Through each tomorrow, p.4
Through Each Tomorrow, page 4
She looked him over, walking around him with a keen eye. “Why have you come?”
“I’ve come to serve you, Your Majesty.”
A slow smile lifted her painted cheeks as she looked at Charles. “Have you brought him to examine me, Lord Norfolk?”
“If it pleases Your Majesty. I know you haven’t been feeling well, and Andrew is a kind, intelligent, and trustworthy gentleman. You have my word.”
Something flickered in her dark brown eyes as she stopped in front of Andrew once again. He exhibited confidence, as well as humility. “It does please me,” she said. “I trust my Eyes with my life.” She motioned toward all of us. “Everyone but Kat and Doctor Bromley must leave our presence.”
I curtsied as Charles bowed, and then we slipped out of the Privy Chamber, Lady Catherine Knollys not far behind.
When we were in the Queen’s Ballroom once again, this time alone, I turned to my stepbrother. “Is he really a physician, Charles?”
He studied me for a heartbeat and then whispered, “No.”
My eyes opened wide as dread befell me.
Evening had fallen on Windsor Castle as we dined in the Great Hall, also known as St. George’s Hall. It was the first time the queen had joined us for a meal since leaving Whitehall Palace in London.
She sat at the head of the table, eating her sweets, as a court jester juggled before her. Though she smiled and seemed to enjoy herself, I knew her well enough to see that she still wasn’t feeling well. Was she putting on an act to convince everyone she was healthy?
I sat across from Charles and Andrew at the large, U-shaped table with the other five maids of honour. Even though Charles was young, he was popular at court both with the smitten young women and the respected noblemen. He was wise in political matters, level-headed in the face of foreign troubles, and shrewd in his dealings with court intrigue. Not only did he advise the queen in those areas, but he was one of her most trusted correspondents, writing and receiving almost all her important letters. He was a good diplomat, and the queen placed her undivided faith in him. But he was also personable and charming, and the lord of a castle in the south of England. Many had sought his company since he’d entered the hall, and they had been curious to meet Andrew.
Charles’s words to me, moments after we’d left Andrew with the queen, still rang in my mind. If anyone discovered that Andrew was not a physician, both he and Charles could hang. And if they learned that I knew the truth, I would hang with them. People would assume that there was a conspiracy afoot and we meant harm to Her Majesty. Others had died for lesser crimes, no matter how much the monarch had previously trusted them.
The jester continued his antics as I watched Charles and Andrew speak to each other. Since Andrew had come out of the queen’s Privy Chamber, he had been quiet and reserved—though that wasn’t unusual for him. It was one of the things I’d enjoyed most about him as a child. He hadn’t been loud or obnoxious trying to prove himself, like so many other boys.
Andrew’s gaze slipped to mine across the room, but it wasn’t a passing glance. He intentionally looked at me.
“Come, Cecily,” Henrietta Throckmorton, one of the maids, said as she appeared at my elbow. “Our dance is next.”
I rose, mindful of my white gown, and followed her and the other four maids of honour. The queen loved it when we dressed in white, and because she purchased our clothing, we wore what she desired. I had other colored gowns, but when we appeared as a group, we always wore white. Queen Elizabeth wanted her court to portray purity.
The jester finished with a flourish and received applause from his audience, while the musicians began to play the recorder and the tambor. Queen Elizabeth clapped to the sound of the tune as the maids of honour stepped into the space the jester had just filled.
Aveline was in the audience at a long table in the back of the room. Before the night was over, I planned to present her to the queen.
I was on the side closest to Charles and Andrew as we began to dance. My stepbrother smiled at me as he took a sip of his ale, but Andrew did not smile. He watched the dancers, his gaze landing on me occasionally, though he spent more time watching Henrietta Throckmorton. Hen, as she was known, was often called upon to greet dignitaries who visited, paraded about as the standard for courtly beauty with her blue eyes and red hair. She was lovely and drew the most attention when we performed.
I always felt awkward and inelegant next to her.
But even as Andrew watched her, I could see something was wrong in the depths of his eyes. He was worried. Was it the queen? Or was he nervous because he shouldn’t be here?
“Don’t forget to smile,” Henrietta said beside me through her teeth as she grinned. “The queen is watching you.”
She was right. The queen was watching, and she didn’t look pleased. She’d often said that the prettiest thing a woman could wear was her smile, and since she prized beauty, I must always remember to smile.
I complied, getting lost in the dance and the music, thankful for a distraction from my melancholy thoughts.
It had been six months since I’d died in 1913, and I was still reeling from that shock. Before contracting polio at Christmas in 1912, I had known exactly what I wanted to do with my life. I had been attending Girton College—a women’s college in Cambridge—studying biology, hoping to become a teacher or professor, and I was creating a book of paintings about the life stages of butterflies. My parents, Kathryn and Austen Baird, were my rock. Mama was a time-crosser and had guided me, and Papa had taught me to paint. My older brother and sister were both married and starting families, and I’d loved being a new aunt. I was confident that I would choose that path, though I would have missed Charles with all my heart. But I had everyone and everything else to look forward to.
Now, I was stuck in 1563, with no chance to study biology, no opportunity to teach, and no reason to create a book of paintings. In 1563, most people still believed that insects came from spontaneous generation, appearing out of nonliving matter, such as mice from grain and maggots from meat. They didn’t understand the life cycle because few people had studied it.
Worse, Queen Elizabeth dictated and commanded every aspect of our lives, determining when and if we could travel home, who we could spend time with, what we could discuss, what we could wear, and whom we could marry. It was no life, at least not for someone who had more freedom in 1913. Though, I couldn’t complain. Being a noblewoman at court offered more opportunities than if I was a commoner.
I kept the smile on my face, pretending to be happy, and the queen finally pulled her gaze away from me. The only benefit to smiling, besides pleasing the queen, was it reminded me of Mama. I had inherited her dimples and brown eyes, though my hair was as black as a raven’s wings from my mother in this path.
When our dance ended, I found Aveline, who had worn her best dress for this very moment.
“Are you ready?” I asked.
“I believe so.”
She had been presented to the queen before, but not as a potential member of her ladies in waiting.
Arm in arm, we approached the queen as she watched another group of dancers perform for her. These were young women, including Lettice, who were trying to impress the queen.
“Your Majesty?” I asked as Aveline and I curtsied. “Do you remember my cousin, Lady Aveline Spencer?”
Queen Elizabeth remained seated as she studied Aveline, her keen brown eyes taking in Aveline’s appearance from head to toe. “I do, indeed. Her mother was Lady Temperance, your mother’s sister, and her father was Bernard Spencer, the Marquess of Buckingham and a trusted servant of the Crown.”
“You are correct, Your Majesty,” Aveline said as she rose.
“Your father and mother passed away just last year,” the queen added.
“Correct again.” Aveline’s voice shook slightly. “An illness took both of them.”
“But you requested to stay at court,” the queen said as more of a question than a comment.
“To be near Lady Cecily,” Aveline replied. “She and I are as close as sisters, Your Majesty, and she has been a constant source of comfort since losing my mother.” She paused and then said quickly, “And to avoid the convent.”
The queen smiled at me. “Lady Cecily brings comfort to us all. I do not know what I would do without her and my Eyes at court.”
“’Tis my pleasure to serve you, my queen,” I said.
She looked back at Aveline. “A convent isn’t the worst thing that could happen to you.”
Aveline dipped her chin but did not respond.
“Marrying a man who mistreats you would be far worse.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Aveline said on a whisper.
“I suppose you are hoping to present Lady Aveline as a potential maid of honour.” This was a statement directed at me from the queen—not a question.
“Aye, Your Majesty,” I said. “I believe Aveline would serve you very well. She is quite accomplished—”
“We shall see.” The queen sighed and returned her focus to the dancers. “The competition is fierce, but I will not make my decision until later this summer. I do hope Lady Aveline will make a good effort to convince me.”
“I will, Your Majesty.” Aveline curtsied again.
The queen dismissed us, and we walked away, our heads held high until we slipped out of St. George’s Hall, and then we began to speak in excited tones.
“We must work diligently,” I said. “We have much to do.”
Aveline nodded—but then her gaze slipped over my shoulder, and she stood straight. “Doctor Bromley approaches, Cecily.”
I turned, my heart beating wildly.
“I hope I am not interrupting,” he said.
“No.” Aveline curtsied. “I am just leaving.”
Before I could stop her, she maneuvered around us and returned to the Great Hall.
“Your dancing has improved,” Andrew said with a smile.
I wasn’t sure if he had followed me on purpose, or if he had stumbled upon me. Either way, I was pleased to see him again. He was tall, but he felt taller as we stood alone in the corridor. “Thank you.”
“I remember when you danced for your parents at Arundel,” he continued. “I always thought you danced better than anyone else.”
I smiled, thankful for good memories with my mother and stepfather at Arundel before tragedy had struck our family. “You were a child,” I said, trying to deflect his compliment with laughter. “You didn’t know better.”
“Mayhap I didn’t know better then, but I do now. You’re still more accomplished than the others.”
My cheeks warmed, especially since I’d been dancing next to Henrietta, who was a far better dancer. “You’re even more charming than the last time I saw you, Andrew.”
“I’ve been practicing at Newport.”
“Ah.” I nodded. “I’d almost forgotten your other path. You are quite important there.”
It was his turn to laugh and deflect. “My father is important, and my mother is trying to be. I am a nobody.”
“Perhaps not yet, but one day you will inherit your family’s fortune and begin your own legacy.”
He smiled, but the gesture didn’t quite reach his eyes.
I’d loved hearing about Andrew’s path in the 1870s and 1880s when we were children. I was familiar with the wealthy Americans who had infiltrated English Society during the Gilded Age, and how they had tried to purchase aristocratic titles for their daughters. I knew all about the splendor of Newport and the opulence of families like the Vanderbilts, the Astors, the Rockefellers, and the Whitneys.
He motioned toward a door that led onto the North Terrace, where the gardens were in full bloom. It was dark, but there were torches lining the pathways for moments like this. “Would you care to take a stroll?”
I had not walked alone on the terrace with a man, though many of the other maidens did. I had found no purpose in pursuing a romance when I’d planned to stay in 1913.
Things were different now.
But this wasn’t a budding romance. This was an old friend.
Besides, I wanted to talk to him about the reason he’d come to Windsor Castle and warn him to keep his real identity a secret.
I took his arm as we stepped through a doorway and into the cool evening air.
The Thames River was less than half a mile away, and from the elevation of the terrace, we had views of the water under the light of the moon. Fragrant blossoms filled my nose as the torches flickered in the wind.
There were two other couples walking through the gardens on the terrace. They were both so far away, I couldn’t even make out their identities. This was a quiet moment as Andrew and I meandered along the paths.
“I asked you out here to talk about something,” he finally said.
I waited, unsure what he planned to say.
“Charles told you the truth?” he asked.
“Aye—and I wanted to talk to you about it, as well.” I glanced around the terrace before saying, “No one must know who you really are.”
Andrew nodded and then started to walk again. “’Tis true that I’m not an apprenticed doctor here, but I am a Yale medical student in 1883.”
“That will not matter to the queen, or anyone else.”
“I will keep the information close,” he said in a low voice. “Only you and Charles know the truth, and there will be no one from Arundel Castle visiting here any time soon.” His face was very serious. “I have no desire to lose my head, Lady Cecily.”
We walked for a few paces, and I asked, “Do you not want to be a physician here?”
“My birthday is in December, and I do not plan to stay here.”
His words felt like a splash of water over a kindling fire, though I’d always suspected he’d leave. Why would anyone give up a wealthy family in Newport to live as a commoner in the sixteenth century?
“Do you plan to be a doctor in 1883?”
He was quiet for a moment before he replied. “My parents do not approve. They’ve agreed to let me go to medical school until I’m twenty-five, and then I am expected to start working with my father in January.”
I paused and looked up at him.
The firelight from a nearby torch danced in his eyes.
“Why would you work so hard to attend medical school and then not be a doctor? It seems like a lot of hard work for no reward.”
“Because I love it.” He let out a sigh. “And I keep hoping my father will have a change of heart, though I doubt it. I am his only son, and the only Whitney male heir. My grandfather built the Whitney family fortune from nothing. He operated a ferry over the Hudson River, then purchased more boats until he had a small fleet and began a shipping empire. He eventually invested in railroads and then real estate. I have no choice but to continue in his and my father’s footsteps. The Whitneys have no use for a doctor.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Andrew.” I realized I was still holding his arm as we stood there, and he was cradling it close, but I didn’t pull away. “I wanted to be a biology teacher in 1913 and to create a book of paintings about the life stages of a butterfly before I died there. And even though I cannot be a teacher here, or create a book, I still value the education I received.”
“Your education is not a waste.” He continued to walk along the torch-lit garden path. “You can still study biology. Just think of all the things yet to be discovered.”
“You and I both know I cannot knowingly change history.” It was one of the rules that governed time-crossers. If we knowingly changed history, we forfeited the path we tried to change.
“How would that change history?”
“Because someone else was meant to discover those things.”
“Who said it wasn’t supposed to be you?” His voice was filled with certainty. “God knows the end from the beginning. When you died in 1913, that didn’t surprise Him. He knew you were going to stay in 1563, and He gave you a desire to study biology and create a book of paintings. That hasn’t changed.” He stopped near a hibiscus and let me go so he could examine it under the light of a nearby torch.
I frowned as I watched him, wondering what he was doing.
After a moment, he smiled and reached under a leaf. When he pulled away, he held a Painted Lady caterpillar. It was spiny, with brown spots and fuzzy antennae.
He took my hand and gently transferred the caterpillar to my fingertips. It latched on and climbed over my skin, tickling me and making me smile.
“Paint caterpillars and butterflies and any other insect that catches your fancy,” he said. “Watch them, document them, pursue what you love. You won’t knowingly change history, Cecily, and you’ll help others understand this amazing world that God has gifted to us.”
Warmth filled my chest as I looked up at him. For the first time since January, a flood of excitement washed over me as I thought about his suggestion. I didn’t have to give up my love of biology in 1563, or my desire to create a book. I’d been so lost in my grief, I hadn’t contemplated such a thing. “Thank you.”
He smiled and then motioned toward the castle as he offered his arm again. “I should return you to the queen before she thinks I’ve abducted you.”
I put my hand on his arm to still him, my thoughts returning to my earlier fears. “Be careful, Andrew. You’re smart and educated, but any misstep could get you and Charles in a lot of trouble. I can’t risk losing him. He’s all I have left.”
He put his hand over mine. “I promise to be careful, Lady Cecily.”
His hand was warm and strong, and I had to swallow the nerves that bubbled up my throat at his touch. We began to walk toward the castle as I held the Painted Lady caterpillar in one hand and grasped Andrew’s arm with my other. “Will the queen die?” I whispered, dread in my voice.
The queen had not yet established her heir, nor had she found a husband. If she died, a war could ravage England for the throne, and as noblemen and women, we would be caught in the middle of it. That was how my stepfather lost his life and, ultimately, how my mother had lost her life when the queen’s sister, Mary, had taken the throne. Mother had been pregnant with her second child, and she gave birth right after my stepfather was hanged for treason. She had been heartbroken and so weak that she died in childbirth and the baby died with her.
