Down the Rabbit Hole

Salads, as they were called, were new to him, and without the topping would have been more suitable as food for rabbits—though he was careful not to voice that thought aloud. Despite so few dishes, he was replete after a healthy sampling of everything.

Dessert was the most wonderful burnt cream he had ever tasted. The twenty-first-century name for it was crème br?lée, after the French, and if he thought it was delicious, he was sure that Alice near swooned with pleasure at each mouthful. A suitable white wine accompanied the meal, and coffee finished it, offsetting the feeling of fatigue that had been tempting him to abandon the evening’s adventure.

“Is it a good time to test the Underground, Mr. Arbuckle?” Alice did not seem to be suffering from the same languor as he.

“Yes, most assuredly. We will take the Underground just one stop, but it will be enough of an experience, I am sure. The speed and widespread use of trains for travel first began in the late eighteen hundreds, but they reached their prime in the last century.”

With compliments to the cook, who turned out to be Tandy herself, the three of them left the house once again. The nearest locale to find the Underground was the one they had passed earlier in the day at Piccadilly.

As they went inside and proceeded, quite literally, underground, Alice clung more firmly to his arm. Mr. Arbuckle moved ahead of them with confidence, paused long enough to pay for tickets, and then directed them to the stairs. The moving stairs.

Weston could feel the tension in Alice increase and was sure if he could test her pulse he would find it hammering as hard as his was. Neither he nor Alice stepped onto the moving stairs with as much confidence as the people around them, but no one seemed to care.

“Thank goodness most seem to just ride on these,” Alice whispered. “It would test my balance to ride and step down at the same time.”

They both watched their fellow travelers.

“They do not seem at all amazed,” Alice observed. “Their expressions range from—um—disinterest, I would say, to”—she paused again—“impatience.”

“I suspect the impatience stems from whether they have had dinner or not.”

She laughed a little, and her death grip on his arm eased just a tad.

As they moved deeper and deeper under London, he wondered aloud, “Do you think this is what coal miners experience when they head into the earth?”

“Possibly, though without as much light. And it certainly is not as clean as this.”

“This convinces me that miners are not paid nearly enough.”

“We can breathe quite comfortably, Weston. How can that be?”

Instead of answering her, he nodded to the end of the moving stairs, and they both concentrated on stepping off without mishap.

“Part of me thinks that was quite enough adventure,” Alice said. “And we haven’t even seen the underground transport yet.”

A moment after Mr. Arbuckle announced, “It will be loud,” the noise level increased dramatically. It took real effort not to cover his ears, as Alice did for a moment. As they walked toward the platform where a few people were waiting, the train charged by them moving faster than anything Weston had ever seen.

It stopped and the doors opened, and they did not need the voice urging them to “mind the gap” to step carefully from the platform into the carriage, one of several carriages connected for a train of considerable length.

Alice leaned closer; in truth she did it to make room for someone who wished to take a seat in the small space next to her. The side of her body pressed into him, and the jolt of lust that echoed through him at even this minimal contact made Weston marvel at his control. When they finally did go to bed, he wondered if their rooms would connect.

The ride was astounding; so astounding that his arousal subsided in the face of this terrifying experience. It felt as though they had been shot from a cannon.

“I devoutly hope the driver knows the correct route,” Weston said, turning to Mr. Arbuckle, who nodded.