6. Fresh off the Boat

    Before falling asleep, I had been forced to give in to the chamberpot. At least now I knew what those cloth squares were for. My morning started off with me at the desk, painstakingly scratching out a new list. 

​

Two ewers of clean water each morning.

Several dozen square cloths of cotton or linen - cheapest. 

A small brazier. 

A bucket.

     

     I wondered what the inn’s workers thought of Lady Isabelle and her odd lists. Even my request for ‘tea’ had been met with confusion, and I’d thought that one simple enough.

     I had real food this morning; Josefa-Maria had brought me a tray first thing. There were poached quail eggs, fresh guava, soft goat cheese to spread on warm bread, and coffee. The maid had been proud to announce that my food had been prepared by a local housewife.

    Didn’t this place have a kitchen? I didn’t care. This food was so amazing, I didn’t even spike the coffee. 

     There was also another note from the lieutenant commander. More formal now - and likely sober - but no less warm. He again stated that he was looking forward to seeing me at ten. “Quaint,” I murmured. But I liked it. I always appreciated people confirming plans. Getting notes from a gorgeous officer first thing in the morning was a bonus.

     I lounged in front of the window, watching the town wake while I leisurely ate and marijuana’d. By the time I felt sufficiently mellowed, Josefa-Maria was pouring the last bucket of hot water into the tub. It took a shockingly long time to prepare a bath here. She had already brought my reheated kettle of water on a metal trivet - bring it to me boiling, please, I’d instructed - switched out the used chamber pot for a new one without batting an eye, arranged my clothing for the day, and probably a dozen other things I hadn’t even noticed; the petite girl was quiet and unobtrusive. I also got the impression that I made her nervous, for some unfathomable reason.

     I stared up at the clothing.  More of Anne’s ornate pieces that looked like they should be in a museum; another set that I vaguely recognized. Whatever my sister’s other failings, her needlework was impeccable.

    “How are women supposed to get through meals dressed like this?” I mumbled to myself. Thus far, I had only been eating when wearing my nightgown and dressing robe - ‘loungewear’ for the period. I was going to have to learn.

    “Thank you,” I called as the dark-haired girl left. Gerta had nonchalantly informed me that Anika thought it would be best if  ‘Lady Isabelle had a dedicated maid for her many needs’. And I hadn’t even been checked in for an entire day yet. I sighed. It wasn’t as though I was trying to be difficult; I was just pretty much helpless here. They obviously expected that, though for wildly different reasons. I resolved to get Josefa-Maria something nice as a thank you.

     I melted into the tub, enjoying the feel of the hot water as it soaked away my tension and stress. Feeling emotion about a simple bath was not something I had expected, but here I was. I gave myself a few minutes to indulge in tearful self-pity before proceeding with my ablutions; I was cleansing to prepare my canvas as much as for the sake of hygiene.

    I was going old-school: sugaring. Sure, I was covered from head to toe in public, but I was the only person that mattered in this equation anyway. If I were somehow found out, it would just be another eccentricity for Quirky Lady Isabelle. 

      I had lemons, hot water, and sugar, and a bowl. Simple. I hoped. I leaned back in the water, thinking of my previous experiences with the technique.  

​

    “It’s easier than it looks, Izzy. Here.” Neha did something up her leg. 

    “Oh,” I leaned forward, inspecting the strip of skin she had done. “And it doesn’t hurt?”

     Neha laughed. She had such a sweet laugh. “If you can handle waxing this will be nothing,” she told me, handing over the bowl. “Be brave,” she whispered, kissing me. Her lipgloss tasted like honey. “I promise there will be rewards.”

   

     It had been an unexpectedly sexy afternoon.

​

     Afterwards, I lotioned myself up, marveling over how amazingly smooth my skin felt. A dab of deodorant from a glass jar; a bit of perfume; the barest touch of colored gloss for my lips. I’d found an extra knife in the trunk and added it to my person as well.

     Last night I’d dreamed again of my sister setting fire to the tavern. Arming myself made me feel safer, and my usual go-to, pepper spray, was obviously not an option.

     For the first time in far too long, I felt like myself again. Good ole Izzy. But now I had to transform into Lady Isabelle. I could do this. It was like being on stage - I only needed to put on my costume and perform.

      I was digging around in the vast trunk - trying to find the underwear I knew I had packed - when I discovered a pouch of coins. Mostly gold coins, I discovered, looking inside, although there were also silver and copper pieces. Anne must have put it there for me at some point.

     How much was a meal, a new pair of shoes, or a potted plant? A horse? I had no clue. The coins trickled through my fingers, back into the pouch. It looked like a lot of money, but without knowing the prices of items, there was no way to quantify it. Like giving a child a hundred dollars. After resecuring the coins, I pulled out my glass nail file and got to work on my hands, deep in thought. Lady Isabelle had a lot to learn about 1649. And apparently I would have to do so sans undies. 

    Layer by layer, I put on my costume for the day. All the world’s a stage. But this wasn’t my world, I didn’t understand how the stage worked, and I certainly didn’t want to be a player. I forced myself to go have a long look in the mirror. “You are still you. Even here.” I swallowed. “You are still you,” I whispered to myself over and over until I believed it. “You can do this.” Lieutenant Commander Coventry probably wouldn’t even notice my nerves. And so what if he did? Why was I fretting about a guy I had just met? A ghost.

    I shook my head, disturbed. It didn’t seem at all right to call him that.

    “You look great, Izzy,” I told my reflection. “Lady Isabelle,” I corrected myself. I had sparkly hair pins, perfect makeup, and a dress made for a princess - I was ready to face the day. Even if I still hadn’t located a single panty. 

     Gerta paused as she entered the room, giving the place a somewhat shocked onceover, and I was suddenly very aware of the mess I’d left - all types of lemon bits, grains of sugar, and so on. I’d clean it up later. I certainly didn’t have time to take care of it now.

     She escorted me downstairs, where the handsome Lieutenant Commander was waiting at a table. “Lady Isabelle!” He stood, inclining his head to me and pulling out a chair. He was very tall, I observed admiringly.

    I got the distinct impression that he was appraising me as I crossed the room; in fact, I could feel the curious eyes of everyone seated in the dining area. 

      It was probably my attire. The jade green silk of my skirt, with its yellow and gold brocade, was, admittedly, eye-catching. It was long, very full, and subtly embroidered along the hem with a delicate line of leaves and vines. And! It had pockets. Several pockets of various form and function, all obscured in the folds of the voluminous fabric. Anne was very, very good about putting in pockets. The jade-colored bodice was far more ornate - the silk had been embroidered with dozens and dozens of dime-sized roses in white, cream and yellow. A number of the roses had been accented in metallic thread, while several others had centers made of seed pearls; the line of roses that ran across my cleavage seemed designed to focus the eye. And then there were the sleeves. They had that beautiful-yet-ridiculous slashing you always see in historical paintings, and long, dramatically flowing cuffs. Fortunately, these sleeves were detachable - and modern, designed to give the effect of layers without requiring an extra garment to be worn underneath. It was the sort of modification that made performances easier when one was onstage under hot lights.

    Now that I was looking around, I realized that I really did stand out among the locals. For a number of reasons. I clasped my hands together, fighting the urge to fidget.

    “Hello. Are you having a good morning, Lieutenant Commander Coventry?”

     “I believe I am,” he replied. “Would you join me?” Carefully, with his assistance, I made my way into a seated position. The lieutenant commander eased my chair back to the table, then joined me. He smelled faintly of lavender. Nice. I really liked lavender. “Coffee, my lady?” He was so distractingly gorgeous that I hadn’t even noticed the ceramic carafe and cups on the table. 

      “Please.” I nodded. Deep breaths, Isabelle. I kept thinking about all the notes we had exchanged the previous evening.

    “Pardon me,” he said suddenly, “have you been having a good morning, Lady Isabelle?” He placed a cup in front of me. 

    I took a sip of the dark, bitter brew to buy time. My sister kidnapped me and brought me back to the middle ages. But hey, the goat cheese I had for breakfast was fantastic and I have fresh flowers? 

    “This morning has given me no cause for complaint,” I said carefully. I swear, I saw him smirk for the briefest of moments.

    “Hopefully,” he began, placing several books on the table, “these offerings will improve your day.”

   “Offerings?” I murmured, raising an eyebrow at him. That was an interesting choice of phrase. He nodded, his mouth curling up at the corners for only a moment. I wondered if the British military had regulations against their officers smiling in public. “May I?” I reached out for the stack. There were only four books, but after Anika’s reaction it seemed like a treasure chest. I smiled and ran my hands over the leather covers reverentially, taking my time with the feel of the books. As I opened the first one, I became aware that the lieutenant commander was studying me with a singular focus, and I was getting very warm under his gaze. No swooning today, Lady Isabelle. I forced my attention to the book, but it took me a minute for the words to make sense. Anika appeared at my elbow, solicitously checking in to see if either of us required anything. We both politely declined and I resumed looking through the books. 

    Canterbury Tales. “Oh, I haven’t read this one in a while.” A collection of writings by Christopher Marlowe; The Spanish Tragedy. The fourth book in the stack had the prettiest cover - dark brown leather, with an embossed rose in the top right corner. I looked through it curiously; the pages were all blank. “What is this?” 

     A moment of pause, a briefly furrowed brow; he wasn’t sure what my reaction meant. Good. Why should I be the only one unsettled at this table?

     “Options for reading may be limited, but creation is not.” Lieutenant Commander Coventry made an impressively alluring ghost; I couldn’t stop admiring the way his clothing fit across his chest and shoulders. “I thought that you might like a blank  canvas. I find that jotting down my thoughts about the day often leads to discovery. Perhaps you sketch?”

    Attractive, thoughtful, and very introspective for a soldier. I wondered if the journal had been expensive. “Occasionally, but not well,” I replied. “I do, however, enjoy putting ink to the page. Thank you very much, Lieutenant Commander Coventry. You can’t imagine how much I appreciate this. I hope you didn’t go to any trouble?”

    He made a graceful gesture. “It was my pleasure. I’m afraid I will need the others back at some point. One is from my personal collection and the other two are borrowed.”

    I nodded. “I really, really love to read,” I confided, leaning in. Although I knew I was supposed to be prim and proper, a reserved lady, I couldn’t help grinning at him. “‘A book is a dream that you hold in your hand,’” I quoted, allowing myself a brief moment of gleeful clapping.

     The lieutenant commander shot me a brief, amused look, then shifted in his chair. “I was not certain if including The Canterbury Tales was entirely appropriate, but as you’re already familiar with it, I suppose I haven’t done any harm.”

    “I- what do you mean?” 

    He gave me a curious stare. “It is rather...baudy.” The lieutenant commander lowered his voice on the last word, and I could have sworn that his cheeks pinked a bit.

     I raised an eyebrow. Baudy? Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales was assigned reading for high school children all over America, and I was a fully-grown woman. “Oh no. I could be corrupted,” I said in a dry monotone.

     Lieutenant Commander Coventry tilted his head, his deep blue eyes narrowed. “Are you mocking me, Lady Isabelle?”

    “Well, yes. But only a little.” I laughed, and he looked absolutely scandalized. “Oh. Oh no. I’m sorry, Lieutenant Commander. Forgive me, please.” Way to go, Izzy. Maybe I should be cloistered away in my room if I was this bad at socializing with the locals. I sighed. “I have a wicked sense of humor on my best days and I am far from my best days right now.” I dared to meet his eyes again; he seemed somewhat mollified. At least he hadn’t stormed out.

     He nodded at me thoughtfully. “Long travels can put one off. Particularly if one is at sea overlong,” he offered.

    It felt like centuries. “Yes,” I replied slowly. “I have certainly been at sea overlong.”

    “Then it is most fortuitous that you have returned to the comforts of land. Limited though they may be here,” he said, frowning slightly. “Still, the Somers Isles  have much to offer -  provided you have a well-informed guide?” 

      Was he offering? I paused. “A well-informed guide could be just the thing,” I replied carefully.  I didn’t want to offend the lieutenant commander again, and maybe I had misunderstood. “I don’t suppose you have anyone in mind?”

     And then the lieutenant commander finally smiled.

 

     Although I had been respectfully incredulous that someone with his title and duties could possibly have time for such a thing, he insisted that he would be honored to take me out on a day tour of St. George’s personally. He was coming to pick me up first thing in the morning, and hell if he didn’t seem to actually be looking forward to it. I wondered if I was reading him right. Hopefully, he was being sincere and it wasn’t some dull duty he only felt obligated to offer because of my supposed status. Then again, the hours of exchanging notes certainly hadn’t seemed like an obligation...

     Either way, I was certainly far too giddy to go back and sit in my room now.  After dropping off the precious books I dragged Gerta out for another walk, my pretty new parasol in hand. It was sunny and hot as fuck, and it wasn’t as though I could pop off to the corner store to buy a bottle of sunblock. Or an air conditioner. Or a portable fan.

     As we strolled through Saint George’s, my thoughts were nothing short of tumultuous. What if I had missed some facet of social etiquette with the lieutenant commander? Maybe I was supposed to politely inquire if it wasn’t an imposition twice? Or three times? Had I missed doing any sort of ceremonial handshake, or heel clicking?

     A basket of shiny red apples on display at a fruit stall caught my eye, and I turned to my companion. I needed to start learning things. “If I wanted something from that stall, how would I obtain it?” 

     “As normal, lady.” Gerta paused, staring between me and the stall in confusion. “You tell me, I tell them, they give me your items, I carry your items.”

     “Yes,” I said. “But how, exactly, is the payment managed?” 

     Gerta cocked her head to the side. “He will submit it to the inn, lady, on your accounts there.” She looked at me. “Is what you mean?” 

     Not even a little bit. “Yes, thank you...” A wandering pack of nearby children had caught my attention. I recognized several of them from the previous night, especially their ragged, patchwork tunics. They were eyeing the baskets of fruit as well. Hmmmm.

      “Gerta - would you like an apple?” 

      “Lady?” Gerta raised her eyebrows in astonishment. “Ja, bitte. Very kind of you, lady.”

I took a quick headcount. “I’ll need twenty-four apples.”

      “Twenty and four, lady?” She asked, her eyes widening. I wondered if her time spent with me would force her eyebrows to eventually migrate into her hairline.

       A nod of confirmation from me, and she shuffled off. I spun my parasol absentmindedly while I waited, admiring the garden landscape print of the fabric and wondering how long such vivid colors would stay bright on an article meant for regular sun use. And then I saw Anne from the corner of my eye.

     Un-fucking-believable. 

     I marched up to her. “Why are you following me, Anne?” 

      She gave me a strange look, then leaned forward to whisper. “Is everything okay?” 

      “You can’t be serious,” I snarled at her. “What do you want, Anne? And if you’re going to lecture me about leaving my room, you can stuff it! I brought Gerta. What more do you want?” Did she really need to stalk me, too? I left her behind me and met up with Gerta, who was returning with the apples in a small roughspun sack; she had emptied the vendor’s remaining apple inventory. The children were staring at us with a mixture of curiosity and hunger when I returned.

     “Thank you, Gerta,” I said. “Go ahead and take one for yourself. Would any of you like an apple?” I called out to our young audience, proffering one from the bag. 

      My attendant turned to look at me with something very close to horror as the group cautiously approached us. When the first two ran up, I almost expected her to cross herself. The children each gave me shy, wordless smiles of thanks, and then they were gone, tearing down the main road. Gerta made disapproving noises at their retreat, then held the bag out for my inspection. “Got a good deal from Brendan, lady. Got all his apples for the price of twenty and four.” She seemed very proud of herself.

     “Good work, Gerta.” We walked on; I needed to burn off some of my anger. The day would be better once I forgot about Anne stalking me, I thought, and we moved onto another group of shops. 

     “My lady enjoys walking?” Gerta asked suddenly. It was clear from her tone that she thought it was madness.

      “Yes,” I said, turning to look at her. “Regular exercise is very important for-” your cardiovascular system. “-one’s health,” I finished.

     One of the shops had a large window display that had caught my attention. Therein sat a wooden mannequin. Headless, but with a large, feathered hat perched upon her neck stump, and wearing a pink and red bodice and red skirt with pink and gold trim. The display also contained several depictions of gowns on paper, in charcoal and paint; a tiny doll modeling a tiny, dazzling yellow dress with a matching capelet; bolts of stunning fabrics.

     It was a dressmaker! A dress shop? A tailor? “Whatever, Izzy,” I murmured to myself. They made clothes. I only had so many clothing options, and the idea of wearing the same few outfits over and over again was less than appealing. Aside from a general personal preference for variety, I had seen Lieutenant Commander Blue Eyes yesterday and today, and we had plans to see each other tomorrow. Did the average person have more than three changes of clothing? Yet another thing that I knew nothing about. Regardless of how the locals did it, I couldn’t possibly walk around recycling the same three outfits over and over for a week. They weren’t even interchangeable. 

    “Gerta - do you know if this is a good shop?”

    “Very good for you, lady,” she responded, opening the door for me.

     I was greeted politely by a slight man as we entered. “Mmm? Yes, hello,” I said, sweeping past him. I only had eyes for their fabrics. That there was much less variety than I was used to seeing took nothing away from it; the textiles here were of the highest quality. I ran my fingers along the selvage of a rich, dark orange satin, trying to decide what color it was. Spice? Cider? Ginger?

     The man followed me, trailing at a respectful distance.  “My lady has excellent taste. That amber satin is newly arrived from Italy this week,” he said, and I turned to him.

     Amber. Of course, I thought, turning to look at him.

     “I am Matheo, the proprietor of this shop.” Matheo had light brown skin and was very close to my complexion, though his undertones were quite different. Browner and...redder? I wondered where he was from. His red silk coat was worn over loose tan linen shirt and slacks, a look so classic that he would have fit in at home. He favored me with a fatherly smile that started from his eyes. 

    “She is Lady Isabelle,” Gerta announced grandly. Thanks, Gerta.

     A deep bow from Matheo, and then: “Are you looking for anything in particular, my lady?” He was eyeing my clothing with marked appreciation. 

     Ummm. “Well,” I began slowly, “I’m not really sure.” Gosh, these fabrics were so freaking beautiful! I allowed my fingers to get overly familiar with a spool of silky white ribbon.

    “Does my lady have a special event to attend?”

    “Nothing that exciting.” I shook my head. “I- lost a great deal of my clothing at sea, and I need to replace it.”

    “Very good, my lady.”

    Matheo helped me select fabrics, asking what my needs would be for the planned garments. The next step was looking through his design books. There were dozens of detailed sketches showing a number of options for skirts, bodices, and sleeves. I didn’t need to know the names of the styles; I only needed to point. Then finishing touches. He set out a variety of items for me to peruse. Ribbon trim?  Decorative buttons? Embroidery? Metallic thread? I felt like a kid in a candy shop, only better. Custom made clothes by a genuine seventeenth century tailor? I was practically giddy. I even added a couple of ‘casual’ dresses, items better suited to walking through the woods and general outdoorsiness than huge silk skirts.

     “Matheo, how long would these take to make?”

     “We can have the first batch to you in three days, my lady,” he said.

     “Only three days?” I marveled.

     “Yes,” Matheo replied with a small smile. “My son and daughter assist me, my lady. And these items you have selected will be simple for us to complete. We will come to you for a fitting tomorrow.” He gestured at my bodice. “Now, if you were wanting something as detailed as that, my lady, well that would take weeks,” Matheo nodded, peering at the embroidery with the eye of an expert. “An exquisite piece of work, my lady.”

     Once we had finished with the designs and notes, Matheo called for his daughter Margarita, a lanky teenager with radiant dark skin. He spoke to her briefly in Spanish, and she curtsied to me in greeting. “My lady, if you will permit, Margarita will help you remove your garments, and take your measurements.”

     The tailor’s daughter led me to a private space in the rear of the shopfront, a square area lit by elongated slits at the very top of the wall and a lamp hanging in the corner. In the stillness, as Margarita wordlessly unlaced my clothing, my reflection regarded me. My mind started to wander. And wonder. 

     What are you doing, Isabelle? The elegant Lady Isabelle gazed back at me, finding me wanting. Could a person be judged by their own reflection? Perhaps. The entire world around me was certainly judging me by how I looked. They called me Lady Isabelle, and so I was. It couldn’t truly be so simple. Could it? Arrive in a new land, dressed to the nines, announce yourself as nobility? 

“We are through the looking-glass,” I told my reflection.

    “M-my l-l-lady?” Margarita paused, a measuring string in her hand. It was the first she had spoken since emerging into the shop.

     “No,” I said. “It’s nothing.” She nodded, then returned to her measurements. Margarita worked efficiently, murmuring quietly to herself as she jotted down notes on her pad, mostly leaving me to my thoughts. I had far too many of those. 

    “Margarita? Would it be possible for me to have some of the fabric scraps? I’m- I’m working on a project.”

    She nodded silently, making another note in her book. It wasn’t until Margarita had helped me redress and led me back into the main room that another thought occurred to me. I had ordered a number of beautiful and luxurious garments with all the trimmings - in a time well before sewing machines - and I had only a pouch of gold to my name. I didn’t even know how much ‘cash’ I had. How had I allowed myself to get so caught up in the magic of the experience that I had completely forgotten about paying for it?

    I was still pondering the most effective wording when I heard Matheo’s voice. “Yes, of course. That would be three days after paying the deposit,” he said smoothly. Matheo handed a slip of paper to Gerta, who immediately began to protest over the price. 

    She was haggling, I realized. I hadn’t even known that was an option. The next thing I knew, Gerta had paid him from her pouch, tucked the paper away and was holding the door open for me. 

     “Thank you both,” I said, waving as Gerta guided me out the door and into the glare of the setting sun. Lady Isabelle probably wasn’t supposed to wave, but I was distracted. “Gerta,” I started, still trying to parse my words. “Was that a very expensive purchase?” 

     “Not for your Ladyship.” Gerta nodded resolutely. “Your captain- she paid generously up front for just such needs.” She patted the pouch like its contents answered everything. Don’t bother your pretty little head about it, Lady Isabelle.

     But I wanted to be bothered with it; I just couldn’t think of a good way to ask without revealing how ignorant I was. And I was ignorant about everything, here. I had been smiling and nodding since yesterday. How much longer could I get away with that? Tomorrow, I was scheduled for a day tour of the island, with the lieutenant commander, and I had no idea what to expect from either.

     Hmmm. I looked at my companion. “How long have you lived here, Gerta?”

     “Ten years,” she replied after a short pause to think. 

     Significant, I thought, tucking that away to ponder over later. “Do you know how long Lieutenant Commander Coventry has been stationed here?”

      “Two years? Maybe three.”

      Fine. In a place like this, two years was long enough to build a reputation. “Is he married?” She shook her head. “What do you know about him?”

     Gerta shrugged. “He is Lieutenant Commander in Navy.” 

     I waited for more to no avail. “Right. Other than that?”

     “Was Lieutenant before.” She shrugged again.

    I decided to try a different tactic. “How often does he drink at the tavern?”

    “Not much. Two, maybe three nights a week. Never twice in a row,” she added thoughtfully, almost as if it was a failing that he didn’t drink more.

     Doesn’t spend too much time in bars translated well enough in either time, but I wasn’t sure what else I should ask. “What do people say about him?”

     “He is Lieutenant Commander in Navy...”

     “Yes, Gerta, I know that!” I bit back my frustration. “You do understand that I’m spending the day with him tomorrow, yes? I need to know the kind of person he is.”

     “Ja, lady. I’ll be there,” she assured me, unexpectedly turning to pat my hand. 

     “Yes, thank you Gerta...” The woman smiled at me and then we continued. “When you’ve interacted with him - do you think he’s a decent person? Kind? Good?”

     Gerta considered. “Ja,” she said after a while. “He buys drinks for the room,” she added grinning.

      That’s great, Gerta. Really top-notch information there. “What’s the worst rumor you’ve ever heard about Lieutenant Commander Coventry?”

     “The soldiers, my lady,” Gerta explained, “they keep to themselves.” 

     “Do you mean to say that if he’s done something, the military would keep it hush-hush? Keep it quiet from everyone else?”

     “Ja. It’s the usual.”

     It was indeed, the usual. I was quiet for the rest of our walk back to the inn, deep in thought.

When we arrived, the teenage soldier who had carried notes back and forth between myself and Lieutenant Commander the previous evening was sitting in the bar area. His eyes lit up when he saw me. “Ralph?” I said. “Were you waiting for me?”

    “My lady,” he said, bowing. “Lieutenant Commander Coventry sent me.” He handed me a folded piece of paper.

    “Thank you.” I paused. “Have you been waiting long?” 

     He gave me a boyish shrug. “Not very, my lady.”

     He was being polite. “I’m sorry, Ralph, but I’m going to be a bit longer before I can reply,” I said.

“It’s no bother, my lady,” he replied good-naturedly. “The lieutenant commander only wanted me to put it in your hand,” Ralph informed me.

     I waved Anika down. “Anika, would you please get Ralph something to eat and drink, and charge it to my account?” She nodded, and I waved my thanks as I swept out of the room. It wasn’t to be dramatic, either - it was pretty much impossible to move anywhere in these clothes without sweeping grandly. 

    Josefa-Maria’s duties included helping me at the end of the day as well, she informed me sweetly when I inquired as to why she was waiting at my door.

     “Have you been waiting here long?” She only bowed her head and smiled demurely. That long, then. “I’m sorry. I suppose we ought to figure this out,” I told her, gesturing for her to follow me in. “What exactly did Anika tell you? About being assigned to me?”

    “To attend to your needs, whatever they might be. I’ve delivered your avocados, my lady,” Josefa-Maria said, pointing at the bowl where they waited. She glanced up at me, self-consciously touching the white cap that covered her hair. 

     She definitely wanted to say something. “Yes, Josefa-Maria? Did you have something to say?”

     “I was not assigned, my lady. I volunteered. I thought you should know.” 

     “You did? But why?” Why would anyone volunteer to help me with all of my petty requests? I assumed that everyone hated me for all of the odd things I had been asking for. Lady Isabelle probably came across like a band’s concert rider.

      The small dark-haired girl was still staring at the floor. “It is a rare honor, my lady. We all wanted to attend to you.”

     “But- isn’t this a lot of work for you? All of the things I need?”

     She tilted her head at me. “I am a maid, my lady.”

     It didn’t feel like much of an answer, at first. Why did you run into that burning building and save those children? I am a firefighter.

      “I see,” I replied at last. “Well, Josefa-Maria, I shall do my utmost not to tax you unduly.”

      “I am happy to attend to you. What would you have of me, my lady?”

      I had hoped she would have a standard checklist or something. “What do you normally do when persons such as myself stay here?” I asked slowly, wandering to the window. Having something else to pretend to focus on was a great way to stall.

     “We do not receive many guests of your status, my lady. When we do, they have their own maid or valet, and they give us the orders from their lord or lady,” the girl replied thoughtfully. “Their meal times, any specific requests. And for the laundering, of course.” She gestured off-handedly toward the tiny wooden rack against the wall. At least now I knew that it had something to do with laundry. 

     Laundry.  It hadn’t even occurred to me that anyone else might handle my belongings, but of course Lady Isabelle wouldn’t do her own laundry. And now I knew what had happened to all of my underwear. Anne had gone through and removed every single piece I had packed. She’d probably taken my e-reader, too.

     “Damn it,” I muttered under my breath. It looked like I would be continuing to go commando for the foreseeable future. It really was just all too fucking much. “Death by a thousand cuts,” I mumbled to myself. Welp. It was definitely time to have a drink. Agitated, I thumped the desk with my fist.

     “My lady?”

     I gathered myself while pouring. “My captain and I have been sailing for so long that I have nearly forgotten the customs of land; I will likely differ from your usual.”

    I told her that I preferred to dress and undress myself, but that I was grateful for her care of my clothing.  She seemed astonished that I could manage on my own; I explained that my clothing was specifically designed for such. After gleaning an overview of the washing and ironing procedures from her, I informed her that none of the outerwear was to be laundered without my express consent and instructions. The underlayers, which were all cotton, could be washed as usual. Usual to the locals, at least, whatever the hell that meant. I was getting a very ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ vibe from Josefa-Maria about how the specifics of laundry worked. It was probably for the best; I doubted I wanted the details of how the sausage was made. 

    After stepping behind the screen to strip off my outer garments, I sat by the window, people watching while I drank. Men, women and children, dressed in cotton, linen and wool. They wore tunics and breeches, shirts and skirts, and none of them looked like me. There was no embroidery or trimmings, no silk or satin. It was no wonder that people stared at me. I was practically a flashing light in the dark.

    In the background, Josefa-Maria prepared my clothing for the following day, carefully ironing the skirt and bodice before hanging them from the pegs on the wall. “Tão precioso,” she murmured, admiring the pieces. 

     They were, I thought, as I prepared for bed. Even more so here in 1649, apparently; Matheo the tailor had been quite taken by the embroidery on my bodice. I was suddenly overwhelmed with a desire to have a closer look. I opened the shutters, using the light of the moon to illuminate the desk where I placed the items I had been wearing earlier.

     The line of ivy on the skirt, I recognized - it was 049 on our Singer machine at home. But the roses on the bodice were something else entirely, done completely by hand. Dozens and dozens of perfect roses with seed pearl centers. Hours upon hours of work. It was not the sort of project that one took up casually. It was not the sort of project that one took up on a garment that had no purpose.

     Feeling grim, I checked the inner seam. There it was, a bit of red thread. It was the sort of thing you wouldn't notice unless you knew what you were looking for.  I had used the red thread for a quick repair after Adaline had fallen off the stage during dress rehearsal.

    “I knew this looked familiar,” I said aloud. This bodice had not originally been adorned with embroidery; Anne had taken the time to add roses after the play was done. 

     Why?

     Secrets were one thing. But this? This was something else entirely. I paced the room slowly. While I had only been here for two days, I felt as though I was beginning to have a feel for things. It seemed so far to be mostly a case of doing what everyone else was doing. Like learning a new language by moving to another country. I would likely make mistakes as I learned the ropes, but I had always been a quick study.

     Anne, however, wasn’t good with things like ‘people’ and ‘social cues’. The idea of Anne assimilating into this society was too preposterous to imagine. And yet, she had. Pouches of gold. Marco. Mary, Dom, and her other friends. Her skill with a blade. These were not things quickly accomplished.

    I wondered how long it had taken her. I wondered how long these roses, and all of the other incredibly detailed additions had taken. I wondered how long Anne had been coming back here. How long had she been planning to kidnap me?

    I read over Lieutenant Commander Blue Eyes’ short missive again and again, running my fingers over the paper as my sister/kidnapper’s words ran through my mind. “Whatever happens, try to keep in mind that this is not your home.  These people are not real.  They’ve been dead for hundreds of years.  They are ghosts.  They don’t matter.  So keep to yourself.” 

   So Anne said. And yet, she had been here before and made plans and friends with these ghosts. Why couldn’t I?

​

             Dear Lady Isabelle- 

          As discussed, I have planned a tour of the island. I am rather looking forward to showing you                  some of the local sights. 

​

             Lt. Cmdr Ian Coventry

​

​

     I could still feel his arm around my waist. Ghosts weren’t so solid, strong and warm. Five days. I had five days with Lieutenant Commander Blue Eyes. Hopefully we could include his bedroom - bedchamber to the locals - in the tour. Maybe I could give him a tour of--

     Voices in the hall and a sudden banging on the door interrupted my reverie. “Iz – Lady Isabelle?” It was Anne.  

   “What‽” I snapped. 

    “Can I come in?”

     And ruin my perfectly lovely day with some speech about how I wasn’t supposed to have left my room? “Fuck no!” I yelled back. Fortunately, she accepted that, only exchanging a few more words with Gerta before leaving.

     Where was I? Oh yes. I climbed into my comfortable, non-moving bed and imagined that the elegant and handsome lieutenant commander was here beside me as I drifted off to dreamland.

​​