Anne Barbour (25 page)

Chapter Twenty-one

Hilary bolted into the little shop, and when she had concluded her business, she looked about cautiously as she left. The street was empty save for a few passersby, mercifully devoid of mustard-colored coats. What in the world had Mordecai Cheeke been doing in the village? she wondered. Silly question, she thought, a moment later. He was snooping, of course. But what was it he was snooping into? He already knew that James was investigating the villa. Surely, he did not think that anyone in the village would have knowledge of any finds James might have made there.

Hmmm. He had evinced an interest in Rufus. While he could not possibly suspect the old soldier’s identity, he obviously sensed a mystery in the presence of Rufus in James’s home. That must be it. Cheeke was no doubt canvassing the residents of the village in hopes of uncovering some clues as to who Rufus was and what he was doing at Goodhurst.

She chuckled inwardly. Well, good luck to him. The villagers knew no more of Rufus than Cheeke himself. The servants had not been instructed to keep silent about him, for that, Hilary and James and Robert had agreed, would only arouse curiosity. However, the staff had apparently accepted James’s story of an old friend from a far-off land come to visit. After all, the peculiar Mr. Wincanon maintained odd interests in all sorts of strange people and pursuits.

She would miss Rufus when he was gone, Hilary reflected, but she would be glad when they had sent him on his way. The sooner he was back in his own place in the cosmos and away from Mordecai Cheeke’s prying eyes, the better off they’d all be. Thank goodness his send-off was set for day after tomorrow.

She turned to mount her carriage for the return to Whiteleaves.

James awoke on Tuesday morning with a sense of anticipation mixed with regret. He was pleased for Rufus that he would be on his way home at last. However, he had come to enjoy the old warrior’s company, beyond the knowledge of ancient Rome he contained in his head, and would be sorry to see him leave.

He found Rufus before him at breakfast. To James’s critical eye, he did not look at all well. He was noticeably thinner than when he had tumbled into their lives a scant two weeks ago, and his skin was an unhealthy clay color. The soldier insisted he felt “well enough,” however, and as they chatted over the coffee cups, they were joined by Robert.

“When will Lady Hilary be arriving?” he asked.

James’s pulse stirred at the sound of her name, but he waved a casual hand. “Oh, not much before noon, I should imagine. We cannot expect Cyrus before then, even if he starts out early from Gloucestershire, which, knowing him, I am sure he will not.”

Rufus was in high good humor, making short work of a steak and a plateful of eggs. He had, he declared, been up since dawn, occupying himself with polishing his armor.

“It wouldn’t do,” he declared, “for the garrison’s armorer to appear after such a lengthy absence in rusty armor.”

“But will it be?” asked Robert after a moment. “A lengthy absence? Perhaps no time at all has elapsed at your end of the transference, and it’s only been a moment or two since you disappeared from your companions in the tower.”

Rufus stared blankly, then turned to James, a questioning expression on his face.

“I have been wondering the same thing myself,” James admitted. ‘There is no way of telling how the transference affected the passage of time at your end of the spectrum.”

“In addition,” added Robert, “what if the thing doesn’t work at all?” He darted a glance at Rufus. “I’d be dashed reluctant to expose myself to—”

“Robert!” said James sharply.

“Oh.” Robert dropped his gaze, chastened. “Sorry.”

To James’s surprise, Rufus laughed. “—to expose myself to a lightning blast on the chance I might ride it to my own time?” He shook his head. “No, I’m not worried. I have every confidence that it will work. I’ll be home for
cena
tonight—I hope the cook serves his salmon in caper sauce—and I’ll live to be an old man.”

James gazed at him in wonder. “I must say, I didn’t want to bring up the possibility of failure, but it is something we should consider. The field of electrical experimentation is very new—and very tentative.”

Rufus gestured dismissively. “It will work,” he said simply. “I know it will.”

“But—”

James was interrupted by the advent of a footman, who announced that Lady Hilary had arrived and awaited Mr. Wincanon in the library. James fairly leaped from his chair. He had been confident, of course, that Hilary would put in an appearance, for she would not want to miss Rufus’ grand disappearance. In the normal course of events, she would have come early if nothing else to enjoy a final few hours with Rufus. However, such had been her demeanor when she left the day before that he doubted she would arrive any earlier than she felt necessary to see Rufus off.

Devil take it, he seemed unable to put a foot right lately in his dealings with Hilary. This would be the third or fourth time in a very short while that he felt obliged to apologize for some transgression or other. At least, this time he knew where he had erred. Rufus had brought to his attention in painful detail his tendency to treat Hilary like an unpaid and not-very-bright clerical assistant. He could not, in all honesty, blame her for taking snuff at such behavior.

The trouble was, he had realized at some point in the cold, dark reaches of the night before, he was using this attitude as a barrier. There was no doubt that his feelings for Hilary were plunging far beyond what could be considered proper between a gentleman of scientific pursuits and his acolyte in matters archaeological. She possessed the ability to transform him in an instant from the cool, detached intellectual he had been for so many years, to an addled schoolboy, consumed with longing. Even now, his pulse was pounding like that of a child on Christmas morning, just at the prospect of seeing her.

When he entered the library, she was standing at the far end of the room, caught in a slanting beam of early sunlight. Her hair was a glowing salute to the glory of autumn and her slight form was outlined in a golden halo against the long window that overlooked a velvety lawn. She raised her head and smiled at the opening of the door, and James felt his heart turn over. As she lifted her hand in a shy greeting, he was swept by a stunning realization. Good God, he was in love with this woman!

He almost stumbled with the force of the knowledge. He halted, simply gazing at her. He knew, with a burst of clarity, that all his life he would remember this moment. He would carry in his heart forever the picture of an enchanting sprite, garbed in a simple gown of forest green, embellished with crisp, white frills of lace. How had this happened, he wondered dazedly, and what was he to do now? How was he to deal with the maelstrom of emotion sweeping through him?

His first impulse was to run to her and to gather her into his arms. To pour out his feelings. He drew a deep breath. He would not do this, of course. He must think this thing through—approach the situation from a logical perspective. Perhaps the shattering revelation that had just come upon him was the result of a momentary madness. He had been so careful for so many years. Surely, he was not about to abandon the precepts of a lifetime for an elf in a green gown.

Her brows lifted quizzically and he felt the blood warm in his veins. He moved toward her.

“Good day to you, Hilary,” he said prosaically.

“Good morning, James,” she responded in the same tone. Her irritation of the day before, he noted with some relief, had evidently subsided.

James had some difficulty in controlling his bemusement when Robert and Rufus joined them in the library a few minutes later. The tension in the room, generated by Rufus’ imminent departure, was almost palpable, but the conversation remained light. James, despite his heightened awareness of every facet of Hilary’s appearance and demeanor, managed to keep at least some of his attention on the matter at hand. He asked questions of Rufus pertaining to his everyday life with his military unit and his family. Rufus, remarkably expansive and genial, took up pen and paper to list potential sites in Gloucester and Cirencester that would likely prove productive for further endeavor on James’s part.

Cyrus appeared shortly after luncheon. Almost everyone in the household gathered in the stable yard, where the weedy scientist had directed his wagon be pulled. It was a very large wagon, as needs must, for its cargo was the largest glass vessel any of them had ever seen. Fully the size of a man, it was anchored in the center of the wagon’s bed by ropes wound about the jar’s neck and tied to the sides, and it was cushioned all around by bales of straw. The glass was by no means a prime example of the glazier’s art, for it was thicker in some spots than in others, and its surface was disfigured with cloudy patches and misshapen bubbles that appeared randomly, like warts. The bottle was capped by a flat, metal lid.

“But where is the generator?” asked James.

“We don’t need that now,” replied Cyrus with some irritation, pushing his spectacles up on his nose. “I’ve been filling the jar with an electrical charge ever since you left, and it’s ready to go now. We need only to take it to the site where you wish to—”

“Yes, yes,” interrupted James, mindful of the yard full of servants listening with palpable interest to this discourse. “Have you lunched?” The question was put out of absentminded courtesy, but here Rufus thrust his burly form forward.

He had donned his military uniform, the polished metal of his breastplate reflecting the sun in brilliant flashes with each movement. James was struck by the imposing figure he made. To be sure, he had conformed well to the image of a country squire in his breeches and brogues, but garbed in his armor and his cloak, now cleaned and pressed and fastened with the brooch Hilary had seen on that first day, he was every inch the soldier. His sword was in place, as was the dagger James had so admired, and an undeniable air of authority surrounded him. Now that the moment had at last arrived for his release from his temporal prison, he obviously would brook no delay.

“Lunch?” he snapped. Aha, thought James in some amusement, here was yet another word the warrior had absorbed from the English language. Rufus lapsed immediately into Latin. “You’re not asking him to eat, are you, for the gods’ sake? At a time like this? Mars Victrix!” he sputtered. “He can fill his gut later. Let’s get on with it.”

Cyrus, peering curiously at Rufus, opened his mouth. “What—?” he began, but he was forestalled by Hilary.

“Perhaps,” she said brightly, “we should just go immediately to the tower.” She repeated the words in Latin for Rufus’ benefit, and the soldier, now fairly dancing in impatience, signified his emphatic approval of this plan.

Thus, in a few moments, Cyrus, who had driven the wagon himself, proceeded carefully from the stable yard, accompanied by Rufus, Hilary, James, and Robert, all on horseback. In some disappointment, the servants shuffled back to their duties.

To Hilary, the short journey to the tower seemed to take an eternity, although she was aware that the pace must necessarily be excruciatingly slow. At last, the wagon creaked ponderously up to the entrance of the tower, and the next phase of the experiment began—the placement of the jar inside the structure. Again, this was accomplished with painstaking caution, with all the gentlemen involved in the removal of the jar from the wagon, easing it through the aperture and into position near the spot of Rufus’ transference. At last, all was in place.

“Now, then,” said Cyrus to James, “you have not divulged to me just why you need this extraordinarily large charge of electricity, and I do not wish to pry, but I believe that I might be of more help to you if I knew the desired end result.”

James and Hilary exchanged glances, and after a moment, Hilary nodded almost imperceptibly. Drawing a deep breath, James turned back to Cyrus.

“Well, my friend, it’s like this—” he began, and as the scientist’s mouth dropped open, and drooped further with each sentence, James told Rufus’ story in succinct phrases.

For several long minutes, Cyrus said nothing, his jaws working soundlessly. At last, with a strangled croak, he spoke.

“Traveled? Through time? This man here? James, have you lost your mind?”

“I know how it must sound, and I experienced the same reaction—at first. And, of course, I may, as you say, have taken leave of my senses, but all the evidence points to a genuine leap through time by this gentleman.” He gestured toward Rufus, who muttered a questioning expletive. Hilary, in an undertone, explained the nature of the delay.

“Gods!” Rufus fairly exploded. “What difference does it make if this scrawny lack-wit believes me or not? Can he or can’t he give me a push back to my own time?”

Cyrus, who possessed enough Latin to understand the warrior, replied with offended dignity. “Of course, I can. Or, at least,” he amended, “I believe I can provide you with the simulation of a lightning bolt—if, indeed, such a bolt caused a warp in the fabric of time, what did you say?—seventeen hundred years ago.” He gazed at Rufus with all the skeptical disdain of an entymologist asked to examine a new and highly suspect species of beetle. “Tell me,” he continued, “precisely what were you doing at the time of your, er, transference?”

Rufus stared back blankly. “Doing? Why—I was just about to pry a section of wall loose.”

“Ah, and were you going to use your sword, perchance?”

“Hades, no. Do you think I would ruin my
gladium
by using it as a pick ax? No, I had a big iron bar handy for the job. The rain was coming down hard, and I was about to take shelter, but I wanted to get in one good lick at the wall—as an example to the men, I suppose—before I did. In fact, I was just reaching for it.”

“Ah,” said Cyrus again. “The conductor.” He turned to James. “We will need a similar instrument. The sword would do well, or”—his glance strayed over the interior of the tower—”that iron-bladed shovel.”

James hurried to retrieve the implement from where it leaned against the wall. Hilary recognized it as one she had purloined from one of Whiteleaves’ barns one morning a year or so previously. He handed it to Rufus, who placed it, at Cyrus’s direction, in approximately the spot occupied by his crowbar so many centuries before.