Down the Rabbit Hole

Weston wanted to understand as much as she did. With that, the earl turned to the gentleman and narrowed his eyes. Arbuckle seemed innocuous enough. Portly, with a ring of hair surrounding a bald dome. Eyes a soft if aging blue. He had the air of a man of ideas rather than a man of action. He was not a physical threat, to be sure.

“My lord Earl and Miss Kemp.” Arbuckle bowed to one, then the other. “You have both traveled in time from your country home, my lord, to your town house in London. The year is not 1805 but 2005.”





CHAPTER TWO




“We have traveled through time. Of course we have,” Weston said. “Why did that never occur to me?”

“Weston, stop being sarcastic,” Alice commanded. “That is not the way to find answers.”

“Indeed, my lord, it is odd, but I can explain.”

“Explain away, but can you prove it? How do we know that you are telling us the truth?” Weston walked to the windows that looked over Green Park.

He turned around on his heel. “The park looks just as it did in 1805. The library is the same.” The earl reconsidered. Hadn’t he just noticed that the mantel was different? “Except for the mantel and that box on the desk and that odd-looking glass on the wall.”

“Yes, my lord. The box is a computer, an instrument that transfers information, and the item on the wall is a screen that shows pictures on demand. Would you like to see how they work?”

“Definitely not,” Weston said at the same moment that Alice said, “Yes.”

“Prove it, sir. Prove we have time traveled,” Alice demanded.

“Wait, Alice.”

“Wait for what, Wes?”

Alice had called him Wes. Did she even realize it? The verbal gesture inclined him to agree to anything she asked.

“Mr. Arbuckle”—Weston nodded to the man—“before you prove this time travel to us I want to know why we would have made this leap through time. What purpose would it serve?”

“Thank you, sir,” Arbuckle said, drawing a deep breath. “Do you see your portrait, my lord?”

Weston turned to the wall—so the artist had finished. It looked a bit different than it had last he saw it. “Indeed.”

“Do you see the coin on the desk next to your hand?”

“Yes.” There was a coin, a small train and the locket that was in his pocket now. “But when was that coin added? I thought the painting was completed yesterday.”

“The man and woman who took your places were sent back in time for the sole purpose of bringing that coin to you.”

“Took our places?”

As Weston was about to toss out at least five more questions, Arbuckle raised his hand. “Yes, two people have traveled to your time from theirs. That is, from the time that you are in now. And, my lord, the space-time continuum demands that Miss Amy and Mr. West’s physical bodies be replaced while they are time traveling, um, that is, to maintain the balance of space and time.”

“That is ridiculous,” Weston insisted.

“Absurd it may sound, but truth it is. I want to assure you that this is only temporary. You will return to your own time and place. And when you do, you can only go back with . . .” Mr. Arbuckle stopped abruptly and asked, “Did you bring something with you, my lord? Miss Kemp? A belonging of some kind?”

Alice looked down at her new clothing and shook her head. Weston was about to do the same when he remembered the locket. He debated lying, as he was not at all sure that he wanted Alice to know that he still had it, but the situation they were in made such a lie seem petty. He nodded and drew the locket from his pocket. “This came with me, though I cannot precisely say that I brought it.”

“Wes,” Alice said, and he could not decide if she was touched or surprised until he looked at her. The softness in her eyes was his answer. Yes, Alice, I have kept it, and I always will, until I can convince you to wear it again and forever. He spoke with his eyes and knew she understood when she looked away and down.

Alice Kemp was no more his now than she had been a year ago. Or two hundred.