Voyage in Time: The Titanic (Out of Time #9)

by Monique Martin

“I don’t want to look like a dope.”

  He turned back to her. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

  “Start with the chocolate pudding thing.”

  Simon chuckled. “Plum pudding.”

  Elizabeth grinned. “You see?”

  Simon sat down in the chair by the bed and humored her. “About eight years ago J.J. Thomson theorized that an atom’s negatively charged particles circled around inside its positively charged mass, like raisins in a plum pudding.”

  “Raisins? Where are the plums?”

  Simon’s expression was flat.

  Elizabeth smiled in apology and picked up her dress. “Sorry, go on.”

  “A few years ago, Ernest Rutherford, another of Bohr’s mentors, revised Thomson’s theory.”

  “As physicists do,” Elizabeth said, her head swimming with visions of dancing raisins and cake.

  Simon continued as if she hadn’t interrupted him. “A few years from now, Bohr will refine Rutherford’s model which in turn leads to men like Heisenberg and Schrödinger—”

  “The cat guy?”

  Simon chuckled. “Yes, the cat guy, and Chadwick and others who’ve given us our modern understanding of atomic theory.”

  Elizabeth wriggled into her dress. “And atomic power?”

  “Yes.” He stood and brushed some lint from his pants leg.

  “All of that is important.”

  Simon laughed. “You could say that.”

  “But all that stuff hasn’t happened yet. That’s World War Two—his involvement with Tube Alloys and the Manhattan Project. The people who are after him now don’t know all that’s going to happen.”

  Elizabeth turned her back and looked over her shoulder.

  Simon stepped forward and helped her fasten her dress. “This is where the dossier got uncomfortably vague, I’m afraid. Bohr’s a young man right now, but he’s already emerging as one of the leading scientists in his field.”

  “Right.”

  “Apparently, someone doesn’t want him to make this mysterious meeting on the 19th. It’s possible that it’s the Germans, or someone else, who either wants to stop whatever progress he’s making—”

  “Or make him work for them?”

  Simon fastened the last hook and eye closure. “Possibly. World War One is still a few years away, but the seeds are being sown now. My best guess is that someone sees Bohr as a potential weapon-maker. They want him on their side or on none at all.”

  Elizabeth turned around to face him. “Better living through chemistry?”

  “Precisely.” Simon lifted a few stray strands of hair away from her face. “And if something should happen to Bohr now, the repercussions could affect the outcome of not one but two world wars.”

  “No pressure,” Elizabeth said with a grin. She took a step back. “So how do I look?”

  “Beautiful.”

  “And ready to save the world?”

  Simon smiled. “Aren’t you always?”

  Still having a little time before the lecture, they went downstairs for a light dinner, as light as dinner in 1912 England could be, and then set off toward Cavendish Laboratory.

  Their hotel was nestled in the corner of a lovely commons in the middle of town. The sun dipped below the horizon and the sky was a bright palette of reds and oranges. The lush green lawns seemed to almost glow in counterpoint. Throw in a few spectacular 16th and 17th century buildings and it was the epitome of what Elizabeth thought of as England.

  “It’s beautiful here,” Elizabeth said as they walked toward the New Museums Site and Cavendish Laboratory, and they hoped, Niels Bohr.

  Simon hmm’d in response. “I suppose so.”

  “Suppose?”

  A few young men in the traditional academic dress of hood and gown hurried past them.

  “It has its charms, but it’s no Oxford.”

  Elizabeth fought down a smile. It had been twenty years since he’d attended Oxford. Despite that, and the fact that the memories he’d shared with her of his time, there weren’t what she’d describe as overly positive, the sense of rivalry endured.

  Elizabeth looked around and couldn’t tell the university from the town. It wasn’t like UCSB or any college she’d been to in the US. There wasn’t a campus with all of the various departments. Cambridge was divided into dozens of colleges, sort of like Harry Potter’s houses, but they were each independently operated. Each college had its own coat of arms, gown and colors and nearly everything else. Not only that, but they were scattered all throughout the town of Cambridge. It was very confusing.

  “Are you sure we’re headed in the right direction?” She could hardly tell what venerable old building was part of a college and which was just a venerable old building.

  Simon glanced over at her. “I’m sure. I used to come here fairly often.”

  “To enemy territory?”

  His eyes slid over to hers briefly. “I had a … friend who went here. Evelyn.”

  Elizabeth nearly tripped, but managed to keep from falling flat on her face. Barely. “Oh,” she said in what she hoped was a noncommittal way. “A friend?”

  “A fairly good friend, actually,” Simon said.

  Her jaw tightened a little. “Funny, you’ve never mentioned an Evelyn before.”

  “Haven’t I?”

  Elizabeth glared at him, but managed to shape her mouth into a curious smile as he turned to look at her.

  “No. Pretty sure I’d remember that.”

  It wasn’t that she was jealous. Simon was a grown man. A man who’d lived forty years before they’d met. Of course he’d had relationships. He’d probably had plenty of them. After all, he was handsome, smart, and rich. The women of England had probably thrown themselves at him relentlessly, like that hussy Evelyn.

  “Are you all right?” Simon asked.

  “Of course,” Elizabeth assured him, even though she wasn’t. In some confusing, territorial, primal way she felt threatened by a woman who, by all rights, didn’t even exist in this moment. The whole thing was surprisingly discombobulating. It was silly. Of all the things in the world she knew she could rely on, Simon’s love for her was a constant, above all else. And yet it still bothered her. She wasn’t going to let Simon know that, of course. He’d be far too gleeful about it. Although, judging from the smirk he was trying to hide, he had a pretty good idea already.

  “How far is it?” she said, hoping he’d let the conversation shift.

  He gave her one last enigmatic smile and then nodded toward a set of buildings. “That’s it right over there.”

  Cavendish Laboratory was an impressive three-story building that looked more like an elegant hotel than a lab. Simon led her through an elaborate arch that fed into a short tunnel. It made Elizabeth a little giddy to think that twenty-nine Nobel Prize winners had or would make that same walk.

  They emerged into the inner courtyard where ivy climbed the walls.

  Simon paused and glanced around. “Over here, I think.”

  They walked toward a doorway and as they got close enough Elizabeth could read the placard, Maxwell Lecture Theatre. As Simon opened the door she heard voices inside.

  The lecture hall wasn’t very large and was nearly at capacity. There were six or seven rows of long, dark wooden desks and benches. Most were filled by students and fellow scientists. Their rumpled suits and pipes were as much a uniform as the students’ robes.

  A few outliers in cutaway morning suits and top hats sat in the back row. Elizabeth was, as far as she could see, the only woman there.

  An older gentleman, who looked exactly like the Monopoly guy, Rich Uncle Pennybags, right down to his white mustache and cane, bumped into Simon as he came into the room.

  He tipped his top hat in apology. “So sorry. Terribly clumsy.” He noticed Elizabeth and took off his hat completely and bowed chivalrously. “Madam.”

  She smiled back and then looked for seats again. “Quite the turnout.”

  “Yes, I do
n’t know if—” he said. “Ohhh, I see three over there. If you don’t mind some company.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Bully!” He held out his arm for Elizabeth to take, then seemed to remember Simon. He looked at him, a little abashed, and cleared his throat and bowed again. “Sir Charles Ridley.”

  Simon removed his hat and held out his hand. “Sir Simon Cross and my wife, Elizabeth.”

  “Charming.” He smiled at her and then glanced up at the empty set of seats. “I’m afraid we’d better …”

  Simon nodded and gestured for Ridley to proceed. Ridley held out his arm again for Elizabeth. She took it and he smiled broadly at her as he patted her hand and led her up the stairs.

  “Are you the scientific enthusiast or is your husband?”

  Elizabeth was impressed he hadn’t simply assumed it was Simon’s interest that had brought them here.

  “A little of both.”

  “Very good. Shared passions are healthy for a marriage. Although for the life of me I never could make a go of Whist no matter how often we played. Dreadful game.”

  Elizabeth barely managed not to laugh as they took their seats.

  Simon leaned around her and addressed Sir Charles. “I take it you’re familiar with Thomson’s work.”

  “Oh dear, yes. As much as one can be when one doesn’t possess a scientific mind. I do find it fascinating though, don’t you?” He held up his hands as though he were holding an invisible beach ball. “A whole world around us, so small, so minute that it’s nearly undetectable. And yet, it’s the fabric of everything we see.” He shook his head. “Remarkable.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” Elizabeth agreed.

  Sir Charles looked down at a group of men who had just entered the hall. “Those men are the future.”

  Elizabeth followed his gaze. She recognized two of them from the Council dossier: Thomson and Rutherford. She leaned forward to get a better look when Simon touched her forearm. He nodded toward the doorway, and there stood the man they’d spent the day looking for, Niels Bohr.

  Chapter Two

  SIMON WATCHED AS BOHR shook hands with his former mentor, Thomson, and then sat down in the front row with Rutherford. Bohr looked exactly like his photo. He was only in his late twenties now, but he already had the look of the older scientist most people would come to know. He had a long face with large, drooping cheeks like the jowls of a hound, and that slightly haggard and distracted look that was de rigueur for scientists.

  Simon listened to Thomson’s lecture but kept his eyes trained on Bohr. Now that they’d finally found him, Simon wasn’t going to lose him again. Elizabeth might not be bothered by the sudden and unexpected, but Simon was, and Bohr’s unannounced trip here certainly fell into that category.

  It all would have been so much easier if the Council had been able to tell them who Bohr was meeting and where. Then again, it would have been simpler still if they could use the watch to save him from any threats, but Travers had been more than clear on that front. The universe did not take kindly to mortals rearranging its chess pieces. Considering that the potential outcome of World War II rested on Bohr’s survival here, it was a sobering admonition indeed.

  As Thomson came to the end of his lecture, Bohr leaned over to whisper something to Rutherford, who shook his head and replied. Whatever Rutherford said, Bohr was unhappy, but he nodded reluctantly in return and joined in the applause.

  “Remarkable,” Sir Charles said.

  Simon agreed and quickly stood, silently urging Elizabeth to do the same. Down front, Bohr was speaking to Thomson, but the older man was quickly pulled away by other admirers and Bohr turned toward the door. If they didn’t hurry, they might lose him again.

  Sir Charles came to his feet as Elizabeth did. “Didn’t you think so?”

  “It made me hungry for plum pudding,” she said.

  Sir Charles barked out a delighted laugh. “Delightful! Plum pudding.”

  Simon took Elizabeth’s arm and helped her out from behind the desks and onto the stairs.

  “We have to hurry,” he said, but it was fairly pointless. Their seats had been near the last row of the lecture hall and the traffic on the stairs was impassable. Only a handful seemed to even be trying to descend. Scientists were positively the worst dawdlers on Earth.

  Simon managed to get them down two rows, but the logjam of men discussing the lecture blocked their way. Just as he’d feared, Bohr was at the door, leaving.

  “We’re losing him.”

  It would probably make the papers, but Simon considered shoving the entire brain trust of Cambridge out of his way.

  “We’ll catch up with him,” Elizabeth said. “Don’t worry.”

  But he did worry.

  “If we lose Bohr now—”

  “Niels? Is he here?”

  Simon had nearly forgotten about Sir Charles and turned back to face him. “Yes.”

  He laughed and waved a dismissive hand. “He’ll be at the party, surely. All of them usually are.”

  “Party?”

  Sir Charles’ eyebrows rose and then knit in confusion. “Yes, the fundraiser. Disguised as a cocktail party, of course, but it’s all about the money,” he added sotto voce. “Don’t tell Lady Edith I said that or she’ll banish me from her next garden party. On second thought—”

  “Niels Bohr will be there? At the party?” Simon asked.

  “They all will, I think. It’s of a bit of a dog and pony show, but it raises more than the rest of the year combined.” He looked at Simon again, this time more keenly than before, probably calculating a potential check. “I don’t suppose you’d like to come as my guests.”

  Elizabeth grinned. “That would be wonderful.”

  “I have to warn you, though,” Simon said. “I’m an Oxford man, myself.”

  Sir Charles’ smile didn’t falter. “No one’s perfect.”

  ~~~

  The cocktail party at Lady Edith’s was the same sort of droning affair Simon had happily left behind when he’d left England years ago. As a potent reminder, he and Elizabeth were currently stuck listening to a woman’s ten-minute soliloquy about her Corgis, her colonel husband and the Raj of India, although it was often difficult to tell which was which in her endless narrative.

  “And I told the viceroy, who was the Earl of Minto at the time, that if I had to endure watching his wife ride a bicycle, if you can imagine, in front of God and Country, then he would have to endure the presence of my dear Pupkins in the palace.”

  “Fascinating,” Simon mumbled. “Would you excuse us for a moment?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he took Elizabeth by the elbow and walked away.

  As they did, they heard another woman say, “What do you expect from an Englishman who marries an American?”

  Elizabeth turned back to reply, but Simon pulled her away. She leaned in as they walked toward Bohr.

  “Why are the upper crust so crusty?”

  Simon chuckled. “I don’t know, but I do know I couldn’t stand one more minute with that woman.”

  Even though the Victorian Era, and even the Edwardian, had passed, their puckered sensibilities remained with many of the old families. Change wasn’t a welcome thing and they’d avoid it as long as possible.

  “He’ll show up,” Elizabeth said, misreading his dour expression.

  Putting those thoughts away, he looked at his wife, the embodiment of change for him, and smiled. Despite running away, he’d been one of “them” in his heart, stuck in the past. Until he’d met her.

  His smile broadened.

  “What?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “There but for the grace of God, I would have been such a—”

  “Bohr.”

  “Well, yes.”

  “No, Niels,” Elizabeth clarified with a nod of her head toward a group across the room.

  Simon felt a wave of relief, quickly followed by sympathy. The poor man must have just come in and already he was be
ing waylaid by several of the more aggressive collectors.

  It was an odd thing. Some rich people collected horses or castles or, God forbid, porcelain figurines. Worse yet were the ones who collected people. They might collect entertainers, or politicians, anyone with a cachet attached to them. Here at Cambridge, it seemed scientists were on the list of collectible novelties.

  Bohr looked uneasy as he tried unsuccessfully to extricate himself from the group. He smiled politely and tried to get a word in edgewise between the two warring groups.

  “But you must come to Windsor this summer,” one of them said. “You positively must.”

  “Unless he’s already with us at Weybridge, of course.”

  “I am most grateful,” Bohr said in his thick Danish accent, “but I—”

  “I won’t take no for an answer, Mr. Bohr.”

  Before he could stutter another ignored apology, Elizabeth swooped in to his rescue. She stepped right into the middle of the crowd, grabbed Bohr by the shoulders and kissed him on both cheeks.

  “Niels! It’s been so long. We haven’t seen each other since Hamburg. Or was it Brandenburg? Salzburg? I’m sure it was a burg. But no matter.” Without a pause or a breath, she looped her arm through his and turned to the others. “You don’t mind if I steal him from you, do you?”

  One of the women started to say that she did, but Elizabeth ignored her. “You’re such dears, thank you. And I love that dress,” she told one of the more sour looking battle-axes. “Does wonders for your figure.”

  The woman spluttered something in reply, but Elizabeth was already dragging Bohr away. Simon followed them both.

  “I do not understand,” Bohr said as the three of them walked over to the side of the room. “Do I know you?”

  Simon held out his hand. “Shake my hand like we’re old friends. They’re watching.”

  Bohr looked at it in confusion and then the lightbulb went off and he shook it vigorously.

  “Good to see you,” he said loudly. “Old friend,” he added awkwardly.

  “Simon Cross. My wife, Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth grinned. “I’m sorry for grabbing you like that, but you looked like you could use rescuing.”