answered, settling my eyes on the white table linens. The sparkle of the crystal candelabras and glasses contrasted against the silver of the utensils, all erupting in a beautiful display of prismatic reflection.

“Please, call me William. My Christine says you and she have become friends.”

Hmm, maybe I wouldn’t have to bewitch Pelham after all—maybe the prospect of a playmate for his sister was enough for him. I smiled at Christine and before I could respond, I was interrupted by two servants carrying silver trays which they laid before us.

“And what is this, George?” Pelham asked.

George, who upon further inspection was the identical brother of the other servant, replied “for your first course, fillet of sole with anchovy sauce, cream of celery soup, mutton curry and sherry.”

While his brother announced the menu, George * * *2 filled our glasses with pink sherry while I inspected the plate of fried fish before me cautiously. Celery soup sounded doable albeit uninteresting. I turned my attention to the silver platter of mutton curry which I thought might be more palatable. I was a big fan of Indian food although I rarely ate lamb or mutton. George * * *1 ladled the mutton into our bowls, followed by the celery soup while George * * *2 busied himself with filleting the fish.

Once the two Georges retreated to the kitchen, I waited for the others to begin eating, planning to emulate them. Instead, Pelham lifted his glass of sherry and the others (including me) followed suit.

“To the Queen’s health,” he said quickly and swallowed a gulp. I thought it more fitting for him to cheers his own health, but there it was. We raised our glasses in toast and even though I’m not a big drinker, the sherry went down with no problem. I spooned a small portion of the sole and found it wasn’t incredibly bad. The mutton curry, on the other hand, was like no Indian food I’d ever consumed. It was in a word—vile. The curry was sharp and left my tongue wallowing in discontent. So, I concentrated on the sole and finished it quickly, only to find everyone’s eyes settled on me.

Christine shifted uncomfortably and turned beet red while Pelham resumed spooning his curry. Rand continued to watch me with elevated brows and a slight smirk playing with his lips. So the bastard could smile, imagine that.

“Is there a problem?” I asked.

“Perhaps California is different,” Christine started in a small voice, before flushing even more brilliantly red and focusing all her attention on her untouched plate.

“Okay, out with it,” I said, becoming visibly irritated.

Rand met my eyes directly. “When a lady consumes her dinner with such voracity, it often displays a voracious appetite for other pursuits.”

“Balfour!” Pelham reprimanded.

“
Du liebe Güte
!” Christine blurted. Hmm, my German wasn’t good enough on that count so I thought I’d rely on my magic—it was worth a shot. I thought to myself:
translate
and almost instantly, the words “Oh my goodness” traveled through my mind.

Then I focused on what Rand had just said and it took me a second to realize he was talking about sex. Oh my God. I felt the heat of a blush suffuse my face but refused to look away. “Christine, as to your point, yes things are quite different in California.”

Rand faced Pelham and there was anger in his eyes. “
Sie gehört hier nicht hin
.” The words “she does not belong here” rang through my mind, loud and clear. So, Rand could speak German. Ha, well I could understand it.

“
Wo sind deine Manieren? Darüber sollten wir später redden
,” Pelham said and my mind translated the meaning to: “Where are your manners? We shall discuss this later.” Then Pelham faced me with an embarrassed smile. “Apologies, Miss Wilkins.”

I just nodded while he faced his sister and Rand again. “We will speak English only, please.”

I smiled and relaxed into my chair, hoping my magical translation ability could not only translate but also create. Worth a shot. “
Keine Sorge; ich spreche Deutsch
!” I said which meant, “no worries; I understand German.”

Christine’s mouth dropped open while Rand shook his head in irritation and dropped his attention to his plate. Pelham just chuckled.