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Meanwhile we had reached the first floor, passing two more men armed with swords. The yellow man had a brief exchange with them in whispers. What was that password again? All I could think of was Qua nesquick mosquitoes. I definitely had to get myself another brain.
The two men were looking at Gideon and me with unconcealed curiosity, and as soon as we’d passed them, they went on whispering. I’d have loved to hear what they were saying.
The man in yellow knocked on a door. Another man was sitting at a desk inside the room, also wearing a wig and colorful clothes. The turquoise coat and flowered waistcoat that showed above the desk were dazzling, and below the desktop, there was a cheerful view of bright red trousers and striped stockings. I’d stopped even being surprised by this kind of thing.
“Mr. Secretary,” said the man in yellow, “here’s yesterday’s visitor again. And he knows today’s password, too.”
The secretary man looked incredulously at Gideon’s face. “How can you know the password? We announced it only two hours ago, and no one’s left this house since then. And who is she? Women are not allowed here.”
I was going to tell him my name politely, but Gideon took my arm and interrupted me. “We have to speak to the count,” he said. “On urgent business. We’re in a hurry.”
“They came from down below,” said the man in yellow.
“But the count isn’t here,” said the secretary. He was on his feet now, wringing his hands. “We can send a messenger—”
“No, we have to speak to the count ourselves. We don’t have time to send messengers back and forth. Where is the count at the moment?”
“Visiting Lord Brompton in his new town house in Wigmore Street. A meeting to discuss something of the greatest importance. He arranged the meeting directly after your visit yesterday.”
Gideon swore under his breath. “We need a coach to take us to Wigmore Street, then. At once.”
“I can arrange that,” said the secretary, nodding to the man in yellow. “See to it yourself, please, Wilbour.”
“But—won’t we be rather short of time?” I asked, thinking of the long way back through the musty cellar. “I mean, time to get to Wigmore Street in a coach.” Our dentist was in Wigmore Street. The nearest Tube station was Bond Street on the Central Line, but going there from here you’d have to change several times. And like I said, that was on the Tube! I hated to think how long it would take in a horse-drawn coach. “Maybe it would be better if we came back another time?”
“No,” said Gideon, suddenly smiling at me. There was something in his face that I couldn’t quite interpret. A wish for adventure, maybe?
“We still have over two and a half hours,” he said cheerfully. “We’ll drive to Wigmore Street.”
* * *
THE COACH DRIVE through London was the most exciting thing to have happened to me so far. For some reason I’d imagined the city would be very peaceful without any motor traffic—people strolling along carrying sunshades and wearing hats, a carriage now and then trotting by at a comfortable pace, no exhaust fumes, no taxis racing recklessly along and trying to run you down even when you were going over a pedestrian crossing with a green light.
In fact, it was anything but peaceful. It was raining, and even without cars and buses, the traffic was chaotic. All kinds of coaches, carriages, and carts were going along, crowding close together, spraying mud and water from the puddles all over the place. True, there were no exhaust fumes, but the street didn’t smell good—there was a slight smell of decay, and then there were horse droppings and other refuse.
I’d never seen so many horses all at once before. Our coach was drawn by four of them, black and very beautiful. The man in the yellow coat was sitting on the coachman’s box, guiding the horses through the turmoil at breakneck speed. The coach rocked wildly, and every time the horses went around a bend, I thought we were going to tip over. What with that and trying hard not to let the jolting make me fall against Gideon, I couldn’t see much of the London that was passing by outside the coach windows. When I did look out, nothing that I saw, nothing at all, looked familiar. It was as if I’d landed in a totally different city.
“This is Kingsway,” said Gideon. “You wouldn’t recognize it, would you?”
Our coachman launched into a daring overtaking maneuver to get past an oxcart and a coach like our own. This time I couldn’t help it—the force of gravity flung me against Gideon.
“This guy must think he’s Ben Hur,” I said as I slid back into my own corner.
“Driving a coach is tremendous fun,” said Gideon, and he sounded quite envious of the man on the box. “It’s even better in an open carriage, of course. I’d like to drive a phaeton.”
Once again the coach swayed, and I started feeling slightly nauseated. You needed a strong stomach to ride in one of these. “And I’d like to be in a Jag,” I murmured.
Still, I had to admit that we arrived in Wigmore Street sooner than I’d have thought possible. I looked around as we got out in front of a very grand house, but I didn’t recognize anything about this part of town from our own time, even though unfortunately, like I said, I’d had to go to the dentist more often than I wanted to. But there was a vague sense of familiarity about it all. And the rain had stopped.
The footman who opened the door claimed at first that Lord Brompton was not at home, but Gideon convincingly assured him that he knew that wasn’t true and said that if the footman didn’t take us both to his lordship and his lordship’s visitors at once, he would lose his job that very day. He put his signet ring into the intimidated footman’s hand and told him to hurry up.
“Do you have your own signet ring?” I asked as we waited in the entrance hall.
“Yes, of course,” said Gideon. “Are you scared?”
“No, why? Should I be?” The coach ride had jolted me about so much that I couldn’t think of anything scarier for the moment. But just as he was saying that, my heart began thudding wildly. I couldn’t help thinking of what my mother had said about Count Saint-Germain. If the man really could read thoughts …
I felt my pinned-up hair. It was probably all untidy after that coach ride.
