Eleanor apologized for startling the girl, who didn’t look much over the age of fourteen. At the same time, she was impressed that even the maid was dressed in an appropriate period costume for Regency Week. She wore a white mobcap and a simple gray ankle-length dress covered by a long white apron.
“I weren’t expecting no one to be here,” the maid said as she picked up the dropped linens and draped them over her arm.
“Understandable.” Eleanor gave the young girl a sympathetic smile. “I arrived late last night, and Karen Simms put me in here.”
“I don’t be knowing no one by that name, but they made a terrible blunder. This be the mistresses’ suite. Miss Deirdre won’t like a stranger sleeping in her bed.”
Eleanor didn’t want to hear more about the ghosts. “I’m sure everything will be fine.” She got up and put on the robe she’d left on the foot of the bed. “My luggage should be arriving from the airport, if it hasn’t already. I’d appreciate it if you would keep a look out for my suitcases. Two, both black. My name is Eleanor Pottinger. I’m from America, but I’m sure you already deduced that from my accent.” The girl still seemed nervous. “What’s your name?” Eleanor asked to put her at ease.
“I be Twilla.” The maid curtseyed, maintaining her role, but she had a confused expression. “Miss Eleanor from America. Two black cases arriving from the port.” She repeated the information as if memorizing foreign language phrases. Suddenly her face lit with comprehension. “Aye, you must be the cousin they been expecting for over a fortnight.”
“Actually, I’m—”
“I’ll be right back with a pitcher of hot water.”
Now Eleanor was confused. But she had no time to question the maid before the girl scurried out. Eleanor looked around the bedside table for her watch. She got down on her hands and knees to look under the bed.
“Miss?”
Eleanor sat back in surprise. She breathed a sigh of relief when she realized it was the maid, not the ghosts. Perhaps it really had been no more than a dream.
“I forgot to ask if you want a breakfast tray. Cocoa? Toast?”
“Coffee would be great.” Eleanor stood and brushed off her hands, even though there was no dust on the floor she could have picked up. “Thank you.”
“If you was looking for the chamber pot, it’s in the corner,” Twilla said. “Behind the screen.”
Eleanor turned in the direction the maid indicated. She didn’t remember seeing the three-panel Chinese screen before. A chamber pot! She was all for realism in attire for the conference, like not using zippers or polyester fabrics. It was fun to imitate the manners and activities of the Regency, but expecting the attendees to sacrifice use of a modern toilet was too much to expect. She turned to say something, but the girl was gone.
The respite gave her time to realize the maid was not the appropriate person to speak to about sanitation arrangements. When Eleanor went downstairs, she planned to have a talk with the inn manager, Mrs. Ruth Simms. Until then, she would play along with the program.
Twilla returned, a pitcher of steaming hot water in one hand and a bundle in the other. She deposited both behind the screen. An even younger girl followed her into the room carrying a tray with a silver coffee service, delicate china cup and saucer, plate of toast, and a large snowy napkin. The child set the tray on the table near the window and then curtseyed on the run as she scurried out.
“I’ve brought everything I expect you’ll need for your morning ablutions. Be there anything else, Miss?” Twilla asked. “Simply ring when you are ready, and I will return to help you dress.” She indicated the bellpull that hung next to the painting over the fireplace.
Eleanor hadn’t had anyone help her dress since she’d learned to tie her own shoes. “Thank you. That won’t be necessary.”
The maid quickly masked her surprise and nodded. “As you will, Miss. Nuncheon is served for the ladies at eleven o’clock. The dancing master is in attendance today.”
“Thank you.”
“Just ring when you are ready, and I will take you downstairs.”
Eleanor was sure she could find her way without a guide, but she nodded rather than argue. As soon as the maid left, Eleanor headed straight for the bathroom. The rosette latch on the armoire wouldn’t budge. She tried every bit of decorative carving, in case she had remembered the location of the latch wrong. Nothing moved.
“Damn it.”
Locking the bathroom door was taking matters too far. Mrs. Simms was in for an earful.
In desperation, Eleanor was forced to use the chamber pot. Without her suitcases, she had to make do with the materials provided by the inn. She added the skimpy linen washcloth and hand towel to her list of complaints. On the plus side, the tiny square of handmade soap that smelled of honeysuckle was an unexpected pleasure.
She examined the wide-toothed comb that appeared to be tortoise shell. Since that was illegal, like ivory, it must be plastic. Good imitation. She pulled the comb through her hair, glad she’d recently cut it short and allowed it to curl naturally.
Then she examined the wood-handled toothbrush with strange brown bristles. She set it aside with a shiver of revulsion. A small round can labeled “tooth powder” contained a white substance that tasted like baking powder with a touch of mint. Since her disposable toothbrush was locked in the bathroom, she used her finger to rub a bit of it over her teeth.
As she dressed, she thought about Twilla’s earlier announcement of the day’s activities. The schedule change was a bit of a worry. What if they’d changed the time she was to speak? She’d better get downstairs and register for the conference so she could check the handouts for other revisions.
At least she didn’t need to change the outfit she’d planned to wear. The sprigged muslin was appropriate for luncheon, or nuncheon as it was called during the Regency, and a dancing lesson. Although Eleanor was mostly interested in the fashions of the Regency, she’d planned to attend as many seminars as possible in order to make contacts and check out the costumes the competition had produced.
She decided not to spare more time looking for her watch, which she would have stuffed in her reticule anyway, so as not to spoil the illusion of the period dress. A gauzy shawl of sunny yellow and a Japanese fan completed her outfit.
In the hall, a faint feeling of unease niggled at the back of her brain and slowed her purposeful stride. Nothing seemed familiar. True, she’d been exhausted last night, but apparently she’d totally spaced out. The colorful Turkish rug beneath her feet was at odds with her vague memory of generic neutral carpeting. And a plethora of portraits and landscapes hanging on the walls replaced the tastefully framed photos of the manor’s architectural features that she remembered.
When she reached the landing halfway down the grand stairway, she came to a complete stop. She blinked. “Omigod,” she whispered.
Either a crew had renovated the entrance hall overnight, or she was in a different place. Gone was the shuttered monstrosity of a registration desk. A round table topped with a large Oriental vase of flowers sat directly below an ornate crystal chandelier. The tarnished suit of armor was gone. As Eleanor descended the last steps, a footman dressed in blue and gold livery and a white pony-tailed wig opened the ten-foot-tall double front doors and stood at attention to one side.
Eleanor was treated to a scene from a movie version of a Jane Austen novel. Two men dismounted their horses and handed the reins to a stableboy. In a classic macho moment, the taller one thumped the other on the back. She didn’t hear what was said, but male laughter rumbled ahead of them as they strode up the front steps. As they entered, the first man removed his tan leather gloves. His high stiff collar, snowy cravat, buff breeches, and knee-high Hessian boots were accurate in every detail, fitting his physique as if they had been glued on his body. His dark hair was casually windblown and a bit on the long side. He handed his high-crowned hat, gloves, and riding quirt to the footman with an air of entitled nonchalance not many men could pull off. His intense gaze drew her attention to his stormy gray eyes, but his frown caused her to quickly look away.