Page 23 of A Flicker in Time (Mine Through Time #2)

Chapter 22

T he memories of traumatic events of the past few days decreased only little by little as Sylvia put more distance between her and Boston—and Sir Richard. Emily assured her they’d be safe in Hartford, and Sylvia kept convincing herself it was true. Sir Richard had no lead to the Marshalls. He’d only found her in Richling Creek by following James’ breadcrumbs. He was more interested in her than the device she’d stolen from him—so much that, after he’d ransacked the room in the boardinghouse and hadn’t found it, he easily gave up the search.

Still, Sylvia’s stomach coiled all the way to Hartford, and she barely got a bite in when the train stopped for lunch. As they arrived in Hartford, the nerves subsided enough to make her aware of how little she had eaten in the past few days, and soon, her stomach was assaulted both by hunger and anxiety.

It didn’t help that she was about to meet Will’s parents, looking like an explorer from an African jungle who’d just had a too-close meeting with the savages .

Strangely enough, Emily appeared just as nervous, and clutched the edge of her seat as the cab stopped in front of a gray stone house at the end of a suburban street. Beyond the house, the view opened into meadows of long, dark green summer grass, melding into distant forests. The house was nothing to rival Charlingham Hall but looked cozy enough. A light wind gently swayed the trees and brought in the scent of roses in full bloom in the garden to the side.

“Well, here goes nothing.” Emily shot her a slightly scared look, squared her shoulders, and bound for the front door.

Why was she so nervous? With them being cousins, surely she’d met Will’s parents before. Perhaps they had a tense relationship?

A tall, thin, formidable-looking woman opened the door. Her gray hair was pulled back in a bun, tight enough it had to hurt. Her eyes ran judgmentally over the two visitors, taking in Sylvia’s rumpled, one-sleeve-missing blouse and Emily’s strange shirt-and-pants outfit. No, they were indeed not dressed for visits.

“Yes? How may I help you?” the woman inquired.

“We, uh … I’m Emily Willburne.” Emily’s voice rose in pitch, making the sentence sound more like a question. “We were told to come here.”

“I’m not certain we’re expecting any visitors.” The woman’s tone indicated the unspoken end of the sentence— dressed like you .

“Okay, but, you see, we just came from Boston and—”

“Mrs. Beasley,” a female voice came from the inside. “It’s fine. I’ll take care of the ladies. Can we please get some tea to the parlor?”

The woman nodded and moved to the side, allowing Sylvia a look into a narrow hallway beyond. A marble-topped table with knick-knacks and a mirror above it dominated the space as the main decoration; otherwise, the inside was rather simple. A stairs to the right led to the upper floor, and several doors dotted the wall on the left side. By one of those stood a black-haired woman dressed in a simple but tasteful grayish-blue gown. She approached them. Sylvia was almost certain Emily mouthed “Fabienne” before the woman extended a hand.

“Miss Willburne. I’m so delighted to see you. You haven’t aged a day.”

Emily let out an awkward giggle. “Uh, you neither?”

The woman smiled in response, her dark blue eyes dancing with amusement. The two shared a strange look of some unspoken secret—a look Sylvia frequently saw between Will and Emily. Was it a family thing? She told herself not to be bothered, but she still couldn’t deny a tinge of jealousy. No one in her family ever shared a look like that.

Stop maudlin. This was a time to be on her best behavior—perhaps that could make up for her ragged appearance. “I am Lady Ross. Pleased to meet you.”

“Fabienne Marshall.” The woman gave her a warm smile. “Please, excuse our housekeeper. You must have been through a lot. Will wired me a message, but I don’t know any details.” Fabienne’s eyes passed over their appearance. “He’s arriving tomorrow with your brother, Lady Ross. We can discuss your, uh, adventures then. For now, why don’t you two get settled in? I’ll show you to your rooms. I’m sure I can find something for you to wear, too. And then you’re invited to the parlor …”

Sylvia followed Fabienne upstairs. Emily trailed behind, stopping and staring at certain features in the house like a thief marking her loot. That and the strange giggles—what was going on with her?

To make space for the arrival of men, Sylvia and Emily shared a bedroom. Fabienne delivered them a couple of skirts, shirts, and jackets, then returned to accompany them downstairs .

Emily did a short jump as they walked down the hallway, testing her movement. “This is so cool. Much better than the bustle thing.” The outfit Fabienne had brought her comprised a dark blue jacket and a matching, divided skirt that ended several inches off the ground.

“I thought you would appreciate it,” Fabienne said. “It’s meant for cycling, but I also use it for baseball.”

“You play baseball?”

“Me and a few ladies from the town dabble in it.” Fabienne looked over her shoulder and sent a smile to Sylvia.

“Awesome,” Emily breathed.

Fabienne led them to one of the hallway doors. Behind was a simple sitting room, with unarranged clutter on the tables and a blanket hanging over a chair, identifying it as the family’s private parlor. “I had Mrs. Beasley deliver us tea and muffins. You two must be starved.”

Sylvia’s stomach grumbled in appreciative response—luckily, not loud enough to be heard by the others.

“Well, look who poked his nose out of his study.” Fabienne’s voice was teasing, rather than admonishing, as she walked over to a man sitting on one of the two facing sofas. His blond hair was slightly tinged with gray at the temples, and his face looked remarkably like an older version of Will. Fabienne unabashedly pecked him on the lips, then sat next to him on the sofa, an inch too close for a social visit like this. “Brayden, these are our new visitors. You, ahem , know Miss Willburne already. And this is Lady Ross.”

Emily waved and giggled. Sylvia issued a curtsy.

“Do sit down, ladies, and help yourselves.” Fabienne motioned to the platter of refreshments on the table. Sylvia and Emily took the opposing sofa, and Emily immediately grabbed a muffin. Sylvia restrained herself enough not to look too greedy, then reached for a muffin and took a small bite. The buttery pastry dissolved in her mouth, and she barely stopped herself from moaning.

Fabienne poured the tea and observed the visitors from behind the cup with the same amusement.

“You had quite a journey,” Brayden spoke. “Lady Ross, I’m very sorry to hear what happened to you. It was a shock for all of us to learn that time—”

“Aaah!” Emily jumped, and her muffin tumbled to the ground. “She doesn’t know.”

“Don’t know what?” Sylvia looked to her, then to Will’s parents. They stared at one another as if in the middle of an awkward showdown.

“She doesn’t know,” Brayden repeated in acknowledgment. “I see.”

This had something to do with Sir Richard. It had to. Him, and the reason why he’d kept her in the lab, trying to suck something out of her.

“I know there’s something strange going on,” Sylvia said. “My husband has nefarious plans, and for some reason, they involve me. If you know more, as it appears you do, I would be much obliged if you shared the information. It is my life on the line.”

Fabienne and Brayden shared a look. “If she’s starting from zero, I suppose it would be good to ease her in.” She gave Sylvia a comforting smile. “We intended to have a meeting tomorrow, when Will arrives, so it won’t do any harm if we make you aware of certain things now.”

That sounded horrifying. “What things?”

Fabienne cleared her throat. “Time travel.”

Was that a joke? Fabienne looked like someone who would tease a person. Unfortunately, her husband’s seriousness somewhat dispelled that idea.

“Time travel,” Sylvia repeated dubiously. “The idea presented in sensational fiction. It’s outlandish. Surely you’re not claiming it’s real. ”

Emily shifted on the sofa. “You’d better start believing, Lady.”

“But this is preposterous. I—I’m sorry if I appear offensive, Mr. and Mrs. Marshall, but I’ve had a hard few days. You must know I’m not appreciative of people playing such jokes on me.”

“Oh, no offense.” Fabienne waved her hand. “I understand it can be hard to believe. But it’s all real.”

“And I suppose next, you will claim you’re all a part of a secret cult that deals with time travel, and my husband is one of you!”

Brayden choked. Fabienne lovingly patted him on the back.

Even though she was the last candidate for assurance, Sylvia looked at Emily. But in return, she only received one of those weird, secretive smiles. Emily appeared to be having fun with all of this.

Sylvia threw her arms up. “And you’re probably all time travelers, too?”

“My husband and son are,” Fabienne confirmed. “I used to be.”

Emily raised her hands. “Guilty as charged. I’m also their great-great-great-great-granddaughter.”

Sylvia blinked.

“I was born in 1991,” Emily casually added.

“You cannot be serious. You cannot …” Sylvia stood and headed for the door. She thought she’d finally found a safe place—this was Will’s home, after all—and instead, she’d stumbled into a lair of lunatics.

“Lady Ross, please,” Brayden’s voice came from behind. “I know this is a shock, but it’s imperative for you to listen and to believe us. You may have found yourself in a very dire situation.”

Sylvia turned around. Out of all of them, Will’s father was the hardest one to say no to—soft-spoken, quiet, reasonable—so much like Will. How could he participate in a scheme like this ?

Without a conscious decision, Sylvia found herself sitting down again and folded her hands in her lap.

Brayden began, “I wouldn’t exactly call it a cult—”

“Debatable,” Fabienne cut in.

Her husband patted her hand. “But there was a group called the Watchers. It existed up until twenty years ago. A time traveler is not synonymous with the Watchers, but at the time, all—almost all—time travelers belonged to the Watchers.” He dove into a summary of the group’s business, how they created time travelers through a substance called almonite, and how they eventually fell apart. While Sylvia’s disbelief didn’t disappear, it at least shifted toward reluctant admittance. If nothing else, she couldn’t see a purpose for an elaborate joke like this.

“We will discuss more details tomorrow,” Brayden concluded. “I assume my son will have much to say, especially regarding your husband and the device. If you feel up to it, I would ask you to join the meeting. We have many clues to piece together.”

“I’d like that,” Sylvia said. Perhaps, for now, it would be enough to let the matter be and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, she might see more reason in it.

In fact, when she thought of it, that would explain Emily’s often strange behavior.

“Were you truly born a century from now?” Sylvia shot out before she could berate herself for a question that sounded like she was losing her mind.

“Yup.”

“The city you spoke of. Your home. The fact that you never use horses to ride or don’t wear corsets … ”

“Yeah, bad news for you. Those are going out of fashion in a few decades.”

“Oh, really?” Fabienne asked as if they were discussing something as simple as the weather. “Fancy that. What about the support?”

“There’s this thing called a bra …”

“And that’s a sign for me to leave.” Brayden kissed his wife on the cheek and stood. “Make yourselves comfortable, ladies. Our house is your house.” He winked at Emily, who blushed uncharacteristically and made herself busy with a new muffin.

Comfortable. Based on the bedroom they were put in, Sylvia had no doubts about her physical comfort. But she had a feeling mental comfort was still far, far away.

Sylvia barely made five steps out of her bedroom the next day when she bumped into another visitor. The young woman about her age had brown hair, coiled up in an approximation of a sophisticated hairstyle, and wore a pink and beige dress with a touch too many bows. “You must be Sylvia! I was sent to fetch you.” Uninvited, she looped her arm around Sylvia’s. “I’m Janet. My family and the Marshalls are neighbors. Mother said we’re going shopping!”

They were halfway to the stairs by the time Sylvia regained her equilibrium. “I beg your pardon?”

“Well, Mother says that Mrs. Marshall says that you and Emily need some clothes. So we’re all going shopping today!” Janet’s default tone appeared to be “peppy.”

“Shopping? But I …” She had no money. Again.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Marshall said she’d cover the expenses. ”

Sylvia’s cheeks grew warm. She wished they wouldn’t discuss her problems this openly. Now, on top of everything else, she felt like a beggar.

“It’ll be fun. Finally, I can shop with someone my age! My sister, Vicky, is too young. She still wears her hair loose. Keeps asking Mother when she can put them up.”

They rounded the corner, reaching the top of the stairs just as the front door opened, and a bunch of male voices drifted in. Janet hitched a breath, let go of Sylvia, screamed, “Will!” and ran down the stairs.

“Hello, Janet.” Will welcomed her in a friendly embrace. Sylvia forgot the brief sting of jealousy as her eyes drifted to the other visitor, and, in a slightly more dignified version of Janet’s flight, she ran into her brother’s arms.

“Silly. Thank God.” James clutched her tight. “You’re fine. You are fine, right?”

“Quite so.” Her arm still stung occasionally, but she wouldn’t make a fuss out of it.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll never leave you again, I promise.”

Sylvia hugged James tighter, closed her eyes, and pretended, just for a moment, that the words came from the man next to him. When she loosened the embrace, she found Will’s golden-flecked eyes—just like his father’s—inspecting her intently. At the contact, he nodded, the corner of his lips quirking up in encouragement.

Then Janet stole his attention. “Will, you must tell me everything. How is Boston? Charlie writes, but he teases me so—he won’t say anything, as it’s not fit for my ears.”

“I’m sure he’s fine. I haven’t been in Boston for the past few weeks.”

“Really? Where did you go, then? Oh, wait, don’t tell me yet. This will make a fantastic conversation for dinner tomorrow. You will come, won’t you?” Janet turned to Sylvia and James. “You’re all invited, of course. And Emily. It will be so much fun!”

“I’d be delighted,” James responded when Sylvia couldn’t find the words. “I believe we haven’t made the acquaintance yet. James Winters.”

Janet giggled and bobbed a curtsy. “Janet Jones. I’m a neighbor.”

“So you are.” James unleashed one of the smiles that always made Sylvia’s girl friends aflutter. Good God. Five minutes ago, she was having a peaceful morning.

“Well, this looks worse than a high school reunion,” Emily’s voice remarked from behind.

James looked over Sylvia’s shoulder. Despite her light tone, Emily looked nervous—and for a moment, they were locked in a silent, awkward dare. Then James’ face transformed—the sly devastating smile turned into a happy one, and a gentleness crept into his eyes, a kind that Sylvia had never seen before. “Flicker,” he murmured.

Emily joined them at the entrance, greeting Will with a nod and James with a brief glance that smelled of avoidance. “You boys are just in time for shopping.”

“Shopping?” Will asked.

“We’re all going to Hartford to get us some clothes.”

“Good idea. I’m afraid yours have been left in Richling Creek,” James said to Sylvia.

“You ladies enjoy yourselves.” Will smiled at Janet and Emily. “I’m afraid I’ll have to leave it out. I must speak with Father.”

“Coward!” Emily yelled teasingly after him as he disappeared down the hallway.

Sylvia directed her glance to the floor, part as a respite, part to forget he’d only granted her one polite glance—and that she should not wish for more.

After the thorough shopping excursion—Janet tested everyone’s staminas—Sylvia welcomed some peace. Fabienne had sent a maid to unpack their clothes in the bedroom, and Sylvia remained downstairs, finding solitude in the formal parlor. It was properly outfitted and cluttered, with heavy, carved furniture and a fireplace laden with decorations and family photographs. She lingered on a selection of pictures of Will through the years—one of him as a child, in the company of several dark-haired people, posing in front of an unknown house—another of him perhaps a few years back, with a young man, a girl with neat little braids, and Janet—one with his parents …

Sylvia turned away, feeling like an intruder. Through a strange sequence of events, what James would probably describe as “sheer dumb luck,” she’d met Will and ended up in his house. But all of this, and mostly him, had nothing to do with her life. She should better get that into her head.

A strange object, reminiscent of binoculars, was laid out on a table by the armchair. It had a handle, like opera glasses, and an elongated section running from the binoculars to a small wooden stand and a mechanism attached to its bottom.

“It’s a stereoscope.”

Sylvia jumped at the voice. Will stood at the entrance, leaning on the doorway. “Do you want to try it?”

When she gave no answer, he walked forward, took the device, and put it into her hands. “It won’t bite.”

“What does it do?”

“It shows you pictures. Wait a second. ”

He walked over to a cabinet, sifted through the drawers, and brought back a small wooden box, revealing dozens of photographs inside. He inserted two similar-looking pictures of a landscape into the stand.

“Look through it.” He guided the device to her face. He moved closer, his body pressing lightly against her back. Sylvia looked and gasped. The image showed a magnificent waterfall with an icy hill at the front. The waterfall had to be huge—a few people on the hill were but little dark dots. But more than that, it seemed real, as if she was standing right there. She could almost feel the depth and had to restrain herself from reaching out her fingers and trying to touch the space between the waterfall and the hill.

“These are the Niagara Falls.” Will’s breath tickled her ear. “We drove near them when we were going to Chicago.”

“They’re incredible. Have you visited?”

“Once, on a trip.” He moved away and rifled through the box again. He exchanged the photographs for another set, and Sylvia found herself staring into the wild rapids. Then came a look from atop a mountain, and a photograph of a city street, with buildings so high the picture couldn’t take them all in.

“Have you never done this before? It’s quite popular,” Will said.

“Mama wasn’t much for entertainment like this.” Incredible how, until recently, Sylvia had believed she was given more than many others. Now, she found so many small life details she’d never thought about. What else was she missing?

“Well, even if you did, I bet you wouldn’t have seen this.” Will inserted another set of pictures, but this time, he grabbed additional ones and stuck them into the mechanism. “Ready? Watch through the lenses.”

Sylvia obeyed. The picture—this time a painting—was simple, a dancing couple against a gray background .

“Wait.” Will reached out one hand and pulled a trigger on the mechanism. His other hand—probably accidentally—brushed against her waist.

Suddenly, the device whirred to life, the pictures fluttered, and the couple began to dance. Sylvia let out a half-yelp, half-laugh of delight. “How do you make them do this?”

“It’s a small adjustment to the device that makes the pictures change around very quickly, creating a sense of movement.”

“I must get one of these,” she said, only vaguely aware her life wasn’t at a point where she could afford to think of amusements.

“Then you’ll have to put in an order.” His breath tickled her ear again. “I made it myself. Father did the designs.”

The cycle stopped, and Sylvia lowered the device. “It’s wonderful. You are …” She turned around, and found herself so close to him the rest of her thoughts dissipated. His hand was still at her waist, in no way accidental now, and his eyes lowered, stopping on her lips.

Kiss me. With everything I have, I beg you, kiss me. Even if she didn’t have much, even if she was stuck in a life that could never join with his—she wanted this. One little thing to keep her up. One good memory to shine through her nightmares when she slept.

He swallowed, and she knew he must be thinking about it, too, and he breathed, “Syl—”

The door to the parlor burst open, with Emily rushing in like a storm. She stopped dead in her tracks. Sylvia and Will jumped apart.

Emily looked from one to the other. “Awk-ward.”

Will coughed. From the corner of her eyes, Sylvia caught a blush spreading over his cheeks. She felt her own face set on fire .

“So, the meeting is on,” Emily said, shifting on her feet. “You two might want to join us.” And she ran out as if she could not get away from the embarrassing situation sooner.