“Bloody hell!” Gabriel exclaimed and searched the street for another cab. A short minute later they clambered into a coach, Gabriel shouting, “Follow that carriage!”
“Whot?” replied the befuddled driver. “The street’s full of ’em.”
“Over there, man! Over there! The one with the yellow trim.”
“Wull, I’ll do my best…”
“An extra half shilling if you don’t lose sight of it.”
“Right then,” the driver replied briskly with a flick of his whip.
The carriage jolted off and careened recklessly down the street.
Cyril braced his feet on the rocking floor while Gabriel peered restlessly out the window.
“What do you hope to accomplish with this farcical stratagem?” Cyril asked.
Gabriel grinned at him and the tension drained from his face. “It is damned ludicrous,” he agreed. “But there are too many unexplained connections, Graham and Sir Brandon, Lord Winter and Charles Drake, Drake and Odell—”
“Odell Speex? The crazy one? Good Lord!” Cyril slapped himself on the forehead. “Miss Swanpoole’s brother! Of course! But what does he have to do with this? He seemed to drop off the face of the earth.”
“I’m not sure. Odette says Drake has him captive. Something about an invention and stolen property.”
Cyril looked skeptical. “Sounds pretty farfetched to me.”
Gabriel sighed resignedly. “I know. But now here’s this Drake fellow. And who is he anyway?” He looked out the window again, a bitter edge to his voice, “One thing’s for sure, Lord Winter wouldn’t deign to acknowledge such a lowly member of society without expecting some benefit in return.”
The coach came to an abrupt halt. They alighted in front of White’s Club.
Cyril sucked in his breath dramatically. “Very sinister.”
Gabriel frowned at him and threw the promised coin up to the coachman. He grabbed Cyril’s arm and led him across the street.
“I don’t know what you think you’re up to, but we can’t get in there. We’re not members.” Cyril pointed out the obvious.
“So we’ll go around to the servant’s entrance.”
Cyril stopped and looked at him seriously. “Gabe. It is members only,” he repeated. “Causing a disturbance will only embarrass you and your uncle.”
“Give me some credit, Cyril. They won’t know the difference between me and another footman.”
“Well, no livery, for a start.”
They came around the back and found the small garden bustling with activity. Not only footmen but deliverymen from vintners to florists milled about the back entrance.
“This is a piece of luck,” Gabriel observed. He drew off his waistcoat and gave it to Cyril. “Wait here,” he said over his shoulder and rolled up his shirt sleeves as he made his way to the crowded doorway.
“My pleasure,” Cyril assured him gratefully.
Much as he railed against the aristocracy, Cyril was easily intimidated by their arrogance. The smug sense of superiority angered him but also made him question his own worth. Another crack in his armor was made every time he and his father were turned away from his mother’s gravesite. He hated them, but a seed of doubt had taken root in his brain and would not be dislodged. He envied Gabriel his confidence. But then, their stories were very different.
Gabriel sidled up to one of the wagons and shouldered a large crate. Hiding his face to one side, he made for the doorway.
“Hey!” yelled a stout man in a somber black livery, bringing Gabriel up short, “Down the stairs with that crate. All wine to the basement.”
Gabriel followed the line of his pointed finger and saw a sunken staircase off to one side of the building. He descended the stairs and wound his way through a long hallway ending in a cool windowless room stacked with wine. He set the crate down carefully and looked around.
He had no idea what he was doing. His determination to help Odette combined with his blind hatred of Lord Winter had propelled him on this absurd goose chase. Oddly enough he wasn’t frightened but rather energized by the action. Gone was the cautious man of law. In his place was… was… he almost laughed aloud. He was going for “hero.” But instead “idiot” arose in his mind. An idiot in love… God save him!
Footsteps in the hallway shook him from his reverie. His momentary panic was quelled when a young boy in the same black livery came around the corner and into the cellar.
“Ho!” he exclaimed upon seeing Gabriel. “You scared me.”
“Sorry, lad.” His efforts to coarsen his language met with limited success. The boy looked at him askew when he added, “just deliverin’ some spirits.”
“The wine, you mean?”
“Ah, yeah.” Gabriel hesitated but decided the boy might know something. “Whot’s with all the goins’ on? Some sort’a party?”
The boy huffed disdainfully. “It’s White’s! There’s always a party.”
Gabriel nodded and made for the door.
“But today is something special, for sure.”
He stopped and looked back expectantly.
“There’s some new fellow.” The boy looked disapproving. “None of us servants knows anything about him. But his name was put in the book just last night and today he has more than twenty-five sponsors. Never seen anything like it. Nobody has.”
“Who’s this fella?”
“Name’s Mister Charles Drake. A simple ‘Mister.’ ” The boy shook his head in disgust. “Now they’re having some kind of meeting. Even the gaming tables are shut down.”
Gabriel nodded and started for the door again, but the boy stopped him. “If you help me take up these bottles, Mrs. Simmons will give you some supper.”
Gabriel wasn’t sure what to make of the information he’d just received but was eager to learn more. Loaded down with several bottles of expensive wine, they made their way through a maze of servants’ corridors and stairways to the kitchen.
Here the activity was manic. Footmen came and went in rapid succession and the noise was such that normal conversation was virtually impossible. True to his word, Mrs. Simmons, the cook, gave Gabriel a bowl of soup and a chicken leg. She motioned him to a bench out of the way.
He sat there wondering what to do next when a young footman came in supported by another. The young man was trying to stop the flow of blood from his nose as his companion settled him on the bench next to Gabriel.
“Here now, what’s happened?” Mrs. Simmons bustled over with a wet rag.
The uninjured one sputtered with indignation, “That puffy Marquis hit ’em! For nothing! Davy barely brushed him, that’s all. He didn’t even spill a drop of the soup.”
“It ain’t right!” Davy mumbled through the rag. “Hittin’ me for no reason.”
“You should hear ’em in there, Mrs. Simmons,” his friend continued. “Talking all rot and crazy-like. Closing down the coffeehouses and outlawing political speech. Like they knows—”
“You hush now!” Mrs. Simmons exclaimed, cutting her eyes over to Gabriel. “You two stay here in the kitchen for now. We’ve got plenty of you lads out serving.” She left again to preside over the general chaos, and Gabriel sat hardly daring to move, stunned by what he’d heard.
“Hey, Davy,” the uninjured footman whispered furtively to his friend. “Do you still have them toenails you cut off last night?”
“Yeah, in me pocket. I was going to throw them in the fire. You know I don’t like leaving bits of meself laying around,” Davy replied, voicing a common superstition.
“Well, hand ’em over.”
Davy reached in his pocket and handed his friend a handkerchief. Within it were what looked to Gabriel like several weeks worth of nail clippings.
“What’s say we add a little flavor to that chocolate soufflé.”
Stifling a gag, Gabriel stood and beat a hasty retreat out the kitchen door, through the garden, and back toward the street.
“Thank goodness!” Cyril
cried upon seeing him. “I was about ready to abandon you to your fate.”
Gabriel unrolled his sleeves and pulled on his waistcoat.
“Well?” Cyril asked impatiently. “What did you learn?”
Gabriel clapped his friend on the back. “Be kind to the help, Cyril. Always be kind to the help.”
*
From the street corner Ethan watched the two friends depart toward Piccadilly and Haymarket. He had seen Cyril loitering on the sidewalk across from White’s and had hung back to observe. He had never known the young man to frequent this fashionable and prosperous part of the city. When he saw Gabriel emerge from around the building, he knew their presence here was no coincidence.
The meeting had been hastily scheduled so it was unlikely the two men knew of it in advance. Ethan was willing to bet a goodly sum that they had followed someone here. Perhaps even Charles Drake. He knew from Cara that Gabriel had some knowledge of Odette’s plight. But from what Ethan could gather, no one really knew what was going on. And that included Sir Brandon.
“You will have to attend the meeting, Graham,” Sir Brandon had said after assuring Lord Winter they wouldn’t miss it. “I have other obligations tonight. But I want a full accounting.”
Ethan had never known a time when Sir Brandon didn’t have inside knowledge of any activity impacting the Crown. The fact that he was now struggling to gain an understanding of the situation was truly disconcerting. It ate away at the borders of Ethan’s conscience that he contributed to this by withholding information. But until he had a better grasp on the roles both Cara and Odette played in this strange affair, he didn’t want to expose them, or himself, to the full extent of Sir Brandon’s scrutiny.
How Cara had uncovered his secret he could not fathom. He was sure that no one had ever guessed his predilection. If so, Sir Brandon would not have recruited him. He was also sure that Cara would never reveal him, no matter what. She had played her part well, but she was no blackmailer. The disgust he had seen on her face was all for herself. She intrigued him. What kind of person saw nothing amiss in what he was?
He shook his head disbelievingly as he entered the hallowed portal of White’s. He would keep his own council for now. But he owed his allegiance to King and Country. And not for all the compassion in her eyes would he spare Cara if she were their enemy.
Chapter 25
The two men were obviously father and son. The same thin-lipped mouth and hooded eyes gave them away. They wandered seemingly aimless around the massive ancient stones. Their knee-length capes flapped in the cool summer breeze giving the impression of two very large crows. The older man stopped at certain spots in the large circle to shield his eyes and look up into the sky.
“Do you think it is some kind of religious monument as the innkeeper suggested?” asked the younger man.
“It’s hard to be certain, Billy,” his father replied. “The people who built this left no written records. Though I feel confident that there is some celestial significance to all this.” He gestured wide to include the entire stone circle. “However, this does not negate a religious intent. Ancient man was known to imbue the physical world with supernatural meaning.”
Clouds scuttled past the sun casting giant shadows across the grassy interior. Other than their horses tethered a short distance away, they were alone on the vast plain. William felt the chill and shivered drawing his cloak around him. He could easily imagine bearded and long-haired men in rough-spun robes presiding over a ritual. Perhaps even a human sacrifice. He shivered again, this time with unease.
“It is so isolated,” he observed. “There would have to be a special reason for people to come here.”
“An excellent point, my boy,” his father approved. “I do not believe they have discovered any ancient villages or towns close by.” He sat down on a large stone and resting an arm across his stomach brought his other hand up to lie against his cheek. “The location is clearly meaningful.”
William smiled fondly. He was well used to that thoughtful pose. His father was a man of uncommon brilliance. As a child, William believed that almost every important event hung in the balance, waiting for his father to take action. From the political and civic to the scientific and philosophical, Benjamin Franklin had made vital contributions to them all. Even as a man in his late middle years, his father was still a force with which to be reckoned. Thus, his selection as Pennsylvania’s representative to England. No one was better suited to argue the colonists’ case and not make more adversaries in the process.
Benjamin Franklin rose to his feet and settled his hat more firmly on his head. “An odd place this,” he mused. “Even if we unlock the puzzle of these stones, the meaning, its significance to the people who built it may never be clear to us.” He smiled down at his feet and looked up again at his son. “Will our accomplishments stand hundreds of years from now? Perhaps a mystery to those who come after us?”
William laughed at his father’s uncharacteristic flight of fancy. “Considering the sheer magnitude of your writings, I can’t imagine you being a mystery to anyone.”
His father laughed with him and ruffled his hair like he was a small boy but added seriously, “Time, Billy. I think this place is about time. About beginnings and endings. About understanding who we are and reaching out to find our origins.”
“So shall we set up camp here, father?” William teased. “You can study the true nature of time and discover our beginnings.”
His father clapped him on the back and steered them toward the horses. “Someday perhaps, my boy. But for now, Duty calls. And she is a demanding mistress.”
“Don’t you mean he is a hard taskmaster?”
Benjamin Franklin shook his head decisively. “No, Billy. No man loves his master.”
*
“He’s here?” Odette had been sitting half asleep in the sun but was now fully awake.
“Aye,” Wu said and then swiftly corrected himself when Fancy giggled. “I mean, yes, he is.”
They were in the garden of their lodgings on Exeter Street having returned from a brief sojourn at Lady Caroline’s elegant mansion on Grosvenor Square. The two days spent under her roof were an interesting mixture of luxurious idleness and frenetic activity. Surrounded by a small cadre of devoted servants, the four battered refugees barely lifted a finger to meet their physical needs. But instead spent hours in discussion and planning with Lady Caroline and Aamod.
It surprised everyone to learn that Lady Caroline was the Hindu mystic Master Yuan had visited before his disappearance.
“You? But, Aamod…?” interjected a startled Cara, voicing the group’s assumption that he must be the mystic in question.
Caroline smiled enigmatically. “Aamod is my fellow student, helpmate, and teacher.” The warm look she cast his way convinced them that she was leaving out another important role he played in her life. They all looked uncomfortably around the room until she spoke again.
“Master Yuan was fully aware of the time disruptions.” She looked at Wu. “He was intending to bring you here, to us. He believed your sensitivity as a precept would lead to the source of the rift and its resolution.”
“I don’t understand how any of this works,” Fancy complained.
“Neither do I, my dear.” Cara patted her hand sympathetically.
“Master Yuan sought me out,” Caroline continued. “He met my guru in India many years ago when the disturbances first occurred.”
“This has happened before?” Odette asked in disbelief.
“Yes. Over twenty years ago,” she replied. “It was small at first, but the distortions have built over the years.”
“How?” they all breathed at once.
“My dears, I can only speculate,” she explained. “But I believe that once the timeline is disturbed, even a small event can create disruptions up and down the spectrum. It then becomes hard to know what event precedes another. Master Yuan believed it would take someone outside of time, so to speak, to set
it straight. Only this person would have the ability to re-set time.”
They all looked thoroughly confused.
She smiled wryly and shook her head. “It is hard to explain. I believe this person cannot exist in the prime timeline. Only then can they move through time without undue disruptions.”
“How can that be?” Odette exclaimed. “How does a person completely unknown to time just come into being?”
“I don’t think we can even begin to answer that,” Aamod stated in his low, calm voice. “It is most likely a chance occurrence, a mathematical anomaly.”
“However it happened, this is what brought Master Yuan to London. He believed this to be our best chance to restore the timeline,” Caroline concluded.
Sitting now in the early morning sun, Odette could hardly credit the wild flights of speculation during their marathon discussions in Lady Caroline’s exotic parlor. Even though it was she and Cara who had traveled back in time, Odette was amazed at how fully the others entered into the belief that history had actually been altered.
“When did he get here?” she asked them.
“Only a few days ago,” Fancy answered excitedly. “Wu and me heard about it at the coffeehouse.”
Odette couldn’t help returning the girl’s broad smile. Fancy was a revelation. She looked like a typical London street urchin. Her coarse woven trousers and sack-like jacket effectively hid her feminine curves. She had successfully adopted the free-swinging gait of someone who had never known the constraints of long skirts. Her initial confusion with the contradictions of time travel had given way to an active curiosity and an interesting observation.
“This person,” Fancy pronounced during one of their exhaustive debates, “the mastermind-like, wouldn’t he have to be from the future then?”
Odette had never given much thought to where in time this unseen enemy had originated. “We know Drake is from the prime timeline, because he gave Odell the money to develop the Temporatus,” she had responded.
“Well, this Drake, he ain’t the one callin’ the shots, right?”
Odette Speex: Time Traitors Book 1 Page 23