should climb the stairs. Alison looked dubious, but obeyed. They followed Geoffrey down a short passageway, past two doors on either side, and then paused as he pushed open a third door. “In here.”
The two women stepped past him into an Elizabethan bedroom. A huge bed with heavily carved posts and headboard dominated the entire room. The wood was dark, but not nearly as black as similar furnishings Olivia had often seen in museums and restored houses. It was hung with embroidered hangings of red wool. They looked, thought Olivia, stepping closer, as her curiosity got the better of her, as though they’d seen better days. A table and two chairs stood next to a relatively small, diamond-paned window. The floor was bare, and the floorboards, though clean, were worn smooth. The walls were white, as bare as the floors, and the ceiling was relatively low.
“You must both wait here,” Geoffrey said, indicating the chairs. “I’ll return as soon as—”
“Wait!” cried Alison. “What do you mean, wait here? For how long? We can’t wait here—we have to get back to our own time. Where are you going?”
Geoffrey glanced from one to the other with an apologetic look. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, mistress.” He glanced over his shoulder, and, shutting the door behind him, stepped into the room. “You must understand that the Queen’s visit is a great honor, and one that my brother has most devoutly sought.” He looked frustrated for a moment, and then spoke rapidly, in a low voice, as though he were afraid the very walls might overhear and report their conversation. “You should know, mistresses, that the fortunes of my family have suffered much since King Harry decided he knew better than the Pope of Rome how best an Englishman should worship God. We Talcotts have always been Catholics: loyal to the King, but loyal also to the Pope, and ever mindful of the Lord’s injunction to render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s and to God that which is God’s. But those are sometimes dangerous sentiments, even now, under our Gracious Majesty. She can blow hot and cold, and Nicholas, who desperately hopes to restore the fortunes of our family—”
“Then why not convert to the new religion?” interrupted Alison. “What difference can it make?”
Geoffrey looked a trifle shocked, but recovered quickly with a wry grin. “I see you come from a far more practical age than ours, mistress. Nicholas thinks much as you do, and has, in fact, gone over to the new religion, but allegiances, and the perception of allegiances—even to an outworn creed—die hard in ours. We Talcotts are seen as Catholic because our father and grandfather before him were Catholic. I am not so sure what difference it makes, either, but in the meantime, until he proves his loyalty to the Queen, such a thing as your appearance in this time and place—” He broke off, and his mouth was grim.
Suddenly he looked very old, and Olivia realized that the stresses of the sixteenth century were every bit as acute as those of the modern age. “We could be burned for witchcraft, if it were suspected who you are,” he finished.
“We’ll stay out of sight,” Olivia said quickly.
“Thank you.” He looked at Alison. “I’m sorry for any trouble I may have caused you, mistress. Such was never my intent. But unless you can tell me that lives hang in the balance in your time, I’m afraid my brother’s needs must take precedence over yours.” Without waiting for a response, he bowed out of the room, firmly shutting the door as he went.
“Well, that’s just great.” Alison strode over to the door and opened it, peering out into the hall. “At least he didn’t lock us in here. This is the room that’s supposed to be haunted, according to the tour guide.”
Olivia let out a loud sigh and sank down into one of the chairs. It felt stiff and cold and alien, and she shifted her weight, trying to find a comfortable spot.
“What are we
The two women stepped past him into an Elizabethan bedroom. A huge bed with heavily carved posts and headboard dominated the entire room. The wood was dark, but not nearly as black as similar furnishings Olivia had often seen in museums and restored houses. It was hung with embroidered hangings of red wool. They looked, thought Olivia, stepping closer, as her curiosity got the better of her, as though they’d seen better days. A table and two chairs stood next to a relatively small, diamond-paned window. The floor was bare, and the floorboards, though clean, were worn smooth. The walls were white, as bare as the floors, and the ceiling was relatively low.
“You must both wait here,” Geoffrey said, indicating the chairs. “I’ll return as soon as—”
“Wait!” cried Alison. “What do you mean, wait here? For how long? We can’t wait here—we have to get back to our own time. Where are you going?”
Geoffrey glanced from one to the other with an apologetic look. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, mistress.” He glanced over his shoulder, and, shutting the door behind him, stepped into the room. “You must understand that the Queen’s visit is a great honor, and one that my brother has most devoutly sought.” He looked frustrated for a moment, and then spoke rapidly, in a low voice, as though he were afraid the very walls might overhear and report their conversation. “You should know, mistresses, that the fortunes of my family have suffered much since King Harry decided he knew better than the Pope of Rome how best an Englishman should worship God. We Talcotts have always been Catholics: loyal to the King, but loyal also to the Pope, and ever mindful of the Lord’s injunction to render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s and to God that which is God’s. But those are sometimes dangerous sentiments, even now, under our Gracious Majesty. She can blow hot and cold, and Nicholas, who desperately hopes to restore the fortunes of our family—”
“Then why not convert to the new religion?” interrupted Alison. “What difference can it make?”
Geoffrey looked a trifle shocked, but recovered quickly with a wry grin. “I see you come from a far more practical age than ours, mistress. Nicholas thinks much as you do, and has, in fact, gone over to the new religion, but allegiances, and the perception of allegiances—even to an outworn creed—die hard in ours. We Talcotts are seen as Catholic because our father and grandfather before him were Catholic. I am not so sure what difference it makes, either, but in the meantime, until he proves his loyalty to the Queen, such a thing as your appearance in this time and place—” He broke off, and his mouth was grim.
Suddenly he looked very old, and Olivia realized that the stresses of the sixteenth century were every bit as acute as those of the modern age. “We could be burned for witchcraft, if it were suspected who you are,” he finished.
“We’ll stay out of sight,” Olivia said quickly.
“Thank you.” He looked at Alison. “I’m sorry for any trouble I may have caused you, mistress. Such was never my intent. But unless you can tell me that lives hang in the balance in your time, I’m afraid my brother’s needs must take precedence over yours.” Without waiting for a response, he bowed out of the room, firmly shutting the door as he went.
“Well, that’s just great.” Alison strode over to the door and opened it, peering out into the hall. “At least he didn’t lock us in here. This is the room that’s supposed to be haunted, according to the tour guide.”
Olivia let out a loud sigh and sank down into one of the chairs. It felt stiff and cold and alien, and she shifted her weight, trying to find a comfortable spot.
“What are we
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