The Willard (7 page)

Upon his return to the library to gather his things, he found the old librarian was still at his post. Nothing about the situation seemed strange to this man and he watched as Edward slowly packed his belongings into his knapsack and then he approached him. What the librarian told him boggled the mind.
He was sending him out into the night on a grand adventure, one that was too impossible to be believed. But Edward followed the librarian’s instructions and made his way to London where he became involved in the intrigue surrounding the conviction of Mary, Queen of Scots, for treason. Edward found himself in the court of Elizabeth I as the countdown to execution made its macabre march. His role was to get a message from the court to Mary’s son, James VI, King of Scotland. Should this message not get through in time there was thought the army that had been raised by Mary would launch an attack on the English court. Mary was guilty of many offenses in her life and in her time she brought terrible repute to her people, but her son was no better in his own way. He was an arrogant and proud young man who had no real relationship with his mother. She had abdicated the Scottish throne to him under duress and now she believed that he could possibly sit on the throne of England one day as she, herself, had plotted to do for so long. No one is sure of what was in the message or even if it had come from Elizabeth herself or had been an attempt by the court to prevent an uprising. Most believe it was a simple barter, urging James to keep his mother’s supporters in line in exchange for something he himself wanted. For whatever reason, Edward was tasked with delivering the message into the hands of the king’s liaison in the English countryside. On February 8, the execution order was carried out with no interference from Mary’s loyal subjects or from her son. While it is impossible to say what could have happened, all Edward knew was that everything went as history had recorded it. He didn’t know if he had made a difference or not. Had he prevented bloodshed in the defense of a traitor? Or had he been a pawn stopping the resistance and allowing a woman’s death when it might have been prevented, even by war? He struggled with the questions that were circling in his mind and when he returned to find the librarian he sat down to wait for him, determined to get answers. The librarian didn’t appear
right away and as the shadows of evening grew longer Edward grew more tired. He settled into a comfortable chair to wait and once again the peaceful library lulled him to sleep. When he awoke he found the librarian standing over him holding a stack of books about the great philosophers.

“Sorry to disturb you, young man, but I found the volumes you were interested in,” the old librarian said with a chuckle.

“Volumes?”

“For your paper. Before your catnap you told me you needed the most complete works I could find on Aristotle and Plato. Here they are,” responded the librarian.

After more back and forth it became apparent the old man either didn’t know or wouldn’t admit that he knew what Edward was talking about with regard to Mary and Elizabeth. He’d just been digging in the stacks for these books, he told him. Edward jotted some notes from the books and tucked them into his bag so he could finish the paper later. He wasn’t ready to work on it just yet. He assumed he’d been asleep longer than he thought and that he’d had a very vivid dream.

I wish I had a history paper to write tonight instead of philosophy. I feel like I could write that just from the memory of my dream
.

He bid the librarian goodnight and walked out into the misty night. As he walked he began to get a chill and he reached into his knapsack for his sweater. That’s when he felt it. A small, waxy disc was stuck to his finger and when he pulled it out of the bag he stopped in his tracks. It was the wax seal from the message and it bore the imprint of Queen Elizabeth I. There, in his hand, he held the blood-red wax he had seen the sovereign seal just before she handed the message to her courtier who then handed it to Edward. It could not be. And yet it was. Thus began Edward’s journey to find the truth and ultimately, to become the concierge. He had learned about portals—places rich with history that opened up to times in their own past. The
Willard was one such portal. There were many hotel portals in various cities around the world, but there were also libraries, like the one he had found at Cambridge. There were also museums, historic homes, government buildings, trains, ships and just about anywhere else where people had gathered in times gone by. Through these portals, other guides like Chase came and went with their travelers, all of them looking for the tears in the fabric of the past.

C
HAPTER 10

OLIVIA FORDHAM

1913

Very little ever rattled Olivia Fordham. Having spent nearly five decades navigating the worlds of both high society and high finance she could be counted on to react to almost anything with aplomb. That’s why she didn’t jump to any conclusions when she first saw the traffic jam of classic automobiles. She pulled a chair over to the window and watched the scene unfold on the street below her for some time. She saw the angry drivers get out of their cars and shake their fists at one another but even that anger seemed tempered. The men were dressed in dapper suits with hats and the women wore tailored dresses with wool coats and gloves. Most wore large hats with embellishments like flowers and feathers, much like what one would see today at the Kentucky Derby. Before long, the police showed up to untangle the mess and send everyone on their way. The officer looked like a character from a Charlie Chaplin movie, but he did his job effectively and traffic began to flow again, all of it cars and a few trucks of a bygone era. Olivia turned her attention to the pedestrians strolling the sidewalks and crossing the streets. There were more well-dressed patrons like those she had seen in the cars but there were also young boys that brought to mind the term
street urchins
. They were wearing ragged pants and overcoats and had flat, wool caps on their heads and dirt on their faces. Olivia didn’t know why but she found herself thinking they must be up to no good. There were governesses
walking their young charges and shooing away the urchins when they got too close to the young ladies in their lace finery. Some of the women had dresses that went all the way to the ground but many ladies had hemlines that ended at their ankles revealing delicate slipper heels.

Olivia watched for a while and noticed there were a few horse-drawn carriages mingling with the automobiles. When she had seen enough she went to straighten her bed and get dressed. She went to the closet where the maids had unpacked her things and was only slightly surprised to see that the clothes hanging in the closet were not the ones her New York maids had packed. Hanging there she saw long dresses like those on the street outside, some long enough to touch the floor when she walked and not a single pair of trousers. There were shoes with tiny buttons across the bridge and slippers with demure heels. She also noticed several hat boxes stacked on the shelf and when she examined their contents she found a collection of large, extravagant hats in a variety of colors. There were even a couple of fascinators with radiating plumes and simple combs for placing in the hair. These would look right at home at a royal wedding. There were beaded clutches and a couple of sensible pocketbooks and on the dressing vanity she noticed several pairs of white gloves in different lengths. She was delighted with the items she found.

Considering the clothing, the vintage automobiles, and the mannerisms of the people she had observed, she imagined herself to be somewhere around the early 1900s, likely the Edwardian period. This was a new one for her. She had always been fascinated by the era but never had a chance to “visit” it. The timing on this episode was terrible with everything she had to do this week but it couldn’t be helped. Part of her secretly hoped she would stay in the era long enough to really enjoy it. She wanted a chance to wear everything in the closet. She would place a call to her friend, Jane, who had checked into the hotel
and was staying in the adjacent second bedroom. Olivia had begun reserving the second bedroom about a year before and made sure it was always included when she stayed at the Willard. Jane had been given a key to the adjoining door so she could come and go as Mrs. Fordham needed.

Yes, Olivia would call Jane soon, but not just yet. She went back to the chair by the window and opened it a few inches so she could hear the sounds of the city. She didn’t know how long she would be in this time and she wanted to enjoy every minute.

Half an hour later Edward Chase rang the doorbell of the suite. Olivia greeted him still wearing her dressing gown.

“Come in, Edward.”

“Did you enjoy your rest, Olivia?”

“Yes, very much. I feel very refreshed.”

Chase noticed she did indeed seem alert and calm. He walked to the window and looked out. Traffic was flowing nicely on Pennsylvania Avenue, the classic cars blowing their horns at the boys who darted between them. He wondered if she had looked out the window or noticed anything different. She was still wearing her dressing gown so maybe she hadn’t gone to her closet and seen the period clothing he knew was now hanging there. He was going to have to be very careful how he broke the news to her.

“Would you like some tea, Edward? The water has gone cold but I could order up a new pot.”

“No, thank you. Olivia, I thought you might like your maid to come and help you dress for this evening but I wanted to speak with you first.”

“I don’t require any assistance this evening but it’s good of you to be concerned. I’m afraid I may need to stay in tonight. I was going to call Jane and spend the evening with her. Has she checked in?”

“Yes, she’s all taken care of but she’s not, um,
available
right now.”

“That’s no problem. I’ll call her in a bit.” Chase glanced at the circa 1910 telephone on the desk. If Olivia hadn’t noticed it, she would when she got ready to make the call. He had to tell her what was going on.

“Olivia, would you please come with me? I need to show you something.”

She followed him into the dining room where he drew back the drapes on the corner window with its Juliet balcony overlooking the intersection. He pointed to the street.

She looked down but didn’t make any remark.

“Do you see anything unusual?” he asked.

Olivia saw the old cars and the pedestrians dressed in their vintage finery but she didn’t want Edward to know what she was seeing. He wouldn’t understand. In fact, he would likely think her crazy.

“Whatever do you mean, Edward? The fact that traffic is actually moving well this time of day in Washington?” she said jokingly. “I’m sure you’ve seen that a few times at least.”

“No, Olivia. I mean the Model Ts and the people in vintage clothing.”

Olivia stepped back from the window like she’d been slapped. Her mind was spinning and she couldn’t figure out what was happening. Chase thought she might faint and stepped toward her as she put her head down. He supported her arm and she looked up into his eyes with fear in her own.

“You can see those too?” she asked. Then she collapsed on the floor and started to seize.

C
HAPTER 11

CATHERINE PARKER

1865

The doorman offered his hand to the ladies as they stepped down from the rented carriage. Laura kept a steadying hand at Catherine’s elbow just in case the younger woman felt faint. Edward Chase saw the two as they came through the revolving door. He rushed to their side and, in spite of Catherine’s protests, ushered them up the steps to Peacock Alley and seated them in an alcove between two enormous potted palms. He insisted on fetching a carafe of cool water and some salts. When it was clear Catherine was not in danger of collapsing, Laura excused herself to check her messages. She approached the large concierge desk and was handed the slips of paper that continued to arrive in her room’s cubby every day. Granted, a few years ago there would have been too many messages to contain in the small cubby. There would have been calling cards and invitations as well as letters of introduction and outright adoration. At thirty-eight years of age, it was undeniable she wasn’t at her prime anymore. Her long hair was not as lustrous as it once was and her gowns had been let out in recent years to accommodate her more matronly figure. But she was still a beauty by most standards and the years had been fairly kind to her in reputation. At least as kind as they could be for a woman of her profession. She knew that even in her heyday the invitations had not been to the most fashionable addresses. They didn’t come from the grande dames of society. She found
herself more the toast of the nouveau riche crowd, those with a tendency toward ostentatiousness and attention. Their drawing rooms were filled with Sheraton and Chippendale reproductions, not the real thing. Their crystal chandeliers came from France, but their provenance was bought, not inherited. But the evenings were lively and gay and the wine and spirits flowed freely. If the hosts thought they were anything less than the crème de la crème they were determined not to show it. Entertaining on a grand scale in their new mansions was derigueur and their guest lists had to glitter with beautiful and interesting women and influential men. Though Laura wouldn’t be welcome in the homes of the old-moneyed set, she was a sought-after guest at these soirees.