“If, as you say, the two princesses hate each other, what do they do all day?” Rose asked as she gazed at the flawless blue sky.

“Pray. Princess Mary is very religious. She spends a lot of time in the chapel.”

“Does Elizabeth pray with her?”

“Only if forced to. Mostly the two princesses try to wheedle information out of each other. It’s a great game—sort of a cat-and-mouse game.”

“But Mary is not next in line for the throne.”

“Oh no, that would be their half brother, Prince Edward, but he’s sickly and frail.”

In other words, Rose thought, he could die. Wait, what do I mean? He does die, and Mary becomes queen. It was then that the utter weirdness of Rose’s situation struck her full force. She knew what would happen. She had read someplace about the young prince dying after he had been king for only a short time, allowing England’s most horrific monarch, Bloody Mary, to rule. Her passion for God and burning Protestants had earned her the name. And yet Franny did not know this. She knew nothing of this. But I do! Rose thought.

At that moment Franny rolled over onto her stomach and began treading water, for they’d reached a deep part of the river.

“Rose!” There was a desperate note in her voice.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes, but I . . . I must ask you something . . . uh, no, not ask you. I must show you something. Something very disturbing.”

“What is it?” Did Franny know her secret? Did she know she was from the future? Another century, nearly five hundred years ahead in time?

They swam to the riverbank. September was frolicking on the grass, nipping at flies. “Oh, there’s the cat that was with you when I first saw you. Your cat?”

“Uh, sort of.” Rose was surprised; she hadn’t realized that September had tumbled through time with her. A feline time traveler!

“Sort of?”

“She’s a stray. She follows me about.”

“Pretty, she is. Bright as an autumn leaf.”

“Yes, I call her September.”

Franny leaned forward until her nose was almost touching Rose’s. “I have to ask you something, Rose Ashley. Something important.” Franny’s forehead crinkled into lines and she suddenly seemed older than her years. She began scrabbling on all fours to where she had dumped her skirt and blouse higher up on the bank. Rose felt as if there was something almost desperate in the way she was crawling. She finally reached her skirt, and her hand disappeared into a deep pocket.

“This!” she said, and held up a chain with a pendant on it.

“A necklace? Wh . . . what does this have to do with me?”

“You’re sure you don’t recognize it?”

“No, it’s not mine.”