Anne Barbour

by Step in Time

  “Are you saying,” he demanded, “that in the twentieth century females teach in universities?”

  “Yes.” She bridled. “In my time females even vote. We have women governors of states and they serve in our legislatures. We can even—” She was about to launch into one of her favorite subjects, that of the advancement of women, when Ash interrupted.

  “The men of your time must be witless weaklings,” he snorted.

  “No more than those in any time,” she retorted. “We have a long way to go, but we’re certainly better off than we’ve been in any other period of history.”

  After another brief silence, Ash spoke again. “Why?” he asked.

  “Why what?” she said blankly.

  “Why were you chosen for this singular undertaking? At least, I assume it’s singular, since one doesn’t hear of similar occurrences. Why should Amanda—McGovern, is it?—be sent on such a fantastic journey?”

  Amanda regarded him soberly.

  “I have wondered about that, too. I’m not sure I’m the only one to whom this has ever happened. However, in this instance, I believe Amanda Bridge was supposed to live a full lifetime. Instead, something went wrong in her brain—something fatal.

  “Someone, or something, took steps to remedy the situation. That—person—encountered me—me with my knowledge of English history and a life that was less than perfect—and, I think, suffering from a similar malady. We shared the same first names and even, as I recently discovered, the same birthday. Perhaps that was all coincidence, or perhaps it was part of some impenetrable cosmic plan, but I think it was decided that I was the perfect candidate to live out Amanda’s life. I don’t know if it was coincidence that I arrived in Grosvenor Chapel on the same day in 1996 that Amanda was to meet her untimely end there on the same date a hundred and eighty-one years earlier, or it may have been arranged by some supernatural—arranger. At any rate, there I was—and there I went. I don’t have any idea—”

  She halted suddenly, for the curricle had swung into Upper Brook Street, and a few seconds later Ash drew the vehicle to a halt outside the Bridge home.

  He walked her to the door, and before he departed, she reached to place her fingers lightly on his waistcoat pocket, where he had slipped the pendant. “You keep the penny,” she said with a smile. “Perhaps it will help convince you that I’m telling the truth. But don’t wait too long. I don’t want to sound like your fairy godmother, but if you do not act tomorrow you will have lost your chance.” She started to enter the house, but turned with a start. “Oh! I just happened to think. I have quite a bit of valuable jewelry. Did you notice that rock Papa gave me to wear at our betrothal ball? They would bring in—” She stopped abruptly as Ash stiffened in outrage. His eyes assumed an aspect of arctic ice.

  “Why, thank you, Miss Bridge. It appears you wish me to add dishonor to the already intolerable burden of debt I owe to your family.”

  Amanda’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, Ash, I never meant—”

  “I’m sorry,” Ash’s expression softened minimally. “But even if I were convinced of the—the extraordinary sequence of events you have just described, the idea that I would so take advantage of our relationship is intolerable. You must see that.”

  Amanda’s heart sank. She might have known her revelations would meet with this response, to say nothing of his stupid masculine pride in refusing her offer. Well, she would just have to see what she could do about the latter. She smiled up into his face.

  “I understand what you must be feeling, Ash. I have spoken nothing but the truth, but I know how fantastic it sounds. All I can say is, just think over what I’ve said.”

  He smiled thinly, and brushing her fingertips with his lips. turned on his heel.

  For an hour or so, Ash drove aimlessly over the streets of Mayfair, his thoughts in turmoil. Lord, he should have deposited Amanda directly at the doors of Bedlam instead of taking her home. How could she have formed such a farrago of nonsense in her brain? Time travel, for God’s sake! Horseless carriages! And yet...

  And yet... A picture of Amanda’s clear, blue eyes rose before his eyes. Could a damaged mind lie behind them? She had been lucid and compelling in the telling of her story. Of course, sanity could be feigned by the insane, but surely there was no other evidence of mental aberration in her behavior—or her demeanor.

  He retrieved the coin from his pocket and studied it carefully. There was an undeniable air of authenticity about the coin. It would have taken an extraordinary craftsman to create those minute letters, raised so painstakingly on the copper.

  He remembered, suddenly, Amanda’s deathlike aspect when he had cradled her in his arms after her swoon in Grosvenor Chapel. There had been no pulse in her slender throat, no breath from between her pale lips. Had Amanda Bridge really died in that moment, to be replaced by a woman who had traveled the corridors of time to live out the young girl’s allotted span of years?

  Good God.

  He turned the curricle toward St. James’s Street and entered Brooks’s a few minutes later. The atmosphere was subdued in the coffee room, and clumps of agitated members murmured in low, discordant tones. Apparently, the news from Belgium was no better than when Jeremiah Bridge had buttonholed him earlier. The army was decimated, he heard from one gentleman. The allies had failed Wellington, reported another, and surrounded and outnumbered, he had been forced to ignominious defeat.

  Ash left the club a few minutes later, and spent the evening staring at his own fire.

  Good God, he thought again, he was betrothed to a woman from the future! The words clattered meaninglessly in his brain. Try as he might, he simply could not come to grips with the concept of a human being traveling through time as one might embark on a walking tour.

  Yet, apparently, this is what had happened. And because of it, Amanda had assured him, his financial woes were at an end. He realized she had taken a great risk in telling him of her—adventure, for she must have known it might have resulted in her being committed to an asylum. He dared not contemplate the implication of this act of trust on her part.

  His thoughts muddled beyond reason, Ash took himself off to bed at last, only to lie staring sleeplessly at the ceiling.

  Chapter Twenty

  It was just a little before noon on Wednesday, the twenty-first of June, when Mr. James Wincanon, in the act of pulling on his boots, was informed by his valet that a young woman was awaiting him in his sitting room.

  “Eh?” he asked startled.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Symonds austerely. “She speaks well enough and looks to be gently bred, but I can hardly imagine—” He coughed discreetly.

  “Quite.” James, while not above a spot of dalliance now and then, was rarely visited by women, gently bred or otherwise. “You have never seen her before?”

  “As to that, sir, I could not say. The female is wearing a largish bonnet and a veil I can only call impenetrable.”

  With this, Symonds, apparently feeling he had discharged his duty, bowed discreetly from the room.

  A few minutes later, when James entered his sitting room, he saw that his man had not exaggerated. Her own mother could not have recognized the young woman who hurried to him, hands outstretched.

  “James! I am so glad you are in!” She threw back the veil. “I am desperately in need of a favor from you.”

  James gaped at his visitor. “Miss Bridge! What the devil—?”

  “Oh, please, this is no time for formalities. Do call me Amanda. I know it is the height of impropriety for me to visit you in your lodgings, but—”

  “Impropriety! Good God, woman, if anyone saw you enter you would be utterly ruined. To say nothing of Ash dismembering me bone by bone.”

  Amanda laughed. “Oh, don’t be silly. That’s why I wore the veil.” She glanced around. “May I sit down?” she said, taking a chair without waiting for his answer.

  “Look here, Miss Br—Amanda. I don’t think you should stay. In fact, I was just leaving. A po
rtion of a Roman mosaic has been uncovered in Stepney. They were laying a foundation for a new road, I understand. There may be a whole villa there—or possibly a shrine. I really must—”

  “James,” said Amanda gently, “you’re babbling. I am truly sorry to discommode you, but this won’t take long. Now, if you’ll sit down, we can get this over with and you can be off to, er, Stepney.”

  James sat.

  “Now, then,” continued Amanda, “I have a simple request. I want you to buy as many government shares as you can with this.” She reached into her reticule and to James’s disbelieving stare pulled out a thick roll of bills.

  “But—where—what—?”

  “I want you to buy them in Ash’s name. I have advised Ash to buy as deeply as he can—you should do the same, by the way— and I offered to give him additional funds—beyond his own—to do so, but he refused.”

  James, not to put a fine point on it, goggled.

  “I cannot believe this,” he said at last. “My dear young woman, I can’t imagine where you got the idea that investing in the funds at this time is a good idea, for, in fact—”

  “I know all about the drop in stock prices, but I also happen to know that tomorrow, as news of Wellington’s victory spreads, the prices will soar again.”

  “How could you possibly know anything of the sort? No, never mind,” he said hastily. “I don’t want to know any more about this. Even if I were to bow to your no-doubt superior judgment on the matter, I could not go behind Ash’s back. He would be furious if he knew you had come here.”

  “Well, I intend to tell him, of course, but not until he has had the opportunity to realize that I—that I’m right about this. Please, James,” she said pleadingly. “You must know how desperate his situation is. If you will only do this small thing, you will help him get on his feet again. You will help free him from his obligation to my father.”

  James gaped at her. “Why the devil are you doing this? What can you know of Ash’s feelings about being forced—that is, about Ashindon Park?”

  “How could I help knowing how he feels? He carries his pride like a damned banner. For God’s sake, James, I want to see him free of our betrothal, for I know he was forced into it.”

  James eyed her shrewdly. “Are you saying you do not wish for this union?”

  Amanda dropped her gaze. “I know you will consider me stupid and naive, but I do not wish to enter into a loveless marriage.”

  James said nothing for a long moment, and when he spoke his tone had softened. “But to invest in the funds at this moment is nothing short of an exercise in futility, my dear.”

  Amanda lifted her head. “As to that, I know you to be wrong, but even if you were right, this is my money I’m asking you to invest. I’d do it myself, but I have no idea how to go about it.” She laughed. “I had a hard enough time selling the jewels.”

  “Selling the jewels?” breathed James, fascinated.

  “Yes, I asked Hutchings—my maid—and she advised me to go to Harper’s, in Conduit Street. She said they would not likely be too nice in their dealings. I brought her with me, by the way, as well as a footman. They are out in the carriage, so I did not come out alone and defenseless into London’s wicked streets. Anyway, when I told the man at the jewelry shop what I wanted, I thought he would call the police or something, but I told him I was a widow who has fallen on hard times and he was very sympathetic. The whole transaction only took about half an hour, and look!” she exclaimed, waving the roll of soft. “I have over six thousand pounds! The gentleman said he was fortunate he had that much on the premises, but he had just completed a big sale.” She uttered a small laugh. “I suppose they are worth more than twice what I got, but I’m not complaining.”

  “Indeed,” said James faintly.

  “You can do this, can’t you?” Amanda asked. “I mean, it’s legal to buy stock in someone else’s name?”

  “Oh, yes. I am acquainted with Ash’s man of business. I’m sure he will be—”

  “Well, then, there should be nothing to it.”

  Amanda rose and moved to lay the money in James’s lap. When he recoiled, she frowned slightly.

  “James, please. I know I am flying in the face of a masculine bulwark of convention, but please help me to help Ash.”

  James rose to stand close to her. “I could almost believe your only motive is in helping him.”

  “Good Lord, why else would I be doing this?” she cried in exasperation.

  James shook his head. “I do not know. Perhaps to place him under a truly iron-clad obligation to you. Forgive my candor, but it has been my experience that females rarely act so altruistically.”

  Amanda opened her mouth in protest, but he smiled suddenly, and Amanda was astonished at the change that came over his rather forbidding features. He was much younger than she had thought, and really rather handsome.

  “I do not know about your experience with females,” she said simply, “but I want very badly to help Ash, and since you are his friend I thought perhaps that would be your wish as well. As for placing him under an obligation to me, I intend quite the opposite. Once he has sufficient funds to accomplish the tasks he has set for himself, he will no longer need me.” She said the words unthinkingly and almost gasped at the pain they caused.

  The silence in the small sitting room was deafening, and Amanda felt she was choking on her heart, which seemed to have lodged in her throat.

  “All right,” said James at last, an indecipherable expression on his features. “I’ll do it.”

  “Oh, thank God!” exclaimed Amanda, weak with relief.

  The visit concluded a few minutes later with mutual expressions of goodwill and Amanda sped home to spend the rest of the day in a state of expectation bordering on panic. Had she done the right thing in telling Ash her extraordinary story? He had made it perfectly obvious that he thought her little more than a lunatic. And how could she blame him? Perhaps she was.

  Maybe the person she believed to be Amanda McGovern had never existed and the whole time-travel thing was a figment of a profoundly disturbed mind. It seemed to her that if one’s mind were that messed up one would be somehow aware of the disturbance, but her experience with mental derangement was limited. Dear God, suppose Ash took her advice and was brought to ruin because Wellington had actually gone down to defeat against Napoleon.

  She took a deep, steadying breath. No, she was completely sane, and if Ash had only taken her advice, all would be well.

  Whereupon she sat down, and with great precision began to pull all the threads from the embroidery piece she had started several days ago.

  Ash, meanwhile, sat in a small coffee shop in the City, sipping from a small cup of the steaming beverage and unmindful of the chatter that rose and fell around him like ocean waves. He felt light-headed and rather empty, as though he’d been fasting for several days. In his mind, the scene in the office of his man of business replayed itself endlessly.

  Mr. Shaffley had handled the affairs of the Wexford family for all his adult life, as had his father before him. It was he who had first brought Jeremiah Bridge to the attention of his impecunious client, and at Ash’s entry into his office he greeted the earl with an understanding sympathy.

  “I have been expecting you, my lord. The news of Wellington’s misfortune is all over the City. I must say I was dismayed when you invested so heavily in the funds after Napoleon’s escape from Elba. It is unfortunate that you will have to take so great a loss now, but I believe I shall be able to get a fairly reasonable price for them. If you will just—”

  “But it is not my intention to sell. I wish to buy.”

  “What!” exclaimed Mr. Shaffley. “But—but—my lord—”

  “I know it must seem the sheerest lunacy to you, sir, but the news to which you refer is only speculation, and I believe the reports are false. You must agree, that if Wellington is indeed victorious, now is the time to buy.”

  “Indeed, my lord, but ha
ve you the wherewithal for further investment?”

  “I have a few resources left, and”—Ash braced himself— “I plan to mortgage the Yorkshire estates.”

  “My lord!” Mr. Shaffley could not have looked more shocked if Ash had proposed to sell himself into slavery.

  “In addition,” said Ash, hurrying on, “I have borrowed a sizable amount of money from my bank.” He smiled sourly. “They were not willing to lend me a nickel a few months ago, but becoming Jeremiah Bridge’s prospective son-in-law has increased my market value to a prodigious degree.”

  Mr. Shaffley sat down rather suddenly behind his desk. “I do not know what to say, my lord. Is there nothing that can dissuade you from what I am persuaded is a disastrous course of action?”

  Ash smiled. “I’ve been trying to do that all night, with absolutely no success.”

  Mr. Shaffley had a good deal more to say on the subject, but of course he was obliged to capitulate in the end. With a great deal of head-shaking and tsk-tsking, Mr. Shaffley at last saw Ash from the door,

  Ash’s first inclination on reaching the street was to hasten to the Bridge home and tell Amanda what he had done. He had already slapped the reins against his horses’ backs when he changed his mind.

  The fact that he wanted to see her so badly was enough to tell him that he should not. In any event, it would be better to wait until he had some definite news to tell her. When her predictions came true there would be time enough for mutual rejoicing.

  Turning the curricle toward his lodgings, Ash sighed. Please God, Amanda was not the victim of a horrible aberration. Again, he withdrew the coin from his pocket and clutched it as he would a talisman. Please God, he was not mad as well to have taken her tale seriously. The papers he perused after he got home did nothing to disabuse him of this notion. Column after column of newsprint detailed Wellington’s retreat across the River Sambre, the continued nonappearance of the allies, and Napoleon’s increasing troop strength.

  It was the longest day he had ever spent, and at the end of it he was no more sanguine of the success of his venture than he had been at its start. He went to bed wondering if Ashindon Park would be lost to him forever, for surely, in case of failure, Jeremiah Bridge would see Ash’s refusal to take his advice as a breach of contract—or at least a sufficient reason to hold up any more monies.