by J. D. Robb
“A coffee shop?” Arbuckle repeated and then smiled. “An excellent idea.”
Weston took Alice’s arm and was relieved when she did not pull away.
“Yes indeed.” Alice laughed. “My head is filled with questions. Everything from wanting to know when did women begin to dress like men, and why did men not choose to dress like women? And what diseases have been cured? How long do most people live?” She shook her head. “My list is endless.”
Weston was glad to see that Alice’s spirit of adventure had come through time with her. He’d always thought her imagination one of her most appealing assets. It was pure joy to see her flourish here.
Why could it not have led her to see a life with him as Countess Westwood? Instead she had apparently imagined a world where the ton would not accept them as a wedded couple because her own family was socially shunned because of her parents’ divorce.
“After I order the coffee, I will answer as many of your questions as seems prudent. You have time, and every visitor to this century should experience Starbucks.”
A few minutes later they were seated at a table in a madhouse of a coffee shop. Mr. Arbuckle insisted that they sit and took their orders. “Starbucks’ system takes some time to understand. It’s as though they have their own language. If you tell me what you would like, I will translate for you. Besides, you have no money with you. You will be my guests.”
Arbuckle took their orders and then left them at the table. Weston knew enough to make the most of his time alone with Alice. Or as alone as they could be surrounded by dozens of strangers.
“Alice,” he began, resisting the urge to reach for her hand. “Mr. Arbuckle said that we both time traveled from the country house. Why were you there?”
Alice Kemp looked away and cleared her throat. “I had just arrived to accept a position to help your sister prepare for her Season.” She shook her head. “Now someone from this time has taken my place. I cannot imagine a woman from 2005 being of any help at all. I fear my efforts at a career are about to be thoroughly compromised.”
Weston tried to conceal his disappointment. He’d hoped she might have come looking for him. He tried to find a way to ask what he most wanted to know. In the end he decided to be honest. “Did you know I would be in residence?”
“No,” she said. “But then a woman who must make her own way cannot expect to have everything as she wishes.”
“That was a dart aimed right at my heart, Alice.” He did reach for her hand, but she moved it from the table to her lap. “I wanted to marry you.”
“And a marriage with me would have completely estranged you from your family at the least, if not all of society. You saw how badly my Season progressed. My aunt insisted we had to at least attempt a Season to see if the ton might be willing to overlook my parents’ behavior, but you were the only gentleman who took an interest, and the ton hardly considered that a mark in your favor.” She looked away again and shook her head, obviously refusing to be drawn any further into the old argument, but then added, “At least that Season taught me all I need to know about helping young ladies succeed.”
Weston decided it would be best not to pursue the subject until he had something new to fuel the debate. Apparently love was not enough for Miss Alice Kemp. He would change the subject. It was wisdom rather than cowardice, he insisted to himself. “So tell me what you think of this wonderland.”
As always, she responded instantly to any question about ideas or observations.
“This wonderland, as you call it, is a cross between shocking and overwhelming. I cannot decide if I am appalled or amazed. I vacillate between the horror of wearing men’s attire and how intrigued I am by the way London has grown and changed.” She paused a moment, but then went on. “Weston, did you see the conveyances that carried dozens of people? And still the roads are not big enough, just as they are not in our day.”
“Yes, and what about the devices that people hold to their ears? I do believe they talk into them. Who are they talking to?”
“Women wear the most amazing shoes. How can they manage on such high heels? And the dresses are so short as to be embarrassing.”
He rather liked that part of this world, but was not about to say so aloud.
“And their reticules, Weston! They’ve grown to the size of a portmanteau.”
“What does one need to carry besides a handkerchief and vinaigrette?” he asked.
“In this day and age, who can say?” She looked around the room and leaned closer to him, not quite whispering. “Another thing I noticed is that women are out and about on their own. Not a maid or footman in sight. Do you think it is safe?” She leaned back and answered her own question. “Of course it is or they would not do it.”
Arbuckle came to the table with two cups and returned to gather a third. They were not proper cups but made of some kind of fortified paper. The smell emanating from them was comforting and familiar.
Arbuckle placed packets on the table and told them it was sugar, which they were welcome to add to the coffee.
Weston tasted it first, and his eyes widened in surprise. “This is the most amazing coffee I have ever tasted. Where is it from?”
Arbuckle looked relieved. “It is the standard Starbucks blend. Some people think it too strong.”
“It’s wonderful,” Weston said as he took another taste.
Alice reached for some sugar.
“Aha,” Weston said. “I knew you would add some. Your taste for sweet things has come forward two hundred years with you.”
“And you brought your superiority with you, as well.”
He recognized this tendency Alice had to criticize him as a strategy to encourage a distance she wanted and he did not. He knew from past experience that when she was honest with herself and with him that her words were completely different.
They drank in silence for a few minutes, observing the chaos around them.
One couple was having an intense low-voiced discussion at a table next to them. Two others at different tables were reading something on a device in front of them and then tapping wildly with their fingers, one occasionally stopping to run his hand through his hair. They seemed oblivious to the line of people waiting for service or the loud voices of the waitresses calling out the items that were ready.
“Is there a way to copy this business?” He had not intended to speak aloud, but once said, it could not be called back.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Weston, why would you want to copy this business when there are already dozens of coffeehouses in London alone?” Alice said. “And surely you would not go into trade! Apart from that shocking idea, what does this Starbucks offer that is not already available, besides wonderful coffee and good lighting? Neither of which we can bring back with us without altering the continuity of time.”
“The space-time continuum,” he corrected. Weston turned to Arbuckle. “And what is the space-time continuum?”
“I’m afraid I have no idea.” Arbuckle looked profoundly apologetic. “All I know is the magic coin enabled Miss Amy and Mr. West to travel to your home and for you to travel here.”
“Exactly what is this magic coin?” Weston asked. “You mentioned it before when I was less inclined to believe you.”
“Sir, I can tell you all I know in a few sentences. A shipment of coins bound for India was lost when the ship sank just off the Goodwin Sands in 1810. The ship was found by treasure hunters in 1987, and among the coins was one that was different from all the rest. It grants wishes.”
“Do you have proof?” Weston asked.
“It does sound rather like a grown-up fairy tale, Mr. Arbuckle,” Alice said with a bit more diffidence than before.
“Yes, it does, miss, and yes, my lord, I have proof. I have seen the coin grant wishes time and again.”
“I will take your word, for th
e moment, but now I want to know how you knew the coin needed to travel back into the early nineteenth century. Indeed, to before it was even minted.”
“Ah, my lord, because the coin had to be there to grant the wishes that are the heart of its mission. I was more than relieved when Miss Amy and Mr. West were willing to take it. I worried about how the coin would travel through time ever since I saw it in your portrait when it was loaned to a special exhibit at the National Portrait Gallery.”
“I fear this is beginning to sound like nonsense again,” Weston said.
“Really, Wes, why do you say that?” Alice asked, her head tilted to one side in a gesture of challenge he recognized. “Is it any more fantastical than the two of us skipping ahead two hundred years?”
Before he could answer Alice turned to their host.
“Mr. Arbuckle,” Alice asked, “since you cannot explain the space-time continuity, then how can you be sure the coin can bring them back and return us to our more familiar world?”
“There is no doubt in my mind that Amy and Mr. West will return to their rightful place, as will you,” Arbuckle answered promptly. “Because the coin has enabled me to travel through time as well.”
“You’ve traveled through time?”
“Why did you not tell us that sooner?”
Both of them spoke at the same time.
“Until Amy and Mr. West traveled I thought I, as keeper of the coin, was the only one who could do so.”
“But you have not traveled back, have you?” Weston hated to point out the obvious, but he needed answers.
“No, because I assume my work here is not done. But I have complete faith that when the time is right, we will all be where we belong.”
“Faith in the reality of space and time travel?” Alice asked.
“The space-time continuum,” Weston corrected.
“No,” Arbuckle continued, “I have faith in God. My experience has led me to believe that there are dimensions or realms we do not see or understand. But the Divine does, and He makes all things possible.”
“Including magic coins?” Weston did not share such a broad view of heaven, earth and all between, but Alice seemed more at ease with an explanation that was based on religion instead of science, for she smiled a little and nodded.
“Do you know when that will happen?” Weston hated to spoil her happy mood, but he could not resist asking.
“I have no idea.”
“That seems to be one of your favorite phrases, sir, and it is not at all reassuring.” Weston felt compelled to add, “Though I do appreciate your honesty.”
“I know it will happen, and it will not matter if you are in the library or in Paddington Station. You will return to exactly where they are standing, and they will return here.”
Alice stood up. “So there is no need for us to rush back to the town house? We may explore more of the twenty-first century?”
Excellent questions, the earl thought. If they could explore more he might be able to act on the idea he had had at the bookshop. Namely, did his visit to the future hold a way for him to repair the West family fortunes?
For the first time Mr. Arbuckle hesitated. “I am not sure how wise it is for you to know every detail of modern life.”
Alice sank back into her seat, looking quite disappointed.
“But you told us that we cannot change history,” Weston reminded him, and not just because he hated to see Alice disappointed. Before Arbuckle could answer, Weston went on, approaching the subject another way. “Tell me, sir, have canals prospered in the last two hundred years?”
“Oh yes,” Alice said. “Lord Bridgewater’s canal generated many imitators. It was a brilliant way to move coal.”
“It may have been brilliant then, but they are no longer used for transport in this country.” Arbuckle spoke with regret. “The canals today are no more than pleasant byways where people use the old barges for vacation houses and some even make permanent residences of them. They have no real economic value anymore.”
Thank the good Lord he found that out before he invested in them. Perhaps I am using the wrong approach, he thought. “Tell us what has changed lives the most.”
When Arbuckle pressed his lips together as though he would refuse to answer, Alice interceded. “Come now, sir, what does it matter? We have been dead so long it can hardly make a difference to the content of space and time.”
“Space-time continuum,” Weston corrected sotto voce again. Alice merely shrugged at the correction.
Arbuckle nodded. “I suppose you have a point, miss.” With his finger on his lips, he seemed to give the question some thought. “I think electricity has been the most significant invention. It is now used to power lights, provide heat in the winter and cooling in the summer, and further powers so much of what we use in daily life.”
“Electrical science is of some interest in my time,” the earl said, wondering if that was the key to repairing the West fortunes.
“Yes, but the true development of electricity in a practical way does not happen until the end of the nineteenth century.”
“Shall we walk among the crowd?” Weston suggested, hiding his disappointment. “Perhaps that will provide inspiration.” He spoke the last aloud without intent. Mr. Arbuckle was taking the used cups to a trash bin, but Alice heard him.
“Inspiration for what?”
“A way to repair the fortunes of the Earl of Weston,” he answered as he stood to help Alice from her chair. “There must be something here that I can invest in back in our own time.”
CHAPTER SIX
As Weston watched Mr. Arbuckle make his way back to them, a conversation from a nearby table distracted him.
“See, Ginny. That girl didn’t mind that the guy with her helped her up.”
The speaker was half of the couple he had observed earlier having such an intense conversation. Weston was sure the young gentleman had not intended him to hear.
“Yes, but that’s the least of it, Bryce. It’s not those old-fashioned things like helping a woman put on her coat or opening the door, it’s your overall attitude toward my work.”
“It’s not your work, Ginny. It’s the way it consumes you.”
With a glance at him, Alice sat back down in her seat, and Weston did the same. Yes, this was a little bit of twenty-first-century drama that he wanted to hear, rude as eavesdropping may be.
“Being a physician takes time,” the girl continued.
“But you’re done with your residency.”
“And now I’m going to spend a year or two as a colleague of the foremost physician in the field of head and neck surgery.”
Alice looked stunned. He probably did too. This woman was a physician? Beyond that, she was apparently about to specialize in a field of science he had never heard of.
“So if we want to marry we’ll have to wait?”
The girl shook her head. “I love you, Bryce. I want this to work. But your job with the foreign office and mine, well, it makes it hard to have much of a life together.”
“Shall we go?” Mr. Arbuckle asked as he came back to the table.
Embarrassed by his eavesdropping, Weston stood up with unnecessary speed. Alice was more decorous but made no demur, and they left the coffeehouse and the little drama behind them.
Alice took his arm and leaned closer and said, almost whispering, “Did you hear that, Wes? That woman, she could not have been much more than thirty. And she is a physician! It’s astounding.”
“It most certainly is. I’m not sure I would be willing to trust her to care for me.”
“And why not?” His comment brought Alice up short, and they stood in the middle of the walk, people streaming around them on either side. “She must have been well educated if she is to work with the best in her field. Do you not believe that a woman can do work wit
h an expertise equal to a man’s?”
“I find it hard to believe that times have changed that much.”
“Oh, Weston, don’t be ridiculous. Look at those things that fly and the machines that hold more information than every book in your well-respected library. If those things are possible, then why not a woman doing a man’s work?”
“Shall we move along, my lord?” Mr. Arbuckle suggested. “We can walk to Green Park. It’s only a few blocks away, and we can continue the discussion there, if you wish.”
They followed behind Mr. Arbuckle, arm in arm, weaving through crowds that seemed to have grown in the short time they were in the coffee shop. As they walked Alice pressed her point. “All these women we see passing are so much better dressed than I am. Based on what we overheard it’s most likely that they have positions with responsibility outside of maintaining a home.”
“Hmm,” was the only response that occurred to him.
“They could be bankers, shop owners.” As they waited at the light she turned to a well-dressed woman. “I beg your pardon, miss, but would you tell me what you do with your day?”
The woman looked slightly nonplussed, but shrugged. “I’m the manager of an art gallery in SoHo.” As the light changed she hurried off. “Sorry, I’m quite late getting home.”
“There, you see, Wes? Though I am not sure what someone who manages an art gallery actually does, the word ‘manager’ indicates a position of some responsibility.”
As they entered Green Park, Mr. Arbuckle waited for them so they could all walk side by side on the wide path.
“Mr. Arbuckle,” Alice asked, “is it not true that women do all sorts of work now, work that used to be reserved for men in our time?”
“Yes, miss, that’s quite true.”
Weston wondered if the change was one-sided. “Next you will tell me that men are giving birth and nursing their young.”
Even as he spoke, they passed a park bench where a young man was holding a babe and feeding him with a bottle. Weston’s face must have shown the panic he felt, for Alice laughed out loud.
