Chapter 9 Magellan
Magellan
Magellan opened her eyes to be greeted by blinding sunlight streaming through a wall of windows framed by gold-brocaded curtains. She sat up and squinted at the brightness, only to find herself lying on top of an enormous four-poster bed with a regal canopy draped on top.
She opened her eyes, noting right away the entire room looked straight out of a museum.
Which did not help! Fighting back another surge of panic, she tried hard to look for five specific things.
A dainty writing desk sat in the corner.
An elegant sofa and side table was on the far wall with a mirrored antique dresser on the other side.
The fifth thing was the wood floor’s intricate design was partially covered by a soft-piled carpet.
Next came four sounds, except she couldn’t hear anything.
The background noise of the city was noticeably absent.
Instead she focused on the sound of her breathing, hummed a bit, and snapped her fingers a few times.
Moving on to touch three textures, she slid off the bed, feeling her bare feet on the floor.
Her shoes were tucked in the corner nearby, and the flower wreath from her hair sat on the dresser.
Her toes sank into the carpet as she moved about the room.
She touched the bed’s wooden banister and ran her fingers along the luxurious down blanket, soothed by the feel of the billowy fabric beneath her fingertips.
She sniffed about for two smells. The scent of lemon oil wafted in the air, along with a floral fragrance from the fresh roses on the dresser. The flowers were magnificent, an enormous bouquet of roses in pinks, yellow, and white. Their beauty alone calmed her significantly.
The last in the countdown was one taste, but her mouth was too dry and her stomach rumbled. She would need to eat soon or risk a blood sugar crash.
She padded over to the window and found she was able to look out at the breathtaking view without any dizziness.
She was on the third floor, the same height as her apartment, but the stunning sight muted her fear.
Green stretched for miles, and beneath her window was an enchanting garden lined with fountains and sculptures.
It felt like a dream. Was it a dream?
If this was a dream, everything felt stunningly real.
Maybe she really was at an estate, just like the man said.
The gardens were spectacular from the room’s vantage point, and an actual labyrinth loomed in the distance, a majestic maze in the shape of a circle easily the size of a football field.
She could see the stone circle and garden in its center where she’d woken up.
That man, “the Earl of Liron,” had been telling her the truth. About all of it.
His name was Liron, yet he’d never heard of the institute.
Magellan looked around the room and caught her reflection in the mirror. She was a mess. Her dress was rumpled with grass stains, her hair a tangle. She laid her hands on her body. Her skin and clothes felt real, physically real. Too real to be a dream.
She went to the bedroom door and tried to open it, only to find it locked.
Someone had locked her in.
A surge of adrenaline exploded through her body, infusing every cell with the primal urge to run, and suddenly she could not catch her breath.
Every coping method flew out the window.
She was trapped in an alternate reality and locked in a room.
She pulled on the handle, frantically trying to force it open.
Should she scream for help? Did she want her captors to know she was awake? She dropped her hands from the handle, unsure what to do.
This wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare. She stood paralyzed, her thoughts racing too fast to come up with any kind of plan.
At the sound of the doorknob turning, she frantically looked around for a place to hide, but there was no time. She backed away in terror.
The same woman from yesterday bustled into the room with a bright smile that seemed forced.
She was wearing another elaborate full-length gown.
Yesterday, she’d said she was the earl’s mother.
Maybe she really was. Two women dressed in simple black gowns with white collars followed behind her. One woman was holding a tea tray.
“Splendid! You are avake.” The woman’s accent was thick. “Did you sleep vell, my dear? Vee have brought you tea.”
Magellan stood there frozen, unable to find her voice.
“Do not vorry if your memories have not returned because of zee amnesia. I have heard amnesia can be long lasting.” She kept emphasizing the word.
“Zee only cure for amnesia is to vrest and recover until your memories return. You must look on me as your nursemaid. I am Lady Liron, and my son who you met yesterday is zee earl.”
Magellan cleared her throat, desperately needing to clarify. “From the Liron Institute?”
The housemaids giggled and Lady Liron frowned. “No, my dear, you are at our estate, Hereford Manor, and vill be my guest vhile you convalesce.”
“Convalesce?”
“From your amnesia,” Lady Liron stressed again, looking as if she wanted to say more. The two maids hovering behind her seemed unsure what to do. Magellan wasn’t sure either.
Was she making this all up in her head and actually lying in a Manhattan hospital?
One of the maids stepped forward and asked, “Milk and sugar, miss?”
“Yes, please,” Magellan whispered, feeling lightheaded as she watched her prepare the tea. “Extra sugar, please.” Then she gathered her courage to ask Lady Liron, “Do you think I might be able to go back to the labyrinth today? Where I was found? It might help me to . . . remember.”
To her relief, the woman nodded. “My son can escort you vis a chaperone.” Then the woman’s eyes lit up. “Along with zome of our other guests! Our house party has just gotten underway, and you must be included in all zee festivities.” She clapped her hands in delight.
Magellan raised her eyebrows. Though it was a relief to know they weren’t going to keep her locked up in this room, she didn’t want to join any festivities. She wanted to go home.
Lady Liron’s gaze was riveted on her dress. “I vill have to give zome story to introduce you. My daughter Vivianne vill lend you clothing.”
Magellan needed to know. “So I’m in England?”
Lady Liron glanced nervously to the maids but said, “Yes, of course. Not far from Wiltshire.”
Magellan had no idea where Wiltshire was but nodded as if she did.
Then she inwardly cringed when she asked the next question.
“And what year is it?” She had to ask because she felt like she had wandered onto the set of Pride & Prejudice.
One of the maids giggled nervously, and Lady Liron shot the girl a look.
Magellan reminded them, “My amnesia.”
Lady Liron gave a strained smile and turned back to her with a swish of her skirts. “Of course.” She patted Magellan’s hand. “It is zee year 1829, vhich I’m sure you vill remember soon.”
Magellan licked her lips, trying hard to stifle the urge to run hysterically from the room.
1829? She grabbed her tea and downed it like a tequila shot.
“Now vrest,” Lady Liron was saying, “and I vill have a breakfast tray brought up.” Then the woman hurried out as if she couldn’t leave fast enough. Her maids trailed behind her.
The sound of the lock turning filled the room, leaving Magellan alone again.
Dread and a new kind of panic assailed her. How was she in 1829?
She looked around, trying to rein in her fear, and she rubbed her fingertips together over and over, another coping mechanism to ground herself.
But it wasn’t working. Anxiety was triggered either by being afraid of the future or regretting the past, and you only got out of it by being in the present.
But what did you do when the present was the wrong freaking year?
Her vagus nerve was in meltdown. There was no humming herself out of this.
Could it really be 1829? Had the polar shift catapulted her through time like those artifacts on the news?
Which triggered another terrifying thought—was she stuck here forever? She fought back the rising panic and forced herself to think. Somehow, she needed to get back to the center of the labyrinth. She needed to go there and figure out what the hell happened.
The sound of the lock turning made her pivot. A maid entered with a breakfast tray, set it down, curtsied, and left, locking the door behind her.
The tray was a feast of bacon, eggs, sausage, sautéed mushrooms, and thick slices of bread, along with a fruit bowl and dainty pastries.
If Magellan was in her right mind, she would have enjoyed it.
Instead, she wolfed everything down to stave off the blood sugar crash she could feel coming on, barely tasting a thing.
Only fleetingly did it register when she poured herself a second cup of tea that it was the best tea she’d ever had in her life.
A strong English Breakfast that turned a rich caramel color with the milk.
She took her cup and went over to the window to study the labyrinth. The view was mesmerizing, the labyrinth a stunning masterpiece of architecture that looked like a beautiful mandala made out of green hedges.
Squinting hard, she attempted to pick out the route from the beginning to end. Surely if she studied it carefully enough, she could remember the path to the center. Labyrinths were nothing more than a pattern—like a challenging song—and she could remember any song.
Her gaze traveled along the hedge lines, and she memorized each turn by assigning it a musical note.
She started over countless times until a mental map of a song formed in her mind.
She stood there for well over an hour, humming the tune that would get her from the labyrinth’s start to the center.
Now certain she could find her way through it, she just needed to sneak off by herself.