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“Because your mother has a kind of feeling,” said Dr. White, straightening his jacket. “The man has been dead for over two hundred years, Mrs. Shepherd.”
“And that’s the way I’d like him to stay,” muttered Mum.
“Count Saint-Germain is the fifth of the twelve time travelers, Gwyneth,” said Mr. George. “You saw his portrait in the documents room just now. He was the one who first understood the way the chronograph works and decoded the old manuscripts. He not only found out how he could travel with its aid to any year he liked, on any day he liked, he also discovered the secret behind the secret. The Secret of the Twelve. With the help of the chronograph, he succeeded in tracing the four time travelers in the Circle born before him and initiating them into the mystery. The count sought and gained support from the most brilliant minds of his time, mathematicians, alchemists, magicians, philosophers—they were all fascinated by his work. Together, they deciphered the Ancient Writings and worked out the birth dates of the seven time travelers yet to be born before the Circle could be closed. In the year 1745, the count founded the Society of the Guardians here in London, the Secret Lodge of Count Saint-Germain.”
“The count had scientists, philosophers, and scholars such as Raimundus Lullus, Agrippa von Nettesheim, John Colet, Simon Forman, Samuel Hartlib, Sir Kenelm Digby, and John Wallis to thank for the decoding of the Ancient Writings,” said Mr. de Villiers.
None of those names rang a bell anywhere in my head.
“None of those names rings a bell anywhere in her head,” said Gideon sarcastically.
Could he really read thoughts? Just in case he could, I gave him a nasty look and thought, with all my might, You … stupid … show-off!
He looked away.
* * *
“I THOUGHT Sir Isaac Newton was one of the Guardians?” I asked.
“Indeed he was!” Mr. George replied.
“But Newton died in 1727.” I surprised myself by coming up with that fact. Lesley had told me when she phoned yesterday, and for some unfathomable reason, it had stuck in my mind. I wasn’t as stupid as this Gideon said after all.
o;But not until the next day,” said Mr. de Villiers. “The hospital records say that they did give the child a thorough examination, but her mother refused to have one. Why was that, Grace?”
Mum laughed. “I think you’d understand me better if you’d ever had a baby yourself. I was fine, I just wanted to be sure the baby was all right. What surprises me is how you got hold of a report from the hospital so quickly. I thought such details were strictly confidential.”
“You’re welcome to take the hospital to court for contravening the Data Protection Act,” said Mr. de Villiers. “Meanwhile we’ll go on looking for the midwife. I’m beginning to feel a burning interest in whatever that lady may have to tell us.”
The door opened, and Mr. George and Dr. White came in, along with Mrs. Jenkins, who was carrying a whole lot of files.
Gideon strolled into the room after them. This time I took the opportunity to look at the rest of him, not just his pretty face. I was hoping to see something I didn’t like about him, so I wouldn’t feel quite so imperfect by comparison. Unfortunately I couldn’t find a thing. He didn’t have bowlegs from playing polo, or long gorilla arms, or ears too close to the sides of his head (which Lesley claimed was a sign of a miserly man). He looked annoyingly cool leaning back against the desk, crossing his arms.
What a waste of good looks. It was a shame!
“Everything’s ready,” said Mr. George, eyes twinkling at me. “The time machine is ready to start.”
Robert, the ghost boy, waved to me shyly. I waved back.
“Well, we’re all present and correct, then,” said Mr. de Villiers. “That is to say, I’m afraid Glenda and Charlotte have had to leave us. They send warm good wishes to everyone.”
“I bet they do,” said Dr. White.
“Poor girl! Phantom symptoms for two whole days—it can’t have been much fun for her,” said Mr. George, with a sympathetic expression on his round face.
“And add a mother like that into the bargain,” muttered Dr. White, leafing through the file folders that Mrs. Jenkins had brought with her. “What a tough time the poor child’s had.”
“Mrs. Jenkins, how’s Madame Rossini getting on with Gwyneth’s wardrobe?”
“She’s just … wait, I’ll go and ask.” Mrs. Jenkins hurried out the doorway again.
Mr. George rubbed his hands, ready for action. “Then we can go!”
“But you won’t take her into danger, will you?” said Mum, turning to Mr. George. “You’ll leave her out of this business?”
“We will certainly leave her out of it,” said Gideon.
“We’ll do all we can to protect Gwyneth,” Mr. George assured Mum.
