dust or lint lingered. Polished tables displayed an assortment of china and glass knickknacks, and a bowl of flowers lent a bright touch.
“In here, my dear.” Mrs. Runcorn opened a door at the end of the corridor. “I’ll have Nancy tidy it a bit for you, and remove the Holland covers.”
Christy stepped inside, and shivered at the chill air that greeted her. Slowly, her gaze traveled over the small chamber. It, too, had been recently painted, only this time in a light yellow. Christy’s taste ran to bright, primary shades, but she found nothing at which to complain. A narrow bed stood against the center of the far wall, with a small but adequate fireplace opposite. A window let in faint sunlight, which fell across the white sheets that covered the other pieces of furniture.
“Don’t bother Nancy. It sounded like she had her hands full with the kids. I can fix this up myself.”
“You don’t mind, my dear?” Mrs. Runcorn sounded surprised.
Christy smiled. “You’d be amazed how capable I am. Now, is there a bathroom nearby?”
“A—” Mrs. Runcorn broke off. “Would you wish a tub carried up here?”
Christy blinked. “Oh, no, that’s not what I meant. Where do you wash your hands?”
“There is a basin, over here.” Mrs. Runcorn swept a cover off a small chest, revealing a china basin painted with a delicate rose pattern. On the shelves inside the cupboard stood a matching pitcher and a chamber pot.
Christy swallowed as the real deprivations of her new situation came home to her. “Is the outhouse very far from the back door?” she asked.
“Do you mean the necessary?” Delicate color touched the lady’s cheeks. “Not very far.”
“Well, I always did enjoy an adventure. Now, where can I find towels, soap, and water?”
Mrs. Runcorn assured her these would be brought shortly by Nancy, then after only a few more protests, allowed her unusual guest to pull off the Holland covers, and returned to her own work.
As the door closed behind her hostess, Christy exposed an oak bureau. Next she found a matching dressing table and chair, then an armoire. The bed, when she bounced on it, proved to be comfortable enough. Two pieced quilts lay folded over the foot of the bare mattress. She’d have to add sheets to her list of requirements.
She turned to the last cover, and unearthed an ancient upholstered chair. She sat on it, then leaned back against the padded cushions. Not bad. She stifled a yawn. Maybe she’d just sit here for a few minutes. It had been rather an eventful day. She huddled into her down coat and closed her eyes.
When next she opened them, darkness engulfed the room, broken only by the dancing light from the fire in the hearth. It burned low, and the chill had vanished from the chamber. Christy yawned, stretched her arms over her head to ease her cramped muscles, then froze, suddenly wide awake.
The tiny room, the narrow bed, the chair in which she sat—this wasn’t the Edgemont in Piccadilly. She was at the Runcorns’ orphanage, somewhere in one of the poorer districts of London, almost two hundred years before she’d been born.
There went her last hope this entire impossible situation had been nothing but a bad dream. She’d been asleep now for several hours, at a rough guess, and she was still here. Unsteadily, she rose to her feet.
A small clock stood on the mantel over the hearth, and she peered at it. Nine-thirty? She’d been asleep longer than she realized. If only she’d been able to pull a Rip Van Winkle, and return to her own time.
An extra pillow and two more blankets now graced the bed, which had been made up with mended white sheets. A plate with rolls, cheese, an apple, and a knife stood on the dressing table, and someone—probably Mrs. Runcorn—had laid over the wooden chair a high-waisted gray dress with long sleeves topped by puffs at the shoulders, one of those long wool coats that buttoned to the high-waisted bodice, and a white nightgown. A comb
“In here, my dear.” Mrs. Runcorn opened a door at the end of the corridor. “I’ll have Nancy tidy it a bit for you, and remove the Holland covers.”
Christy stepped inside, and shivered at the chill air that greeted her. Slowly, her gaze traveled over the small chamber. It, too, had been recently painted, only this time in a light yellow. Christy’s taste ran to bright, primary shades, but she found nothing at which to complain. A narrow bed stood against the center of the far wall, with a small but adequate fireplace opposite. A window let in faint sunlight, which fell across the white sheets that covered the other pieces of furniture.
“Don’t bother Nancy. It sounded like she had her hands full with the kids. I can fix this up myself.”
“You don’t mind, my dear?” Mrs. Runcorn sounded surprised.
Christy smiled. “You’d be amazed how capable I am. Now, is there a bathroom nearby?”
“A—” Mrs. Runcorn broke off. “Would you wish a tub carried up here?”
Christy blinked. “Oh, no, that’s not what I meant. Where do you wash your hands?”
“There is a basin, over here.” Mrs. Runcorn swept a cover off a small chest, revealing a china basin painted with a delicate rose pattern. On the shelves inside the cupboard stood a matching pitcher and a chamber pot.
Christy swallowed as the real deprivations of her new situation came home to her. “Is the outhouse very far from the back door?” she asked.
“Do you mean the necessary?” Delicate color touched the lady’s cheeks. “Not very far.”
“Well, I always did enjoy an adventure. Now, where can I find towels, soap, and water?”
Mrs. Runcorn assured her these would be brought shortly by Nancy, then after only a few more protests, allowed her unusual guest to pull off the Holland covers, and returned to her own work.
As the door closed behind her hostess, Christy exposed an oak bureau. Next she found a matching dressing table and chair, then an armoire. The bed, when she bounced on it, proved to be comfortable enough. Two pieced quilts lay folded over the foot of the bare mattress. She’d have to add sheets to her list of requirements.
She turned to the last cover, and unearthed an ancient upholstered chair. She sat on it, then leaned back against the padded cushions. Not bad. She stifled a yawn. Maybe she’d just sit here for a few minutes. It had been rather an eventful day. She huddled into her down coat and closed her eyes.
When next she opened them, darkness engulfed the room, broken only by the dancing light from the fire in the hearth. It burned low, and the chill had vanished from the chamber. Christy yawned, stretched her arms over her head to ease her cramped muscles, then froze, suddenly wide awake.
The tiny room, the narrow bed, the chair in which she sat—this wasn’t the Edgemont in Piccadilly. She was at the Runcorns’ orphanage, somewhere in one of the poorer districts of London, almost two hundred years before she’d been born.
There went her last hope this entire impossible situation had been nothing but a bad dream. She’d been asleep now for several hours, at a rough guess, and she was still here. Unsteadily, she rose to her feet.
A small clock stood on the mantel over the hearth, and she peered at it. Nine-thirty? She’d been asleep longer than she realized. If only she’d been able to pull a Rip Van Winkle, and return to her own time.
An extra pillow and two more blankets now graced the bed, which had been made up with mended white sheets. A plate with rolls, cheese, an apple, and a knife stood on the dressing table, and someone—probably Mrs. Runcorn—had laid over the wooden chair a high-waisted gray dress with long sleeves topped by puffs at the shoulders, one of those long wool coats that buttoned to the high-waisted bodice, and a white nightgown. A comb
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