"My dear!" a middle-aged woman shrieked.
She flung her arms out to Grace. Grace was still blinking in the harsh sunlight when she felt the strong grip of the woman envelop her.
"It is so good to finally see you! How was the Dover crossing? Did Matthaeus find you in Calais swiftly? Were the roads around here just awful?"
"A bit bumpy here and there, Madame." the coachman said, suddenly appearing at the woman's side. The smell of horses clung to his heavy woollen coat. "I think the Mademoiselle was getting a tad tired of them by the end of our journey."
"Oh, how terrible! I'll have to send a letter to Monsieur le Maire to get those damnable holes fixed."
"Now, now dear…" a straw-haired, older gentleman said behind her. "We don't want to go neglecting our new guest to be a busy-body bother to our local councillors." He gave Grace a kind look, but all she could do was remain wide-eyed and heart thumping.
The older woman tutted at herself and placed two gentle hands on Grace's arms.
"Where are my manners…My darling..!"
She almost pulled Grace out of the carriage and she emerged out into the open, like a baby taking its first shuddering steps outside the womb.
"Welcome to the Chateau de Montramé."
She gestured broadly over a beautiful mediaeval-looking manor house. It was beautiful and picturesque. The kind of place where some of Grace's posh friends used for their 'destination weddings'. There was a soft romance to the place; in the ivy curling up the walls, in the gentle yellow stone, in the charming square tower that sat on one side of the building. Even the sprawling gardens around her were idyllic and lush with roses and irises and daisies.
"Tis such a pity that such tragic circumstances bring you here." The middle-aged woman sighed.
"T-tragic circumstances?" Grace asked, finally finding her voice.
"Well of course! Your…" The woman paused, pursing her lips together. "…your dear parents' passing."
Grace could only blink dumbly.
"The poor child probably doesn't want to speak of it, Jocelyn." The older man said, giving her a sidelong glance.
"Of course, of course. How terribly painful it must be to lose both of them together. I've always had a fear of the water, have I not Julius?"
The couple started ushering Grace inside as they spoke.
"Indeed, mon amour. We honeymooned in Corfu, you see." Julius said, leaning in to Grace with kind eyes. "Getting her across the water was like pulling a cat through a puddle."
"Ohh." Grace responded weakly.
"Such a terrible way to perish." Jocelyn bemoaned, clutching Grace's arm tight. "We shall light a candle for them at the next Mass. And we'll say a prayer for all those lost at sea. God's will was truly great when he deemed it that you were not to be on that ship to the Americas with them both."
"My dear…" Julius sighed.
"Alright, alright!" Jocelyn flapped, swatting the man on the arm. "I shall say no more about it unless prompted to by another. So shall the Blessed Holy Mother strike me down, if I do!"
Jocelyn fervently crossed herself as they all stepped into the foyer. It was a bright and airy space, befitted with light wooden panels and hung with rich red and gold tapestries. The roof was a ribcage of exposed timber beams and clean, blue light poured in from the thick panes of glass in the windows. Grace was still frantically searching for a fire alarm, or an electric cable - anything that hinted at modern technology - but she found nothing.
"Where do you want Mademoiselle's bags, ma'am?" Matthaeus, the footman, asked.
Grace spun around to find the coach driver pulling an old travelling trunk behind him, several hat boxes underneath his arm, and slung over his shoulder was…
"My satchel!" Grace exclaimed.
"Oh don't be alarmed, my dear." Jocelyn said soothingly. "Matthaeus is amongst our most honest workers."
Grace said nothing, merely stared at the bag hanging off the man's shoulder with eye-popping shock. That was her bag. Her bag. The one she'd had on around her body when the Story Teller had found her, when she'd chased him through the streets, when she'd fallen through the Star. She had presumed that nothing of hers had come with her through that tear in time. But there it was. The only proof of where she'd come from, the world she'd been taken from.
After a few uncomfortable moments of silence, Julius unfolded his clasped hands and spoke to Matthaeus.
"Madame has prepared a room for our dear god-daughter up in the tower."
God-daughter…? Grace thought, momentarily pulled out of her shocked stupor. They think I'm their god-daughter?
But as Matthaeus hurried away with her so-called 'belongings', she thought over the rest of the conversation that had passed between her, Julius and Jocelyn:
Clearly she'd arrived here, wherever 'here' was, with a little bit of a backstory. Something about two parents who'd drowned en-route to America? And now her, the rather predictable, helpless orphaned woman, had crossed the Channel to come and live with her good-natured god-parents.
Grace frowned as Jocelyn and Julius led her on through the Chateau. She'd never heard of another time-traveller arriving at their destination already provided for. But then again, the mere thought that she was now comparing herself to Marty McFly was ridiculous...
All bets were off.
"I had our maid, Artemida, fetch these pastries from the boulangerie this morning." Jocelyn said excitedly.
She led Grace into a small drawing room and there, arranged on top of a deep walnut coffee table, was a beautiful array of croissants and tarts. Normally, the sight would have had Grace's mouth watering. Instead, she felt sick to her core.
Before she realised what she was doing, Grace was halfway across the room and lurching for an ornate china vase. Already feeling the vomit in her throat, she bent over the vase and started to retch. All that panic and dread and fear and terror came spilling out of her. And she couldn't make it stop.
"There, there, dear, it's alright."
Jocelyn was at her back, rubbing her shoulder blades and she sobbed and retched into what was probably a family heirloom.
"I'll have cook make up some peppermint tea." Julius said, slipping diplomatically out of the drawing room.
"Travelling can be an awfully trying thing." Jocelyn continued. "I'm sorry. I should have asked if you were in good enough spirits to converse."
Grace cried quietly whilst Jocelyn soothed her. She was grateful to the woman, whoever she was, for providing some kind of comfort to her, even if she didn't understand the real cause of her woes.
"Oh God, I'm sorry…" Grace moaned into the vase.
"No, dear. Don't be." The middle-aged woman said gently. She stroked the back of Grace's trembling hands and smiled at her with the warmth of the sun. "Julius says that I can be a bit of a… a bit overbearing with my attentions sometimes. We just wanted you to feel welcomed, is all."
Grace looked into Jocelyn's face. She had the smile lines and the sparkle in her eye of a woman who had known much happiness in her life. Her light blonde hair was streaked with grey and fashioned in a bun at her neck, a few tight curls framing her face. Grace could tell that she had been a beauty in her younger years, but now, she reminded Grace of the older aunt who let you have a cheeky sherry at Christmas and would warn you about dating men who enjoy fishing.
Whereas Julius, when he re-entered carrying a tray of teacups and a pot, had a vaguely military air about him. He stood tall and lean. With an austere nose and a slowly receding hairline, he would have looked severe, had it not been for his deep-brown kind and soft eyes. When he straightened up, he tucked both hands behind his back, like a soldier waiting for duty, and nodded once at Grace.
"Drink. The peppermint will soothe your stomach."
He poured her a cup and extended it slowly out to her. Grace took the saucer with a nod of thanks, still unable to stop it from rattling in her hand from her shakes. She pressed the hot liquid to her lips and took a small sip.
"Bloody hell, what a great first impression of me you've got." She mumbled to them, her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment.
"Oh, my dear god-daughter!" Jocelyn exclaimed with a laugh. "What a delightfully strange…English expression."
"Oh, uhh…" Grace stumbled, thinking of how best to reply. "... Yes. We do have a rather…modern way of speaking in Oxford."
Jocelyn tittered and Grace let out a sigh of relief.
One thing she had learnt from those time-travelling tv shows was to never tell anybody around you the truth of where you'd come from. Grace didn't feel like being thrown in a pre-NHS mental asylum or being burned at the stake as a witch. Still, she felt a pang of guilt inside her; these people, who she'd known for such a short time, had been so kind and understanding to her already. It felt bad to lie to them. Still, she'd try to stay as close to the truth as she could.
She had come from Oxford, after all.
And she had travelled a great distance to get here.
But her next port-of-call was to find out exactly where 'here' was. France, she assumed, judging by all the 'Madames' and 'Mademoiselles' and 'boulangeries'. But that didn't really narrow down her location. Her limited knowledge of French geography told her that this was unlikely to be the Riviera or the Alps. But apart from that, she was stuck.
She took another sip of her peppermint tea as she thought.
"How far… How far from Paris are we here?" she asked delicately.
Julius gave her a raise of his eyebrow.
"I am…rather partial to French fashion, you see. I have a few seamstresses in mind that I wouldn't mind visiting." Grace added quickly.
"Ahh!" Julius exclaimed. He settled down into a leather armchair, helping himself to a strawberry tart. "You hear that, my dear? It sounds like you will have a shopping companion at last!"
"A day in the carriage, give or take." Jocelyn responded warmly.
Grace nodded, drawing a mental circle around Paris in her mind.
"Perhaps you could visit our dear Marcelin whilst you're there…?" Julius ventured.
He cast a sidelong glance to Jocelyn, but his wife avoided his eyes.
"Marcelin?" Grace asked.
There was an uncomfortable beat of silence and Grace watched the expression change on Jocelyn's face. Then, she shook her head and smiled warmly at Grace.
"Are you feeling quite better, my dear?" She asked her. "If so, I will let Artemida know that she can…"
She gestured primly at the vase and cleared her throat.
"Um. Yes. I'm fine now. Sorry again…" Grace muttered.
"Not at all, dear. Not at all."
Jocelyn reached for a small hand bell on a nearby side-table and rang it demurely. A few moments later, a young woman wearing a white cap and a tight apron entered the room. She curtseyed primly to Jocelyn and clasped her hands at her front.
"Artemida, our god-daughter was not feeling very well when she arrived. Would you mind…disposing of her expulsions?"
"Of course, Ma'am."
"Oh, now, now, Artemida. Our new arrival must be introduced to our customs."
"Of course, Madame Jocelyn."
The middle-aged woman nodded and smiled sweetly. Artemida tiptoed over to the full base and took it in her hands.
"Oh, Matthaeus said that the Lady's belongings are now in her room." The maid said.
"Ah excellent. Perhaps you could start sorting Mademoiselle's things away then."
Grace's heart stopped. Her satchel was up in that room. And perhaps if her satchel had made it to this world, perhaps what was inside had come here too…
"No!" She suddenly exclaimed.
Jocelyn, Julius and Artemida all cast her strange looks.
"I uhh… I wouldn't want to trouble you with all of that…Artemida? Was it?"
The young maid just blinked at her. Grace stood up brusquely from her chair.
"Perhaps you could show me to my room?" She asked tentatively.
"An excellent idea." Jocelyn said, taking the cup of peppermint tea from Grace's hands. "And perhaps you could help our god-daughter to dress for dinner."
"Yes, Madame Jocelyn."
Grace followed the maid out of the drawing room and back into the foyer. Another bustling maid passed them by and she curtseyed deeply to Grace. Artemida handed the vase to her and whispered a few instructions in her ear before she shuffled off, back into the bowels of the Chateau. They then both made her way over to a wide set of stairs that led up into the tower, Artemida glancing nervously over her shoulder to make sure her charge was still following her.
"It's quite a climb up, Mademoiselle." She said, mounting the first few steps. "But it's the best view of Provins."
Provins! Grace thought. Now where the bloody hell is that?!
"Oh, I'm sure of it." She replied with a smile.
They began their climb up several flights of stairs, each story turning in on itself until Grace lost count of the amount of twists and turns they'd done. Until suddenly they reached the top of the tower and Artemida paused in front of a simple wooden door.
"Here we are, Mademoiselle."
She stepped aside and let Grace be the first to enter the room. Giving the maid a nod of appreciation as she passed, Grace lay a hand on the doorknob and pushed open the door.
The room that greeted her was simple yet pretty. A pastel pink wallpaper lined the walls, dotted with delicate rose patterns and bluebirds nesting on the thorn vines. A four-poster bed made with crisp white sheets sat in the centre of the room, taking up most of the space, save for a large double wardrobe pressed up against the wall and a small ladies dressing table. But the first thing that Grace was drawn to was the open window.
The rafters had been flung open, the curtains blowing in the soft breeze, and drifting in on the air was the sound of distant church bells. She approached the window with trepidation, her eyes firstly darting to the ground, quite a distance beneath them. But then she looked out, towards the sound of the bells, and saw the outline of an old town on the horizon. It looked mediaeval, but Grace knew she wasn't in the Middle Ages. She was clued-up enough on history to know that, at least. But she could clearly see the ancient walls of the town around the cluster of houses and towers.
How she wished she could Google the name of this town.
Grace gasped and turned around suddenly, remembering her satchel. The bags that had arrived with her were dotted about the room, and slung over a small wooden chair in the corner was her satchel. What had come with her inside that bag? She longed to know. If her gaze was fire, she would have burnt a hole in the side of it.
"What would you like to wear this evening, Mademoiselle?" Artemida asked, drifting across her vision and walking over to one of the travelling trunks.
Grace sighed internally. Whatever was inside her satchel, she'd have to wait until the maid was gone and she was alone for the evening.
She heaved it onto the bed and opened it with a fling of her arms. She pulled out several dresses in a variety of beautiful colours and lay them on top of the white sheets.
"Ahh, what about this?" Artemida asked, pulling out a rich blue dress with huge, puffy sleeves.
"Good choice." Grace said, nodding enthusiastically.
Artemida took a step towards Grace and waited for a moment.
"You'll need to turn around, Mademoiselle…" she said in a small voice. "So I can unlace you."
"Oh, right! Of course."
Grace spun around and the maid soon began changing her out of her travel clothes. First came off the outer garments, slipping over her head and freeing her of that oppressively hot neckline she'd been stuck in since she awoke in the carriage. And the layers just kept coming: Tight-laced stays, starched petticoats, blooming undergarments, a scratchy linen undershirt. No wonder she'd felt so bloody hot. Artemida even helped her slip off a pair of stockings, embroidered with a delicate bunch of blue forget-me-nots along the foot hem.
It was odd to Grace; the sensation of someone helping to dress her. Hands in places where she didn't expect them, the whisper of fingers against her skin. It felt quite infantilising to her, reminding her of her childhood days when her teacher would help her get dressed again after Year 1 P.E.
And then the whole process began again in reverse! Dressing her in new stockings, a fresh stack of petticoats, squeezing her in to another tightly bound stay, and finishing it all with the royal blue evening dress the maid had selected. At least in this dress, the neckline was open, allowing her hot chest and her décolletage the gentle caress of the cold air.
"So…" Grace said as Artemida busied herself with her dressing. "Jocelyn and Julius seem like a nice couple…"
"That they are, Mademoiselle. We could not wish for kinder employers."
"What was that about me getting used to your 'customs'?"
"Oh, Madame Jocelyn insists that we refer to her by her Christian name. Monsieur Julius also."
"Oh. Is that…not normal?"
"I have certainly never heard of any other servants in France referring to their employers thusly, Mademoiselle. Every other household that I have worked in saw their servants as purely staff. Everything was polite, everything was formal. But Madame Jocelyn and Monsieur Julius… They march to the beat of their own drums!" Artemida scoffed. "Is it the done thing in Oxford?"
"Um…yes. Yes, all servants who are in their employer's good books are on first-name terms."
"Hmm." Artemida said thoughtfully. She led Grace over to the small dressing table and sat her down in front of the mirror. "Perhaps Madame heard of this…English custom then. And here I was thinking it had something to do with Jocelyn's past."
"Well that sounds intriguing." Grace said, as Artemida began taking out her hair and styling it into an evening do. "What is Jocelyn's background?"
Artemida's eyes widened, and her round cheeks turned scarlet underneath her white cap.
"Oh, mon dieu, I am the most wicked gossip." Artemida said, tutting at herself. "It is not truly my place to say, Mademoiselle…"
Grace sighed and her shoulders slumped. She guessed she'd have to wait for that little bit of backstory. Perhaps another time she could coax it out of the girl.
"Alright, then who's this Marcelin they mentioned?"
"Their son, Mademoiselle." Artemida replied quietly, as if she was hiding her voice from prying ears. "He is currently away in Paris, studying at the Sorbonne."
"Their son? Really? From the way his name was dropped, he sounded more likely to be their tax-collector!"
"Monsieur Marcelin…is a very passionate soul. He hasn't been home for a while. Too much to occupy him in Paris, I believe."
Grace's eyes narrowed as she tried to pick apart Artemida's cryptic words.
"Right…"
She thought about pushing the maid for more, but there was no way she was going to spill all the family secrets to her all at once. She'd only been here… an hour? Maybe a little longer? But as she caught her reflection in the mirror, all dressed up and fashioned like an actress in a period drama, it already felt like she'd been here a lifetime.
"Artemida…" she said to the reflection quietly.
"Yes, Mademoiselle?" The maid responded primly.
"You can call me Grace."
There was a pause of silence for a moment. Artemida smiled and nodded at her.
"Grace." The maid repeated. "Such a pretty name."
"Oh…thank you." She said, unsure of what else to say. "I've…never met anyone before called Artemida."
"My younger sister is Atena, and my brother is Heliosa." She explained, smiling a little. "My mother, God rest her soul, she couldn't read and write much. But she did have this one book that Monsieur Julius had gifted her on her first Christmas here. She worked here at the Chaueat before I did, you see…"
Grace nodded, letting her know that she was following her story.
"Oh how she loved it. Even though she could only pick out a few names and look at the pictures. It was about the Ancient Greek myths, you see. So, when we all came along, we were given the names in that book."
"Artemis." Grace said with a nod of understanding. "Goddess of the hunt."
The maid smiled shyly and made the last few adjustments to her hair.
"That's a much prettier name than mine." Grace sighed. "Mine's so boring and…monosyllabic."
"Oh no, Mademoiselle! You are named for the grace of God. What can be more beautiful than that?"
"Hmm."
All this 'God' speak was making Grace a tad nervous. Oxford, despite its Cathedrals and church choirs, was a rather secular world, and she personally had never had any truck with religion. Her Nanna had once given her a Gideon's Bible, but that was about the extent of it. She wasn't used to hearing people speak so openly about Him.
Furthermore, she'd be the wrong 'flavour' of Christianity to these people. Her timid, sensible Church-of-England feet had never once set foot in a Catholic church. She didn't even know what made 'Mass' different to 'Sunday Service'.
Her mind ticked over some of the basic differences she'd retained from her R.E lessons in school: Catholics answered to the big man in Rome, divorce (at least, divorce in this time) was a big no-no, they were all about the Virgin Mary, and the word 'transubstantiation' kept flitting about her head…
"There we are, Mademoiselle Grace." Artemida said, laying her hands upon her shoulders.
The movement almost made Grace jump, so lost in thought had she been. She quickly composed herself and rose from the chair. A final inspection in the mirror had her pausing. She certainly looked…different. Normally her style would be summarised as "this is what was kind of clean, so I threw it on". The elegant blue dress she wore was a very far cry from the hoodies and jeans she was used to. Every part of her was measured and tailored and curled and and formed to be a lady, and even if she didn't feel very put-together, at least she looked it.
She gave Artemida a final nod and began descending the stairs.
A few near-trips later, Grace stepped down the last of the stairs and joined her hosts in the dining room.
She could already hear Julius and Jocelyn in conversation with each other before she entered. They were trying to be quiet, so Grace knew it must be worth listening to.
"Yes, she's a little… odd, Julius, but she is English after all."
Grace went still and swallowed down a scoff.
"I didn't say 'odd', dearest. I said 'distracted'."
"I would have much to be distracted by too if I had been shipped off to another country in a state of grief."
"I suppose you are right, dearest."
"We must be kind to her, my dear. Can you not sense the sadness in her?"
Grace blinked and straightened her back. Was she really that readable? No, she hadn't lost her parents in some freak accident, but could they really sense what David had done to her twisting at the edges of her being?
"Hmm." Julius grumbled in agreement. "Perhaps you should go to Paris with her. Take the carriage and spoil her a little."
"Oh, I'm not sure about that Julius. I wouldn't like to have her vomit all over me."
They both hissed with laughter and Grace felt a fierce blush creep up her neck.
"Maybe…you should seek out our dear Marcelin there, my dear." Julius said gently. "I know you want to."
"You know perfectly well that the problem is not my wish to see him, it is his wish to see us." Jocelyn replied, her voice emotional and suddenly hostile.
There he was again. The mysterious 'Marcelin'. Grace straightened her back and listened intently.
"Yes, but perhaps if we surprised him… Turned up unannounced at his student apartments."
"I wrote to the University weeks ago, Julius. He hasn't been going to lectures for months, they said. And those apartments we paid for, his landlady says he hasn't been living there for a good long while. She asked me if she could rent it out to someone else."
There was silence for a moment.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner, mon amour?"
"Because I knew you'd worry, Julius. He still collects his allowance every week from the bank, the fiend. So, he must be living with that other lot down in Montmartre."
Julius sighed, deep and heavy. It was the sigh of an exasperated parent.
"If I could just get my hands on that boy… I'd…"
"You'd what? Julius? You know what Marcelin is like. Trying to get him to drop anything is like trying to get a bone off a bulldog."
"This is my fault, Jocelyn. If… if I hadn't given him those books,… Insisted that the servants refer to us as they do…"
"Married his mother?" Jocelyn asked playfully.
Grace frowned. She didn't understand this part of the conversation, but perhaps it would become clear later.
Julius let out a snort of laughter and sighed deeply again.
"Do not blame yourself for wanting to instil our boy with a sense of empathy for those less fortunate than us, mon amour." Jocelyn said gently.
"Hmm, I just hope it doesn't get him into… into trouble."
There was a pensive quiet between the couple for a few, long moments and Grace thought this was a good time to make herself known.
She strode into the dining room and smiled as demurely as possible. Julius rose from his seat and bowed deeply to her. Jocelyn too got up and bustled over to Grace.
"My dear, come. Sit. Are you not famished?"
In truth, she still felt sick with fear, but as Jocelyn led her past the immodest spread of food on the dining table, she resolved to try and have a few bites.
They sat down all together and from another room emerged a few more servants to tend to them. The meal that evening was a delicious looking glazed ham, studded with cloves and painted in honey. Around it were a vast selection of vegetables and side-dishes: roasted carrots, steamed cabbage, a fat granary loaf, pale butter, and creamy dauphinoise potatoes. Within a few moments, a server had carved her several slices of meat and dished her out a generous serving of everything.
"Merlot, Mademoiselle?" The server asked, a bottle poised over her glass.
"Sure. Why not." Grace said.
That was at least one benefit to being stuck here: French wine.
When he had finished pouring, Grace made a grab for it and brought it towards her mouth. But she stopped herself from drinking when she realised Julius was waiting with his glass poised in his hand.
"A toast, to our god-daughter." He said, raising the glass high. "May she find every happiness here with us."
"Hear, hear." Jocelyn chimed in, raising her own glass.
"Thank you." Grace said shyly, raising her glass to both Julius and Jocelyn.
They all drank and Grace only began her meal once she was sure both of her hosts were eating. After a few bites, Grace did, in fact, realise that she was hungry, and soon she was asking for seconds on her dauphinoise potatoes.
"So, my dear god-daughter, why are you not married?" Jocelyn asked suddenly.
Grace spluttered and almost choked on her mouthful of ham.
"A pretty young maid such as yourself must have had a whole host of suitors back in Oxford."
"Jocelyn…" Julius warned, but she paid him no mind.
Her eyes were fixed upon Grace, waiting for an answer to her questions.
"Umm…Well…" Grace began unsurely.
She thought of how best to phrase her dating-life that didn't make her sound like a whore to these people. Having several boyfriends in her past would be scandalous. Premarital sex (with quite a few of them) would be outrageous. And having lived with one of them would be downright sinful.
"There was…one gentleman… who had my affections. But I'm afraid he rather broke my heart and he is now pledged to another."
Jocelyn tutted and her brow furrowed with empathy.
"Oh, how dreadful! My poor dear."
Julius shook his head solemnly. "Youths today." He bemoaned. "Half the young men at my country club wouldn't know a diamond of the first water if they stepped on one."
"Oh but there are good men out there. Good French men, my dear." Jocelyn said with a wicked smile. "And you are still young. How old are you, Grace?"
"Twenty-seven."
It was Jocelyn's turn to choke on her food. She coughed and turned red in the face, her whole expression changing.
"Twenty-seven?! Unmarried at twenty-seven?!"
"Jocelyn!" Julius scolded her.
"Sorry…Sorry…" Jocelyn said, her eyes cast to her plate.
Meanwhile, Grace wanted the ground to swallow her up. She hadn't been embarrassed of her single status before, but the feminism left her body in that moment, and she was now.
"Well, that settles it then." Jocelyn said chipperly.
Grace looked up from her plate of food.
"Settles what, dearest?" Julius asked.
"We simply must introduce you to all of our closest friends. When did we last host a soirée, Julius?"
"You haven't had the…excuse to host one for a while, mon amour." Julius mumbled under his breath.
He cast a knowing glance at Grace and he managed to tease a smile out of her.
"Ohh! I must tell Artemida to fetch my acquaintances book from out of retirement. We shall send invites out on the morrow!"
"Oh, fantastic…" Grace moaned.
Just what she needed: her hostess trying to play matchmaker with her. It would be just like her to find herself married-off to some corpulently fat Victorian gentleman, tending to his gout for the rest of her life.
"And let us see if we cannot find you a husband, Grace."
Jocelyn picked up her glass of wine and toasted it to her again. Grace put on her best grateful smile, but inside she was screaming.
When the evening had drawn to a close and Grace had politely excused herself after the post-dinner card games, she climbed the stairs to her bedroom.
Artemida was waiting there again to help her undress, and she was glad to be free of the great, heavy skirts and tight bodices. Her insides squirmed in discomfort as the maid left her naked for a brief moment whilst she fetched a nightgown. However, once it was over her head and she had tucked herself in under the covers, Artemida finally curtseyed to her and asked:
"Will that be all, Mademoiselle Grace?"
"Yes, thank you."
"I shall say goodnight then."
"Goodnight, Artemida."
The maid curtseyed again and, finally, left her alone.
Grace leapt out of the bed, lurching for the chair that had her satchel draped over the back of it. Her clumsy feet almost fell as she stumbled over the creaking floorboards, but she grabbed the strap with desperate hands and pulled it close to her heart.
She reverently walked back to the bed, holding her satchel close, and she climbed back up onto the mattress. With legs crossed, she lay it out before her and delicately lifting the flap, almost afraid of what she might- or might not- find inside.
Her trembling hands delved inside and her eyes adjusted to the gloom. And she gasped.
From out of the darkness of her satchel, she pulled out her phone. Still on. Still working.
Her eyes flooded with tears as she beheld it. It was proof. Proof that she wasn't mad. That she hadn't dreamed up her whole life in 2023.
Entering the passcode, she noticed that there was no wifi signal, nor 3G. That didn't surprise her, bearing in mind where she was.
So, she couldn't call anyone. Not access anything online. All her apps wouldn't work. And anything that wasn't downloaded to the device wouldn't load.
Grace let out a sigh of disappointment. The phone was next to useless.
It had been on all this time, so the battery gauge was currently reading 76%.
Not a lot.
And she hadn't put a portable charger in her satchel, so eventually it would run out. Eventually.
Grace decided to be quick, but she needed some home comfort. Something to see her through this first night. She opened up the photos app and scrolled for a little while. Eventually, she found what she wanted and she tapped on a picture of her and her Mum.
Her chest constricted when the faces flooded her screen. It had been her Mum's 50th birthday. Up in the Lakes. In a cafe by the river in a quaint little village called Staveley. She and her Mum posed together, an arm around her Mum's shoulder, the two of them smiling behind their plates of food. Grace tried to recall that day: everything had been good then, no problems with David, nobody to worry about, nothing to lie about when she was asked if she was okay.
But more than that feeling of contentedness, she missed her Mum more. What she wouldn't give to be able to send her a message now, to hear her voice down the line now, to ask her for help now.
A feeling of dread squeezed it's way around her heart as she had an ominous thought:
What if I never see her again?
She looked around her room. So old and ancient, so different from the bedroom in her flat back home. And it frightened her. This seemingly harmless bedroom frightened her. Not for what was in it, but for what was beyond it. Grace had no clue how she had come to this world and she had no clue how to escape it. Would she ever escape it?
Her face was wet with tears as she cast her gaze down to her phone again, down to the picture of her and her Mum.
One day, when too many of her texts had gone unanswered and too many of her calls had been missed, she would start to worry. And then, she'd inevitably find out that her daughter was missing. Her mentally struggling daughter was missing.
Grace sobbed as she started to draw the dots to the conclusions that would be ascribed to her. They'd think she'd hurt herself. Especially after the last conversation her and her Mum had had over the phone. They'd assume that she'd done something stupid…
Grace wiped her face and hurriedly powered off the phone. Whatever little battery she had left, she couldn't waste it. Perhaps one day it would start working. Perhaps she could use it to get herself home. But even if those two things never happened, she had to conserve its battery life so she could at least see her Mum's face from time to time.
She hid it back inside her satchel, noticing that everything else she'd had in it when she'd fallen through the Star was still there: a few bits of loose change, an old COVID mask, the box of paracetamols she'd flung in there when she was feeding Wilf…
"Wilf! Oh God…" she exclaimed.
Grace hoped that he didn't go hungry whilst she was missing. She prayed that her neighbours would feed him when he came begging round their houses. Maybe one of them would take him in permanently…
She cried silently to herself as she cycled through all of the loose ends of her life that she'd left behind. Helplessness pulled at her heart as she lay back against the pillows, staring at the canopy of the bedframe above. Her thoughts began to spiral into darkness:
I'm going to be stuck here forever.
I'm going to have to live in a world without antibiotics and Netflix.
I'll get a tooth infection and die in agony or I'll be sold off to the highest bidder by Jocelyn like a prize heffer.
She closed her eyes and tried to commit to memory all of the details of her flat. Her filthy flat that she had hated the sight of not so long ago.
She'd been planning to clean it. She was going to go food-shopping.
"I was going to get my life together!" She sighed miserably to herself.
And now it had all been torn away from her. Replaced with something out of a Charles Dickens novel.
Novel…
"Novel!" She exclaimed, sitting up.
Suddenly, she recalled what the Story Teller had said to her:
"Which story would you like to be yours?"
"You asked for your own story. So, I give this one to you."
She looked around the room with new eyes. A frown appeared on her face.
"Is this a fucking book?" She asked aloud. "Is this even real?"
The empty air did not answer her. She flopped back down on top of the pillows in exasperation. But it would explain her apparent 'backstory'. The way she'd been thrust right into the midst of these people's lives.
But she still had a bruise on her hand from her bite earlier. The scratch of the cotton sheets underneath her felt real. The food downstairs had tasted real. Jocelyn and Julius, Artemida and Matthaeus, they were real people. She'd seen pain and happiness and joy in their eyes.
If this was a story, it felt as real as the life she'd left behind.
Grace sighed and rubbed at the bridge between her eyes. She'd cried so much and the adrenaline had been pumping for so long that she had a cracker of a headache.
She thought about taking two of the paracetamols that had come with her, but what if she needed them for a rainy day? What if she needed them for something serious? She decided to leave them and if she still had a sore head tomorrow, she'd ask Artemida for the cure for headaches in… whatever year it was.
She decided that was question number one for tomorrow: she'd found out where she was, now to find out when she was.