When the Walls Fell (Out of Time)

by Monique Martin

  “Aumond?” he said, not bothering to hide his contempt.

  “No,” she said with a sigh. “I’m sorry about not discussing that with you sooner, but it doesn’t matter.”

  He raised his head to meet her eyes. “It matters to me.”

  “I know, but…” she said and paced across the room. Now, this was a room built with a good pace in mind. “Aumond is small potatoes; we’re talking the entire potato famine here.”

  “If you think I’m going to let what happened earlier go so easily…”

  Elizabeth stopped pacing and turned to face him. Of course not. He wouldn’t be Simon if he did. Soothing hurt feelings would have to wait though. She was going to bust if she didn’t tell him what happened. “The Council came to see me.”

  Simon’s head snapped back as if he’d been struck. He stared at her for a long moment before speaking in a voice that sounded like stone grinding against stone. “They what?”

  “They came to—”

  Simon surged out of his chair and was across the room and gripping her arms before she could finish her sentence. “You’re to have nothing to do with them,” he said fiercely. “Do you understand me?”

  Elizabeth blinked in shock, before gathering her wits and wriggling out of his grasp. “I understand that you might seriously need some Valium,” she said and massaged her arms. “What is the matter with you?”

  Simon seemed to snap back to himself and then faltered. “I’m…”

  “Slightly out of control?” She knew another parry was the wrong move. She needed to try to calm him and not provoke him, but the words spilled out.

  They seemed to help him regain his footing. He fixed her with a piercing glare that held her more strongly than his hands ever could. “Don’t ever speak to them again, Elizabeth. You have to promise me you won’t.”

  “You don’t even know what they asked me.”

  He turned quickly away and strode across the room, raking a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Had he lost the plot completely? Wasn’t he even the least bit curious? “It does matter,” she said with forced patience, before taking a breath. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It matters a lot.”

  He stopped and stared at the far wall. “They’ll just have to make do without your help.”

  Something didn’t add up. She didn’t expect him to take it in stride, but something wasn’t right. “How did you know they wanted my help?” She felt the pang of a belatedly realized betrayal. Elizabeth tightened her grip on the folder and her surging anger. “They came to see you first, didn’t they?”

  Slowly, he turned around. “Yes, two days ago.”

  His frank admission, so matter of fact, stunned her. “And you were going to share this when?”

  “That’s irrelevant.”

  Oh, that was rich. “Wasn’t irrelevant at lunch.”

  His eyes darted away from hers. “That was different.”

  The air was suddenly thick and heavy and impossible to breathe. The word hypocrite danced on the end of her tongue, but she forced it back down. They’d deal with that later. He’d survive that, but the Council’s news was something else entirely. “What if everything they’ve said is true? Did you even consider that? Simon, your life is in danger."

  “Lies.”

  “Did you even listen to what he had to say?”

  “We’ve no reason to trust them,” he said as though that answered her question.

  Elizabeth huffed in disbelief. “We? I must have missed the ‘we’ part. Did that come before or after you decided what was best for me?”

  “My grandfather died on one of their… missions,” he said, practically spitting out the word. “Don’t think that a day passes in my life when I don’t remember how close I came to losing you. All because of that bloody Council. I’ll be damned if I’ll let it happen again.”

  "And I don’t want to lose you!” Elizabeth took a deep breath and tried to calm down. “Would you at least listen to what I have to say?”

  Simon rolled his shoulders and stalked to his desk. He planted himself in the chair and waved his hand giving her the floor. Only Simon could be completely accommodating and utterly condescending at the same time.

  Not exactly a receptive audience, but at least he wasn’t shouting anymore. Elizabeth gave him the Reader’s Digest version of everything that Travers had told her.

  When she was finished, Simon leaned back in his chair. “And why don’t they send one of their own men? Why you?”

  “They want someone outside of the Council. There’s no telling how things have changed, how they might have been corrupted.”

  “No telling,” Simon echoed. “Might have. A story spun of what-ifs and maybes.”

  He leaned forward, intense. “They’re manipulating you.”

  That thought had crossed Elizabeth’s mind. She really had no reason to trust the Council and several reasons not to. “Maybe they are.”

  Simon got out of his chair. “Finally, some sense.”

  Elizabeth smiled sadly. “But I’m not willing to risk the consequences if they’re right.”

  “You’re not doing this,” Simon said.

  The words were absolute, but she heard the doubt and fear inside them. “You can’t control everything, Simon.”

  His hand sliced through the air. “It’s not—Damn it.” he said and let out a deep breath. “Elizabeth, if you love me—”

  “I’m doing this because I love you, Simon. I had hoped that even if you didn’t trust the Council, you’d trust me.”

  With that, she turned and walked out. If he had an answer he gave it to an empty room.

  Chapter Four

  His moment’s hesitation at her departing declaration had cost him dearly. By the time he’d gathered himself enough to follow her she was already gone. Simon spent the next few hours searching for her without any luck. None of her friends had heard from her. He’d gone to her apartment, the office, even the damn library, and she was nowhere to be found. Clearly didn’t want to be found.

  He slammed the front door behind him as he returned home. “Damn!”

  Simon’s fantasies of finding her and talking some sense into her were just that, fantasies. He could have tied her to the bedposts and she would have found a way to go.

  It was folly, pure unadulterated idiocy, and exactly the sort of thing she was wont to do. He’d known it from the moment she’d mentioned the Council. And like a fool, he’d challenged her. Even if she wasn’t intent on going before, she surely was now.

  The grandfather clock in the hall chimed ominously, each resounding clang marking the time he’d wasted. A litany of invectives streamed behind him like a comet’s tail as he walked into his study.

  Why was she so reckless? So trusting? What could she be thinking? She’d run off and get herself killed. For what? Because the Council said they needed her help? It was idiocy. It was naïve. It was… He drew up short. It was love.

  She was doing this insane thing out of love. When it came to that, there was no stopping her. He’d been a fool. Again. He should have stood with her. He’d been so afraid of losing her, he’d completely ignored the fact that she felt the same way. The last time he let his fear get the better of him he pushed her away and nearly lost her. And now, he’d done it again.

  The weight of that revelation pushed him down into a chair. He leaned forward and clasped his hands.

  He should have trusted her, but his overriding need to protect her had trumped his common sense. Not that she wanted his protection or needed it, but he felt compelled to give it nonetheless. Despite what she thought, it wasn’t because he saw her as incapable and it certainly had nothing to do with her being a woman. It did, however, have everything to do with her being the woman he loved.

  There was a life’s breath in being with her that he couldn’t live without. But if he kept pushing her away, if he kept standing in front of her instead of beside her, he would lose her.

&
nbsp; She was willing to risk everything for him and he’d dismissed her feelings completely. He really was a selfish bastard and damn her she was going to save him whether he deserved it or not.

  He stood and strode over to his desk. Perhaps it was time to start deserving it, he thought. The fragmented feeling of helplessness was abruptly replaced by the firm conviction of singleness of purpose. He wasn’t going to waste the next two days in a fruitless search. If she didn’t want to be found, and it was clear she didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to find her. But that wouldn’t stop him. He’d be damned if he’d let her go alone. This time, though, he’d be prepared.

  He turned on his blasted computer and pulled out his phonebook.

  He remembered scant details from that blithering idiot Travers’ tale to Elizabeth, but it was enough. It had to be enough. He remembered the date and location—April 9, 1906, San Francisco, just a little over one week before the catastrophic earthquake. That gave him pause. The San Francisco earthquake was nothing to be trifled with. If he remembered his history correctly, the quake was over 8.0 on the Richter scale and the fires that followed were even more devastating. He’d have to convince her to leave the city before then. A time and a place—not much to go on—but all he needed. Whatever Elizabeth was getting herself into, she wouldn’t be in it alone and that was all that mattered.

  He sat down in his desk chair and got to work.

  Over the years he’d cultivated an extensive network of antiquity collectors and spent the next few hours waking, bullying and bribing them. The full complement of supplies had cost him an unconscionable sum, but he would have spent ten times that if needed. Money had never meant much to him, until he’d been forced to live without it. Traveling back in time to New York and living as a pauper had been an object lesson he wasn’t soon to forget.

  Antique national bank notes, the only reasonable currency of the time, with a face value of nearly ten thousand dollars were being sent by overnight courier. Explicit instructions had been given to his tailor. A suit appropriate for a wealthy man at the turn of the century with all accompanying accouterments would be ready by noon. No excess was too excessive. No expense too expensive. No possibility considered impossible. He’d even contacted the family solicitor and asked him to send a few important papers.

  This time, he would arrive as a man of means. And those means had only one end—to do anything and everything to bring Elizabeth back safely.

  By morning, Simon had completed all his preparations, save one. He was at the bank when it opened and accompanied the clerk to his safety deposit box. The teller placed the slender metal container on the table and left him to his privacy. The cyclone of manic planning dwindled until only an ill wind remained. When he’d put the watch away four months ago, he’d hoped it would be the last time he’d ever see it. Only an unbreakable allegiance to his grandfather had kept him from destroying it.

  Slowly, he opened the lid to his own Pandora’s box and a plague of personal demons was released. Picking up the watch, he held his only hope in his hand. The last time he’d held it, the watch had wielded him, controlled his fate. This time, he would wield it.

  ***

  Simon tied the ivory cravat around his starched, white collar and looked at himself in the mirror. A gentleman of repute stared back. The tailor had outdone himself. Calfskin button boots settled just beneath the cheviot, dark grey twill of his trousers. A pristine, white shirt with stiff cuffs accented with sterling silver links stood out brightly against the pearl silk waistcoat and gloves.

  Through his cutaway coat the money belt bulged above his hip, but there was nothing to be done for it. He’d been forced to acquire smaller denominations than he’d wanted and the result was an unseemly lump. Luckily, the weather in San Francisco hadn’t changed in the last hundred years and his Chesterfield overcoat would still be de rigueur for early spring.

  Money wasn’t his only weapon, he thought as he slipped a 1905 Colt vest pocket pistol into his pocket. It was a small caliber gun, but the little magazine held six bullets. If he needed more than that, no gun, he feared, was going to be enough.

  With only minutes to spare, he shrugged on his overcoat and pulled the felt-banded brim of his hat down. A spider’s crawl of anticipatory dread inched up his spine, but he willed it away. Elizabeth needed him, whether she knew it or not, and he wasn’t about to let her face whatever dangers awaited her alone. Armed with certitude of purpose, he opened the watchcase, stared down at the moon inset and waited.

  He didn’t have to wait long. The paralyzing, blue light sparked out of the watch and up his arm. The world around him shivered and he was plunged into darkness.

  Chapter Five

  Elizabeth struggled against the strange disconnected feeling until she felt her head definitely connect with something. Something… leafy? Managing to right herself, she stared at the offending bush before remembering to check for any witnesses. Thankfully, she was alone. Very, very alone. Damn you, Simon.

  She’d spent the last day and a half trying to soak up the reams of information Travers had given her and trying not to think about what she was leaving behind. Besides, if everything went well, it would be like she’d never left. Except for the arguing and gargantuan emotional chasm they’d have to cross. She’d leap the Great Divide when she came to it. Right now she had a job to do, a Simon to save and twigs to get out of her hair. So much for the two hours she’d spent wrangling it into her best Gibson Girl imitation.

  Victor Graham was a wealthy businessman and that meant he traveled in elite circles. Travers had meticulously given her a crash course in Victorian and Edwardian society. Just the word society had been enough to make her pulse race. Living with Simon had given her a glimpse at how the better half lived, but they weren’t exactly on the social circuit. The closest she’d ever gotten to consorting with the horsey set was getting tips from the touts at the track. She was part of the great unwashed and had the dirt on her cheek to prove it. Thank God, Travers had insisted she stuff that kerchief into her sleeve. She glanced quickly around and spit into it before wiping her cheek.

  A smooth start. Taking a header into a hedge and spitting. Her head pounded and her stomach was a little wiggly, but it was a heck of a lot better than the headbanger’s ball she’d suffered through last time. Taking a deep breath she felt her ribs squish her innards.

  The corset she could have done without. Torquemada had nothing on whatever sadist invented it. Compressing her breasts into some sort of one-eyed, monobosom monster, squeezing the life out of her stomach and thrusting her hips backward, it successfully contorted her body into what society of the early twentieth century deemed an acceptable shape. It was all she could do not to rip the dang laces and start the bra-burning age a few decades early.

  Not being able to breathe was the least of her worries. She’d managed to arrive without passing out. Point one for her, although, she hadn’t managed to move from that spot. Quickly, she took stock of her surroundings. Large oak trees canopied expansive, outlandishly colorful flowerbeds. Flaming oranges and deep reds swirled in complicated patterns amongst a vibrant purple like some tapestry gone mad. Enclosing the entire thing was a large, boxwood hedge, with whom she was already well acquainted.

  This looked like the right place. Travers had said that if everything went well she’d arrive in the garden of Mrs. Eldridge’s safe house. It was secluded from the street, thanks to her friend the hedge, and she could appear without scaring the living bejesus out of anyone. Herself notwithstanding.

  Satisfied she was in one piece, and having stalled longer than was necessary, Elizabeth took a well-measured breath and headed for the front path. All she had to do was utter the simple code phrase Travers had given her and Mrs. Eldridge would give her whatever else she needed.

  As she edged up the walkway, the mansion loomed even larger. Gothic and imposing. Steeply pitched gables and sharp arched windows made it look more like a cathedral than a home. The fleeting image of being held
prisoner inside one of the pinnacle towers flashed in her mind. But she was no Rapunzel and her knight currently had his head up his ass. Just as she was having serious second thoughts, the front door opened and a young man and an elderly woman stepped out onto the porch.

  “I’ll be sure to give Mother your regards.” The young man bounded down the stairs and nearly crashed into Elizabeth. “I beg your pardon,” he said quickly taking off his goggles and cap. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m…I’m fine,” Elizabeth managed. “Thank you.”

  He smiled disarmingly. “The thanks is all mine,” he said and then turned back to the elderly woman. “Where have you been keeping her?”

  The woman, who simply had to be Mrs. Eldridge, lifted her pince-nez and arched an eyebrow. “In the garden, it appears.”

  The young man turned back to her and laughed. “You have,” he said and waved a hand in the general direction of her hair, “an intruder.”

  Elizabeth patted at her hair.

  “If you’d allow me?” he asked, and before she could protest, plucked a leaf from her hair.

  “That was embarrassing,” Elizabeth mumbled.

  He turned on that smile of his again. “I think it was rather becoming. And I’ll cherish it always,” he said as he stuffed the leaf into his breast pocket. “Maxwell Alexander Harrington the Third, your humble servant,” he added with a bow.

  The older woman sighed and lowered her glasses. “You are incorrigible.”

  “You’ll have to forgive me,” he said, not taking his eyes off Elizabeth. “Love does strange things to a man.”

  “Ignore him,” the woman said. “Riding in that new motorcar of his has scrambled his brain.”

  For a long moment, he didn’t react, just simply stared at Elizabeth. It should have been discomfiting, but he exuded an earnestness no amount of brashness could cover. Handsome by any standards, he was the very definition of the All-American Boy--tall, easily over six feet, sun-streaked hair and a dimple in his chin you could crawl inside.