“Did I now?” Rose said, trying to conceal the surprise in her voice.

“Of course you did.” Mrs. Dobkins sighed. “That’s youth for you! I tell you, since the king had the . . .” She coughed. “. . . fuss with the pope, the monasteries have been very neglected. They should keep them up better. If not for praying, there’s other uses.”

Rose was confused. “Uh . . . what do you mean, Mrs. Dobkins?”

“Oh, you know, back almost ten years ago when the king had his way with the pope. No more monasteries! No more friaries, no more Roman priests. It’s all Church of England now, and no money from the crown to keep things up to snuff.” She turned and gave a quick smile to Rose. “You were just a babe, of course.”

“Yes,” Rose said softly.

The progress began to slow. “Must be a horse change station ahead. Thank goodness. I fiercely need to relieve myself.” Mrs. Dobkins shifted in her saddle.

“You mean . . .” Rose started to say, “You mean pee?” But she stopped herself in time.

“What was that, dear?”

“Nothing.”

“And we’ll also get into our court wear.”

It all came back to Rose now. The black uniforms and the ruffs. Great, she thought. A ruff. Maybe she could bring it back for Halloween.

The clothing change was quite a lesson for Rose. She had not realized how many layers she had been wearing, and when she was about to take off her kirtle, she felt something knock against her hip. She reached into the pocket. The jam jar! But not only that, the letter that Franny had stuffed into her pocket was there as well. This was astounding. The acne potion and the letter had both come with her through time and place. One, the acne lotion, was an import from the future; the other, the letter, was an export from the past! She stopped thinking of the jump between the twenty-first century and the sixteenth century as a gap or a chasm, but instead more like a tear or rip in the fabric of time. And somehow the jar got through in her pocket. For the sweater pocket had held the acne potion when she left, and her kirtle had held the note from Franny. This was a literal pocket in time!

“You can keep your same chemise on, but here’s a fresh kirtle,” Mrs. Dobkins said, handing her a black garment to replace her ochre-colored one. The kirtle had a fitted bodice that laced up the front. “And now for your serving gown.” She handed Rose a black gown. It felt very soft compared to the coarse homespun she had been wearing.

“What is this fabric, Mrs. Dobkins?”

“Like it, do you?” Mrs. Dobkins winked. “’Tis a light worsted wool with a tad of silk woven in. Now, don’t get too used to it. Who knows how long we’ll be in court, and then it will be back to the coarse stuff.”