Down the Rabbit Hole

“I want to see it!” Alice said. “Can we ride on it?”


Mr. Arbuckle hesitated and shook his head. “Not now, miss. It’s the time of day when everyone is going home, and the trains and tracks are much too crowded. Maybe later this evening.”

“Judging by the number of people pouring in, I suspect you have the right of it,” Weston said, pulling Alice just a bit closer. “I would not like to be separated. From either of you,” he added quickly.

They were standing in the shelter of a small, freestanding shop that appeared to exist to meet the needs of those who used the so-called Underground. It did not look like it would survive a strong wind, but it did appear to have occupied the space awhile. As he watched, people purchased packages of food and newspapers.

“At least newspapers still exist and do not appear to have changed that much.”

“But the pictures. They are not paintings, and are printed right on the paper. In colors.” Alice let go of his arm and picked up a periodical.

Weston examined several of the newspapers that were on display and was brought up short by one that proclaimed: Vinton to Divorce. He picked up the paper and handed it to Arbuckle. “Purchase this for me.” When Arbuckle hesitated, Weston insisted, “Then give me the money! You told us before that nothing we can do will change the future, as this event was always meant to be, so let me have this.”

“It’s not that, my lord, but this is hardly a reputable newspaper. There are others that would be more, uh, honestly informative.”

“Will they have stories on this divorce that is on the front page?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Then let’s have this one and we can look on the information box for more when we are back at the townhouse.”

“Computer, my lord. It’s called a computer.”

Weston did not care what it was called, as he was damn sure he would never see one when he returned to Westmoreland. It ranked with the space-time continuum as something he had no need to understand.

Twenty minutes later they were in the library again. As soon as they were seated, the housekeeper brought tea and some small sandwiches and sweets.

“Will you be here for dinner, then, sir?” she asked, with a casual air that reminded Weston of his sister rather than a servant.

With a look at Mr. Arbuckle, Weston nodded. “And have a guest room made up for Miss Kemp.”

“Of course.” She nodded to Miss Kemp. “Dinner will be served at eight o’clock,” Tandy added as she left the room.

“She seems rather more a friend than a servant, does she not?” Alice said.

“Yes, I almost thought I should add a ‘please’ to my request for a guest room.”

“Servants are much more difficult to find these days,” Arbuckle said. “The Weston housekeeper has been with the family for near forty years.”

Weston nodded. “Then she is family. I will add the ‘please’ next time. I would not want to create problems for Mr. West.”

They sipped tea and Weston ate several of the tasty but too-small sandwiches. As he ate he moved about the room, looking more closely at the modern additions, touching them carefully, anxious to read the paper but wise enough to wait until they were both fortified with some food and tea.

Alice kept to her seat and sampled the pastries. Weston watched as she took a delicate bite, closed her eyes and savored the taste with such bliss that he wanted to capture the taste of it, and of her, with his mouth.

When she reached for a third treat with a guilty glance his way, he raised his tea cup in salute, came back to his chair and took a cream confection himself.

They sat in silence. After finishing his tea, Weston held the newspaper in front of him so that the headline was clear to everyone in the room, especially Alice.