Page 7 of The Tides of Time (Storm Tide #1)

B efore the Révolution, Lili had, like all the Gagnon family, for a time been a servant in the fine homes of the wealthy and powerful. But she’d not ever worked in the kitchens.

If only she could drop in on Florimond Moreau. He’d become a good friend as she’d worked to save people from the Tribunal . He was generous and kind and a remarkably good cook. He could have, in that moment, helped her sort out her situation. He would also have given her one of his hugs and told her it would all work out for the best. He’d had the remarkable ability to help her feel equal to the enormous burden she’d given herself even when there had been no logical reason to believe she could carry it.

She would need to be the source of her own reassurance now. She set her shoulders and gave herself a firm talking-to. Her abilities in a kitchen were limited, yes, but she could cook simple fare. That would be enough to keep up her end of the bargain she had struck with Armitage. She could manage that.

At least, she thought so until truly looking around the small kitchen. The worktable and shelves and very serviceable buffet she recognized. The pots and spoons and such were familiar. What she couldn’t explain was the enormous iron box. There were doors on it. Claw feet. A metal pipe stretching upward and into the wall just below the ceiling. A teakettle sat atop its broad, flat surface. A brass-colored tub sat beside it with coal inside.

What in the name of heaven was it? Something made of the heavy metal used in cannons but in a kitchen? A kitchen without a fireplace and hearth, at that.

Lili rose from the table where she’d been eating and crossed closer to the confusing box. What was it? Warmth radiated from it. She eased her hand closer. The heat increased. A ginger brush of her fingers on the top would have burned her if she’d let them touch for even a fraction of a moment longer.

It was hot. There must be fire inside. The front appeared to have doors. But she didn’t dare grab hold of the metal, knowing it had nearly burned her once already.

Another oddity. Another unrecognizably strange thing. It likely was meant to further convince her to believe she’d passed through decades of time.

She shook her head at the absurdity of so seemingly pointless a ruse. And to go to such lengths was inexplicable. No one could possibly have such a thing as this metal monstrosity constructed simply to trick a chance-discovered stranger in the water. And there’d not have been time for creating it in the brief hours she’d been at the lighthouse.

Something else was afoot here, but she hadn’t the slightest idea what. She did not like being so unsure of the potential dangers she faced.

Lili rubbed at her face as she took a slow breath. Clandestinely reading Géraud’s correspondence from the Tribunal and the Comité had been fraught with peril, but she’d managed that. Seventy-six rescues would have found most people tossed into La Conciergerie to await their dance with Madame Guillotine, but Lili had avoided that. And she’d done it by playing parts and inventing plausible reasons for oddities. She could do so again, disguising her confusion until she had answers.

The Pierce men knew she understood and spoke English relatively well. But they’d not yet had so many conversations that she didn’t think they would believe she was struggling with the language if she needed to use that excuse to give herself time to think as new puzzles were thrown at her.

She’d already sorted one difficulty: what to call the two of them. Propriety dictated she refer to them more formally now that she knew their surname. But referring to them both as “Mr. Pierce” would be very confusing. And she was meant to convince the village that she was a dear family friend. Such a friend would refer to Armitage by his given name. “Mr. Pierce” and “Armitage.” It was one less thing for her mind to be spinning around.

She felt her resolve returning. Relief accompanied it. She was not the least comfortable being even a little weak-kneed. Lili would continue pursuing the answers she needed, and she would play the part she’d given herself for as long as she needed to.

Géraud had not found her growing skill in that area to be anything worthy of approval. “You have grown more dishonest, Elisabeth. And you are so proud of yourself for it.”

“I have learned to survive,” she had replied, frustration rendering the words tense.

“Survival is not found in deceit.”

“Then, what is it found in?”

“Authority.” It was the first time she’d seen her brother’s eyes flash with the thirst for power that would so wholly overtake the good man he had been. The memory never failed to cause her pain.

She had begun to lose him that day. In many ways, she had already begun to lose herself.

But the past needed to be pushed aside if she were to stay afloat in the sea of complexities she was nearly drowning in now. Cooking food for the Pierce men would keep a roof over her head, confusing as the things under that roof were. And she would have food to eat and warm clothes to guard against the constant chill. With those things sorted out, she could find the energy to solve the mystery surrounding her.

The salon had a fireplace. Her clothing had dried there the day before. Lili stepped into the adjacent room. A fireplace meant she could cook. Fate seemed willing to give her that tiny bit of luck.

Upon quick inspection, she found a pot hook. And the fire was already built, which would save her a bit of trouble.

Cook food. Determine who is playing this confusing trick on you and what to do about it. Those were her tasks for the day.

Lili returned to the kitchen and dug about in the drawers and the buffet cupboards and on the shelves, looking for ingredients. She recognized enough of what she found to decide on what to make.

She had a meal cooking over the parlor fire by the time the Pierce men arrived in the kitchen. They were in the midst of a conversation about a “dioptric lens” and “subtended angles.” Lili assumed that had something to do with their work, but she’d not heard of either term. No need to pretend she couldn’t understand.

“Something smells good.” Mr. Pierce tossed her a smile of approval.

“ C’est onion soup?” Lili hadn’t intended for the answer to emerge sounding like a question. But it had. “It is ready maintenant. I do not know when you are to eat.”

“Have to eat before us lights the lamps,” Mr. Pierce said. “Can’t leave the flame unattended.”

She hadn’t realized that, but it made sense. “I can bring the pot in from the fire in the parlor.”

“Why did you use the parlor?” Armitage appeared genuinely confused.

“The fire was already built. I did not think it was ... forbidden.”

“Of course it isn’t forbidden.” Mr. Pierce gave his grandson a look of light censure.

“I will bring the soup into the kitchen,” she said.

“I’ll do that,” Armitage said. How was it he could make her uneasy even when being kind?

“You do not need to be afeared of Armitage,” Mr. Pierce said after his grandson had stepped into the parlor.

“ Je fais . He is permitting me to remain, but he does not wish me to.”

“But that is not reason to fear he.”

Not on its own, perhaps. But his suspicious expression had only eased a little over the afternoon. Distrust coupled with wishing her gone was not precisely a comforting combination when she was faced with the very real possibility of a trap having been laid for her.

Armitage returned a mere moment later, holding the soup pot by its handle with his hand wrapped in a cloth.

Lili set a cloth on the table for the pot to be placed on. “I hope cette est délicieuse .”

“Us is happy for a hot meal,” Mr. Pierce said.

Lili was not an expert in the English language, but she was certain that both Mr. Pierce’s and Armitage’s use of words was odd—at times switching us for we , her for she . Was it the way on this island? The way in this entire area of England?

Armitage set three bowls on the table. He ladled an ample portion of soup into one and handed it to his grandfather.

“I don’t know how to make bread,” she said. “That duty never fell to me.”

“The bread here already can be stretched for three people.” Mr. Pierce set his bowl on the table in front of him.

“I’ll buy more tomorrow,” Armitage said.

Bread came dear. The struggle of so many to purchase such an essential food had been part of what had whipped Paris and the rest of France into the unrest that had become the revolution. Lili was burdening these men, though she’d not chosen to. Surely they realized she hadn’t chosen it.

“The soup’s good,” Mr. Pierce said between spoonfuls. Lili was inordinately pleased to hear a compliment.

“Do have some, Armitage,” she said. “You must be hungry.”

“I’ve a leer stomach, I’ll not lie.” More words she didn’t understand in this house full of unfamiliar things.

Armitage filled a bowl of his own and tucked in as well. Both men ate torn bits of bread with their soup. They must not have been too worried about its cost.

“Have you eaten already?” Armitage asked.

Lili shook her head. “I’ll wait until you’ve both had your fill. I didn’t know how much to make, and I fear there might not be enough.”

Without another word, Armitage filled the final bowl with the rich, golden-brown soup and set it down in front of her.

“Sit and eat,” Mr. Pierce urged.

“I won’t be a burden on your food stores for long,” she assured them both, though her gaze continually returned to the less welcoming of the two. “I know bread est cher .”

They looked at her with near-identical drawn-brow expressions.

“Bread is costly,” she said, making absolutely certain she kept to English.

“Bread is not so dear as all that,” Armitage said.

Mr. Pierce nudged her bowl toward her.

“France is in upheaval in large part because the people cannot afford bread,” Lili said.

“France isn’t in upheaval.” Mr. Pierce wiped a drop of soup from his beard before popping his spoon into his mouth once more.

“It most certainly—” She stopped herself. Asserting things too firmly felt perilous. She lacked too many answers to be insisting on any of her own. “I did not intend to bring you difficulties. I will sort a place to go soon. I’ll leave you in peace. Je vous promets .”

Mr. Pierce tapped the edge of her bowl. “Starving won’t help you sort anything, Lili.”

Armitage watched her with an unmistakable scrutiny. Not following his grandfather’s instructions would only increase that. She sat, then took a hot spoonful of soup.

She’d intended to eat simply to appease her companions, but she found herself quite pleased. “ Cette n’est pas terrible. ”

“Not terrible at all.” Armitage had understood her even though she was certain she’d spoken in French. She didn’t yet know if his limited knowledge of her native tongue would hurt or help her. “You could serve this to the president of France and likely be complimented.”

The president of France? There was no president in France. There was no longer a king, he having only just been executed, with the queen and her children still imprisoned.

She needed more information. That had been key to her success as a thwarter of the Tribunal. It was absolutely necessary now. And she’d managed to obtain it from Géraud without giving herself away. She would have to do so again but from strangers.

The men moved to other topics. Though she listened closely, she didn’t hear anything helpful. It all had to do with their work at the lighthouse.

After they’d finished their meal and returned to their work, Lili washed up from dinner, grateful she at least recognized the water pump.

She thought as she washed. There really was no point in attempting to convince her that she had lost eighty years of time. It would accomplish nothing. Yet so much had been done to make her believe it. Dared she simply ask them?

Instinct told her she would be a fool to do so. If they were trying to entrap her for some reason, she would be stepping into their snare. If they weren’t enacting a scheme ...

That didn’t bear thinking on. She refused to chase that thread any further.

Lili returned to the parlor after finishing her work in the kitchen. While nothing in that room was as confusing as the black metal box in the kitchen, there was still much that was unfamiliar. She placed herself in front of one of those oddities. At first glance, it appeared to be a clock, but even a slightly close examination revealed it was not.

Instead of the numbers one through twelve, the round face of the clock-like ornament had words such as rain and stormy and dry . They had clocks that foretold the weather? They had already shown that they had inexplicable magic.

“That is Barry.” Armitage’s voice unexpectedly cut through the silence. He stood in the doorway to the kitchen.

“ Il s’appelle Barry?”

“It’s a barometer. When I was a boy, that was too difficult a word for me, so I called it Barry. I have ever since.”

“It is une horloge for the weather?” she asked.

“Not a clock. But it does offer insights into what weather is coming.”

It could foretell the weather? She took a step backward, not liking the idea of such magic. “I have not heard of such a thing.”

“Barometers are not a common household thing,” he said.

Lili moved farther away from Barry and nearer the warmth of the fireplace. “You said I could have a new dress in exchange for cooking and such.”

He didn’t move with her, but he did watch her. “Grandfather agrees it’s a good trade.”

“Did he not wish to return to the parlor tonight?”

“Him’s on first watch. Somewho has to be in the lantern room whenever the flame is burning.”

Armitage stepped to the desk in the room. He pulled a smaller box from inside the metal box atop the mantel. He opened the smaller box and took out a thin stick. That stick, he flicked across the outside of the smaller box. The end of the stick burst quite suddenly into flame. Never in all her life had Lili seen such a thing. Never.

A clock that knew the coming weather. A stick that burst into flames. She was likely meant to be amazed. She found, though, that the emotion she was fighting hit uncomfortably close to fear.

He removed a glass cover from the top of a bottle of some kind of liquid, a wide strip of what appeared to be fabric sticking out from inside. He held the flaming stick to the fabric, and it lit. The fire spread across the width of the fabric. Armitage blew out the flame on the stick he held, then replaced the glass cover. Behind it, the flame he’d lit continued to burn, casting light around the dimming room.

“It is a lantern.” She made the observation to herself, but he overheard.

“A paraffin lantern.” He eyed her with confusion. Clearly, he expected her to be familiar with it.

She had, of course, a variety of lanterns, but none looked quite like this one. And it felt very dangerous, flammable liquid so easily spilled.

A stick that burst into flames. An easily toppled lantern.

She didn’t like it at all.

Armitage took a small, soft-covered book from its place on the desk. He crossed to a chair, carrying the lantern and setting it on the chair-side table.

“May I go with you to the village to select le tissu for ma robe ?”

“For your dress?” he asked as he sat in a chair.

She nodded.

“I’m loping up to Loftstone Village tomorrow to fetch our new lightkeeper. You can gad along if you want.”

“ Merci. ”

The book in Armitage’s hand, according to the cover, was an Almanac. And the year it claimed to be for was boldly emblazoned on it: 1873.