It was these such thoughts and feelings I battled with as I crept through the silent city streets and through the foliage of Fort George on the eighth, guilt and sorrow for the events that would transpire this evening eating at me.
Charlotte had mentioned this slave rebellion, often called the New York Slave Conspiracy, may not have been a rebellion at all. There was so much hysteria about uprisings, every little incident was scrutinized. There would never be any proof found that the fire was started on purpose and those held responsible may have not even been there. However, many people would be put to death, even more banished, over what happened this night.
Before I met Olivia, I may not have thought twice about the status of slaves and their hopes and dreams. I was no owner of such persons, nor had I ever planned to be, but I was not an abolitionist by any means. However, watching the way my love interacted with people of all races, genders, and ages had made me realize a truth that was hidden by people of my time.
The temptation to do something and save those who would be taken down this night was intense, causing me once again to consider Olivia and the thoughts she must have wrestled with in my time. She would have struggled with so much, including her decision to burden me with the same knowledge. A brighter understanding of her character blossomed inside me, and my love for her grew, her smile ever present in my thoughts as we were apart.
“Only a week longer,” I muttered to myself, settling in the bushes outside the stables of the fort. The snow had been shoveled here, the trees providing some escape from heavier downfall, and after finding a good, dry root, I made myself comfortable, unaware of how long it would take for anything to happen.
Everything was quiet for a time, the governor asleep inside, not a single inkling of what was about to happen. The moon rose higher in the sky, stars twinkling overhead, and I found myself struggling to keep my eyes open, watching for any movement that would mark the appearance of Miss Mercer’s younger self.
I wasn’t aware I’d fallen asleep until my person was suddenly jerked away by shouts and screams, the ashy smell of smoke heavy in the air. Slaves and white folk alike ran each direction, some attempting to put out the fireball of a house rising up before them, others heading for the safety of a farther distance. It was complete bedlam, enough to make anyone feel as if they were coming out of their skin.
Rolling onto my hands and knees, I struggled to my feet, joining the fray of people.
“Water!” a man was shouting, waving his arms frantically, trying to direct some sort of brigade to assist him. “Bring the buckets here!”
A woman in her bedclothes, hair streaming around her face and shoulders, shrieked as she held a child to her, horror in her eyes as she watched the home sucked into the inferno.
Putting my hands on my head, I gripped my hat, taking a deep breath as I tried to still the panic inside me. I’d known this was going to happen, but there was something about seeing it that was worse.
Focusing, I began examining each woman who brushed past me, moving through the crowd with swiftness, glancing each way, searching for the one I knew had to be spoken to. It was as if I were part of an intricate dance, sidestepping, keeping enough distance to be proper, all while having an ulterior motive to my search.
Then, through long shadows and dancing firelight, I saw her. Standing on the edge of the grounds, eyes fixed on the disaster ahead of her, Charlotte Mercer was the only still person in the crowd. Her skirts swished around her as others pushed by, her cloak wrapped around her snuggly, hair swept beneath a hood. There was no mistaking her eyes, though, nor the cool indifference present in them.
Sucking in a deep breath, I moved through the crowd, my path moving in a scattered line as I approached her. Finally, she was close enough to touch, and I reached out, brushing her shoulder.
“Charlotte Mercer,” I breathed, holding on to her in case she tried to run. “I have much I must share with you.”
The girl turned, eyes narrowing, lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t try to run as I thought she might, but instead moved to face me, the tip of a knife glinting from beneath her cover as she spoke.
“You might want to think about releasing me if you know what’s good for you.”
Pulling my hand off Charlotte’s shoulder, I made a motion of surrender without stepping back. “I am friend, not foe,” I recited quickly. “And you are Charlotte Mercer, sister to Gabriel, daughter to Louis and Ileana Mercer, and my associate in the year of our Lord two thousand and eighteen.”
Save one eyebrow raising, her expression didn’t change, the tip of the knife remaining steadfastly near my navel. “Your point being?”
Swallowing, I took a breath, bringing to mind the saying I’d been instructed to give. “The strawberries are in the field,” I muttered. “And the sun is going down.”
The young Miss Mercer’s face went completely blank, the knife withdrawing as she took a step back in surprise. For a split second, her eyes darted toward the fire, confusion in her eyes as she watched the mass of panicked people.
“I know this is much for you to take in,” I started, eager to share my message and get on my way. The idea that I was creating a loop worthy of headache-inducing considerations made my mind spin dizzyingly. The sooner I could leave this time, the better.
“I’m only here to observe,” she butted in. “I’ve no intentions of changing anything. My family is against that.”
Frowning, I motioned for us to step into the darkness of the streets a bit, worried we would be overheard by passersby. “That may be the case now, but it won’t be in the future.”
Holding my hand up for silence as she opened her mouth to protest, I went on, realizing my time was limited.
The loop to the thirteenth century opened tomorrow night, some distance from the city. If I was going to make it in time, I would have to leave as soon as I was done here.
“My name is August Bancroft,” I went on, watching her calculating eyes as she took in everything I said. “I am a British soldier from the American Revolution era. The woman I love, Olivia Blake, will accidentally travel to that time in two thousand and seventeen, through the loop near Trenton. Your brother will go through the loop at that same time, his mission to change the past by keeping General Hugh Mercer alive. He will succeed.”
A frown creased her face, displeasure causing her nose to twitch.
“The general will eventually die, a year later than Time demands. He will blame the death on Olivia and me. She will be injured—stabbed by Gabriel—and that will lead to the both of us coming to her time, through the same loop. That is when I will meet you for the first time.”
Surprisingly, Miss Mercer took all this information in stride, absorbing and accepting it without question. I knew the phrase I’d uttered was a portion of the reason. She’d informed me that it was her safety code, known only to her and now me. When she first began traveling, she knew there would be a possibility of crossing paths with others like her and therefore decided to keep herself safe by coming up with a few words she would recognize as unfettered safety.
“I will not know who you are or our history together when we meet then,” I cautioned. “But you will provide me with all the items I need to survive in the modern world, as well as teach me about loops and the issues with Gabriel.”
“What will he do?” she asked, cutting in sharply. “What else did he change in time?”
Frowning, I felt a small amount of sorrow for her. This Charlotte still belonged to a family unit, believing their traveling was a learning and observing experience.
“Many things,” I answered gently. “Things you and I are going to try and fix.”
A short laugh broke from her, and she faced the chaos ahead of us, pushing her cap from her head and threading her fingers into her hair.
“I invite you to search your records to verify the truth of what I am saying,” I continued, hoping she would still be able to find me as the Charlotte from Olivia’s time had. “
Once you have found it, you will accept you are to meet me at Pennsylvania Hospital on the morning of December twenty-sixth, two thousand and seventeen.”
There. The message was delivered. A weight lifted off my shoulders, my mind at ease. I’d done my part to ensure Olivia and I were taken care of after coming back through the loop. I could now safely take my leave.
Nodding, I turned, facing the darkened streets, and sighed.
“That’s it?” Miss Mercer asked. “Look you up and then meet you at a hospital?”
“Yes—no!” Mentally berating myself, I turned back. “There is a portrait of myself you will need to obtain and keep in your possession until Christmas Eve of that year, when you will gift it to the Philadelphia Museum of Art.”
“Why would I do that?” She sounded as if she were getting irritated with the information, her attention diverted between the flames and me.
Realizing my mistake, I bowed my head in apology. “You are here to observe, and I am intruding on that,” I admitted. “Please accept my apology and know it is of vital importance that you send my painting to the museum on that day.”
“Fine,” she snapped. “Where do I find it?”
Pausing, I considered the fact I had no idea where the canvas was, or where to put it so she would find it. “I will hide it in a safe place . . .” I started slowly. “In . . .”
My mind raced to find a solution. It would have to be somewhere significant, to be preserved by time. However, I didn’t think many would be keen to keep a painting of a Redcoat in their home, so it also needed to be somewhere that would be mostly left alone.
Olivia had mentioned several places, but most of them were so historically significant that there was no way they wouldn’t be completely gone through and cleaned out over the years. Finally, I recalled her sharing with me that Germantown was largely still intact, with many of the original homes standing through the centuries.
“Germantown,” I stated decisively. “One of the residences. I’ll place it in the cellar, out of the way. It should be left alone there.
Charlotte’s eyebrow rose, sharing her displeasure at my not knowing exactly where to hide such an important artifact.
“Cliveden,” she stated with authority. “You probably call it the Chew House. It will stay privately owned until the nineteen-seventies, and their whole family kept just about everything that passed through there, record and artifact wise. Leave it there, and I’ll get it.”
Another wave of relief flushed through me, and I nodded, well acquainted with the place and the battle I’d partaken in around it. “I will.”
Sighing, she pulled her cap on, stepping toward the burning edifice. “I will look into what you’ve said. If it all works out, I will do as you ask.”
“Much obliged,” I replied dryly, not able to help my smile. Even in her younger years, it seemed Miss Mercer was determined to stay aloof and focused on her own path. “Enjoy your observing, if that is possible.”
“And safe travels to you, Mister Bancroft.” Glancing over her shoulder, her lips lifted into a small grin. “We may yet see each other again.”
With that, she stepped into the fray, disappearing into the crowd that had come to watch as Fort George burned to the ground.
Turning on my heel, I put the spectacle behind me and headed for the inn. My time in seventeen forty-one had come to an end.
Sweat dripped off my brow as I continued to hack away at the iced-over lake, wishing I had something more substantial than a rock to use as a tool. It should have occurred to me there would be ice, but I’d been so hopefully thinking of getting back to Olivia, I’d not considered what I would need to do other than locate the time loop.
Sighing, I wiped an arm over my forehead, sitting on the heels of my feet and staring at the nominally cracked surface beneath me. Frustration over the whole affair ripped through me, causing me to grip the pointed rock so tight that my knuckles turned white.
“Hike through the forest in a blizzard,” I grumbled to myself, adjusting my position and going back to slamming the stone against the surface. “Fall in a pile of feces from who knows what. Wander around the province in the middle of the night with a machine flashing lights like beacons from Hell. Find the damned loop and discover it is beneath nearly two inches of ice!”
The makeshift chisel hit the ice wrong and twisted in my hand, ripping a stinging cut across my palm. Growling, I jerked away, chucking the piece across the surface, the sound of it clinking across the lake only serving to further my anger.
Blood smeared across the slick surface as I shoved to my feet. Raising my booted foot, I slammed it into the section I’d been trying to break, tired of the chore. After the third time, the ice finally cracked open, spiderwebbing out around me. Before I’d had a chance to properly take a breath, I found myself plunged into the icy depths, swallowed by the blackness of the night in time to be rescued by a flash of blinding light.
As I moved for the surface, I realized a horrifying truth; while I’d made it in time to catch the loop, the thick ice above me was now no longer broken. My fingers pressed alongside the barrier, panic filling me as I tried to bang my fist against it, the breath inside me shrinking much faster than I would have thought possible.
For a split second, I was reminded of when my lung collapsed at Germantown, making it so much harder for me to breathe. The pain growing in my chest now was much like that, though much more immediately dangerous this time. I also had no Olivia to save me, which made the panic in my mind grow more.
Suddenly, there was someone beside me, coming from the water below, swimming with strength and poise. His form was sleek and smooth, almost like that of a fish, nothing but a bag secured to his back.
Our eyes met for a moment, surprised recognition flitting through both our gazes, and then Gabriel Scott was beside me, the ice pick in his hands hitting the ceiling that kept us from the fresh air until it suddenly broke through and we both pushed our way to the surface.
Coughing, I splayed out across the ice, dripping and shivering, gasping in as much air as my trembling lungs could handle. Slowly, one leg at a time, I got to my hands and knees, feeling half drowned and confused.
The point of a knife at the back of my neck brought everything into startling clarity, though, and I gently sat up, holding my hands high in surrender.
“Mister Bancroft,” Gabriel stated, his voice full of snark and distaste. “How unfortunate to see you here this evening.”
“What business do you have in the thirteenth century?” Gabriel continued. His foot kicked the machine Charlotte had given me to search for the correct sound wave, the device having fallen out of my coat in my desperation to surface. “And with my sister’s machine, no less?”
“I could ask you the same,” I replied evenly. “Come to change some other part of history?”
He chuckled, the point of the knife digging a little harder into my skin, though still not drawing blood. “You could say that. I take it my efforts have not been in vain, then? The future is changed for the better?”
Snorting, I tried to keep from shivering, not wanting to appear weak to him. “That’s another argument entirely.”
The point of the knife removed from my skin, the unfavorable contact replaced by a swift kick to the back.
Sprawling across the ice once more, I coughed, slipping across the surface, stinging the cut on my hand further.
“That’s for taking my blood thinners,” Gabriel spat. “And if you’re planning on sabotaging me any other way, you can expect more than that.”
Grunting, I rolled over, glaring at him as I carefully got to my feet. With the ice between us, he was less likely to attack me again, not unless he wanted to risk slipping. Half of me wanted to run, while the other demanded revenge for his actions against Olivia.
“You’ll stab me?” I countered. “The same as you did to Olivia?”
He frowned, shaking his head. “That was different . . . an accident. She was in the wrong plac
e at the wrong time.” He gave me a pointed stare. “I’m through being careful, though.” Gesturing to the dark forest around him, he laughed. “Time and history are my oysters now. The world is mine to shape. By the time I make it home, I’ll have created a legacy so powerful, no person would dream of arguing against a Mercer.”
Hesitating, a realization lit in me.
He hadn’t changed all the things I knew he would yet. I was meeting a Gabriel who had interacted with Olivia and me recently, who knew nothing of the real impact he would have on the future. Assuming he was the one who was trying to erase me from time, I didn’t think he’d even taken those steps yet.
“How long has it been since that night?” I asked with hesitation, not sure if I should prod him for any information. “When you stabbed Olivia, I mean.”
A smile brushed across his face as he shrugged. “Why do you ask?”
Frowning, I glared at him. He looked to be about the same age as the last time I saw him. There wasn’t much to study with him in that skin-tight black suit, but it seemed like I should have recognized if he had aged considerably.
No, my initial perception had to be right. This was Gabriel Scott as I’d known him, before he became a war hero bent on forcing Time to accept his whims. For whatever reason, I was being given a chance to stop him before everything, to try and talk him out of it.
At least, I hoped that was what was going on.
“What are you doing here?” I pressed. “Why were you in seventeen forty-one?”
Turning his back on me, he went to the bag he’d abandoned on the ground, hoisting it over his shoulder with a grunt. “You mean why was I trying to get to seventeen forty-one? None of your business.”
Abandoning Anarchy (The Lost in Time Duet #2) Page 11
