Anne Barbour (8 page)

Rufus nodded benignly and with a regal nod to her host Hilary swept from the house. The dignity of her exit was somewhat marred as Jasper greeted her with all the enthusiasm of a dog forcibly restrained in chains to keep him from his beloved mistress. Accepting a footman’s assistance, she climbed aboard her gig, bundling the dog into the vehicle with her. Assuring Jasper of her continued well-being, she slapped the reins smartly and clattered briskly away.

Whew! James watched her out of sight. He grinned despite himself. It was hard to believe so much spirit could be contained in one small female. What, he wondered the next moment, had been her purpose in speaking of him so? It was not the first time he’d had his hair combed, of course, but often he’d discovered that such a show of antipathy was merely meant to pique his interest.

Lord, he sounded like an insufferable coxcomb, but in truth he spoke only from experience. He sighed inwardly. It grew wearying, this necessity to view every damsel who crossed his path as a threat to his well-being. There were times when he wished to consign his wealth and his connections to perdition. He supposed women—even the best of them, he thought with a familiar ache, could not be blamed for looking out for the main chance, he simply wished that they did not see him as their personal ticket to a life of luxury. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone?

But Lady Hilary...  What was there, he wondered moodily, about this particular booby trap in skirts that made him feel ashamed of his suspicions? Granted, she bore the appearance of a complete innocent, from her fiery hair to her pretty silk slippers. At least, he supposed they had been pretty before being exposed to a raging thunderstorm.

He was forced to admit that it was beginning to look more and more as though her knowledge of antiquities was the result of a genuine interest in the subject. It would no doubt be pleasant to have someone in the neighborhood who shared his passion, particularly such an appealing someone. Not that he was interested in anything but her scholarly attributes. She could be of inestimable help, since there was no question that a knowledgeable assistant could take many of the more mundane tasks of his work at the villa off his shoulders—the cataloging, the sketching, laying out the grid, perhaps even some of the lighter digging, if she were so inclined. Yes, he would permit the earnest Lady Hilary to assist him, within her limited capabilities, and he would allow her a judicious amount of time with Minimus Rufus.

Of course, at the first sign that her young ladyship harbored ulterior designs on his bachelor status she would be returned posthaste to her dutiful life on her father’s estate. James expelled a satisfied grunt before bending his attention once more to Rufus.

The important thing, he mused as he led the soldier up the stairs, was to keep Rufus’ identity a secret. If anyone got wind of the notion that James Wincanon was entertaining a visitor whom he believed had traveled through time from another age, he’d find himself thrust into the nearest madhouse before the cat could lick her ear. Well, that should be no problem. Even if Rufus were to announce his identity to the neighborhood at large, he would be speaking, after all, in Latin. Of course, if Mordecai Cheeke somehow got wind of the situation, no matter how absurd the story, he would investigate.

On the other hand, there was little or no chance that Mordecai Cheeke, even if he did seem to possess a genius for sniffing out James’s plans, would hear about the unorthodox gentleman currently residing in James’s house. In short, there was no impediment to a minute investigation- into the life and times of M. Minimus Rufus, a
tessarius
in the army of the Emperor Trajan.

The next couple of hours were spent outfitting the legionary in a suit of clothing that, while perhaps not suitable for the guest of a renowned scholar, at least allowed him to fit into his new setting. He looked surprisingly at home in the leisure garb of a coachman, though he complained bitterly about the necessity of wearing trousers, which he seemed to feel labeled him as a barbarian. He also objected vigorously to the cumbersome, confining footwear provided him. Otherwise, he seemed agreeable to maintaining his new wardrobe, at least for a short space of time.

With wide-eyed interest, he accompanied James on a tour of the house. This took longer than James had expected, since Rufus paused frequently to investigate furnishings and such wonders as bellpulls, gas lamps, and clocks. The latter seemed to fascinate him—not only the dials with their moving hands, but the glass that covered them.

At dinner, this amicable state of affairs deteriorated somewhat. James began to stem the flow of Rufus’ questions with some of his own—with a marked lack of success.

“No, I don’t know anything about the agrarian policies of Quietus. Or the proposed withdrawal from the Scottish border. Gods, do you think the governor or the province consults me on such things? What I want to know is how long you plan to keep me cooped up here.”

“I certainly do not intend to keep you here at all,” replied James rather testily. “However, as Lady Hilary explained—”

“The lady explained that I need a place to stay—and clothes, which is true, but I cannot be spending all my time here. I must get back to my own time, and it seems to me I should make my way back to the tower. That’s where I was snatched up, and that must be where the answer lies to getting me back home.”

“Yes,” said James soothingly, “but you need not get back home right this minute, do you? You seem interested in the changes that have come about over the centuries. Have you no desire to see more? Does not the prospect of spending, say, a few weeks in another time period appeal to you?”

“No, by the gods, it does not!” bellowed Rufus, rising from the table to throw down his napkin. “Do you think I have no life of my own? You seem to look at me as a—a portable history book. Well, let me tell you—I find this whole situation damned—unsettling— and inconvenient.”

“My good fellow,” began James hastily, “of course, I have no wish to detain you against your will. I only meant—”

“And don’t ‘my good fellow’ me.” Rufus began to pace the area just behind his chair. “Let me explain something to you. I’ve been in this man’s army for almost twenty years. I’ll be receiving my retirement certificate soon. Maia and I have it all planned out. I’ve been setting money aside for years now to buy my own business. I’m a good craftsman and there isn’t anything I can’t do with metal. I’ve got my sights on a little place just off the forum in Corinium. Folks there want silver for their tableware, and the ladies must have lamps of bronze or tin to light their homes and
fine fibulae
to pin their cloaks.

“Even with my savings, though, I’ve had to borrow from Maia’s brother, Felix. I hated to do it, because just between you and me, Felix is a snake. Which is where my problem comes in. The final payment on the shop is due in a few days, and in a moment of weakness, I gave my portion to Felix so that he could pay the entire sum, just in case I couldn’t be there. Well, of course, I had every intention of showing up with my hair in a braid, but, if I don’t, it’s a dead cert that Felix will put something over. I don’t know what, exactly, but I suspect he’ll have the whole place put in his name. Or, worse yet, take the money and simply head for parts unknown.”

“But that would be stealing!” exclaimed James, fascinated despite himself.

Rufus laughed shortly. “Oh, would it now? Well, that wouldn’t bother Felix. He’s just the sort of man as would diddle his own sister.”

“Well, old fell—that is, Rufus, I understand your problem, and you certainly have my sympathy, but I don’t see what I can do right at the moment. Frankly, I have no idea how you got here—aside from the Druid curse,” he added hastily. “And I have no idea how to get you back where you belong. I’ll certainly do my best to help you, though, and if it’s possible to somehow whisk you back to your own century, we’ll bring you about. In the meantime, perhaps you could see your way clear to helping me. That is, I’ve devoted a good bit of my life to unearthing the details of your time. There is much I could learn from you, if you would let me.” James eyed the legionary shrewdly. “And the Lady Hilary, too. She shares my interest and I know she would also be glad of your, er, tutelage.”

“Mmp. She’s a nice little thing.” Rufus’ voice softened. “Are you and she betrothed?”

“What?” James paled. “I hardly know the chit! Why would you say-?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rufus replied vaguely. “She reminds me of my oldest daughter,” he added, apropos of nothing.

“You have children?” James began breathing again.

“None of my own, but Maia was a widow when I married her. She had three daughters, all good, biddable lasses. The oldest is married with a babe of her own now. I’m hoping Maia will give me a son,” he added somewhat wistfully. “Eh, how the time flies.” He chuckled. “Or, in my case, I guess you’d say, time flies and takes me with it.”

James’s eyes lit. “Indeed, you have taken wings for a flight such as no man has undertaken before.”

Rufus turned back to his meal. “This stuff is good.” He pointed to his plate. “What is it?”

“It’s called beef Wellington, named after one of our national heroes,” he said, gesturing toward a footman. “And try some of these potatoes, as well. I think you may never have tasted them before.”

Rufus pronounced the potatoes acceptable, though as a rule he didn’t care much for foreign dishes. The meal progressed and Rufus declared himself eminently pleased with the pupton of fruit with which it closed. Later, they sat over a decanter of port and Rufus exhaled in loud satisfaction.

“As good a meal as ever Maia put before me,” he declared, unburdening himself of a monumental belch. “Now, if only these outlandish clothes weren’t so tight. These cursed trousers are even more uncomfortable than they look. And for the gods’ sake, why do the men of this time strangle themselves with these great, long pieces of cloth?” He struggled with his cravat for several moments before proceeding to dismantle it. James lifted a hand in protest, but at this point Burnside entered the room.

“You have a visitor, sir,” he said, staring at Rufus in some disapprobation.

“At this time of night?” asked James, startled. “Well, tell whoever it is that I am not at home to visitors. I—I’m indisposed.”

“But, he said to tell you that he has come a long way, sir. He is a Mr. Mordecai Cheeke and he has come to Gloucestershire specifically to see you.”

Chapter Seven

James’s mind raced. Mordecai Cheeke? What in God’s name could have brought him here?

To Burnside, he said merely, “Put him in the blue saloon, and tell him I’ll be with him in a moment.”

He turned to Rufus. “I’m sorry to cut our conversation short, but I would just as soon you not meet this man. I can’t explain right now,” he said, urging Rufus toward the door, “but you must go up to your chamber. Stay in your bedchamber until I come to you. Trust me on this, Minimus Rufus. If Mordecai Cheeke gets wind of your presence here, there is a very real possibility he will muck up any chance you have of returning to your home.”

On his way to the blue saloon, he was met by Robert, just returning from his day’s outing with the bailiff’s son.

“My boy, you are come just in the nick.” He grasped the astonished young man by the arm and propelled him toward the staircase.

“I don’t have time to explain, but—how much Latin have you?”

“Latin?” Robert gaped at his employer. “Well, um, it’s adequate, I suppose. I can toss off a tag now and then if required, but I don’t suppose I could converse like a native.” He smiled quizzically. “What’s toward, sir?”

“As I said, I don’t have time—but I need you to bustle upstairs and entertain a guest. You’ll find him in the chamber next to mine. He speaks only Latin, and everything he’s liable to say to you is true, no matter how incredible it sounds. Tell him you are my friend—although I don’t know if that will help. His name is Marcus Minimus Rufus, and it is imperative that you keep him occupied, for he mustn’t stir from his chamber. Mordecai Cheeke is here, and—”

Once again Robert interrupted with an astonished query, which James waved aside with what he felt was a creditable aplomb.

“I don’t know what he’s doing here, but I imagine he’s up to no good. I’ll get rid of him with all possible speed, and then I’ll come upstairs. Remember, keep Rufus where he is even if you have to summon a squad of footmen to tie him down.”

So saying, he turned and proceeded down one of the corridors that led from the hall. A moment later, he entered the blue saloon.

The gentleman standing at a display case turned swiftly at James’s footstep. The case contained artifacts culled from various archaeological sites throughout Britain, and its door was now open. From it, the gentleman had removed a small, but exquisitely crafted statue of the goddess Minerva.

The man did not look like a scholar. He was short in stature, and given to dandyism. His high shirt points were the most prominent feature of an ensemble that featured pale lavender pantaloons, topped by a coat of mauve, under which lay a startling waistcoat of a virulent rose, lavishly embroidered with fanciful designs in every hue of the rainbow.

He seemed to be given to sweets as well, for he was plump, with a ruddy face, and round, slightly protuberant eyes, so that he bore the appearance of a fashionable cherub. His hair fell about his childishly curved cheeks in glossy, brown ringlets, further completing the illusion.

“James! My dear fellow!” crowed the gentleman with every appearance of delight.

“Mordecai,” murmured James, inclining his head slightly. “What brings you to the wilds of Gloucestershire? You’re just passing through, you say?”

Mordecai lifted his hand in a deprecating gesture. “I’ve come down for a bit of rustication, dear boy. I’m on my way to see Sir Harvey Winslow. He’s been after me to visit him for some time now. He’s a crashing bore, of course, but he informs me that he’s turned up a mosaic on his property. It doesn’t sound like anything of importance, but you must know, Sir Harvey’s chef is an absolute artist. How could I refuse? He lives some fifteen miles distant, near Stratton. Needless to say, I could not pass by without stopping to see how you go on.”