by Kit Morgan
He glared at her. “Joke all you want. I know bad when I see it.”
She knew she shouldn’t, but couldn’t resist. “Takes one to know one?”
“Ha ha,” he said with a snarl. “Except this is no laughing matter. What would a couple of Brits in a limo want here? They look like they could afford a fancy hotel in San Francisco.”
“Brits?”
“Yeah, Englishmen.” He glanced around. “I bet they’re here to do a hit.”
She rolled her eyes.
“You should take this more seriously,” he hissed.
“I would think that if they wanted someone dead, they’d have done it by now.”
“I think they’re looking for someone.” He shifted from one foot to the other. The man was clearly agitated.
She sighed. “You’re really worried, aren’t you?”
“You don’t run a place like this for as long as I have and not know when something’s out of whack. And them being here just ain’t right.”
She looked at the parking lot. There was no sign of the limo. “They only paid for one night?”
He nodded as his left eye began to twitch. Her boss was probably afraid they were there for him. Maybe she should bring Benny by to meet him. Now that Maria had had her baby, they were shorthanded. She’d taken a risk telling Mr. Smith that Benny was looking for work, not wanting either one to think she’d leave them high and dry. After all, she still had to get through her classes.
But if it would make her boss calm down, it would make her job a lot easier. It was hard enough to work for the man without him being paranoid too. “If they only paid for the one night, then tomorrow you can relax.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Besides, Marge has the night shift. I’ll let her sweat it.” With another eye twitch, he headed back to the office.
A chill went up her spine – all his silly talk had her on edge. This was a bad part of town to begin with. She hoped he told Marge about the strange guests without getting her riled up too. Her boss didn’t call her ‘Large Marge’ for nothing. The woman was a beast and kept a shotgun behind the office door during her shift. Of the two mangers, Marge was definitely the braver.
Tory finished her lunch in the storeroom, studying as much as she could. She didn’t see the mysterious limo again that day, or the next. Not that she’d notice with her nose in a book every chance she got, studying hard the next couple of days to prepare for her test.
By the time her second class rolled around, she was nervous as a cat, and it had nothing to do with well-dressed Englishmen lurking around a sleazy motel. What if she didn’t do well? What if she didn’t pass? What would she do then? She didn’t want to work for the likes of Mr. Smith for the next couple of years.
But she passed it with flying colors, and the next test, and the one after that. In fact, the following classes were so intense she hardly got a chance to breathe. Thank Heaven Benny was acting civilly – she was in the homestretch and didn’t have any energy left for his drama.
She was still surprised when, after the first class of week five, Mr. Mosgofian congratulated her before she left and said she was nearly ready. Who would’ve thought learning some speech basics, memorizing a bunch of things from classic literature, the history of a few wars and things that took place a hundred and fifty years ago would help land her a job in England? But here she was, flying through her lessons and staring a brand new life in the face!
She was so excited she could hardly sleep. One week to go and she’d be living a dream! “You’re almost there, Phelps,” she’d tell herself every night. “You can do this.”
It helped that there was no further black limo sightings and her boss had calmed down. There were no shots fired, no one got arrested, and Marge didn’t have to pull out her shotgun. Even better, Benny seemed to be really adjusting. At the end of the week, he even scrounged up some change, bought her a cheeseburger from McDonald’s and presented it to her on a plate when she got home from class. She smiled at the food as he set it on the kitchen table. “Thanks, Benny.”
“Think nothing of it. It’s the least I can do for my sis who’s moving up in the world.” He pulled out two Big Macs and fries for himself from a bag.
She should have known. She forced a smile regardless. “Like I said, thanks.” She picked up her pathetic little cheeseburger and bit into it.
“So, ah, when are you leaving, sis?” Benny asked. He was clearly trying to act casual and failing.
Warning bells went off in her head. “Leaving?”
“To go teach in London?”
“Sussex,” she corrected.
“Whatever. When are you going?”
She eyed him. “As soon as classes are over, if I pass. You know that.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right.” He shoved a handful of French fries into his mouth. “You’re gonna leave the checkbook and all that, right?”
And there it was. “No, you’ll be on your own.”
He stopped chewing. “But … what am I gonna do if the power gets turned off?”
She set down her burger. “Why would it get turned off, Benny?”
“Well, I don’t have the money to pay the bill!”
She stiffened, got up from the table, went to the refrigerator and took out a quart of milk. “It’s called work, Benny. It’s something you do to make money so you can pay the electric bill, among other things.” She took a glass out of the cupboard, filled it and took a good long swallow before facing him again.
“You’re not leaving me with any money?” he asked, ignoring her last statement.
She set her glass down. “No, Benny. I’m not.”
He shoved back his chair and stood. “But Tory …!”
She rolled her eyes. “Benny, here’s the deal – I’m leaving you with enough to get you by the first two weeks you’re working. Then you start getting paid and you’re on your own.”
He glared at her, his jaw tightening.
Tough. She gulped down her last bite of cheeseburger, grabbed another glass, filled it with milk and handed it to him. “Here, since you didn’t have enough cash to get sodas. Thanks for the burger.”
He nodded as he looked away, then took the glass from her and downed it. “What if that sleazeball boss of yours doesn’t pay me?”
She sighed. “He’s paid me on time, why wouldn’t he pay you?”
“I don’t trust him.”
“Then find another job.” She folded her arms and watched his jaw clench even more. She could tell he was scrambling for any excuse that would put her money into his pocket. Good luck with that.
“But what if something happens? What if I get hurt and can’t work?”
She rolled her eyes and let her arms fall to her sides. “Really? You’re going to pull that card?” She shook her head. “Then I guess you’ll be in a bucket of trouble, won’t you?”
His face went slack.
“But you’re a big boy. I’m sure you’ll work hard for Mr. Smith, use your money wisely and not have to worry about a thing.” She smiled. “Am I right?”
His jaw twitched this time.
She was suddenly tired, real tired. She wouldn’t make it easy on him – he had to learn. And really, all he had to do was pay the phone, gas and electric bills and feed himself. She planned to cancel the cable before she left – he was never home to watch TV anyway. Right now she needed to concentrate on studying. One week to go, just one lousy week, and her dream of going abroad and seeing a little of the world would come true.
Tory said good night as he stormed out the front door, then went to her room, laid down and stared at the ceiling. “Please don’t let anything go wrong. I have to do this.” She tossed and turned for a while, fretting over Benny. He was angry, but that was tough. He knew this was coming, knew she’d be leaving soon, but did he do anything about it? No. He expected her to still carry the load even after she was gone. The thought made her toss and turn some more.
She finally got up, unable to sleep despite being so tired, a
nd went to her closet. She could fit most of what she needed into one suitcase. She didn’t have money to buy new clothes and hoped what she had was good enough. At least she wouldn’t be getting up in front of a classroom full of people – Mr. Mosgofian said the current positions being filled were for private tutors. Thank Heaven for that.
Tory sighed, crawled back into bed and told herself everything would turn out. It took a while, but when she finally closed her eyes, she was asleep in minutes.
Chapter Five
Stantham Hall, Sussex, two weeks later …
“Are you sure this is going to work?” Duncan asked for at least the sixth time. They were waiting outside the mansion for Miss Phelps to arrive.
Lany straightened his jacket. “Wasn’t my idea. If it fails, it won’t be on me.” He glanced at Duncan. “Or you, for that matter. But yes, I’m sure it’ll work.”
Duncan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. “Oh, very well. You should know, you’re the expert. I’m just assisting in this mad scheme.”
“Mad?” Lany smirked. “Be glad some of my other coworkers aren’t here. A few of them are enough to drive anyone crazy.”
Duncan cringed. “Yes, I’ve met some. I must agree with you on that score.”
Lany nodded. It wasn’t every day a 19th-century duke had to deal with a group of time travelers from 3698 transporting him to 2020. He was surprised the fellow had held up as well as he did since he found out who and what they were. He’d fainted, true, but he’d recovered well. Aside from his fascination with highly processed foods, Duncan Cooke had been a model of dependability.
Duncan kicked at the gravel drive of the manor, looked at him and smiled. “And you’re sure she hasn’t a clue?”
Lany did his best not to grit his teeth. “As sure as I can be, and that’s very. Remember, all you have to do is make sure that after today, she doesn’t leave the estate. If you can do that, she should be none the wiser. Everything around here looks almost the same as it does in your time.”
The duke didn’t look convinced – maybe because he was studying the electrical poles in the distance. She’d most certainly notice if those were missing tomorrow, wouldn’t she? “My good man, there are times I wish I had never left the estate. Though I must admit, I do like automobiles. Pity I can’t have one.”
“Yes, it is, but you know the rules,” Lany said. “Besides, you’d have a pretty hard time explaining one back home in the 1870s.”
“Indeed,” Duncan said on a sigh. “Tell me, Mr. Mosgofian, do you enjoy your work?”
Lany raised an eyebrow. “Which part? Being Lord Councilor between the human race and an entirely alien one in the far future? Or the part where I help play matchmaker for people from different centuries to make sure a blood line carries on so we’re not annihilated by a madman?”
Duncan shrugged. “Either. Both.”
Now it was Lany’s turn to sigh. “Sometimes I miss my assistant days, but time-traveling and saving the world has its perks. My wife hates that I’m gone so much, especially to a different ficton, but other than that …”
“Ficton?”
Lany paused. “Sorry. It means location in both space and time. I forget you don’t know the technical terms.”
Duncan squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “I still can’t believe I agreed to this. Especially after everything you’ve told me the last few days.”
Lany patted him on the shoulder. “You’re a good man, Your Grace. We’re thankful we found you when we did.”
“Well, I suppose it’s my turn to help you. After all, I wouldn’t be married to the most wonderful woman in the world were it not for you and your people. Especially the MacDonalds – where are they?”
“Researching a few things, but they’re supposed to check in at some point tonight. They’ll have to – they’re our only way to get you back to where you belong.”
Duncan nodded solemnly. “When I belong.”
“Both. Just remember, Miss Phelps and Sir Aldrich have to fall in love before the next full moon.”
Duncan rolled his eyes. “You make this all sound like some …” He waved his hand back and forth. “… witch’s spell.”
“Nothing of the kind and you know it. Regardless, they have to willingly marry by the appointed time or one or both could die.”
“Are you sure? My nephew Jefferson and Lorelei didn’t suffer that I know of. Or are you talking about some of the things you told me? Who are these people causing all the trouble again? Should I be watching for them?”
“They’re bad news on burnt toast. Suffice to say they’ve searched and hunted down anyone they could find from several Muiraran bloodlines to make sure certain attributes associated with said families – namely, the ability to time-travel – would not continue. Our sources tell us that they’ll try to kill Miss Phelps and Sir Aldrich.”
“Lovely.”
“But we’re on the ringleader’s trail. If this works, they’ll be married and long gone by the time he gets here.” Lany looked at the duke, his face dead serious. “You know I can’t tell you how. Frankly, it’s best you not know. But we will get it done.”
“This ringleader,” Duncan mused. “I’ve heard mention of him before – he’s a time traveler like yourself? And he’s murdered people across how many centuries?”
“Yes, and too many. We’re still working to discover all his crimes. But this one is key – both Miss Phelps and Sir Aldrich have what it takes so that any children they bear will have it too. But the children’s genes will be much stronger.”
“Do Miss Phelps and Sir Aldrich know they have these … attributes, whatever they are?”
“Not likely. They’re usually dormant without adequate training.”
“So it’s imperative that Miss Phelps and Sir Aldrich not only wed, but have children?”
“Yes. And I can’t tell you more, so let’s leave it at that.”
“So you keep saying. And the reason you’re not telling me everything is?” Duncan cocked his head, eyebrows raised.
“Because like you with your Queen, I am under authority. And my authority says ‘don’t.’ Very forcefully.”
Duncan shook his head in resignation. “I suppose I understand. You do realize I hate being kept in the dark?”
“And I hate keeping you there – obfuscation is hard work. But sometimes it’s safer. Now, you remember the plan?”
“Yes, of course. You leave this Miss Phelps in my and my wife’s capable hands for a couple of weeks. She tutors my wife, meets Sir Aldrich, they fall in love and live happily ever after. How many times are you going to ask me this?”
“Because Miss Phelps will ask questions.” Lany said.
Duncan tossed a hand in the air. “My good man, she’s going to retire tonight in the twenty-first century and wake up in the nineteenth! Of course she’ll ask questions! But I’m supposed to tell her that my wife and I are eccentric loons who enjoy living without electricity, automobiles, telephones … do you really expect her to believe that?”
“Either that, or you can tell her the truth and watch her go crazy.”
Duncan pinched his nose again. “This is never going to work.”
“Living stars, pull yourself together,” Lany chastised. “It’s going to work. It’s worked before.” Sort of. The last time, the girl actually figured out she’d been shanghaied a century-plus into the past rather quickly. But now she was Duncan’s brother’s daughter-in-law, so all’s well that ends well. “We’ll make it work.”
“Give me one of those aspirin tablets, would you? Once I return to my own time, I’ll never be able to get my hands on any.”
“Not true – you’ll just have to get them from Germany.” Lany reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulled out a small white plastic bottle and popped the top. He shook two tablets out and handed them to the duke. “After this, no more – you’ll have to make do with what you have in your own time. German pills, willow bark, rum, a mallet to the hea
d, whatever.” He took two himself, replaced the cap and tucked the bottle away.
“Pity you don’t have those pills where you’re from,” Duncan remarked. “When, I mean.”
“Don’t need them. We have better medicine in the future.”
“I wish you had better matchmaking services.”
“Your Grace, you have my full agreement on that.”
Duncan rolled his eyes, tossed the pills into his mouth and swallowed hard as a car pulled into the drive.
Tory could hardly contain herself. “Omigosh, I can’t believe I’m here!” she squealed, clapping her hands. She gawked at the huge manor house and wondered if it had been converted to condos, then spied the two men waiting to greet her, took a deep breath and quickly composed herself.
The driver glanced over his shoulder at her, smiled and got out of the car. She was about to get out herself, but noticed he’d come around to her door. She wasn’t used to such manners. She waited for him to open it, hoping she didn’t trip and fall flat on her face when she got out, then realized he was offering her a hand to prevent just that. For a moment she felt like a princess.
“Miss Phelps – lovely to see you again!” a familiar voice called.
“Mr. Mosgofian! Good to see you too.” She looked at the handsome stranger next to him. “Hi.”
“Hello.” The man was tall, with dark hair and dark eyes and impeccably dressed. With his hair bleached, he could pass for the guy who played Thor – what was his name …
“Miss Phelps,” Mr. Mosgofian said. “May I introduce His Grace Duncan Sayer, Duke of Stantham?”
Tory gasped in panic. “Duke? You didn’t say I’d meet a duke!”
Mr. Mosgofian winced. “I’m sure I did, actually.”
She stared at the handsome man before her as Mr. Mosgofian’s words registered. Didn’t he tell her she’d be tutoring someone’s wife? Was it this man’s? Rats – and he looked to be in his early thirties, too. All the good ones really were taken …
“Miss Phelps?”
“Oh, sorry.” She turned back to Mr. Mosgofian. “Jet lag.”
