At that Alison giggled. She sounded just a little hysterical, but Olivia was glad she could laugh at any part of the situation at all.
“I was thinking the very same thing.” She strode over to Geoffrey, leaned down, and shook his shoulder. “Hey!”
“Hm?” Geoffrey muttered and smiled in his sleep.
“Hey, Master Geoffrey, wake up!” Alison shook him again, harder this time, but Geoffrey only smiled and snored.
“He’s as hard to wake up as you are, Allie,” Olivia said. She bent down on the other side and spoke loudly.
“Geoffrey Talcott! Wake up!” She gave his shoulder a shake that was practically a blow.
“Hm?” With a start, Geoffrey bolted awake, hitting his head against the trunk of the tree. “Oh!”
“Sorry,” Olivia murmured.
“Hi,” Alison said.
“Who—?” Momentarily Geoffrey looked confused, and then memory dawned. “Mis—but what—why didn’t you, I thought you went through the maze.”
“We did go through the maze,” Alison said. “It didn’t work this time.”
“Oh.” Slowly Geoffrey straightened. “Oh, dear.” He sighed and got to his feet. “I was afraid of that.”
Alison threw an exasperated look at Olivia. “Why didn’t you warn us?”
Geoffrey gave each of them an apologetic look in turn. “Well…”
“I think he was afraid to, Alison.” Olivia sighed. “Look, it’s too late to do anything about it now. We’ll go back to the house and get some sleep. Surely tomorrow, when everyone’s rested, would be a better time to try again. Okay?”
Alison drew a deep breath. “I guess that’s the only plan that makes sense right now. How about it, Sir Galahad?”
Geoffrey scratched his head. “Of—of course. Nicholas will—”
“I don’t want to hear about Nicholas,” Alison snapped.
“He can just deal with it.”
“We’re both tired,” Olivia added, almost apologetically.
Trying as the situation was—unbelievable as the situation was, she corrected herself—she felt sorry for Geoffrey. He’d clearly stumbled into something he barely understood. Was it really any different from some of the things twentieth-century scientists had been known to do?
“Come with me, mistresses.” Geoffrey led the way, his shoulders slumped with dejection. He brought them back into the house where a few candles burned in sconces set high in the walls, but otherwise all was still. He paused at the base of the steps, took one of the candles from a sconce, and used it to light their way up the darkened staircase. At the door of the bedchamber where they’d been before, he paused. “I’ll send a maid to attend you, mistresses.” He handed Alison the candle. For a moment, he looked as though he wanted to stay something more, hesitated, then turned on his heel and fled down the steps, leaving the women alone in the dark and quiet house.
A fitful flicker beneath the closed door of Nicholas’s study told him that his brother was still awake. Geoffrey paused before the thick oak door, squared his shoulders, and knocked.
“Enter!” Nicholas barely glanced up from the thick ledger book spread open on his desk. “All in all, a fine revel, I’d say, wouldn’t you?” He smiled a little and went on scratching numbers.
“Very fine,” Geoffrey said, feeling for all the world as he used to when he was very small and was forced to answer to their father for whatever most recent scrape he’d found himself in.
“Those two women are gone?”
“Well…”
At that, Nicholas looked up and set down the quill. “Well, what?”
“It, uh, it—the maze—it didn’t do what I hoped it would do this time, Nicholas. I—I couldn’t send them back. They’re upstairs and I sent old Janet to wait on them.”
Nicholas gasped softly, as though he’d been punched. “What?”
“I—I don’t quite know how it happened in the first place, Nicholas—you know I’ve been working day and night—”
“Damn it, Geoffrey!” Nicholas slapped the surface of the desk with his open palm, and the whole massive piece of furniture shuddered. “What will it take to make you give up these daft dabblings? I’ve spent the whole of my adult life trying to restore our family’s fortunes, and you’ve spent the whole of yours endangering what’s left. Are you truly mad? Or simply blind?” He ran his hand through his hair, pushed his chair away from the desk, and stalked to the window. A full moon shone down on the August night and, outside, the land lay quiet under the stars.
“W—well, Nicholas, I fully intend to send them back as soon as I—”
“Figure out how?” Nicholas turned back to glare at his brother. “In God’s good world, Geoffrey, I do not understand the way you think. Father should’ve made you join the priesthood—sent you to France when he’d had the chance. Now see what you’ve brought upon us.” He turned back to the window, shaking his head.
“I—I don’t think it will take forever—” Geoffrey began again, but Nicholas cut him off with an impatient wave.
“You don’t think at all. If you spent two minutes thinking about the reality of our situation, you’d realize that all the time you spend dreaming such nonsense is more dangerous than if you took a dagger and threatened the Queen herself. Sweet Christ, if you did that, you’d be the only one who’d pay for your madness. You wouldn’t bring ruin down about both of us.”
“I haven’t exactly ruined anything, Nicholas. Be fair.”
“Fair? Do you think when they come to burn you as a warlock, the court that convicts you will be fair? Do you think the Queen’s Grace will be fair when she divvies up Talcott Forest? Geoffrey, you—you—” Shaking his head in frustration, Nicholas pressed his lips together in a thin line.
“I’ll work on the problem as soon as—”
“As soon as you leave this room, do you hear me? I want them gone—gone by the time I return from Calais.”
“Calais? You’re going to Calais?”
“Aye. At least one of us had better keep an eye to the direction the wind blows. I’ve been approached by one Master Christopher Warren—an agent in Walsingham’s network.”
Geoffrey frowned. “Nicholas, are you sure you ought to do this?”
“You of all people think to question my judgment?”
“Well…”Geoffrey hesitated. He frowned, thinking furiously. The name Warren was ringing a very unpleasant bell in his mind. He scratched his chin. “Who is this Master Warren?”
“He’s one of Walsingham’s men. I know what you’re thinking, Geoffrey,” Nicholas said, dismissing the troubled look on his brother’s face with a wave. “Walsingham’s been no friend to Catholics—or to former Catholics. But I think I’ve proved myself to be a loyal subject of Her Majesty—”
“No one could doubt that. So why involve yourself in one of his schemes?”
“What makes you think it’s a scheme? An agent of the King of Spain has been arrested in London—they’ve asked me to go to Calais and keep the appointment this man would’ve made.” Nicholas looked over his shoulder at the window, as though someone might be listening. “It involves the plans of an invasion of England.”
“An invasion?” Geoffrey shook his head. “I don’t like the sound of this, Nicholas—perhaps we should talk about this tomorrow, when we both aren’t so tired—”
“You’re the last person to concern yourself with such matters.” Nicholas cut him off. “You have your own tangled coil to sort out. And by Her Royal Majesty’s grace, you damned well better sort it out, and then that damnable maze is coming down if I have to tear it out with my own hands. If you want to dabble in such unnatural arts, you’ll have to find another place to do it. I won’t have you risking everything I’ve worked for, do you understand?”
Geoffrey drew a deep breath. A wave of exhaustion washed over him, and his shoulders slumped. “I understand, Nicholas.”
“Good.” Nicholas pulled out his chair and sank down at his desk once more. He picked up the quill and lo
oked up at Geoffrey expectantly. “Is there anything else?’”
“No, Nicholas.”
“Good night, Geoffrey.” He dipped the quill in his inkpot and began to write, the tip scratching over the thick parchment the only sound in the quiet room.
Geoffrey hesitated. There was so much he wanted to say to his brother, so much he wanted to try to explain. He understood why Nicholas was so angry, but couldn’t his brother understand what an amazing thing he’d accomplished? And wasn’t Nicholas the least bit curious? How could he not seize the opportunity to talk to people from a time even their great-great-grandchildren would never live to see? He looked at Nicholas’s dark head bent over his ledger. His brother’s back was straight, but he leaned against his left hand as he wrote. Nicholas was as worn out as he.
Geoffrey took another deep breath. He walked quietly to the door, pulled it open, and glanced back. Nicholas was rubbing his eyes; the quill drooped in his hand. “Good night, Nicholas,” he said softly as he gently closed the door.
Beneath the midnight moon, a dark shape emerged from the shadow of the oak trees that lined the long drive, as the clatter of hooves announced the arrival of Sir John Makepeace. “Well, Master Warren?”
“Thank you for meeting me like this, Sir John.” The other man’s voice was soft in the night air.
“I like this not, Master Warren—this sneaking about betweentimes. Honest men are long abed, and so should we be.”
“No one agrees with you more, Sir John, but Her Majesty intends to leave for Hampton Court early on the morrow, and I must be away to London at dawn. I had no other time.”
“As you say, Master Warren. What’s your news?”
“It was as I suspected. He intends to leave for Calais within the week. I trust your plans are made?”
“Aye, I’ve passage booked from Dover three days from now. He mentioned my daughter’s hand once more—I intend to meet with him on the morrow and address it.”
“The question of your daughter’s hand…” In the dark, Warren leaned closer in his own saddle, despite the fact that in the dark night, Sir John’s face was nothing but a pale smudge against a black backdrop.
“Have no fear. I’ll not say yea or nay until this business is concluded. It’s not one to my liking, Master Warren. The more I think on’t—”
“Her Majesty will be most grateful for your service,” interrupted Warren smoothly. “And will reward that service in a manner most fitting, I assure you.”
“And there’s the question of those two doxies he’s suddenly related to—seems most suspicious to me, the whole business does.”
Suddenly Warren had an idea that would damn Nicholas in Sir John’s eyes for all time. He smiled to himself. The plan merely required a bit of tweaking. “Well, what do you expect from one who serves neither God nor the Queen?”
In the brief silence, Sir John’s horse stamped at the ground, as though anxious to return to its stall. “I expect this matter to be concluded in as expeditious a manner as possible, Master Warren.”
“And it shall be, Sir John. Once Talcott is apprehended with the plans…”
The knight gave the reins an impatient tug, and the horse knickered and wheeled around. “I’ll do my part, as I gave my Christian word, Master Warren. But there’s to be no more midnight meetings. If such business cannot stand the clear light of the Lord’s own day, I’ll have no more truck with it.”
Warren watched the knight gallop off down the tree-lined, moonlit drive. It was as well that Sir John’s role in the main part of this was ultimately peripheral at most. He glanced up at the round white moon. He’d see Talcott convicted beneath the light of the Lord’s own day indeed, he thought. And burn beneath a noonday sun.
CHAPTER 5
“THIS MATTER MUST be concluded as quickly as possible.” Nicholas stood with crossed arms beside the empty hearth in the cluttered tower room that served as Geoffrey’s “study,” although, thought Olivia as she looked around, it was hard to tell exactly what it was he studied. It seemed to be some arcane combination of alchemy, astrology, and mathematics, for the floor was littered with parchments covered with long algebraic formulas, and the long tables were covered with an assortment of the oddest instruments. The astrolabe and the compass were really the only two she recognized at once. Her fingers itched to prowl through the whole untidy mass, touching for herself the accouterments of the infancy of science.
Next to her, in a pair of Geoffrey’s hose and with one of his long linen shirts belted at her waist, Alison stretched her long legs. She’d flatly refused to wear any of the dusty dresses Janet had proffered that morning. Not that Olivia blamed her. The clothing that had belonged to Nicholas and Geoffrey’s mother dated back at least thirty years or more, and although they’d been carefully stored in chests lined with cedar, and strewn with lavender, they were indisputably musty. And old Lady Talcott had been much shorter than Alison and stouter than Olivia.
Olivia pulled her own shirt closer. It was one of Nicholas’—and beneath the scent of sun-bleached linen, the fabric held the scent of something that was a tantalizing blend of horses and masculine sweat and soap, something which could only be him. It made her uncomfortable to be wearing an item of his clothing, while he was standing there glowering at them all. But there’d been nothing else for them to wear—the scullery maids were the only women in the Talcotts’ bachelor household who might wear clothing that would come close to fitting them, and even Nicholas had not considered their garments suitable. When Geoffrey had approached him to give up one of his shirts and a pair of hose for Olivia, he’d merely shaken his head in disgust. But he’d handed over the clothes. Apparently, their scandalous dress—or lack thereof—was something he was prepared to overlook, so long as they kept to Geoffrey’s study and their own bedroom as much as possible.
“We all agree that you two must be sent back to your own time as soon as possible.” Geoffrey sighed. He ran his fingers through his hair, which at this point stuck up in all directions. It would’ve been comical if the situation weren’t so grim.
“Well, what do you intend to do about it?”
“The trouble is—” Geoffrey broke off. Once more Olivia felt sorry for him. He made a helpless little gesture. “I’ll check through my calculations. Perhaps the angle of the sun…” He sifted through a series of parchments, mouthing formulas. “The answer has to be here somewhere.”
Nicholas shot him a look of pure exasperation and opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by a knock upon the door. “See who it is.”
Geoffrey leapt to his feet and opened the door just a crack. He spoke a few words to whomever stood on the other side, then turned back to Nicholas, shutting the door once more as he did so. “A gentleman to see you. Master Christopher Warren.”
Nicholas looked surprised. “I’d better see him. You do what you can. I’ll be back.” With a muttered oath, Nicholas left the room, shaking his head.
Geoffrey sighed when his brother was gone. “He’s really not like this usually. It’s just he’s—”
“Upset,” finished Alison. “Well, we’re all upset.” She got to her feet, sorting restlessly through the parchments.
“What is all this, anyway? Is there any way we could help you make sense of this?”
Geoffrey looked faintly shocked. “In truth, mistress, I doubt—”
Alison narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “This looks like algebra. Or some weird sort of advanced calculus.” She shook her head. “Your brother’s upset, you’re upset, we’re all upset. What we have to do is stop being upset and think. Nothing else is going to get us out of here and back home.”
Geoffrey narrowed his eyes and picked up the parchment Alison had dropped. “You—you understand these calculations, mistress?”
She shrugged. “Well, I don’t understand the specific equations without working through them—but, yes, I understand the math. I even got an A in statistics in grad school.”
Geoffrey looked my
stified. He scratched his chin. “Would you—would you be able to help me, then? Review my work?”
Alison shrugged again. “Of course. Don’t ask Livvie, though. She’s hopeless at math.” She looked over her shoulder at Olivia and winked.
From her place beside the window, Olivia grinned ruefully in agreement. “Right. Don’t count on my help there.” She looked out the window, from which she could just see the tops of the hedgerows that formed the maze, and, from this height, she could discern something of the intrinsic pattern. “But maybe—maybe I could retrace our steps through the maze, try to figure out where it was exactly we got back, and work backward from there. Remember, Allie, there was that weird feeling of tripping over something at one point, but the path was perfectly clear?”
Geoffrey nodded. “That’s worth trying. And there is something else—something I hesitate to mention to Nicholas, but it may be the easiest and the most expeditious way of solving the problem.”
“And what’s that?” asked Alison, looking up from the calculations on the parchments.
“Dr. Dee, John Dee—I mentioned him yesterday—he was my tutor at Oxford, and we’ve corresponded frequently over the past few years. He knows of my, my experiments and he’s offered advice—given me suggestions—he may have some ideas. I’ll send a letter to him posthaste, and ask for his help.”
Olivia exchanged a glance with Alison. “So, in other words, Geoffrey,” Olivia began slowly, “what you’re really saying is that it isn’t going to be quite as easy as you thought to send us back. You don’t think you can do it today—”
“Or tomorrow, or the day after.” Alison finished. She got up and stalked out of the room, shutting the door behind her with a slam.
Geoffrey looked helplessly at Olivia. “Mistress Olivia, I’m sorry.”
Olivia shrugged. “I know you’re sorry, Geoffrey. But Alison’s frightened. She needs to return to our time, and our lives before. She has so much waiting for her there.”
Geoffrey cocked his head and met her eyes with his soft brown ones. “And you don’t?”
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