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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.
I cautiously made my way over to it. The door was locked. Oh, well, at least I didn’t need the loo anymore.
I searched the room by the beam of the flashlight. Maybe I’d find something to tell me what year I’d landed in. There might be a calendar on the wall or lying on the desk.
The desk was covered with rolled-up papers, books, opened letters, and little boxes. The beam of my light fell on an inkwell and some quill pens. I picked up a sheet of paper. It had a rough, heavy texture, and the handwriting was so full of ornate flourishes that it was difficult to decipher.
“My dear and highly respected Doctor,” it said. “Your letter reached me today, having been on its way for a mere nine weeks. Considering what a long journey your entertaining account of the present situation in the colonies has made, one can only marvel at such speed.”
That made me smile. Nine weeks for a letter to arrive! Okay, so I seemed to be in a period when letters were still delivered by carrier pigeon. Or maybe snail mail—using actual snails.
I sat on the chair at the desk and read a couple of other letters. Rather boring stuff, and the names meant nothing to me either. Then I investigated the little boxes. The first one I opened was full of seals with elaborate designs on them, for sealing letters. I looked for a twelve-pointed star, but there were only crowns, intertwined letters, and organic patterns. Very pretty. And I found sticks of sealing wax in every color, even gold and silver.
The next little box was locked. Maybe there was a key in one of the desk drawers. I was beginning to enjoy my treasure hunt. If I liked what I found in the box, I’d take it back with me. As a kind of test. The cookie had traveled without a problem. I’d bring Lesley back a little souvenir. Surely that was allowed, since the box was neither human nor animal.
I found more quill pens and bottles of ink in the desk drawers. Letters, carefully folded and tied up, bound notebooks, a kind of dagger, a little crescent-shaped knife—and keys.
Lots and lots of keys, of all shapes and sizes. Lesley would have loved this. Probably there was a lock in this room for every one of these keys, and a little secret behind the lock. Or a treasure.
I tried some of the keys that looked small enough for the lock of the little box, but I couldn’t find the right one. What a shame. There was probably valuable jewelry in it. Maybe I should just take the whole box. But it was a rather awkward shape for that, and much too big to fit neatly in the inside pocket of my jacket.
There was a pipe in the next box. A pretty one, elaborately carved, probably made of ivory, but that wasn’t right for Lesley either. Maybe I should take her one of the seals? Or the pretty dagger? Or a book?
Of course I knew I shouldn’t steal, but this was an exceptional situation, and I thought I had a right to some compensation. Also I had to see whether I could take objects from the past back to the present with me. I didn’t have any guilty conscience, which surprised me, since I was usually disapproving when Lesley nibbled more than one of the free samples in the Harrods delicatessen department or—like only the other day—picked a flower in the park.
I couldn’t decide. The dagger looked like it was probably the most valuable thing. If the stones in the handle were real, then it must be worth a fortune. But what would Lesley do with a dagger? I felt sure that she’d like a seal better. Which one, though?
The decision was taken out of my hands, because the dizzy feeling came back. When the desk blurred in front of my eyes, I grabbed the first thing within reach.
I made a soft landing on my feet. Bright light dazzled me. I quickly dropped the key I had snatched up at the last minute into my pocket along with my mobile, and looked around the room. It was just like before, when I was having a cup of tea with Mr. George, and the flickering fire in the hearth made the room nice and warm.
But Mr. George wasn’t on his own anymore. He was standing in the middle of the room with Falk de Villiers and grumpy gray-faced Dr. White (along with the little fair-haired ghost boy), and they were talking quietly. Gideon de Villiers was leaning back casually against one of the bookcases. He was the first person to notice me.
“Hi, Winnie,” he said.
“Gwyneth,” I replied. Surely it wasn’t that difficult to remember? I didn’t go calling him Gilbert or anything.
The other three men turned and stared at me, Dr. White with his eyes narrowed suspiciously, Mr. George obviously delighted.
“That was almost fifteen minutes,” he said. “How was it, Gwyneth? Are you feeling all right?”
I nodded.
“Did anyone see you?”
