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“I was supposed to draw a chalk circle at the place where Charlotte disappeared. What would the point of that have been?”
Mr. George waved the question away. “Forget all that nonsense. Your aunt Glenda insisted on it so that we could have the place guarded. Then we’d have sent Gideon back to the past to describe the position, so that the Guardians would be waiting for Charlotte and could protect her until she traveled back.”
“Yes, but you couldn’t have known what time she’d gone back to. So the Guardians might have been watching that place all around the clock for years on end.”
“Right,” sighed Mr. George. “Exactly! Now my turn again. Can you remember your grandfather?”
“Of course. I was ten when he died. He wasn’t at all like Lady Arista—he was funny and far from strict. He always used to tell my brother and me horror stories. Did you know him yourself?”
“Oh, yes. He was my mentor and my best friend.” Mr. George looked thoughtfully at the fire for a while.
“Who was the little boy?” I asked.
“What little boy?”
“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.
