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“It’s a ritual. The adepts have to pass a whole series of tests before being accepted into our Outer Circle. It’s particularly important for them to prove that they are discreet.” Mr. George smiled. “You must think us really odd. Here, take this flashlight and hang it around your neck.”
“What’s going to happen to me now?”
“We’re waiting for your next journey back in time.”
“When will that be?”
“Oh, no one can tell exactly. It’s said that your distant ancestress Elaine Burghley, the second of the Circle of Twelve to be born, traveled only five times in her entire life. But then she died in childbirth at the age of eighteen. The count himself used to travel every few hours as a young man, two to seven times a day. You can imagine what a dangerous life he lived until he finally understood how to use the chronograph.” Mr. George pointed to the oil painting over the hearth. “That’s him, by the way. Count Saint-Germain.”
“Seven times a day!” That would be terrible. I’d never get a proper night’s sleep or be able to go to school.
“Don’t worry. When it happens, you’ll land in this room—at what period we don’t know—and you’ll be safe here anyway. Then just wait until you travel back. You mustn’t move from the room. If by any chance you meet anyone, show this ring.” Mr. George took his signet ring off his finger and handed it to me. I turned it in my hand and looked at the engraving. It was a twelve-pointed star with intertwined letters in the middle. My clever friend Lesley had been right again.
“Our English and history teacher, Mr. Whitman, has one of these too.”
“Is that a question?” The fire on the hearth was reflected on Mr. George’s bald patch. It was kind of a cozy sight.
I shook my head. I didn’t need an answer. It was obvious: Mr. Whitman was one of these people.
“Isn’t there anything else you want to know?”
“Yes, I want to know who Paul is and what happened to Lucy. And what this theft they committed was. And what my mum did back then to make everyone so cross with her.” It all came bursting out of me.
“Oh.” Mr. George scratched his head, looking embarrassed. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”
“Figures,” I sighed.
“Gwyneth. If you really are our Number Twelve, then we’ll explain it all to you in detail, I promise. But we have to be sure first. However, I’ll be happy to answer other questions.”
I sat in silence.
Mr. George sighed. “Oh, very well. Paul is the younger brother of Falk de Villiers. He was Number Nine in the Circle of Twelve, the last of the de Villiers line to travel in time before Gideon. That will have to do for now. If you have anything to ask of a less inflammatory nature…”
“Is there a loo down here?”
“Oh. Yes, of course, just around the corner. I’ll show you the way.”
“I can find it for myself.”
“Of course,” Mr. George replied, but he followed me to the door like a small, stout shadow anyway. There, like a soldier on guard in front of Buckingham Palace, stood the man who had taken the vow of silence.
“The next door along.” Mr. George pointed to the left. “I’ll wait here.”
In the ladies’ room—a small place smelling of disinfectant with a loo and a washbasin—I took my mobile out of my pocket. No reception, of course. I’d have loved to tell Lesley about all this. At least the time display was working, and I was surprised to see that it was only noon. I felt as if I’d been here for days. I did actually need the loo.
When I came out again, Mr. George smiled at me in relief. He’d obviously been afraid I might have disappeared while I was in there.
In the documents room, I sat down on the sofa again, and Mr. George sat opposite me in an armchair.
“Well, let’s go on with our question and answer game,” he said. “But taking turns this time. I ask a question, you ask the next.”
“Okay,” I said. “You first.”
“Are you thirsty?”
“Yes, I’d like some water, if there is any. Or tea.”
Sure enough, there was water down here, and fruit juice and wine, as well as a kettle for tea. Mr. George made us a pot of Earl Grey.
