Ruby Red

“I’d like to tell him I’m sorry,” said Robert. Obviously it had taken him a long time to work out what he wanted me to say.

The poor little boy. I’d have liked to stop and give him a big hug. “But it wasn’t your fault.”

“Are you so sure?” Dr. White must still be thinking of the people lost in the cellar.

Robert was sniffling. “We had a quarrel in the morning. I told him I hated him and I wished I had a different father.”

“But he wouldn’t have taken it seriously. I’m sure he didn’t.”

“Yes, he did. And now he thinks I didn’t love him, and I can’t tell him I do.” That high little voice, audibly trembling now, almost broke my heart.

“Is that why you’re still here?” I asked.

“I don’t want to leave him on his own. I know he can’t see me or hear me, but maybe he somehow senses that I’m here.”

“Oh, darling!” I really couldn’t bear it. I had to stop. “I’m sure he knows you love him. All fathers know that children sometimes say things they don’t really mean.”

“Right you are,” said Dr. White, his voice suddenly sounding husky. “If you tell children they can’t watch TV for two days just because they left a bicycle out in the rain, I suppose it’s not surprising if they shout at you and say things they don’t mean.”

He pushed me on.

“I’m so glad to hear you say that, Dr. White.”

“Me too!” said Robert.

For the rest of the way, Robert and I were very cheerful. A heavy door was pushed open and latched again behind us.

The first thing I saw when I took the blindfold off was Gideon, with a top hat on his head. I burst out laughing. Aha! This time he was the one in the silly hat!

“She’s in an exceptionally good mood today,” said Dr. White. “Thanks to long conversations with herself.” But his voice didn’t sound quite as cutting as usual.

Mr. de Villiers joined in my laughter. “I’d call it comical myself,” he said. “Makes him look like a circus ringmaster.”

“How nice that you two are so amused,” said Gideon.

Except for the top hat, he looked good. Long dark trousers, dark coat, white shirt—a bit as if he were going to a wedding. He looked me up and down, and I held my breath, waiting in suspense for him to take revenge. In his place, I could have thought up at least ten insulting remarks about my appearance right away.

He didn’t say anything. He just smiled.

Mr. George was busy with the chronograph. “Has Gwyneth had all her instructions?”

“I think so,” said Mr. de Villiers. He had talked to me about Operation Jade for half an hour while Madame Rossini was finishing my dress. Operation Jade! I felt rather like secret service agent Emma Peel. Lesley and I loved Uma Thurman in The Avengers.

I still couldn’t follow Gideon’s firmly held theory that we could be lured into a trap. Margaret Tilney had expressly wanted to talk to me, yes, but she hadn’t specified a time. Even if she did want to trap me, she couldn’t know what day and time in her life we would turn up.

And it was really very unlikely that Lucy and Paul would be waiting for us at exactly the moment in time we chose. June 1912 was the date that had been picked. Margaret Tilney was thirty-five then, living with her husband and her three children in a house in Belgravia. And that was where we were going to call on her.

I looked up and saw Gideon’s glance resting on me. Or more precisely on my neckline. This was too much!

“Are you by any chance staring at my breasts?” I asked indignantly.

He grinned. “Not directly,” he whispered back.

Suddenly I knew what he meant. In the Rococo era it was a lot simpler to hide things behind lace trimming, I thought.

Unfortunately we had also attracted Mr. George’s attention.

He leaned forward. “You don’t have a mobile in there, do you?” he asked. “You’re not allowed to take things from our own time into the past.”

“Why not? It could be very useful!” (And that photo of Rakoczy and Lord Brompton had been brilliant!) “It would have been a lot easier if Gideon had had a proper pistol with him last time.”

Gideon rolled his eyes.

“Suppose you lost your mobile in the past,” said Mr. de Villiers. “Whoever found it wouldn’t be able to make out what kind of thing it was. But then again, maybe he would. And then your mobile could even change the future. So could a pistol. And I hate to think what might happen if mankind thought up the idea of sophisticated weapons any sooner than they did.”

“Such items would also be proof of your and our existence,” said Dr. White. “One little mistake could change everything and then the continuum would be in danger.”

I bit my lower lip as I wondered if losing a pepper spray in another time might change the future of mankind. Maybe any change would be only for the good if the right person found it.… Maybe I should tell Lesley to call off the plan to buy pepper spray, though, just to be safe.

Mr. George put out his hand. “I’ll look after that for you.”

Sighing, I put my hand down inside my collar and gave him my mobile. “But I want it back at once afterward!”

“Are we finally ready?” asked Dr. White. “The chronograph is prepared.”

I was ready. I had a slight tingling inside me, and I had to admit that I liked it much better here than having to sit in a cellar in some boring year to do my homework.

Gideon looked inquiringly at me. Maybe he was wondering what else I might have hidden away. “Ready, Gwyneth?” he asked.

I smiled at him. “Ready when you are.”

The time is out of joint; O cursed spite

That ever I was born to set it right!

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, HAMLET

FIFTEEN

ONE OF THE GUARDIANS’ cabs, a horse-drawn hackney carriage, took us from the Temple to Belgravia, driving along the banks of the Thames, and this time I could recognize a fair amount of the London I knew outside the window. The sun shone on Big Ben and Westminster Abbey, and I was pleased to see people strolling down the broad avenues with hats, sunshades, and pastel-colored dresses just like mine. The parks were full of green spring foliage; the streets were well paved and not at all mucky.

“This is like the set of a musical,” I said. “I’d love one of those sunshades.”

“We’ve picked a good day,” said Gideon. “And a good year.” He had left his top hat in the cellar, and since I’d have done exactly the same in his place, I didn’t blame him.

“Why don’t we simply wait for Margaret in the Temple when she goes there to elapse?”

“I’ve tried that twice already. It wasn’t easy to convince the Guardians of those days of my good intentions, in spite of having the password and the signet ring and so on. It’s always tricky assessing the reaction of Guardians in the past. If they’re in any doubt, they’re more likely to back the time traveler they know and are duty bound to protect than a visitor from the future, someone they know either not at all or only very slightly. Like last night and this morning. We may be more successful if we visit her at home. And it’s bound to be more of a surprise.”

“But couldn’t she be guarded day and night by someone just waiting for us to turn up? We know she’s expecting that. She’s been expecting it for years, right?”

“The Annals of the Guardians don’t say anything about additional personal protection. They just stipulate that a novice Guardian has to keep a discreet eye on the place where every time traveler lives.”

“The man in black!” I cried. “A man just like that stands outside our house.”

“Obviously not making himself particularly inconspicuous,” said Gideon, grinning.

“Not in the least. My little sister thinks he’s a wicked magician.” I thought of something. “Do you have any brothers and sisters yourself?”

“A little brother,” said Gideon. “Well, not all that little now. He’s seventeen.”

“And how old are you?”

“Nineteen,” said Gideon. “Or as good as nineteen, anyway.”

“So if you’ve left school, what do you do?”

“Officially I’m down to study at the University of London next year,” he said. “But I think I can take this term off.”

“What subject?”

“Inquisitive, aren’t you?”

“Only making polite conversation,” I said. I’d picked up that expression from James. “So what are you going to study?”

“Medicine.” He sounded a bit embarrassed.

I bit back a surprised “oh!” and looked out the window again. Medicine. Interesting. Interesting. Interesting.

“Was that your boyfriend at school today?”

“What? Who?” I looked at him, taken aback.

“That guy behind you with his hand on your shoulder.” It sounded perfectly casual, almost as if he wasn’t interested.

“You mean Gordon Gelderman? God, no!”

“So if he’s not your boyfriend, how come he can touch you?”

“He can’t. To be honest, I hadn’t noticed he was doing it.” I hadn’t noticed because I was fully occupied watching Gideon exchanging sweet nothings with Charlotte. The memory made me blush furiously. He’d kissed her. Or almost.

“Why are you going red? Because of this Gordon Gallahan?”

“Gelderman,” I corrected him.

“Whatever. He looked like an idiot.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “He sounds like an idiot too,” I said. “And he’s useless at kissing.”

“I wasn’t actually asking for the precise details.” Gideon bent down to retie his shoelaces. When he straightened up again, he crossed his arms and looked out the window. “Here we are, look. Belgrave Road. Excited by the idea of meeting your great-great-grandmother?”

“Yes, very.” I immediately forgot what we’d just been talking about. How strange all this was. The great-great-grandmother I was about to visit was some years younger than Mum.

She’d obviously married someone rich, because when the cab stopped outside the address in Eaton Place, it was a very posh house. And the butler who opened the door to us was posh too. Even more so than Mr. Bernard. He was actually wearing white gloves!

He examined us suspiciously when Gideon handed him a card and said we were paying a surprise teatime call. He was sure, said Gideon, that his good friend Lady Tilney would be very pleased to hear that Gwyneth Shepherd had come to visit her.

“I suspect he doesn’t think you’re posh enough,” I said as the butler disappeared with the visiting card. “No hat and no side-whiskers.”

“No mustache either,” said Gideon. “Lord Tilney has one from ear to ear. See that portrait of him in front of us?”

“Wow,” I said. My great-great-grandmother had weird taste in men. It was the kind of mustache you’d have to put in curlers at night.