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“I’m more mature and adult now.” Cynthia sighed and looked around the class. “It’s all because of the boys—stupid, overgrown babies! If only we had reasonably sensible boys in this class, no one would need to fancy one of the teachers. By the way—tell us about the cool guy who picked you up in the limousine yesterday, will you, Gwenny? Is there something going on between you?”
Charlotte let out a snort of amusement, which instantly attracted Cynthia’s attention. “Oh, don’t keep us on tenterhooks, Charlotte. Do you have something going with him, or does Gwenny?”
By now Mr. Whitman was behind his desk, telling us to put our minds to Shakespeare and his sonnets.
For once I was truly grateful to him. Better Shakespeare than Gideon! The chatter died down around us, giving way to sighs and the rustling of paper. But I did hear Charlotte saying, “Well, certainly not Gwenny.”
o;Not that the request surprised us, but all the same we did wonder whether to go along with it. After all, Charlotte really has no kind of obligation to them now. However,” and here the skinny, redheaded battle—er, Aunt Glenda—sighed theatrically, “Charlotte is also fully aware of the importance of this mission, so she is unselfishly ready to do what she can to contribute to its success.”
My mother also sighed, and gave me a sympathetic glance. Charlotte tucked a strand of her glossy red hair back behind her ear and batted her eyelashes in my direction.
“What?” said Nick. “So what’s Charlotte supposed to be teaching Gwenny to do?”
“Oh, my word!” said Aunt Glenda, her cheeks flushing red with emotion. “There’s a very great deal she should be taught, but it would be absurd to think that in such a short time Gwyneth can catch up with all the skills Charlotte has acquired over many years, not to mention the … er, unequal distribution of natural talents in this case. In particular, Gwyneth’s lack of general knowledge is positively disastrous, and she has no idea of the good manners appropriate to various historical periods—or so I have heard.”
What a nerve! And who was she supposed to have heard it from?
“Yes, and a person really needs to mind her manners, sitting around for hours alone in a locked cellar,” I said. “I mean, a woodlouse might see her picking her nose.”
Caroline giggled.
“Oh, no, Gwenny, I’m sorry to have to tell you, but it’s going to be just a little bit trickier for you in the near future.” Charlotte gave me what was probably meant to be a sympathetic look, but it came across as nasty and gloating.
“Your cousin is right.” I’d always been a bit afraid of Lady Arista’s penetrating gaze, but this time it really made me jump. “On orders from the highest places, you will be spending a good deal of time in the eighteenth century,” she said.
“And in company,” added Charlotte, “with people who would think it very odd if you didn’t even know the name of the king on the throne or what a reticule is.”
A reti-what?
“What’s a reticule?” asked Caroline.
Charlotte gave her a thin smile. “Get your sister to tell you.”
I stared crossly at her. Why did she always get so much pleasure out of making me look stupid and ignorant? Aunt Glenda laughed quietly.
“Kind of a silly handbag, usually full of stuff that no one needs,” said Xemerius. “Sewing things. And handkerchiefs. And little bottles of smelling salts.”
Aha!
“A reticule is an old-fashioned word for a handbag, Caroline,” I said, without taking my eyes off Charlotte. She blinked in surprise, but she kept the thin smile going.
“Orders from the highest places? What’s that supposed to mean?” My mother had turned to Lady Arista. “I thought we agreed that Gwyneth would be kept out of the whole thing as far as possible. She was only going to be sent to safe years to elapse. How can they change their minds now and decide to expose her to such danger?”
“It’s none of your business, Grace,” said my grandmother coolly. “You have done enough damage as it is.”
My mother bit her lower lip. Her angry glance went once from me to Lady Arista and back, and then she pushed back her chair and stood up. “I must start for work,” she said. She dropped a kiss on Nick’s head and looked over the table at Caroline and me. “Have fun at school. Caroline, don’t forget to brush your hair before you go. See you later.”
“Poor Mum,” whispered Caroline as my mother left the room. “She was crying yesterday evening. I don’t think she likes it one little bit that you’ve inherited this time-travel gene.”
“No,” I agreed. “I’d noticed.”
“And she’s not the only one,” said Nick, with a meaningful look at Aunt Glenda and Charlotte, who was still smiling.
* * *
I’D NEVER ATTRACTED as much attention on walking into the classroom before. That was because half the kids there had seen me being fetched in a black limousine yesterday afternoon.
“The betting’s still open,” said Gordon Gelderman. “Top odds on possibility number one: that cool-looking guy yesterday, the gay one, is a TV producer, and he was auditioning Charlotte and Gwyneth for a show, but Gwyneth won the part. Possibility number two: the guy is your gay cousin, and he runs a limo service. Possibility number three—”
