Down the Rabbit Hole

But Alice was engrossed in the periodical she had purchased, called Vogue UK, whose colorful pages held her in thrall.

It took him a few minutes to focus on the article that accompanied the headline on the front page. It was one of his less salacious wishes to do just this with Alice: sit in the library, reading what interested them and sharing the best bits, all the while watching the clock until they could retire. Together.

He cleared his throat and gave his full attention to reading about Vinton and his divorce. When he was done he had more questions than answers. “But that’s what time travel is all about, is it not?”

He had not meant to speak aloud, but both Alice and Mr. Arbuckle turned to him.

“What is time travel about, Wes?” Alice asked, the magazine spread open to a page of women in gowns cut low and without sleeves. Gowns that showed an amazing amount of the body. Weston considered them with interest until Alice looked at him.

“Are you ogling, Wes?”

He shook his head and cleared his throat, turning away.

“While you were distracted, Weston, I asked what you think time travel is about.”

Relieved that she did not pursue her question about ogling, Weston answered promptly, “Questions, my dear. Time travel is all about questions. For everything I learn, ten more questions come to mind.”





CHAPTER EIGHT




Weston took a deep breath and directed Alice’s attention to the front page of the article he had just finished.

“Do you see this headline?”

She nodded with a frown and looked back down at her magazine. “I can see divorce is as shocking now as it is in our day.”

“Not exactly,” Weston said. “Vinton is a member of Parliament who, and I quote, ‘has built his career on deploring the rising rate of divorce in the country.’”

“Oh,” was Alice’s only reply.

“It seems Vinton is extremely conservative, and it was a shock when his press manager, whatever that is, announced that he would seek a divorce from his wife of twenty years, as she is about to make public her intention to have a sex-reassignment surgery.”

“What!” Alice said, clearly shocked into the curt comment.

“Do you see what I mean about endless questions? Perhaps not all of them are meant for polite company.”

“You’ve gone so far as to introduce the subject; please do not become hesitant now.” Alice put her hand out for the paper and Weston handed it to her. She held it up as she read, and he wondered if she was only using it to hide her face or actually reading the article.

“I assume since it’s in the paper that changing one’s sex is possible in this day and age?” Alice asked Mr. Arbuckle.

“Yes,” their tutor of the twenty-first century replied with a slow nod. “But changing one’s sex is not common.”

“If a woman can become a man, then can a man become a woman?” Alice’s expression was neutral. With effort, Weston judged.

“Yes, it can work both ways, miss.”

Women could now become men? Weston tried to ignore the disquiet that aroused in him and turned to Mr. Arbuckle. “Does one use a magic coin?”

He thought he heard Alice stifle a laugh, but he could not be sure, as she was once again hiding behind the newspaper.

“No, sir. It requires massive doses of hormones and surgery.”

“By all that is holy, you are actually telling me women can become men.” Arbuckle had answered them once, but Weston found himself wishing he had heard wrong.

“Yes, my lord, and men can become women.”

Alice lowered the paper. “Which change is more popular?”

“I do not know, miss, but I could use the computer to find out.” Mr. Arbuckle was a little red in the face himself, and whether Alice noticed it or not, she rejected the offer with a raised hand, as though chasing a fly away. Do they still have flies in 2005? he wondered.

“It says here that Vinton was active in his protests of the divorce rate.” Alice pointed to the article.