The Time Heiress Read online

  The

  Time

  Heiress

  by

  Georgina Young-Ellis

  The Time Heiress by Georgina Young Ellis

  © Copyright 2011

  www.georginayoungellis.com

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part by any process without written permission from the copyright holder.

  Published by Leaping Tall Buildings Productions LLC

  www.ltbprod.com

  ISBN 978-0-9833909-4-7

  1% of all profits from the sale of this book are donated to the

  World Food Programme and/or Heifer International

  Kindle Edition

  This book is available in print at most online retailers.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is dedicated to my father, Bill Josh Young - 9/29/29 - 5/3/11

  A Heartfelt thanks to Cynthia Copeland, my historical expert and consultant on this book.

  Special thanks to my husband, Jonathan Ellis, my son Joshua Ellis, my mother, Patricia A. Young, my sisters Juliana Young and Susan Young-Freeman, and my brother Joshua Young. I'd also like to thank my Editor, Kathlyn McGreevy, and my friends and readers, Tara Hein-Phillips, Susan Izatt, Teresa Barile, Barbara Silkstone and Richard Mattiello.

  An extra thanks to the supporters of my Kickstarter Project, which helped fund the time I needed to finish The Time Heiress: Charly Drobeck, Richard Mattiello, Margaret Waldram, Adrienne Stroud, Vinie Burrows, Rhonda Madsen, Mary Riordan, Laura Horvath, Ellen Reed, Jeannine Hogue, and Nell and Bert Gibson.

  Cover Art: "The Countess of Vilches Amalia de Llano de Llano y Dotres" by Federico de Madrazo y Kuntz - 1853

  Cover and Interior Design- Jonathan Ellis

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter One

  From my earliest days I worked in the fields. My hands were small and nimble so I could get ahold of that cotton. When the deep, red blood from cuts on my fingers would stain the pure white, the boss would beat me, or worse, dock my quota so the next day I’d have to pick more. I don’t remember my mama. I just know I lived with Lillian and Samuel here, and though they were young ones themselves, they took care of me like I was their own.

  One day, I saw Samuel beat for what reason I don’t know. The hate I felt for Master rose up in me bigger than ever and that night I told Lillian and Samuel that we had to run away. They didn’t hesitate. They said yes, right off. I was around twenty years old by then, Sam and Lill a few years more (though none of us knew our exact ages). They’d been lucky all these years, a brother and sister not sold apart. Also lucky that Master kept off of Lill—probably afraid of Sam, him being so big.

  But after that beating, we got word they were thinking of selling Sam down south, so we didn’t waste time. On the new moon, in early spring, we went. The night was pitch-black, and it was cold. There were still patches of snow on the ground. But we could see the North Star through the mostly bare tree branches and we just kept following it. When daylight broke, we slept in a corn crib and ate the little food we’d brought, some corn cakes and baked yams. By night time, we were cold and hungry. I thought about turning back. I knew we’d be whipped. Still, at least back home was food and a warm shack. But when I thought about them selling Sam, I knew we had to go on. We looked for that star and kept moving. It was slow walking ’cause the ground was wet and we were stepping in mud and mire. We went, feeling from tree to tree with owls hooting and wolves crying and so many terrible sounds from who knows what. Then we heard the dogs.

  From Caleb Stone’s narrative, as remembered by Dr. Cassandra Reilly

  *****

  The paparazzi crowded the entrance to MIT’s Stata Center, making it nearly impossible for Cassandra to shove through the doors. Inside, the security guards kept them at bay while she made her way to the elevator and up to the Chronology Department on the fifth floor. She felt ridiculously nervous about meeting the famous artist. Cassandra’s book about her journey to England of 1820 had made her somewhat of a celebrity in her own right, although she was hardly a household name like Elinah Johnston.

  Professor Carver’s secretary indicated for her to enter the office. As she did, Elinah rose to greet her.

  “Hi, I’m Evie.”

  Her sea-green eyes were the exact color of Benedict’s, thought Cassandra. She would have known those eyes anywhere, and found it extremely disconcerting to see them peering out of the beautiful face of a twenty-seven-year-old woman with wild black curls, full lips, and a body that would be the envy of any Hollywood starlet. The young woman’s skin, the color of coffee with extra cream, was complemented perfectly by a dark red, knit dress, long-sleeved with a high neck. The frock hugged every inch of her body, from her muscular arms, to her long, shapely thighs, then flared coyly, just above the knee. Tights and high-heeled black boots completed the ensemble.

  Cassandra couldn’t help but gape before she remembered to accept the offered handshake. “C-Cassandra Reilly.”

  “Ladies, please sit down,” Professor Carver said. As they complied, he moved swiftly to his own seat behind the heavy wooden desk and whirled his chair around to face front. He sat forward, forearms perched on the desk. His dark eyes held an expression of excitement.

  “Ms. Johnston is a big fan of your book,” he told Cassandra.

  She continued to stare as the young woman nodded vigorously, her black curls bouncing.

  “Really. Well, thank you,” Cassandra said to her. “Professor Carver tells me you want to travel to the time period when Ben Johnston lived, but I still don’t understand why. You must know that it’s an extremely complicated and expensive undertaking and can be quite dangerous.”

  “Yes, I know. But I became fascinated with the idea when I was wandering around the churchyard of All Angels down in New York after a concert there, and I noticed tombstones that bore two of my family names, Johnston and Williams. I mentioned it to the pastor, and he told me both families were involved in the abolitionist movement before the Civil War. When I researched my family tree, I discovered that they’re my ancestors! That’s when I decided to see if I could go back to that time and meet them.” She flashed Cassandra a bright smile, but her arms were folded determinedly in front of her body.

  Cassandra looked at Professor Carver, her brow knit. A person outside of the Chronology community didn’t just get to time travel because they were interested in their family history, no matter how famous they were.

  She addressed Evie again. “Do you also have slave ancestors that you know of?”

  “No, no, I’m part African, Japanese, English, and a few other things, but my black heritage comes from my mother, who’s from Kenya originally. Her ancestors are all in Africa; they were not part of the slave history here. So it’s really my white ancestors that were involved with abolition, including Benedict’s daughter Cassandra, named after—”

  “Yes, I know.” Cassandra glanced back at Professor Carver and saw by the l
ook in his eyes that this potential project held a certain personal interest for him too. He broke into the conversation.

  “Ms. Johnston, I think Dr. Reilly and I need to consider your proposal in private. I have the financial information and can pass it on to her. What we really need to discuss is if there is scientific value in the journey.”

  Evie rose. “Oh, I understand. And Dr. Reilly, I also understand your hesitation in undertaking a project like this. I know that tandem travel is usually not done, but I also know that your work here needs funding, and I’m not only willing to finance our journey, but those of other scientists here at the lab as well.”

  “I’m sorry, did you just say our journey?”

  “Well, yes, of course, you would need to come with me.”

  Cassandra jumped up from her seat. “Wait a minute, wait a minute! Nobody said anything about me going! I have no intention of traveling again, at least not any time soon, especially not with—”

  Professor Carver stood as he spoke. “Cassie, calm down, nothing has been decided. We’re only listening to Ms. Johnston, and considering, that’s all, and I’d really prefer we continue this conversation in private.”

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Reilly,” Evie interjected, “I didn’t mean to upset you, but I think if you consider the merits of my proposal—and the kind of money I’m talking about, you will be convinced. Thank you so much for your time. It was very nice to meet you.” She reached out to shake hands, and Cassandra reciprocated mechanically. “Oh, and I brought something for you. Please, I’m not trying to bribe you,” she giggled. “It’s just a token of thanks for considering my proposal.” She handed Cassandra a package wrapped in brown paper. “Have a nice day,” she said. She shot a flirtatious smile at Professor Carver and picked up her bag.

  The professor leapt to open the door for her. “Thank you so much for coming, Ms. Johnston, we’ll be in touch soon. Do you need me to walk you to your car?”

  “No.” She flicked her wrist and spoke. “Frank, I’m ready.” Turning to the professor she said, “My bodyguards will meet me at the door. Thank you again for your time.” Her smile was still on high wattage.

  Professor Carver smiled back at her and closed the door. He turned to Cassandra who was looking up at him, hands on hips. She’d tossed the package onto the chair behind her.

  “All right now, Cassie, let’s talk about this.”

  “There are so many reasons why this cannot happen,” she spat, “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Then first let me tell you why it should happen.”

  “We need the money?”

  “No.” Professor Carver was exhibiting his famous calm demeanor. He lightly stroked his hand over his close-cropped, gray-speckled hair. “That’s the least of it. But first, let me tell you how much money we’re talking about.”

  The figure he uttered hung in the air like a tangible object. He went back to sit behind the desk and Cassandra sat too, shoving the small package out of the way.

  “So because she’s this big celebrity and has a lot of money to throw around, she gets to do whatever she wants, is that it?”

  “Cassie, it’s not just that she’s rich or famous. You know me; I’m not impressed by that kind of thing.”

  Cassandra raised her eyebrow a fraction.

  “It’s the merit of this journey that she’s proposing that really intrigues me. It’s a subject near to my heart and I would be fascinated to go myself and interact with people, both black and white, who were involved in the struggle for abolition.”

  Cassandra knew the conclusion he’d already come to.

  “But it doesn’t make sense for me to go, for so many reasons. I mean, being black, I could not move about freely in that world, the same as a white person. I would not only be ineffective in the experiment, but it would be dangerous for me.”

  “Then why is it okay for Elinah Johnston to go—and why does she call herself Evie?”

  “It’s her nickname, she said, short for her first name, Evelyn. Elinah is her middle name and she uses it because, as you can see, she’s proud of her Kenyan heritage. She only lets certain people call her Evie.”

  Cassandra was unimpressed. “And though she’s part black she can go to pre-Civil War New York without a problem. Why?”

  “Because she’s so light skinned she could pass for white. A lot of people of her color did the same back then. And traveling with you, she could be your companion—perhaps a young artist wanting to see the world, but needing a chaperone to do so.”

  “I thought the idea of passing for white was offensive.”

  “It is. But back in the antebellum era, it was sometimes necessary and certainly advantageous.”

  “And does she understand that she’d be trying to pass? Is she comfortable with that?”

  “She’ll do whatever is necessary; she really wants this. And you, of course, would be a wealthy widow, on vacation or something—”

  “Again with the wealthy widow! Is that the role I’m to be perpetually cast in?”

  “So you’re considering it!”

  “I didn’t say that. There are so many details to consider. First of all, she wants to go to New York City, right? My God, I can’t go back there while Ben is still alive!”

  “But he died fairly young, am I correct? What year was it?”

  “1848.”

  “That’s perfect. She is interested in traveling to 1853, when Cassandra Johnston and her grandfather were at the peak of their involvement in the cause.”

  “How soon does she want to go?”

  “She’s talking about the spring.” He winced.

  “This spring!?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “But it’s—”

  “I know; we’d have to start preparing everything right now. The portal, everything.”

  Cassandra took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “But Elton, what is her goal, what is the purpose of the experiment? Is she submitting a thesis to the Board?”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary. The goal, for the purposes of the Board’s decision, is simply to meet her ancestors and understand what they did for the cause of abolition. Not very much was recorded about their work.”

  “I’m going to have to think about it. My life is just returning to normal. Nick and I are just starting to feel like a couple; he’s not going to be crazy about this either.”

  “But it wouldn’t be a long journey. You’d only be gone a month. The two of you would be merely passing through, in New York for a holiday or something. It would be fun and interesting! Just think, mid-nineteenth century New York—what a fascinating time! Wouldn’t you love to see it?”

  “Don’t try to distract me, Elton. Preparing for a journey like this will be doubly hard with the press underfoot. They follow her and her entourage around constantly.”

  “She promised me that she will keep it all low key. No entourage, no fans—the press…well, that will be harder to control, I admit, but I think it’s worth the trouble.”

  She sank back into the aged leather chair and something crunched. She pulled the package out from behind her, tore off the paper, then gasped.

  “What is it?”

  She slowly turned it around and showed it to the professor.

  His mouth dropped open. “It must be a print.”

  Cassandra ran her hand over the surface of the picture. “No, it’s the real thing.”

  It was a small, abstract self-portrait of the artist, one that Cassandra recognized instantly as among the most famous of Evie’s works, framed in a hand-made, rustic wooden frame. She knew its value was immense.

  “I think she is trying to bribe me,” she said with a sardonic laugh. She set it on his desk. “At any rate, I’m not keeping it.”

  “Yes, you’re right. You have to give it back.” He picked it up and examined it. “I guess it shows, though, how serious she is about this proposal.”

  Cassandra slowly shook her head. She looked out the window a
t the frozen Charles River, thinking, aware he was watching her. She wondered if Elinah Johnston’s wealth, fame or beauty could possibly be influencing her normally unshakable boss. “I’ll think about doing it, Elton. But I don’t like her method of convincing me. Will you please give this back to her?”

  “Yes, leave it here, and I’ll speak to her about the propriety of offering you such a thing. But Cassie, if this trip is going to happen, we’d have to get started next week.”

  “Give me two days.” She stood up and he rose with her.

  “All right, and thank you.”

  “I haven’t said yes.”

  “I know,” he said, giving her a peck on the forehead and a gentle hug. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

  She returned his affection with a kiss on the cheek. “Okay. See you later.”

  She exited the building and noticed that the paparazzi had evaporated. She walked south through the MIT campus, across a highway, where the cars glided quietly to a pause as she crossed. She wandered along the Charles River to just before the boathouse and rowing skiff. At this time of year, with the water frozen, no one would be around. The temperature was in the low thirties but her lightweight clothing was programmed to keep her comfortable regardless. She didn’t even mind the wind blowing in off the water.

  She stared across at the Boston skyline, the gleaming dome of the three-hundred-and twenty-year-old State House still vivid amidst the towering skyscrapers, and Harvard Bridge quaintly poised to allow for the passage of vehicles that its builders could not have vaguely imagined. Before long, these images receded from the forefront of her consciousness as her mind drifted back to England, to the year 1820. She generally tried not to spend too much time thinking about her relationship with Ben Johnston now that she and Nick were together, but now, these memories came flooding back, especially after seeing those eyes, Ben’s eyes, looking at her from Elinah Johnston’s face. The icy surface of the Charles River became the backdrop for her memories of Sorrel Hall, the beautiful mansion she’d lived in for a year, its sweeping grounds, its forests, hills, and streams. She remembered the rustic little cottage where she and Ben would meet to make love as often as possible, the thrill of the secrecy of their affair, and thought of the risk she had taken getting involved in such a thing. She thought of those eyes, those sea-green eyes, his mouth, his hands, his sinewy body, and she felt heat rising through her thighs. She shook her head. It wasn’t right to be fantasizing about him anymore. He’d been dead for almost three centuries, and she was now in a relationship with the man who had ultimately proven to be the hero when she needed one most.