by D. B. Gilles
“I can’t take your...”
“Dalton, you and Juliet have become like a son and daughter to me. I insist that you let me give this to you.”
Dalton nodded yes, feeling moved at Proctor’s generosity. They shook hands.
Proctor continued. “As for us getting out of the apartment tonight at such a late hour without making Juliet suspicious, it could be awkward.” Although they lived together as a family, there was never any intrusiveness as to each other’s behavior. They went their own way, especially since Juliet and Luc became inseparable. But Proctor didn’t want to take any chances that Juliet would question where they were going so late in the night. “I suggest we both casually mention that we have plans. She’ll most likely be with Eliza or Luc anyway, but if she’s home and we both leave at the same time, she might ask questions.”
By the end of the day Proctor had taken care of all the necessary paperwork to prepare for his leaving. He would be going back to New York in much worse physical shape than when he left.
For the last three months he had been rationing his medication and vitamins, taking one when he should’ve taken two or skipping a day and sometimes two days and it had taken its toll. He’d gotten thinner, his full head of hair had turned brittle and his face had a sickly pale. If and when he arrived back in New York, it would be as if he’d only been gone not even a day. His plan was to visit his pharmacy and renew all of his prescriptions, then check into the emergency ward at New York University Hospital and get a thorough check-up.
Dalton and Proctor spent the rest of the day and early evening in their apartment. There concerns about drawing Juliet’s suspicions were moot as she and Eliza were spending the evening together.
Chapter 66
When Dalton and Proctor arrived at Place de la Concorde Eiffel was waiting. They observed that he carried a leather satchel. And as he said, he was not alone. With him was a man who appeared to be in his early-to-mid Twenties. Dalton noticed a neatly trimmed moustache and spectacles.
The time was eleven thirty-five. Because of the time, there were only a handful of people nearby, a few looking at the fountains on either side of the square, others passing by and staring at the obelisk.
Dalton glanced at Eiffel’s companion.
“Forgive me,” said Eiffel in fluent English. “In all the excitement I forgot my manners. Dalton Hillyer, please meet my friend Herbert. He does not speak French.”
“In the process of learning,” said Herbert as he extended his right hand. Dalton nodded as he shook Herbert’s hand saying, “It’s not as difficult as you might think.”
Indicating the satchel, Eiffel said, “The Brimstone is in here. Shall I just remove it and hand it to you?”
“That will be fine,” said Proctor.
Eiffel did so. “May we watch?”
“I set the date and make a few adjustments,” said Proctor as he proceeded to press the hieroglyphs to open the bottom. He quickly found the calendar and put in the date day he, Dalton and Juliet left New York, then, just as he had done more than a year ago at the obelisk in New York, he began the process by touching the obelisk.
Within seconds clouds appeared, then distant thunder, then lightning, then a light rain. Then, as its counterpart in Central Park a part of the obelisk opened slowly. The lightning continued, causing bright flashes that seemed to be making the crack open wider.
“The crack on the obelisk,” said Eiffel. “That is where you came through?”
“Yes. If you touched The Brimstone while touching the obelisk, at the strike of midnight you and anyone touching the obelisk would be transported.”
Eiffel looked at his friend. “Did you hear what he said?”
“Astonishing,” said Herbert, almost boyishly.
Proctor turned to Dalton, pulling him close. “With any luck, I’ll be seeing you in New York in a couple of days. I imagine I’ll be at New York University hospital.”
Dalton, his eyes filling with tears, “I’ll be there.”
“Explain it all to Juliet. Why we didn’t want to tell her and not have it work. Send her my love. Tell Eliza it was a pleasure to meet her and that should she decide to come back, the three of us will have dinner next week.”
“I will.”
The lightning and thunder intensified.
Proctor handed The Brimstone to Dalton. “It’s time.” He turned to Eiffel. “Au revoir!”
Within a second he was gone. The light rain, thunder and lightning ceased. For all intent and purpose it looked to be nothing more than a sudden night shower.
In Dalton’s left hand was The Brimstone. “Do you want this back, Monsieur Eiffel?”
“I’ll want it back when you’re done with it. It clearly works insomuch that he disappeared, but how will we know if he’ll return to the date he set?”
“We don’t. When my father tried it the first time it worked exactly as planned. The second time it was off by a year. Same with the third time. It’s a matter of faith.”
“When will you need it next?”
“I have to check with my friends,” said Dalton. “They know nothing of our meeting with you or what we wanted to do tonight. Proctor and I decided not tell them unless it proved to be successful. Now that we know, I’ll inform them in the morning. I’ll find out when they want to go back. If it were up to me, it would be tomorrow night.”
“Might I ask a question?” Herbert asked.
Dalton nodded yes.
“From what Gustave told me, I know you’ll be going back to your future, so to speak. Before you came here, to our time, did you ever consider using The Brimstone to go into the future? The future beyond your time?”
“No. Initially it was all about going back to find someone, then not being able to get back. Going forward was never an issue. Why do you ask?”
“It just strikes me that the future would be more interesting than the past. I should point out that Gustave disagrees with me. He would much rather go backwards.”
Eiffel nodded with a smile. “To meet great men who came before would be the thrill of a lifetime. That is the philosophy of The Brimstone Society.”
Herbert nodded. “I understand, but yet... to see the future would be so astonishing. I can only imagine what’s to come.”
“A conversation for another time,” said Eiffel. He turned to Dalton. “If there’s the chance that you and your friends will decide to go back tomorrow night, I can have a messenger at your door first thing in the morning.”
“That’s entirely possible. I’ll be telling them tonight.”
“Is nine a.m. too early?”
“Perfect. And you’ll be here to see us off and keep The Brimstone.”
Eiffel nodded.
“Mister Hillyer?” said Herbert. “A true thrill to meet you. I shall never forget you.”
“Will you also be here when I go back?”
“Unfortunately, I set sail tomorrow for London.”
“In that case, good to meet you, Herbert.”
“I go by my initials. Call me H.G.”
It took a few seconds for the name to resonate with Dalton. “H.G. Wells?” he asked.
“Yes. How did you know my last name?”
“I... you’re... “
“Yes? I’m what?”
“It’s just... “
“From your reaction,” said Eiffel. “is it possible that you recognize Herbert’s name because he became famous?”
“Yes.”
“As what?” said Wells, perking up.
“A writer.”
“Do tell,” said Wells, turning to Eiffel, smiling broadly. “For serious literature, I hope.”
“Well, not so serious, but entertaining.” Dalton glanced at his pocket watch. “I should go. I have to speak to my two friends.”
“Yes,” said Wells. He again extended his right hand, which Dalton took. “Mister Hillyer, all I can say is, I wish you a safe journey home.”
“Thank you.”
Dalt
on nodded to Eiffel, then took leave.
He walked from Place de la Concorde to the apartment, using the time to think about how he was going to tell Juliet that Proctor had gone back and of their meeting with Gustave Eiffel.
To his surprise, Juliet was in the living room reading. Eliza was on the sofa, asleep.
“Eliza’s going to stay over again tonight,” said Juliet. “Do you mind?”
“Of course not.”
He thought about waiting until morning to tell her as he’d planned, but with Juliet awake he decided to get it over with. Before he could say anything, Juliet said, “Proctor isn’t home yet. He rarely stays out this late without telling us. I hope he’s alright.”
“He won’t be coming home tonight. Or any other night.”
Juliet sat up straight. “Did something happen to him? Did he... die?”
“No. He went back.”
“Back where?”
“Back. We found a way.”
“How?” said Juliet, incredulous, sitting up straight.
“Wake Eliza. You should both hear this.”
When the two women were seated, he brought them up to speed. When he finished, Juliet said nothing, then turned to Eliza, then back to Dalton.
“What’s your decision?” she asked.
“I’m going back and I want to do it as soon as possible. Tomorrow night.”
Juliet turned to Eliza.
“If you would’ve told me this a week ago, three days ago, I would’ve jumped at the chance to return,” said Eliza. “But now that Juliet’s with me here in Paris it’s entirely different. The right thing to do is stay and help her with the baby.”
“Baby?” said Dalton. “What baby?”
“I only found out three days ago,” said Juliet. “I haven’t even told Luc yet. Only Eliza knows. I can’t possibly go back. I would be afraid. What kind of effect would going back have on the baby? I love Luc. I wouldn’t expect him to come with me. Plus, I love my life at the restaurant and with the magazine. Dalton, I’m going to stay.”
“I have to say that I love being here now too,” said Eliza.
“Even though knowing the future has been so upsetting to you?” said Dalton.
“I can try to put what I know out of my mind and concentrate on a new life with Juliet, the baby and Luc. Plus I’ll be in Paris during the time I always wanted to be.”
“Our mother will need attending to. If Eiffel’s Brimstone takes you back, perhaps you can visit her and... what with her condition? We have an uncle, our mother’s brother, who you can contact.”
“Of course.”
“Dalton, is there anything I can say to convince you to stay?” said Juliet.
He shook his head no. There was nothing left to say. He considered telling them of his meeting with H.G. Wells, but felt it was the wrong time. Instead he informed Juliet of Proctor’s generosity in leaving money and the apartment in her name.
Then he told Eliza that he had a message for her from Tash. “He said he hopes you find what you were looking for for.”
She smiled and looked at Juliet. “Tell him I have.”
The next morning, as Eiffel had promised, a messenger stood outside of Dalton and Juliet’s apartment waiting for instructions.
“Tell Monsieur Eiffel tonight. Eleven-forty-five.”
Juliet and Eliza insisted on accompanying Dalton to the obelisk. Eiffel was waiting.
After a final hug from Juliet who was trying to hold back tears, Dalton moved next to the obelisk and proceeded to make the proper adjustments on The Brimstone. Eiffel watched him do so. He and Eiffel held on to The Brimstone. As the lightning and thunder roared, the same crack that had opened the night before for Proctor, split open. Dalton touched the obelisk with his free hand until the lightning struck the obelisk. He let go of The Brimstone and seconds before he disappeared he stared into the face of Gustave Eiffel who said, “Do you know if I live a long life?”
Dalton recalled that Eiffel lived to a ripe old age. “You have many years left.”
“Merci.” He stepped back.
Dalton took a final look at Juliet as she waved goodbye, then disappeared.
Chapter 67
Just as Proctor had landed safely at the foot of Cleopatra’s Needle in Central Park the night before, so did Dalton. It was early morning, damp and foggy. Other than a handful of people walking their dogs the park was empty. He had no money other than francs from 1889, so he had to walk to his apartment on Tenth Street. He asked a college age girl walking her pug the date.
“May ninth,” she said, looking at him strangely.
“What year?”
She told him. He felt relieved.
The spare key he kept in a crack in the cement under one of the garbage cans was there. That day’s New York Times was there. He let himself in and immediately went to his phone and called Proctor. His housekeeper informed Dalton that Proctor was in New York University Hospital.
Relieved that Proctor was alive, Dalton asked if he could receive visitors.
“Yes.”
After showering and changing into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, he checked his email and voicemail. No overload. Nothing unusual. He hadn’t even been gone one day.
He called Proctor and told him of his safe arrival. Later in the day he paid him a visit and told him that Juliet and Eliza had not come back. He told him about the baby. Dalton noticed how gaunt Proctor was and asked of his health.
“Not having the proper medication took its toll,” said Proctor. “And my physician wanted to know why I appeared to be someone who hadn’t been taking his medication. I’ve always been able to weave a good lie if necessary. That will come in handy, now that we’re back.”
“How so?”
“Do we keep our little adventure to ourselves or do we share it with anyone?”
“No one would believe us.”
Proctor smiled. “There are a few who would.”
Before Dalton could ask who, Proctor said, “It’s time you met the members of The Brimstone Society.”
The meeting took place the following Saturday night in a private room at The National Arts Society on Gramercy Park.
Besides Proctor, there were seven other members present, all in their seventies and eighties, four women and three men. They listened raptly, like children, as Proctor and Dalton took turns telling about their adventure. The primary consensus was joy that The Brimstone actually worked, and envy. Discussion then turned to a topic that shocked Dalton, but not Proctor.
“We must find another Brimstone,” said a mean-faced octogenarian with a clipped British accent and trim gray moustache.
The other members all concurred.
“But where?” Dalton asked gently, not wanting to burst any bubbles. “The one Proctor and I used is long gone and we left the one we used with Gustave Eiffel.”
“Now you’re cookin’ with gas, boy,” said Andrew Chitters, the only member of the Society with a decidedly Texas twang. “The question is: what did Gustave Eiffel do with his Brimstone?”
The meeting ended with The Brimstone Society deciding to take immediate action to finding Eiffel’s Brimstone. It would mean each of them reaching into their very deep pockets to finance the search which would mean hiring a team of upper echelon art detectives.
Later, as Proctor and Dalton were leaving the meeting, Proctor said, “This has happened before. They get excited about the latest news of a Brimstone sighting. But this is different because now they know that it works.”
“Where will they begin?”
“Major research into the life of Gustave Eiffel I would imagine.”
“If they find it will you try it again?”
“No. Let someone else have his turn. I will enjoy Paris as I have in the past, flying first class on Air France.”
Later that night, Proctor placed a phone call to Henri Arpin in Paris and left the following on his voicemail: “Please give The Duchess the following message: tell her that I had tea with
Gustave Eiffel and went to the grand opening of the Moulin Rouge as the guest of Toulouse-Lautrec.”
He hung up, sat back in his chair and anticipated what The Duchess’s reaction would be.
Epilogue
Dalton resumed work on the book by the celebrity photographer.
Having dinner on a weekly basis became a regular thing for Dalton and Proctor. They spent the evenings talking about their Paris time, which is how they referred to it, remembering it with great fondness. The fruit of one of their chats resulted in Proctor getting an idea for the next exhibition at The Morgan: The first decade of the Belle Époque between the 1899 and 1900 World Fairs in Paris.
Proctor hired Dalton to do preliminary research on the project, a task Dalton relished. Having lived in Paris for a year during the last days of the 1889 World’s Fair and the aftermath, as it was being dismantled, he had a keen eye as to what to emphasize in the exhibition and what not to. As he moved through the 1890s looking for high points, two things caught his eye. First the publication of The Time Machine by H.G. Wells. There was a positive review in La Figaro. Dalton had learned enough French and had made a point of keeping up with it that he could read most of what it said. The fact that caught his attention was the name of the narrator. It was only the last name, but it resonated with Dalton:
Hillyer.
Dalton called Proctor with the news. “Do you think he remembered my name from the night we met him or is that too weird?”
“Hillyer is an unusual name. I doubt it’s a coincidence.”
The next day, while researching 1896, Dalton discovered another piece of information that amazed him.
Le Cordon Bleu, as a culinary arts school, was founded in Paris by the journalist and publisher of La Cuisinière Cordon Bleu magazine, Marthe Distel. On January 14th, 1896 the first cooking demonstration ever to be held on an electric stove was staged at Le Cordon Bleu in an effort to promote the magazine and launch the Paris cooking school. A photograph in the news story showed one of the female cooking instructors.