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Once I was back in jeans and T-shirt, and I’d drunk a few sips of water, I felt rather better.
“What was it like meeting your … I mean, meeting Lucy and Paul?” asked Lesley quietly when we were sitting on the sofa again.
Raphael looked sympathetically at me. “Must be gross to have your own parents basically the same age as yourself.”
I nodded. “It was rather … weird and … and upsetting.” And then I told them all about it, beginning with the butler’s greeting, going on to our confession that we’d already closed the Circle of Blood with the stolen chronograph. “It left them reeling to know that we actually had the philosopher’s stone in our hands—or the glittery salt, as my gargoyle friend Xemerius calls it. They got terribly worked up, and when she’s worked up, Lucy talks even more than I do, can you believe it? They didn’t stop saying what a dreadful thing we’d done until I told them I knew about the … er, the exact way we were related.”
Lesley’s eyes were wide. “So?”
“So then they shut up. Until we all burst into tears again a moment later,” I said, rubbing my tired eyes. “I guess all the tears I’ve shed over the last few days would irrigate a drought-stricken field in Africa.”
“Oh, Gwenny.” Helplessly, Lesley stroked my arm.
I tried to grin. “Yes, and then we gave them the good news that, as it happens, the count can’t kill me because it seems I’m immortal. Of course they couldn’t believe it, and time was running short, so we couldn’t prove it to them by getting Stillman to try a quick strangling act on me or something. We had to leave them looking stunned and run, if we were to get back to the church in time to travel back.”
“So now what?”
“Tomorrow morning we’re going to meet them again, and then Gideon will tell them his brilliant plan,” I said. “The only trouble is that he still has to work it out overnight. And if he’s half as exhausted as I am, he won’t even be able to think straight.”
“Well, that’s what coffee is for. And what I’m for as well—the brilliant Lesley Hay.” Lesley gave me an encouraging smile. Then she sighed. “But you’re right, it’s not that simple. I mean, it’s great that you two have a chronograph for traveling in time under your own steam, but there are limits to the amount you can use it. Especially when we remember that you have to go and see the count again tomorrow, and that’ll leave you only two hours or less of your quota of time for elapsing.”
“What?” I said blankly.
Lesley sighed. “Didn’t you read that bit in Anna Karenina? You can’t elapse for more than five and a half hours a day, or there are side effects.” Lesley acted as if she didn’t notice Raphael’s admiring expression. “And I don’t know that I like you having that salty stuff. It’s … it’s dangerous. I hope at least you’ve hidden it somewhere no one can find it.”
rowd roared as she threw the glove and Gordon caught it.
“Go on!” they all shouted, and Charlotte turned her attention to the other glove. But then she suddenly stopped. She’d seen Gideon in the doorway, and her eyes narrowed. “Well, well, look who’s here!” she said into the mike, and her glance moved on over the heads of all the guests until it stopped at me. “And my little cousin, too … of course! Listen, did you know that Gwyneth’s really a time traveler? It was supposed to be me, but that’s not how things turned out. And suddenly here I am like one of Cinderella’s stupid sisters.”
“Go on singing!” shouted her bewildered groupies.
“Get ’em off!” shouted Gordon.
Charlotte put her head on one side, and her burning eyes fixed on Gideon. “But I won’t stop until that boy is mine!” she sang. “Ha, ha, that’s a joke! I wouldn’t stoop so low.” She pointed her forefinger at Gideon, and called, “He can travel in time as well. And soon he’ll be healing all the diseases in the world.”
“Oh, shit,” muttered Lesley.
“Someone must get her down from there,” I said.
“Yes, but how? She’s a fighting machine. Maybe we could simply throw something heavy at her,” suggested Raphael.
Charlotte’s audience wasn’t sure what was going on. Somehow people seemed to notice that she was in anything but a relaxed mood. Only Gordon went on shouting cheerfully, “Get ’em off!”
I tried to make eye contact with Gideon, but he was looking at Charlotte. He slowly made his way to the table on which she was standing.
She took a deep breath, and the microphone broadcast her sigh to every corner of the conservatory. “He and I … we know all about history. We studied time travel together. You should just see him dancing a minuet. Or fencing. Or playing the piano.”
Gideon had almost reached her.
“He’s eerily good at everything he does. Oh, and he can make declarations of love in eight languages,” said Charlotte dreamily, and for the first time in my life, I saw tears come into her eyes. “Not that he’d ever have made one to me—oh, no! He has eyes for no one but my silly cousin.”
I bit my lip. That sounded like a broken heart, and no one in the world understood broken hearts better than me. Who’d have thought Charlotte even had a heart? Once again, I hoped that Lesley’s marzipan theory was right. Although my own heart felt a painful pang, and I had to work hard at suppressing the waves of jealousy that threatened to submerge me.
Gideon reached his hand up to Charlotte. “Time to go home.”
“Booo!” shouted Gordon, who was about as sensitive as a combine harvester, but all the other guests were holding their breath in suspense.
“Leave me alone,” Charlotte told Gideon. She was swaying slightly. “I’m not through with what I have to say yet.”
