Agents of time: Chapter Six; Upstairs and downstairs

BRITISH ISLES

BELAVRUV, MANNINGTON

HOUNDSWORTH ESTATE

1920

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. They’d visited plenty of extravagant buildings in their line of work, trashed more than one. A few too many casualties in the form of ornate China vases. They never had the time to really admire them. 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, they’d 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 a 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. He didn’t recognize her from the maids who’d greeted the upon arrival.

“The one and only.” James reached to take his hat off, groping nothing but air.

The maid laughed. “If you’re looking 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. “I’m Ana by the way.”

“Nice to meet you Ana.” He said as they met Verena standing in the middle of the hall, staring out a window.

 She’d had a nearly complete transformation since he’d seen her a few minutes ago. 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 from her neck. She fiddled with the end of it absentmindedly. Dropping it as soon as she saw them.

James adjusted the lapels of his jacket. Feeling sorely underdressed. At least this was his first time wearing the neatly pressed uniform, 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, allowing James to catch up.

James caught her eye, and she tilted her head, lifting a finger to her lips before she blinked slowly, like a dash in Morse code. Observe, don’t speak unless spoken to.

The maid slowed her steps as they neared the door that ended the hall. With no other sound to mask it, Verena and James' collective inhale seemed to fill the room.

James nodded and took a slight pause in his steps, 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, pairing it with the picture of her green eyes, as the trio entered the room. Ana gave some introduction, but he dulled it out as he dipped his hat off his head, pressing it to his chest in a bow, and took in the scene before him. Right now, his senses were better put to absorbing all new information.

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. Like a more regal version of Verena’s yet 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 medals pinned to the lapels. Standing beside him was a young man, not much further off their age, James guessed. 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. Someone of nearly equal rank, then?

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

Verena spoke first. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Majesties. I look forward to serving you. I am honoured to have this opportunity.” She looked at the woman.

The Queen. Queen… James searched for their names in his mind.

King Aldrick and Queen Cordelia, reigning monarchs of Belacruv. Blond-haired Cordelia, dark-haired Aldrick. He added the names to this mental list, alongside Anas.

James’ gaze went from the tall man, the king, to the young man. Was he some sort of vassal? Rather young for one, but if he were here… rather casually with the way he stood next to the king. A prince? Was he, the prince? How many princes were there? Had the files mentioned more than one son? With the short time he’d had to become familiar with the case files, the information hadn’t had time to stick.

He paused his line of thoughts before the silence drew on too long and smiled. “I also look forward to serving Your Majesties with any, uh, transportation needs.”  

That sounded lacking. He bit his tongue.

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

What was his role in this household? What was it, really? He was a chauffeur, but he had to be one of the first. Cars had only been around, what, a decade now? How much did they need him here? This meeting felt more like a formality, the “way things were done” than a need of staff. 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.

The wealthy, in his experience, could afford to keep the little things that they needed rarely, if only for appearances. He could be an ornament, an observant ornament for a little while. At least it freed up time to snoop around. He should seek out some of those secret passages Verena had mentioned.

The king turned and smiled at him.” I’m afraid we won't be using you much. Cordelia’s not a fan of driving. Really, it's just I who uses the car from time to time. I’m sure Lavenia will be more comfortable having a friend from home. I understand that you two grew up together?”

James smiled, grappling with both statements, not sure which one to acknowledge first.

 The King continued. “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. 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 instead of blood. But looks could be deceiving, especially in this line of work. He took a measured, quiet breath. Searching for information in his head that didn’t seem to exist.

 He directed his thoughts back to people in front of him. “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. Any small mention or indication that they’d set him as the heir.

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 toward Verena. “If you’ll follow me, Lavinia, the ladies have been waiting in the study. We’ll leave the men to talk about whether beast or machine is better.”  

The king chuckled at the comment, who gave his wife a kiss on the cheek as she swept by him. As Verena stepped in front of James as she went towards the queen. Moving her arms behind her, as if to clasp her hands behind her back. Instead, she clasped one hand into a beak, then made a fist, pointing her thumb down. Talk, tonight.

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. One on one conversation with a king and a prince about cars. That was a new one.

“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 intend to keep them in proper shape, even if we don’t use them much. We’ll have to debate some other time.” He winked and turned 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 long backward step out of the room, hurrying down the hall once he was sure he was out of earshot.

At least he’d met them. Now he could place some faces to the name. He just needed to find out- wait. He froze. Verena had said her room was up here. He took a glance at all the doors he passed. Every single one was identical.

What was it she had 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. No shadows moved under the door, and no footsteps sounded inside, but he didn’t want to chance running into Ana right now.

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

Now, secret passages. That door the butler had come out of when they’d arrived must be connected to the staff quarters, which should connect to at least some of the secret passages. He stepped down into the entryway, taking a slow, long look at the four wood-panelled walls that surrounded him. There could be something there. He turned back to the stairs. They floated off the floor, supported by beams set into the wall. He pressed a hand into the panel under the lowest stair. Nothing. He continued onto the next. One side tilted inward, hinging like a door. Interesting. He moved to the edge and pushed harder. The panel swung open. Revealing an oil lamp lit stairwell. Spooky.

Defiantly went somewhere. The staff quarters were on the other side of the building, so either it didn't lead there, or it was a maze of underground halls. Better start from the staff quarters and find his way back.

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 breathe in the fresh air, the clang of a bell. 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. It’s two hands pointing squarely to eight thirty o’clock.

He squinted at the numbers. Now, why did eight thirty deserve a bell ring? Was brain fog a side effect of time travelling? Should he write this down? No, he couldn’t write anything down. People could find written notes. But you could also burn written notes. But nobody could hack your brain. Not that he could even remember the mission files. Then again, he did have his mission files hidden away in the cottage. Paper files. He should check on those.

 James chuckled, although surely brain hacking wasn’t far off, given he was standing in the middle of a living, breathing, castle in the nineteen hundreds. It would be useful if someone else could dig out the meaning of eight thirty 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 thirty. 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 he 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 day's cooking. Sweet carrots, potatoes 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, echoes 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 footman 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. Thomas, 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, would ya 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. Who then 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, to 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 interjected here and there with their own bits. Leaving James with a general picture in his head of the castle gossip. Like piecing together a puzzle of pieces gained from the respective male and female sides of the noble houses.

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 gala coming up.”

“Yes. Fantastic. Thank you.” Julian Said.

 The archives? 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, the heir to the throne.

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, inquired by the mention of his name. He took a slow bite of food as he studied the new chauffeur.  

James ignored the slight disdain 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 me, 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 one. Something simmered under the surface there, and he wanted to know what was in the archives that motivated such a curt excuse. James considered excusing himself to trail the man, but he doubted Julian was going to do anything that important 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 sided up to the butler. “I keep hearing talk of a gala, where is it being held?”

Seeing Mr. Daran’s confusion to the abrupt question, he added. “Will the cars  or more importantly, myself, 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 a late-night visit.