by M. J. Putney
“I’m British, too, so I’m merely doing my duty.” Allarde smiled. “You are providing us with a place to stay and excellent cooking. We are all sharing the work, so why not share the expenses, at least a little?”
Tory guessed that their hostess was weighing her desire to provide for her guests with the practical reality of buying food for eight more than usually hungry people. Practicality won. “Very well, Lord Allarde, your contribution is gratefully received. I wish I didn’t have to go to work, but it would be difficult for the school to replace me on short notice, and children need teaching no matter what is happening across the channel.”
“Can Nick and I be ill again?” Polly said. “We’re needed here.”
“Indeed you are, but I will be picking up your lessons at school and making sure you don’t get behind,” her mother said.
Polly sighed piteously but didn’t argue.
“The Irregulars will want to see what England looks like today,” Nick said. “We can’t take a whole group of strangers into Lackland where everyone knows us, so I’ll drive to some of the other towns around here. Besides buying food, I can take people who aren’t on watch so they can get a better look at the modern world.”
“You have one of those motorcars?” Allarde was the one who asked, his eyes bright, but everyone looked interested.
“Joe and I fixed up a wrecked Morris Oxford Six.” A shadow showed in Nick’s eyes at the memory of easier days when two brothers worked and argued and laughed over a mutual project. He continued, “She runs like a champ now, though. Good for touring as well as foraging for supplies.”
“Seeing more of the world will be lovely, and I look forward to comparing a motorcar with a carriage,” Tory said. “We’ll need modern clothes, though.”
“Luckily we Rainfords come in all sizes,” Mrs. Rainford said. “Lady Cynthia, you’re about my height. My clothes won’t do you justice, but at least you’ll blend in.”
She studied the others with a practiced eye. “Tory and Lady Elspeth are about Polly’s size, and Jack and Nick are fairly close. Lord Allarde is about Tom’s height. These days most clothing is made by machine, not hand, and we’re not a fashionable family, but at least no one will guess you’re from another century.”
“It’s so strange to know that I’m a time traveler from another era,” Elspeth said slowly. “Traveling through time should be impossible. Yet here I sit, drinking tea and eating supper and talking with friends, and it’s exactly as real as when I was at home.”
“‘The center of the world is where I place my feet,’” Polly quoted. “A teacher told us that was a Spanish expression.” Her foot tapped the floor under the table. “This is the center of my world. Real is what we can see and touch.”
“I also find it strange that I’m eating in a familiar house with family, even if they are cousins a century removed,” Jack agreed. “Mrs. R., with your magical ability, do you have Rainford connections on your side as well?”
“Oh, yes. You know how it is in small communities. Tom and I are third cousins, and I’m sure our family trees crossed many times over the years.”
Tory’s gaze moved around the table. Even Cynthia looked relaxed and not displeased even though the food and accommodations were not what she was used to. Working together for a common goal had made the eight of them a kind of family. She lifted her glass of cider to the others. “A toast to the weather brigade!”
Cries of, “Hear, hear!” and “To the weather brigade!” were repeated with raised glasses and laughter.
Even Cynthia joined in.
* * *
The plans decided over Sunday supper went well on Monday. In the morning, Nick, Polly, and Allarde drove to a nearby town where it was market day and came back by midday with enough food to feed the weather brigade for a week. They returned with Allarde talking about an amazing and alarming creation called a railway, which seemed to be a sort of giant motorcar that ran on metal tracks. Tory thought it sounded noisy.
As a general mage, Tory was needed only six hours a day for magical support of the weather workers, but there was plenty to keep her busy in a house without servants. After her morning weather watch, she tutored Polly, then enjoyed a drive with Nick and Elspeth. After she managed to relax her knotted fists, she decided that motorcars had advantages over carriages, but horses were better companions.
She also saw her first railway. The train was indeed noisy but a good way to move large numbers of people.
Later in the afternoon, she and Elspeth helped prepare lamb stew under Polly’s guidance. Tory had never cooked in her life and she suspected the same was true for Elspeth, but she found that she rather enjoyed kneading bread and cutting up vegetables. She surveyed her mountain of sliced carrots with pride. “I’m learning as much from you as you are from me, Polly.”
The girl laughed. “You won’t need to know how to make stew when you go home, but I’ll be practicing magic for the rest of my life, I hope.”
“I had no idea onions were so fierce!” Elspeth said as she wiped her eyes. “In the future, I shall be more understanding of cooks.”
Polly turned over the pieces of lamb she was browning in the skillet. “I wonder what we’ll be eating in a year or two, since Mum expects rationing to get worse.”
“You’ll be grateful to have your own vegetables and eggs,” Tory predicted.
“We have fruit trees, too, so we’ll be canning and drying. It’s a lot of work, but at least we can still have nice puddings since we’ll have our own supply of fruit.” Polly transferred the browned lamb to the stew pot and began browning more pieces. “Of course, knowing my mum, she’ll be giving food to others who aren’t so lucky.”
“And you wouldn’t have her any other way,” Tory said with a smile.
“Probably not,” Polly admitted. “But I may change my mind if I have to go years without a proper pudding!”
“Your mother is right that rationing will get much worse,” Elspeth said thoughtfully. “But after the war, Britons will be healthier from the more Spartan diet.”
“Healthier, maybe.” Tory sampled one of the delectable ginger biscuits they’d made. “But not happier!”
* * *
Mrs. Rainford was tired when she arrived home, and happy to find the house reasonably neat and a good hot meal waiting. The weather brigade had kept the seas calm and the channel foggy, so they were able to celebrate another successful day.
After eating, most of the group decided to practice scrying. Ordinarily Tory would join in, but at the moment she yearned for privacy. She slipped outside, draping her shawl around her shoulders as protection from the cool May evening. The fog was thickening as sunset neared and swirling mists made the war seem mercifully far away.
She strolled out to the public footpath that ran above the sea and turned left. The fog muffled the sounds of the waves far below. She felt as if she were walking on the edge of the world.
Only a few months had passed since she’d walked along the cliff at Fairmount Hall during her mother’s summer fete. Strange to recall how she’d been almost speechless with pleasure because the Horrible Edmund Harford was noticing her.
Most of her anger at his rejection had faded away. If she hadn’t been a mage, she supposed he would have made an adequate husband, but magic was part of who she was and it couldn’t be denied.
Now that she’d met more young men, she knew she could do a good deal better than Edmund Harford when the time came. Perhaps even a husband like …
“You look like a sea sprite newly born from the waves,” a soft voice said, and Allarde emerged from the fog, sparkling crystals of moisture in his dark hair and magic in his mist-gray eyes.
CHAPTER 28
Enigmatic and more than earthly handsome, Allarde suited the mysterious atmosphere. Though Thomas Rainford’s clothing fit his height and breadth of shoulder, the garments hung loosely around his lean, well-muscled frame. He’d still take Tory’s breath away no matter what he wore.
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A good thing he couldn’t know what she’d been thinking!
Afraid her face might say too much, she bent to scratch Horace’s ears. The dog had been at Allarde’s heels and now he yearned for attention. “If I’m a sea sprite, you look like a legendary Celtic hero from ancient times.”
Allarde chuckled. “The mist is wonderfully romantic. A time out of time.”
“This entire visit feels like that.” She straightened. “When we go back home, 1940 will seem like a fever dream.”
He also bent to pat Horace. “Do you mind if I walk with you?”
Foolish question. “Of course not.”
Allarde fell into step beside her, altering his long stride to match her pace. “The white cliffs of Dover are famous for greeting travelers when they approach England, and here we are walking on them.”
“I’m sure the men being evacuated from Dunkirk will never forget their first sight of the white cliffs as they come home.” Tory shivered as the image struck her with such power that she must have picked it up from one of the evacuees. Passionately hoping that every last man could be rescued, she asked, “What do you think of modern England?”
“It’s fascinating,” Allarde replied. “Forever England and in many ways unmistakable, but so very different in other ways.”
“I have mixed feelings about all the inventions people now take for granted,” she said. “Many are very convenient. Others are just alarming. The locomotive I saw made me think of metal dragons. Where is Saint George when one needs a dragon slain?”
Allarde chuckled. “He’s lost somewhere in the mists, I think. As startling as airplanes and motorcars are, I think the social changes are even more profound. In our England, aristocratic families have enormous power and influence. We are part of a small elite that runs our society.”
Tory nodded. “When I found my way to the Labyrinth, I was surprised by the equality. I like that magical skill, not birth or breeding, is what matters in the Irregulars.”
“I think England benefits from a more democratic society. There is greater fairness and talented men have many more opportunities.” Allarde hesitated. “But it’s not my England. I don’t believe this era would ever feel quite like home.”
“I feel the same way.” She gazed toward France, which lay hidden by fog and darkness. “I’d miss my family, and I know I don’t like living in a world that has such beastly weapons.”
“The scryers say that with the calm weather, the evacuation is going on night and day.” He also looked out to sea. “It looks as if our work in keeping the channel quiet will allow the evacuation to continue beyond the original two days they planned. Every day, thousands more men will be saved. Weapons and equipment can be replaced, but not the trained soldiers who are the core of the army.”
“I wonder if we’ll do anything more important in our lives?” Tory mused.
“Probably not, but this is enough. How many people ever have the chance to be part of a great and noble mission?”
“When you put it that way—not many.” She smiled. “Especially not girls. Great and noble has usually been reserved for men.”
“Not anymore. You’re the heart and soul of our mission, Tory. We wouldn’t be here without you.” He gestured toward France. “Those men would be fighting without hope, facing surrender or death. Most of the world will never know what you’ve done, but we do.” His gaze shifted to her. “I do.”
She ducked her head, pleased but embarrassed. “I think it’s fate that brought us all here. Or perhaps old Merlin himself. I’m just glad to be part of it.”
“It’s the most important work I’ll ever do.”
“Valuable as the weather brigade is, I hope it isn’t the high point of my life,” she said with a laugh. “There is so much more I want to do.”
Allarde didn’t smile, though. His face was grave, as if he were seeing something Tory couldn’t. That was a drawback of socializing with mages. Often they did see things.
She and Allarde continued along in easy silence. Having him within arm’s reach seemed almost too good to be true, yet in another way it felt entirely natural. As if they were meant to be walking through life as companions.
She would have been happy to walk with him forever, but eventually she said with reluctance, “We should return. Nick said this path runs along the bluffs for miles, but it’s getting too dark to see our footing.”
“You’re right,” Allarde said, sounding equally reluctant as he turned. “I’m on the next watch and need to get back.”
“I’m on the late-night watch after yours, so I should get some rest.” The otherworldly atmosphere made it possible for her to say, “I’ve enjoyed the walk, but why aren’t you avoiding me the way you usually do?”
She thought he might ignore the question, or even vanish into the mists again. Instead, he said, “I’ve made my peace with fate, I think. And now that I have, it seems right to enjoy what time I have left.”
A chill ran through her blood. “That sounds ominous.”
“It isn’t really.” He took a dozen steps before continuing. “I think all of us have moments of knowing. Of absolute certainty that something is going to happen.”
She thought about that, then shook her head. “I often feel something is likely, but certainty? No. You must have some foreteller talent.”
“Perhaps. I’ve had this sense of certainty before, and it’s always proved correct.”
Interested, she said, “We’re taught that the future is never fixed. Do you think that’s not true?”
“I don’t think that one can be certain about events involving other people because they can make unexpected choices,” he replied. “As Miss Wheaton says, great events like wars that have the force of nations behind them are probably impossible to change except in relatively small ways, like what we’re doing here.”
“This is small?” she asked doubtfully. “So many thousands of people involved?”
“Small compared to the millions of people in the many nations that are already part of this war, and millions more who will be soon,” he explained. “But I believe that there can be certainty about ourselves and our individual fates.” His voice became very soft. “I’ve always known I would die young. Certainly before my eighteenth birthday.”
She gasped as if she’d been struck a physical blow. “How can you believe that? Even the best foretellers can’t see clearly about themselves or questions they care deeply about. That’s why Mrs. Rainford can’t see her husband.”
“She can’t because of her emotions, and also because the foretelling involves another person. It’s not just about her.” He walked another dozen steps. “For years I’ve seen myself lying drenched in blood, knowing I’m mortally wounded. Given that there’s a war just a few miles away and modern weapons have a long reach, I’d say whatever is going to happen will probably happen here. Soon.”
“Then go home through the mirror where it’s safe!”
“If my time is up, running won’t help,” he said gently. “And I’m needed here. I’d rather die knowing I’ve done my best than possibly survive a little longer as a coward. Can you understand that?”
She took a shuddering breath. “The mage in me does. But the Tory who enjoys being with you most certainly does not.”
“If death is inevitable, one should try to die well.” His voice was wry. “I’d rather die as a man than a rabbit.”
She’d always thought that he seemed older than his years, and now she realized that came from living with the certainty of his death. His calm belief and acceptance chilled her to the bone. “This is why you keep yourself from getting close to people? Why you always go by your title and never by your Christian name?”
“A title puts more distance between me and others.” His voice was sad. “A Christian name is for the closest of family and friends, so I don’t use mine. Why create more pain for people I care about?”
“That’s very noble of you,” she said tartly. “But also wronghe
aded.”
His brows arched. “How so?”
“Caring is always a risk because anyone can die at any time,” she said intensely. “What a cold and lonely world this would be if everyone refused caring because they fear the pain of inevitable loss!”
“Though death is inevitable, most people don’t know when it will arrive so it is easy to deny the future pain.” He glanced down at her, his face a pale oval in the darkness. “Since I do know my end is near, I have some choice about how much to hurt those I care most about. I choose to minimize that pain.”
She pulled her shawl tighter against the chill. “That makes sense, but I don’t think I could be so honorable. I want to care and be cared for.”
“I’ve had years to think about this,” he replied. “I believe our spirits, the essence of who we are, survives. As for our bodies”—he shrugged—“at least I won’t have to worry about gout and the other ills of old age.”
He might have had time to become accustomed to the idea of dying, but she hadn’t. She wanted to scream and beat her fists against his chest and tell him that the future wasn’t fixed, he should fight to survive.
Yet what did she know about his life? Almost nothing. And she had no right to blame him for the bleak peace he’d achieved.
She drew a painful breath, wishing this walk would never end. She would call it a magical interlude except that she lived with magic every day. This was something quite different that she dared not name.
Horace dashed ahead of them. He was heading for the rambling farmhouse, which was a darker shape in the night. The white splotches of his fur showed his location when he flopped on the front steps to wait for them.
If Allarde chose to die well, she could choose to say good-bye well. “Thank you for explaining why you’re reserved. It’s better to understand.” She just wished the understanding didn’t hurt so much.
Allarde stopped and turned to place his hands on her shoulders. His touch affected her in every fiber. They’d never touched, except the time he’d carried her after she’d returned through the mirror. This affected her even more because she wasn’t dazed from traveling through time. It was all she could do not to lean into him.