A Murder in Time(34)
Kendra walked to one of the empty places at the table. Since everyone remained standing, she stayed on her feet as well, aware of the curious eyes that were trying not to openly stare at her. A sharp-featured woman, apparently less polite, appeared at her side, frowning.
“You’ve mistaken your seat, miss,” she informed Kendra with an air of condescension.
“What?”
“Miss Beckett is Lady Atwood’s personal maid, Miss Donovan,” Mrs. Danbury explained in frosty accents. “At Aldridge Castle we maintain the proper hierarchy at our table. As the highest-ranking lady’s maid, Miss Beckett is entitled to sit in that chair. You may sit down the table.”
Protocol, she reminded herself. Like the military. A private wouldn’t sit next to a four-star general during a meal.
Ignoring Miss Beckett’s smug look, Kendra moved down the table to another seat. Mrs. Danbury and the man sat down. Apparently it was a signal, because everyone followed suit.
Conversation was a low murmur around her as porridge was slapped into earthenware bowls. Cream was poured from clay pitchers. Hot cross buns, bigger than a fist and lighter than helium, were passed around the table. Honey, butter, and jam also made the rounds to the tune of clicking spoons and knives.
Kendra sampled the porridge. Although it wouldn’t have been her first choice, she found it unexpectedly delicious, especially with a dab of honey and a dollop of cream. She would’ve preferred coffee, but the tea, she had to admit, was strong and fragrant. And the golden brown bun, smeared with butter and marmalade, was the best she’d ever eaten.
“Where do you hail from, Miss Donovan?” asked the pretty brunette seated on her right.
Kendra hesitated. “America.”
“Where in America, Miss Donovan?” the woman on the other side of the brunette asked, and Kendra found herself again the focal point of everyone at the table.
“I live in Virginia.” Maybe she was there right now, in a psych ward, in a catatonic state. Maybe she’d never recovered from being shot the first time. Maybe—
“I’ve never met anyone from America before,” admitted a young man in footman livery, sitting across from her.
“How’d you ever get to England, Miss Donovan?” inquired a woman seated on her left.
“I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you I flew?”
The woman laughed. Despite the length of the table separating them, Kendra felt Mrs. Danbury’s disapproval like the lash of a whip.
“Only if you show us your wings, Miss Donovan!” the woman declared.
“You must have arrived late last night, Miss Donovan,” the brunette commented. “I never saw you yesterday. Of course, we were in such a mad state to settle everyone. These parties are quite exhausting, are they not? I’m Miss Stanton, by the way. And this is Miss Burke.” She nodded at the other woman. Her introductions opened up the door for others to chime in. Kendra nodded politely, but her head was spinning. Even though she’d never had a problem with her memory, she wondered if she’d remember anyone’s name in five minutes. Was that a symptom of mental instability?
“Who is your Lady?” Miss Stanton asked her.
“What? Oh. Um. I’ve got two—Georgette Knox and Sarah Rawdon.”
“Oh, dear.” The other woman’s expression turned sympathetic.
“That bad, huh?”
“I daresay it could be worse.”
Great. Kendra wondered if Mrs. Danbury had deliberately given her the worst of the bunch, hoping she’d quit.
After a time, at the head of the table, the butler—Mr. Harding, Kendra had learned during the course of the meal—and Mrs. Danbury rose in quiet formality. Another signal. Everyone pushed themselves to their feet. Kendra followed the other lady’s maids into the kitchen, and five minutes later, was bearing a tray laden with two dainty cups and a pot of hot chocolate, trudging up two flights of stairs to the Blue Room shared by Miss Georgette and Miss Sarah.
By the time she located the room, with the help of several footmen en route, she’d finally, reluctantly, begun to consider the third possibility regarding her predicament, as unbelievable as it may be.
Somehow, in some freaking way, she’d slipped back in time.
9
Because she felt shaky, Kendra made sure she had a firm grip on the tray when she eased open the door to the Blue Room. It took every ounce of her self-control to not think about her circumstance, to concentrate only on the duties assigned to her. Once she’d taken care of this lady’s maid stuff, she’d find a quiet place to think, to figure a way out of this bizarre situation—if she could find a way out of this bizarre situation.
That uncertainty sent fresh panic skittering through her. But goddamn it, she wouldn’t go there. Since she’d turned fourteen, she’d managed to take care of herself. She could handle this. She just needed to think.
She drew in a deep breath, and then let it out, focusing on her surroundings. The room was still semi-dark, and four times as big as the one she’d shared last night with Rose. Two canopied single beds draped in thick velvet curtains, partially drawn, revealed its sleeping occupants.
Not entirely sure what to do, she set the tray down on a nearby table. When nobody stirred, she crossed the room to push open the heavy drapery. The fog, she saw, had lifted, and the flower garden below was gilded in the soft light of the morning sun.