Passion

Tudor-style mansion. An acre of pruned yellow rosebushes bordered the lawn’s north side, and a miniature hedge maze filled the area near the iron gate on the east. In the center lay a bountiful vegetable garden, beans climbing high along their poles. A pebble trail cut the yard in half and led to a large whitewashed gazebo.

Goose bumps rose on Luce’s arms. This was the place. She had a visceral sense that she had been here before. This was no ordinary déjà vu. She was staring at a place that had meant something to her and Daniel. She half expected to see the two of them there right now, wrapped in each other’s arms.

But the gazebo was empty, filled only with the orange light of the setting sun.

Someone whistled, making her jump.

Bill.

She’d forgotten he was with her. He hovered in the air so that their heads were on the same level. Outside the Announcer, he was somewhat more repulsive than he’d seemed at first. In the light, his flesh was dry and scaly, and he smelled pretty strongly of mildew. Flies buzzed around his head. Luce edged away from him a little, almost wishing he’d go back to being invisible.

“Sure beats a war zone,” he said, eyeing the grounds.

“How did you know where I was before?”

“I’m … Bill.” He shrugged. “I know things.”

“Okay, then, where are we now?”

“Helston, England”—he pointed a claw tip toward his head and closed his eyes—“in what you’d call 1854.” Then he clasped his stone claws together in front of his chest like a gnomey sort of schoolboy reciting a history report. “A sleepy southern town in the county of Cornwall, granted charter by King John himself. Corn’s a few feet tall, so I’d say it’s probably midsummer. Pity we missed the month of May—they have a Flora Day festival here like you wouldn’t believe. Or maybe you would! Your past self was the belle of the ball the last two years in a row. Her father’s very rich, see. Got in at the ground level of the copper trade—”

“Sounds terrific.” Luce cut him off and started tramping across the grass. “I’m going in there. I want to talk to her.”

“Hold up.” Bill flew past her, then looped back, fluttering a few inches in front of her face. “Now, this? This won’t do at all.”

He waved a finger in a circle, and Luce realized he was talking about her clothes. She was still in the Italian nurse’s uniform she’d worn during the First World War.

He grabbed the hem of her long white skirt and lifted it to her ankles. “What do you have on under there? Are those Converse? You’ve gotta be kidding me with those.” He clucked his tongue. “How you ever survived those other lifetimes without me …”

“I got along fine, thank you.”

“You’ll need to do more than ‘get along’ if you want to spend some time here.” Bill flew back up to eye level with Luce, then zipped around her three times. When she turned to look for him, he was gone.

But then, a second later, she heard his voice—though it sounded as if it was coming from a great distance. “Yes! Brilliant, Bill!”

A gray dot appeared in the air near the house, growing larger, then larger, until Bill’s stone wrinkles became clear. He was flying toward her now, and carrying a dark bundle in his arms.

When he reached her, he simply plucked at her side, and the baggy white nurse’s uniform split down its seam and slid right off her body. Luce flung her arms around her bare body modestly, but it seemed like only a second later that a series of petticoats was being tugged over her head.

Bill scrambled around her like a rabid seamstress, binding her waist into a tight corset, until sharp boning poked her skin in all sorts of uncomfortable places. There was so much taffeta in her petticoats that even standing still in a bit of a breeze, she rustled.

She thought she looked pretty good for the era—until she recognized the white apron tied around her waist, over her long black dress. Her hand went to her hair and yanked off a white servant’s headpiece.

“I’m a maid?” she asked.

“Yes, Einstein, you’re a maid.”

Luce knew it was dumb, but she felt a little disappointed. The estate was so grand and the gardens so lovely and she knew she was on a quest and all that, but couldn’t she have just strolled around the grounds here like a real Victorian lady?

“I thought you said my family was rich.”

“Your past self’s family was rich. Filthy rich. You’ll see when you meet her. She goes by Lucinda and thinks your nickname is an absolute abomination, by the way.” Bill pinched his nose and lifted it high in the air, giving a pretty laughable imitation of a snob. “She’s rich, yes, but you, my dear, are a time-traveling intruder who knows not the ways of this high society. So unless you want to stick out like a Manchester seamstress and get shown the door before you even get to have a chat with Lucinda, you need to go undercover. You’re a scullery maid. Serving girl. Chamber-pot changer. It’s really up to you. Don’t worry, I’ll stay out of your way. I can disappear in the blink of an eye.”

Luce groaned. “And I just go in and pretend like I work here?”

“No.” Bill rolled his flinty eyes. “Go up and introduce yourself to the lady of the house, Mrs. Constance. Tell her your last placement moved to the Continent and you’re looking for new employment. She’s an evil old harridan and a stickler for references. Lucky for you, I’m one step ahead of her. You’ll find yours inside your apron pocket.”

Luce slipped her hand inside the pocket of her white linen apron and pulled out a thick envelope. The back was stamped shut with a red wax seal; when she turned it over, she read Mrs. Melville Constance, scrawled in black ink. “You’re kind of a know-it-all, aren’t you?”

“Thank you.” Bill bowed graciously; then, when he realized Luce had already started toward the house, he flew ahead, beating his wings so rapidly they became two stone-colored blurs on either side of his body.

By then they had passed the silver birches and were crossing the manicured lawn. Luce was about to start up the pebble path to the house, but hung back when she noticed figures in the gazebo. A man and a woman, walking toward the house. Toward Luce.

“Get down,” she whispered. She wasn’t ready to be seen by anyone in Helston, especially not with Bill buzzing around her like some oversized insect.

“You get down,” he said. “Just because I made an invisibility exception for your benefit doesn’t mean just any mere mortal can see me. I’m perfectly discreet where I am. Matter of fact, the only eyes I have to be watchful about are—Whoa, hey.” Bill’s stone eyebrows shot up suddenly, making a heavy dragging noise. “I’m out,” he said, ducking down behind the tomato vines.

Angels, Luce filled in. They must be the only other souls who could see Bill in this form. She guessed this because she could finally make out the man and woman, the ones who’d prompted Bill to take cover. Gaping through the thick, prickly leaves of the tomato vine, Luce couldn’t tear her eyes away from them.

Away from Daniel, really.

The rest of the garden grew very still. The birds’ evening songs quieted, and all she could hear were two pairs of feet walking slowly up the gravel path. The last rays of the sun all seemed to fall upon Daniel, throwing a halo of gold around him. His head was tipped toward the woman and he was nodding as he walked. The woman who was not Luce.

She was older than Lucinda could have been—in her twenties, most likely, and very beautiful, with dark, silken curls under a broad straw hat. Her long muslin dress was the color of a dandelion and looked like it must have been very expensive.

“Have you come to like our little hamlet much at all, Mr. Grigori?” the woman was saying. Her voice was high and bright and full of natural confidence.

“Perhaps too much, Margaret.” Luce’s stomach tied up in a jealous knot as she watched Daniel smile at the woman. “It’s hard to believe it’s been a week since I arrived in Helston. I could stay on longer even than I’d planned.” He paused. “Everyone here has been very kind.”

Margaret blushed, and Luce seethed. Even Margaret’s blushing was lovely. “We only hope that will come through in your work,” she said. “Mother’s thrilled, of course, to have an artist staying with us. Everyone is.”