Both women were wearing hats, which somehow felt about right. Etta thought people didn’t wear hats enough nowadays, suddenly feeling quite jealous. The jolly woman’s bright white feathery mess of hair was escaping from a battered Panama while the woman on the left wore a smart green cloche with feathers, with steely grey hair peeking out from underneath.
They both looked at her expectantly. Etta felt, as the youngest person present by perhaps fifty years, that she should probably say something helpful. She went through her mental filing cabinet, but found nothing under the ‘stuck in an empty broken-down Tube carriage with two old ladies’ tab.
‘Um … I wonder what’s wrong with the Tube? Do you know where everyone went?’
‘I think we’ve got more important issues to cover, dear.’ The lady on the left – cloche lady – was clutching a red leather diary, full of sticky notes and bookmarks. She turned to one of the last tabs in the book.
Etta’s stomach did a strange sort of flip.
The lady in pink leaned forward excitedly. ‘Ooh, dear, say yes! You’re going to have the most remarkable time. I’m so excited for you.’
Etta blinked. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t tell her, Jemima! She won’t believe us – a pair of total strangers. It’s better we just get it over and done with.’
‘Sorry, Aggie. I just can’t help myself. I wish I could go, too.’
‘Well, you can’t,’ Cloche Lady – Aggie? – replied. ‘You’re too old. Besides, it’s Henrietta’s name in the book. She’s the one.’
Etta stared. ‘Go where? How do you know my name? I’m supposed to be getting off in a minute.’
Aggie ignored her. ‘Now listen up.’
Jemima leaned forward, a conspiratorial look on her face. ‘Oh yes, dear, you really must pay attention. It’s terribly important.’
Aggie glanced at Jemima, mild irritation showing on herface, then back at Etta. ‘You’re Henrietta Moore, and it’s 2023. But we’re offering you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, right here, right now. If you take this bracelet, you’ll be Henrietta Bainbridge, and it’ll be 1817.’
Jemima leaned forward again, her Panama tipping slightly. ‘Take it, dearie. A holiday in Regency Britain! How much fun would that be?’
These women are mad, Etta thought.Completely mad.
As if she could read her mind, Jemima interjected. ‘Better humour us, hadn’t you, dear? If we’re unhinged. The safest thing to do.’
Aggie glared at her companion, then continued, her voice becoming urgent, ‘When we put this bracelet on you, you will swap places with your ancestor. It’s akin to, well, a blip in the universe. And you needn’t worry about Hetty – we’ll look after her.’
Jemima spoke up again, eyes twinkling. ‘Yes, we will. But she was the one that started this – she knows what she’s doing. Oh, my dear, how confused you are! I wish we’d found you sooner, but you’re Charlie’s descendant really, not Hetty’s, so you can hardly blame us for taking a while.’
‘Yes, thank you, Jemima. Now, the best tack is to roll with it. We know you’ve been reading those historical romances, so as long as you’re careful you’ll be fine. The only thing we need you to do – and this is very important – is to write a diary.’
Jemima leaned forward and patted the red leather book Aggie was holding. ‘Every day, dear. And don’t forget to tell us about the Marquess when you find him. Make sure you do. Every detail. We’ll find it in the end, and it will lead us to you. I think so, anyway. This time-travel stuff is discombobulating to say the very least. But the Marquess …!’
‘Never mind the damn Marquess, Jemima. The bracelet. She has to know how it works.’ Aggie’s voice took on a new urgency, ‘Hetty – Etta – about the bracelet. Take it off, put it on, that’s all fine. But break it—’
Jemima took a deep breath.
‘Break it, at any time,’ Aggie continued, ‘and you’ll come right back. Holiday over. Only, so will Hetty. The swap will end.’
Etta felt more confused than she had ever been in her life. This must have been written all over her face, because Aggie reached forward and clasped her hands.
‘Best not to think too much about the how,’ she said kindly. ‘Just roll with it. By the end, you’ll understand. If you stick it out, you’ll have your happy ending. We know that for sure, don’t we, Jemima?’
‘Well, we think we do, Aggie. Not very feminist, mind, but that’s 1817 for you, I suppose. Now, what was the last thing we were supposed to say?’
‘Gosh, I don’t know, Jemima. Something about that awful snake, I think. What was her name?’
Jemima was wrapping the thin golden chain around Etta’s wrist as she said, ‘Oh, Aggie, I don’t remem—’
Etta blinked. It was an ordinary blink – the kind everyone does, thousands of times a day. She barely registered her eyelids flickering shut, but there was no way to miss what she saw when she opened them again.
