The Time Baroness (The Time Mistress Series) Read Free

of thick glass that shone onto the alleyway. She perceived a gas lamp softly glowing out on the street. She looked up. She could see a million stars—a peculiarly vivid night sky for London. She cleared her head; she had to hurry. It would be very dangerous for her to be caught alone in such an obscure place. She was carrying a knife in her cloak pocket, which she clutched. A second later, the cold hit her. She was not dressed for it. She let the knife fall back into her pocket, grabbed her two bags, and ran to the street. She knew to turn left; the inn was just one short block away. She passed only two or three people hurrying through the freezing night air. She arrived at the White Hart in a matter of minutes and breathed a sigh of relief. A doorman showed her in with a look of surprise, and immediately relieved her of her bags which were then passed off to the bellman.
    “May I show ya the front desk, miss?” he asked, in a thick cockney accent. He looked her over thoroughly with protruding eyes.
    “Yes, please,” she replied, allowing herself to be led.
    “Good evening, miss,” said the innkeeper, who struggled to his feet from where he had been dozing in his chair, “May I help you?” He quickly smoothed his thinning hair.
    “I am Mrs. Cassandra Franklin.” she said to him. “My representative, Mr. Jackson Taylor was here several days ago arranging for my arrival. He said you would have a room available for me.”
    “Oh, yes, of course, Mrs. Franklin. He paid well to reserve you the best room in the inn. He predicted the date of your arrival quite accurately, and here you are!” He tapped on his registration book. “Good, very good. I am sure you are tired coming all that way from Portsmouth, not to mention the journey from America. How pleased we are to have you here! Can I set up a room for your maid as well?” he asked, craning to look around her.
    “No,” Cassandra said with a choke in her voice. “My maid, she…she did not survive the journey from America. I am quite alone.”
    “Oh dear heavens! We had no idea—so sorry, so very sorry,” he exclaimed.
    “If you please,” replied Cassandra, dropping her eyelids, “I would like to simply retire for the evening; I am overcome.”
    “Yes, of course, at your service, ma’am. Charlie!” he called to the young bellman. “Get Betsy. Have her show Mrs. Franklin to her room immediately. Get the fire lit, bring her a warm basin of water; make sure she has the freshest linens, and a glass of wine. Hurry now, hurry! Are you hungry, Mrs. Franklin?”
    “No, thank you,” murmured Cassandra while dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “You are too kind.”
    Charlie had not yet gone to fetch Betsy, but stood staring at the visitor. “Is it only the two bags, ma’am?” he uttered.
    “Yes, I…I brought very little in the interest of—starting over, you know.”
    “No need to say another word, I’ll fetch ‘em upstairs in two shakes.” He hurried off, leaving the bags in their place.
    Cassandra and the innkeeper stood awkwardly alone for a moment. Cassandra sniffed the air. Something smelled like moldy cheese. Was it the innkeeper?
    Betsy appeared and guided the visitor to her room. With the shock of being thrust into a world she could only before dream and read about, and the relief at having successfully arrived at her destination, Cassandra allowed herself to be fussed over by the maid. Charlie arrived with the bags and then retreated. Finally, locking herself in, she considered her first night in the world of 1820 England.
    She gazed around the room, cheerfully lit by lamps and candles. The fire blazed in the hearth, but she now realized how she had always taken for granted the wonder of integrated heating. The gas that lit the lamps on the streets and the coal and wood that were used for heat were, by 2120, quaint remnants of a world that had once fought constantly over oil and almost driven itself to catastrophe by global warming with