Agents of time: Chapter Seven; Upstairs and downstairs

James felt his cap fall off his head and faintly heard it poof to the ground. He let it lie there. Too busy taking in every detail of the large extravagant room to be bothered it pick it up. A high ceiling, wood beams, ornate rugs covering almost every floor. It all was so real and warm.

Of course, it was real.

Almost terrifyingly so, with the task at hand. If they were meeting the royal family, then they would be walking into the lion's den, so to speak. He frowned and glanced at the stairs again. Or maybe they were the lions.

Footsteps padded at the top of the stairs, and maid appeared. She smiled when she spotted him, and he took that as a sign to step towards the stairs.

“Mr. Rodsworth, I presume?” The maid leaned over the railing.

“The one and only.” James reached to take his hat off, groping air.

The maid laughed. “If you’re looing for your hat, it's on the ground.”

Of course. James turned and swooped to pick it up in one smooth motion, giving a dramatic bow with the hat as he faced the maid again.

“Come on up then, the lady awaits.” The maid disappeared from the railing.

Setting his hat firmly on his head, he walked up the stairs as fast as he could without sending echoes of his steps throughout the halls. Trailing the black skirts of the maid, who he now guessed was Verena’s maid, they soon found her waiting down the hall.

Dressed now in an elegant cream dress overlaid with white lace, her hair done up in coils around her head, with pearls on her ears and a long strand draped over her chest.

James adjusted the lapels of his uniform. At least this was his first time wearing it and the tour of the yard hadn’t landed him in any puddles.

Verena greeted him with a quick up and down of her eyes, marking him presentable, then turned and followed the maid to lead them down a hall. Once she was far enough ahead, Verena slowed her step, allowing James to catch up.

James caught her eye, and she tilted her head to look at him

She caught James out of the corner of her eye; "Let me do the talking, you observe." She whispered through a smile.

James whispered back. “But what do I do then?”

The maid was slowing as they neared a door that ended the hall. “Keep an eye and ear out for who may be the heir.”

James nodded and took a smaller step, allowing the distance to grow between them again.

The maid knocked at the door, hand on the handle as she listened for a reply. She turned to them. “Ready?”

“Yes, thank you, Ana.” Verena smiled.

James catalogued the maid's name in his head as the trio entered the room. Ana gave some introduction, but he didn’t catch it as he dipped his hat off his head, pressing it to his chest in a bow, and took in the scene before him.

When he looked up, he thought they’d entered a painting.

A woman sat on a stiff-looking couch, perpendicular to the door. Ringlet curls framed a smiling face, cheeks full and eyes bright. Her pale pink dress, with the skirt draped over the couch, was more fitted than Verena’s, James noted, but decorated with just as much lace.

Beside her stood a tall, dark man, adorned in a pressed blue suit with what looked like some sort of military ribbons and metals pinned to the lapels. Standing beside him was a young man. His ambiance brighter, like the woman’s, with sunshine curls framing his head like a crown. He also wore a suit like the man beside him, if less decorated, But not lacking its stature.

As James rolled back his shoulders, drawing himself straighter, Ana left the room, and they were left facing the royals.

Verena spoke. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your majesties. I look forward to serving you, especially.” She looked at the woman.

The queen. James searched for their names in his mind.

King Aldrick and Queen Cordelia, reigning monarchs of Belacruv.

His gaze when from the tall man, likely the king, to the young man. He could only be a prince. So was he, the prince.

James smiled. “I also look forward to serving Your Majesties with any, uh, transportation needs.”

That sound. Lacking.

While the conversation shifted back to Verena, James mind wandered.

What was his role here, in this household. What was it, really? He was a chauffeur, but he had to be one of the first. How much did they need him here? Meeting seemed like a formality, then a want. Of course they’d want to be introduced to the staff serving them, but at the end of the day he was Verena’s accessory. Freed up time to snoop around, but he still felt ornamental.

But the wealthy, in his experience, they could afford to keep the little things that they needed rarely, if only for appearances. He could be an ornament, an really, really, observant ornament for a little while.

The king turned and smiled at him.” I’m afraid we won't be using you much, however, I’m sure the staff will find your ability’s helpful.”

“And, I’m sure Lavinia will be more comfortable having a friend from home. I understand that you two grew up together?”

James paused, grappling with both statements not sure what one to acknowledge first.

“I only mean that I prefer to drive myself and Her Majesty when we go out, and Benedict here is more partial to horses.” The king mistook his pause for confusion. Either way, it cleared him to acknowledge the Queen's question. The now named, young man, Benedict, smiled, proper as a mouse.

Benedict. The name rung a bell. He was one son. Had there been another named? This one certainly didn’t seem like a threat, standing there all cheery and polite. Posh British probably ran in his veins. But, looks could be deceiving especially in this line of work. Just thinking about all the information he’d had to cram into his brain in a short time started to make his headache.

He directed his thoughts back to the Queen. “Yes, Your Majesty. I had the privilege of knowing her ladyship from a young age.”

“I cannot recommend a better driver if you ever wish to learn, Your Highness.” Verena took the moment to address the Prince herself. James watched him, ears and eyes open for any signs nominating him as the one.

The prince chuckled. “I’d like to hang onto my days as a man only versed in the ways of the horse for as long as I can. But I shall keep that in mind.”

“You know where to find me, Your majesty.” James answered.

The Queen stood, skirts rustling. “Well, I suppose we shan’t keep you for much longer. We’ve already kept you waiting with such a late welcome. I do apologies for that.” She twisted her hands together. “Something important came up. Besides, you and I are wanted elsewhere. The Queen reached a hand to Verena.” If you’ll follow me, Lavinia, the ladies have been waiting outside. We’ll leave the men to talk about whether man or beast is better.”

The women swept out of the room in a colourful tangle of skirts, leaving through the hall they’d come in, the tail end of their conversation carrying down the hall.
“Could you remind me of your other ladies-in-waiting? How long have they been in your service? Your majesty.” Verena said.

“Oh, of course, and please, Lavinia, call me Cordelia.” The Queens voice faded.

James shifted from one foot to the other. He needed to find a way to either excuse himself or a reason to stay. The latter wasn’t looking so good.

“Well, there’s no reason for us to keep you either. You're free to go, Mr. Rodwick. If there're any issues with the automobiles, do let the butler know. We internet to keep them in proper shape, even if we don’t intend to use them much.” The king dismissed him, turning to his son.

James dipped in another half-bow. It was like being a door hinge, the way he bent stiffly from his waist. Then swiftly took a backward step out of the room, hurrying down the hall once he was sure he was out of earshot.

Royalty, eh? More like a royal awkward. He cringed at his own bad joke. At least he’d met them. Now he could place some faces to the names, he just needed to find out- wait.

He froze. Verena had said her room was up here. All the doors looked idenical.

What was it she ha said, tenth door down? Moving once again to the stairs, he turned, counting the doors rapidly as he went.

One, three, five, seven, nine. He stopped, and ten.

James studied the door. That was it, then. He briefly considered entering.

What would her room look like? Fancier than mine, I bet.

He turned. Better to get back out of the building before someone caught him. As entertaining as it would be, the rumours that would spiral if he was caught snooping around Verena's room would not be beneficial to the mission.

As he entered the yard once again, the sun was lowering in the sky, sending golden rays and long shadows across the grass. At least the sun remained the same. It was what, just over a hundred years younger now?

Allowing himself a moment to breath in the fresh air, the clang of a bell rang. Echoing through the yard. He frowned. What could that signify?

He twisted his wrist around to check his watch. Cleverly disguised from its black glass screen to an intricately made copper-coloured analog watch. Its two hands pointing squarely to eight o’clock.

He squinted at the number. Now, why did eight o'clock deserve a bell ring? Was brain fog a side effect of time traveling? Should he write this down? Now he couldn’t write anything down. People could find written notes. But nobody could hack your brain. Then again, he did have his mission files hidden away in the cottage. But you could also burn written notes. James chuckled, although surely that wasn’t far off, given he was standing in the middle of a living, breathing, running castle in the nineteen hundreds. It would be useful if someone else could dig out the meaning of Eight o'clock from his brain.

“Chadwick!” A feminine voice called him. He blinked, shaken from his thoughts. Ana stood across the grass, waving him over. “Come on, you’ll be late for dinner!”

Dinners at eight. The housekeeps voice repeated in his head. He sprinted after Ana as her figure vanished around the corner into the servants' yard.

Of course, dinner! How could I forget?

He filed in behind Ana, as a sea of black and white uniforms gathered in the halls, some talking excitedly, others trudging forward as they made their way into the dining room.

Aromas filled the air, thick with the days cooking. Sweet carrots, potato’s and the scent of fresh bread from the morning still seemed to linger. Beyond that, he couldn’t tell what else was cooking.

Chairs were pulled out and people settled in, echos of the scrape of wood on wood filling the space. Until the room slowly settled into the silence of anticipation. James pulled his hat off his head, tucking it under his chair, praying he wouldn’t forget it.

Everyone else was quietly pulling napkins onto their laps, James followed suit, as a stout woman entered, bearing a steaming platter. As she set it down, she addressed one of the footmen sitting beside James.

Mason, yer sweetheart wants a hand in the kitchen.”

“Aye does she now, Miss selah. “ Mr.Thomas smiled and swiftly left the table as a collective giggle went round.

“Mr. Thompson, or Mason and Constance, are married, the two lovely fools.” Ana whispered across the table to him.

The couple drifted back into the room, Constance carrying a gravy boat and Mason a platter of roast.

“Aw, wouldya hurry up. My stomach's so empty, it’s echoing.” The gripe spoken by one of the footmen, bushy-haired and blue eyed was quickly silenced by a plausible glare from the butler as he folded his hands to speak a prayer so well said, James wondered if he even registered the words that came out of his mouth.

In-between bites of food and polite inquires into his life, and by effect the “Lady Parker's life,” he took advantage of the comfortable atmosphere the staff fell into eavesdrop.

Most of it was chatter surrounding the events in the castle, the maids and the Queens Handmaid, Miss linnet, and the seamstresses were engrossed in talk of dresses, an up-and-coming gala, held by a duke who it seems the queen didn’t hold in high regard.

The footmen seemed to interject here and there with their own bits, like piecing together a puzzle, of pieces gained from the respective male and female sides of the noble houses.

But his ears perked up when Julian, a bespeckled and spectacled young man with brown curls, was asked a question by the butler regarding the “archives in the library.”

Julian had set his fork down and leaned towards the butler. “Yes, what is it?”

‘I was wondering if you could spare a list of some of the newer nobles. Their majesties were wondering about it. With the gala coming up and some of the more recent marriages.” The butler said.

“I can bring one up in the morning. You needn’t visit yourself. I know you're busy with the ball coming up. I presume that’s what it’s pertaining to?”

“Yes, and yes. Fantastic. Thank you.”

The archives? Well, that sounded like a useful hub of information. If they kept records of the nobles, they must have the birth records of the royal family, possibly even a family tree, and more importantly, if an heir had been chosen.

James tilted his head, catching Mason's attention. “What's the archives?”

Mason waved at Julian. “Records and such. Ask the Keeper himself.”

Julian eyed James lazily, taking a bite of food as he studied the new chauffeur.

He ignored the slight distain and played the ignorantly curious card. “Archives, eh? That sounds interesting. Where is it?”

“The library.”

“Which is?”

“The short, round tower.”

So that’s what that was. “Can I visit?”

“Why?”

“Curiosity.”

The library, yes. The archives are a question for another time.” Julian pushed his chair away from the table. “If you’ll please excuse e Miss Selah, excellent meal, as always. Mr. Daran.” He gave a curt nod to the butler and the cook.

James watched him leave. That one, he wanted to keep an eye on. Something simmered under the surface there, and he wanted to know what. He could excuse himself and follow, but he doubted Julina was going to do anything that’d be of interest this evening. He could visit the library n the morning. Right now, he wanted to hear more about these gala whisperings that were going around.

As the rest of the staff finished their plates and started trickling away back to attend to the family upstairs, James side up to the butler. “I keep hearing talk of a gala, where is it being held?”
Seeing Mr. Daran’s hesitation, he added. “Will the cars be needed?”
“Ah,” the butler said.” No, no, they will not. It's being held in the grand rooms here. You needn’t worry about that.” They strode past the stairs, and the butler took the opportunity to disappear up them with a politely muttered excuse.

That was a dead end. However, Verena would likely be attending, so maybe it was time for late night visit.