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“That little boy just now clinging to Dr. White’s jacket.”
“What?” Mr. George turned away from the fire and looked at me, bewildered.
Oh, really! I could hardly have put it more plainly. “That fair-haired little boy, about seven years old. He was standing beside Dr. White,” I said, speaking deliberately slowly.
“But there was no little boy there,” said Mr. George. “Are you making fun of me?”
“No,” I said. All at once I knew what I’d seen, and I was annoyed with myself for not realizing immediately.
“A fair-haired little boy of about seven, you say?”
“It was nothing.” I pretended to take a burning interest in the books on the shelf behind me.
Mr. George said no more about it, but I could feel his inquiring glance resting on me.
“My turn again,” he said at last.
“This is a silly game. Couldn’t we play chess instead?” There was a chess set on the table. But Mr. George wasn’t going to be put off.
“Do you sometimes see things that other people don’t?”
“Little boys are not things,” I said, “but yes, I do sometimes see things when other people don’t.” Even I didn’t know why I told him that.
For some reason or other, he seemed pleased by my admission. “Remarkable, really remarkable. How long have you had this gift?”
“Always.”
“Fascinating.” Mr. George looked around. “Do please tell me who else is sitting here, listening in on us.”
“We’re alone.” I couldn’t help laughing a little at Mr. George’s disappointed expression.
“Oh, dear, I could have sworn this building was teeming with ghosts. This room in particular.” He sipped tea from his cup. “Would you like some Jaffa Cakes?”
“That sounds great.” And then—I didn’t know if it was because he’d mentioned food—I suddenly had that queasy sensation in my stomach again. I held my breath.
Mr. George got to his feet and searched a cupboard. The dizzy sensation was growing stronger. Mr. George was going to get a surprise when he turned around to see that I’d simply disappeared. Maybe I ought to give him advance warning. For all I knew, he had a weak heart.
“Mr. George?”
“And it’s your turn again, Gwyneth.” He was arranging the cookies carefully on a plate, almost the way Mr. Bernard did. “And I think I know the answer to your next question.”
I paid attention to what was going on inside me. The dizziness was dying down a bit.
Okay, false alarm.
“Right, so suppose I traveled to a time when this building didn’t exist yet. Would I land underground and be suffocated?”
“Oh, I thought you were going to ask about the little fair-haired boy. Very well. According to our present state of knowledge, no one has ever traveled farther back than five hundred years. And on the chronograph we can set the date of time travel for the Ruby, meaning you, only as far back as AD 1560, the year when the first time traveler in the Circle, Lancelot de Villiers, was born. We have often regretted these restrictions. One misses out on so many very interesting years.… Here, have a cookie. These are my favorite.”
I reached for the plate, although it was suddenly going all blurred before my eyes and I felt as if someone was going to pull the sofa away from under me.
EIGHT
I LANDED BOTTOM FIRST on cold stone, Jaffa Cake in hand. There was absolute darkness around me, blacker than black. I should have felt paralyzed with fear, but oddly enough, I wasn’t frightened at all. Maybe that was because of Mr. George’s reassuring remarks, or maybe by now I was just getting used to it. I put the cookie in my mouth (it was delicious!) and then felt for the flashlight hanging around my neck and pulled the cord over my head.
It was a few seconds before I found the switch. Then, in the beam of the flashlight, I saw the bookshelves and recognized the fireplace (cold and without a fire in it, unfortunately). The oil painting over it was the one I’d seen already, the portrait of the time traveler with his curled white wig, Count Thingummy. All the place really needed was a few armchairs and little tables and—of course—the comfortable sofa where I’d been sitting just now.
Mr. George had said I was simply to wait until I traveled back. And I might have done just that if the sofa had still been here. But it couldn’t hurt to peek outside the door.
