Two maids each dipped a bucket of water out of the tub, and two others adding steaming hot water.

“Step up. Step up,” the crone said.

Deirdre jumped up to take her turn.

“I’m glad you’re quick,” Mina said. “Mrs. Tuttle doesn’t like us to dawdle.” She indicated the crone by the fireplace.

“Then she’s the butler’s wife?”

“Good heavens, no. She’s his mother and very strict about the rules. We humor her because she’s been with the family forever. She was father’s nursemaid, maybe even grandfather’s.” Mina partially covered her mouth so no one else could hear her whisper. “We heard that at a certain house party, an unmarried couple was found bathing together, in the middle of the night no less.”

Eleanor eyed the large tub, and her imagination provided an inviting image of Shermont soaking there. Several enjoyable aquatic activities came to mind. “Oh, that’s … astonishing.”

“Something like that would never happen in Mrs. Tuttle’s bathing chamber.”

Too bad. “Of course not.”

A maid brought another tray with an assortment of creams and oils, but since Eleanor didn’t know what they were for, she shook her head. She also refused a cup of lemon verbena tea.

When Deirdre was done, she took a seat on a small stool by the fire, and Mrs. Tuttle brushed her long blonde locks.

“Whenever I think about cutting my hair, I reconsider,” Deirdre said to Eleanor. “However did you get the nerve?”

Eleanor shrugged. She’d worn her hair long most of her life, but after her breakup, she’d decided she needed a drastic change. She’d donated fourteen inches of hair to Locks of Love and decided she preferred it short. “It’s so much easier to take care of this way.” She fluffed her curls with her fingers and wished she’d brought a comb.

“A gentlewoman’s hair is her crowning glory,” Mrs. Tuttle said, her voice little more than a rasp. “If you cut it, you cut your chances of an advantageous marriage.”

“Well, I’m going to cut mine,” Mina said as she took her turn in the tub. “Not really short as in the Titus style, but I want those adorable little curls that frame your face. I’m going to wait to see the fashions when we get to London.”

In the warm bathing chamber, Eleanor’s thin chemise dried quickly and she feared she would sweat, thus negating any good done by the bath, “I’m going back to our room,” she announced as she stood.

“Have a good rest,” Deirdre said. “I’ll tell Twilla to wake you in plenty of time to get dressed for the ball.”

A maid rushed to hold Eleanor’s robe and another brought her slippers. As she ducked through the curtain, she encountered Fiona, Hazel, Beatrix, and their mothers.

After the normal pleasantries, Beatrix started toward the curtain. Mrs. Holcum blocked the way and folded her arms over her ample bosom. “We’ll wait until they are done. I don’t hold with public bathing. We’re not ancient Romans, you know.”

Eleanor fought the urge to roll her eyes. Obviously, Mrs. Holcum didn’t consider the servants members of the public.

“I don’t know why young people today are so obsessed with bathing,” Mrs. Maxwell said. “It’s unhealthy to immerse yourself in water so often. In my day, twice a year was considered more than adequate.”

“Moth-ther,” Fiona and Hazel said together.

“I agree,” Mrs. Holcum said. “It’s the schools that put these preposterous ideas into their heads. Before she went to Miss Simpkin’s Academy, my daughter hated bathing and had to be bribed every spring and fall.”

“I was a child then,” Beatrix said. The whine in her voice disproved her claim to maturity.

“My daughters were the same,” Mrs. Maxwell said. “But once in the tub, I had the devil of a time getting them out.”

Knowing from experience with friends and coworkers that motherly bonding could extend to hours of comparisons, Eleanor used the lame excuse of damp hair and the possibility of taking a chill to escape. As she walked down the hall, she heard Mrs. Holcum say, “See, Beatrix. You could learn from such a sensible, old-fashioned girl.”

Eleanor was still smiling when she entered her bedroom. The drapes had been drawn and the bed turned down in preparation for her nap. Even in the dim light she recognized her visitors.

“No need to ask if you’re having a good time,” the ghost of Mina said with an answering grin.

“Where have you been?” Eleanor asked. “I’ve called and—”

“You made us promise not to interfere,” Deirdre’s ghost said. “We’re only keeping our word.”

“Oh, yeah … well … then why are you here?” Were they going to take her back? Now that the time was near, she realized she wasn’t quite ready.

“We wanted to let you know how pleased we are with your progress so far,” Mina said. “You’ve adapted amazingly well.”

“We will return at midnight tonight,” Deirdre said. “So you have to chaperone us for only ten more hours. But the most difficult hours are ahead. With so many people at the ball, you must pay close attention and not allow yourself to be distracted.”

“But we have every confidence in you,” Mina added.

“Do you mean it hasn’t happened yet? I haven’t stopped it? What about last night in Shermont’s room? You do know what happened there?”

The ghosts looked at each other. Deirdre nodded to Mina.

“Yes, we saw. As to whether only one incident can predicate a duel, we can’t be sure,” Mina explained. “Since we’re here with you, we won’t have any memories of what you do until we return to the future.”

“But we have every confidence you will be successful,” Deirdre said.

“You could make this easier if you’d tell me exactly where and when this seduction happened.”

Again, the ghosts looked at each other before answering.

“That’s impossible to determine,” Deirdre said. “You see, there are certain pivotal points in each person’s life. In between those points, events can shift around without making a huge difference. You prevented one incident, but another may yet occur. However, if Shermont does not seduce one of us by midnight tonight, then it won’t happen.”

“That’s when we met Ackerly and Clifford and decided we should marry brothers,” Mina added.

“Not them,” Deirdre said.

“Good heavens, no. But they did give me the idea that—”

“It was my idea.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Girls!” Eleanor said in exasperation. “It doesn’t matter whose idea it was.”

“Quite right. Anyway, it was a pivotal point and one that will prevent the duel. After that, neither of us wanted to pursue Shermont any longer.”

“Fine. But it would be easier if I knew which girl to follow. If they … you … separate before midnight—”

“We cannot break our sacred vow,” the ghosts said together.

“Arrrgh! How do you expect me to follow both of you?”

“There’s only one of him,” Deirdre pointed out.

With that cryptic comment, they winked out of sight.

* * *

Eleanor hadn’t expected to sleep, but when Twilla entered with a tray of food, she woke from a dream. She had been Cinderella, Shermont her Prince Charming. The refrain from the musical stuck in her brain: Impossible things are happening every day. She tried reciting a poem and the multiplication tables to dislodge it, but until she hummed the Oscar Mayer jingle, that song wouldn’t budge. Then, of course, she was stuck with the commercial tune, but at least it didn’t make her think of her midnight deadline.

After eating the light dinner Twilla had brought, Eleanor dressed in a deep yellow silk dress she’d made to go with her amber cross necklace, which was back in place around her neck. Twilla insisted on helping with her hair. The maid attached a gold ribbon three times across the crown of her head for a diadem effect. Mina had lent a white feather rosette with a pearl center that Twilla pinned over Eleanor’s ear.

Since elbow-length gloves were not de rigueur as they would be in the Victorian Age, Eleanor chose the more comfortable short ones made from netted lace. With her turquoise tulle evening shawl, beaded reticule, and ivory fan, she was ready.

“Thank you for your help,” she said to Twilla.

“My pleasure. You look lovely.”

Eleanor knew guests usually left money for those who had provided for them, one reason why servants didn’t mind the extra work events such as house parties and balls caused. She would be leaving, but she had no money to give the maid. Instead, she pulled the string of blue glass beads from her case. “I want you to have these,” she said to Twilla.

“Oh, no. I couldn’t—”

“I insist.”

The maid reached out and took them as if they were precious jewels. “I ain’t never had anything so fine,” she whispered.

“Put them on.” Eleanor wanted the others to see Twilla wearing them before she left. Not so they would know she’d tipped the maid, but so no one would think the servant had stolen them.

They joined the others in their bedroom as the girls put the finishing touches to their own outfits.

Both wore the white appropriate for their ages. Deirdre’s dress was trimmed with embroidered edging and a sash of braided ribbons in several shades of green from mint to forest. Mina’s dress had pink satin trim and tiny ribbon roses scattered around the square neckline and along the three-inch hem.

Deirdre sat at the dressing table and rubbed a red-tinted paper on her cheeks.

“Lightly,” Mina cried. “We don’t want Teddy to know we bought rouge papers.”

“I look like a Punch and Judy puppet,” Deirdre said, leaning forward to peer closely in the mirror. She picked up a damp cloth and scrubbed her cheeks clean.