Authors: Kerstin Gier
“Darling?”
I took a deep breath. “Mum, I think I’m like Charlotte. I’ve just been … I’ve no idea when it was. And last night as well … in fact it really started yesterday. I was going to tell you, but then I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me.”
My mother did not reply.
“Mum?”
I looked at Lesley. “She doesn’t believe me.”
“You’re not making any sense,” whispered Lesley. “Go on, try again.”
But I didn’t have to.
“Stay right where you are,” said my mother in an entirely different tone. “Wait for me at the school gates. I’m going to take a taxi. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”
“But—”
Mum had already broken the connection.
* * *
“
YOU
’
LL BE IN
dead trouble with Mr. Whitman,” I said.
“Who cares?” said Lesley. “I’m staying with you until your mum arrives. Don’t you worry about that squirrel. I can wind him around my little finger.”
“What have I done?”
“The only right thing,” Lesley assured me. I’d told her as much as I could about my brief trip into the past. Lesley thought the girl who looked just like me could have been one of my ancestors.
I didn’t think so. Two people couldn’t be so similar. Not unless they were identical twins. Lesley thought that was a possible theory too.
“Like in
The Parent Trap
,” she said. “I’ll borrow us the DVD when I get a chance.”
I felt miserable. When would Lesley and I ever be able to sit comfortably together watching a movie again?
The taxi came sooner than I’d expected. It stopped outside the school gates, and Mum opened the door.
“Jump in,” she said.
Lesley squeezed my hand. “Good luck. Call me when you can.”
I was almost crying. “Lesley …
thank you!
”
“That’s okay,” said Lesley, who was fighting back tears herself. We always cried at the same places in films too.
I got in the taxi with Mum. I would have liked to fall into her arms, but she was looking so strange that I decided not to.
“The Temple,” she told the driver. Then the glass pane between him and the back seat went up, and the taxi drove off.
“Are you angry with me?” I asked.
“No. Of course not, darling. You can’t help it.”
“No. I can’t! It’s all stupid old Newton’s fault,” I said, trying to make a little joke of it. But Mum was in no mood for jokes.
“You can’t blame Newton either. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I’d hoped this cup would pass us by.”
I looked at her, wide-eyed. “What do you mean?”
“I thought … hoped … I didn’t want you to…” My mother never stammered. She looked tensed up, and sadder than I’d seen her since Dad died. “I didn’t want to admit it. I’ve been hoping all this time that Charlotte would be the one.”
“Well, everyone was bound to think so! No one would ever think of Sir Isaac Newton getting his sums wrong. Grandmother’s going to be furious.”
The taxi was threading its way through the dense traffic of Piccadilly.
“Never mind your grandmother,” said Mum. “When did it first happen?”
“Yesterday! I was on my way to Selfridges.”
“What time?”
“Just after three. I didn’t know what to do, so I went back home to our house and rang the bell. But before anyone could open the door, I traveled forward to our own time. Then it happened again last night. I hid in the built-in cupboard, but there was someone sleeping there. A servant. Rather an angry servant. He chased me all over the house, and everyone was looking for me because they thought I was a thief. Thank goodness, I traveled back before they could find me. And the third time was just now. At school. This time I must have gone further back in time, because people were wearing wigs.… Mum! If this is going to happen to me every few hours now, I’ll never be able to lead a normal life again! And all because silly old Newton…” But even I realized that I was milking the Newton joke too hard.
“You ought to have told me at once!” Mum caressed my head. “So much could have happened to you!”
“I wanted to tell you, but last night you said we have too much imagination in our family already.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.… You haven’t had the slightest preparation for this. I’m so sorry.”
“But it’s not your fault, Mum! How could anyone have known?”
“It’s my fault,” said Mum. After a short, uncomfortable pause, she added, “You were born on the same day as Charlotte.”
“No, I wasn’t! My birthday is the eighth of October—hers is the seventh.”
“You were both born on the seventh of October, Gwyneth.”
I couldn’t believe what she was saying. I could only stare at her.
“I lied about the date of your birth,” Mum went on. “It wasn’t difficult. You were born at home, and the midwife who made out the birth certificate understood what we wanted.”
“But
why
?”
“It was only to protect you, darling.”
I didn’t understand. “Protect me? What from? It’s happened now, anyway.”
“We … I wanted you to have a normal childhood. A carefree childhood.” Mum was looking intently at me. “And you might not have inherited the gene, after all.”
“Even though I was born on the day worked out by Newton?”
“I’m sorry,” said Mum. “And do stop going on about Sir Isaac Newton. He’s only one of many who have put their minds to this matter. It’s much bigger than you know. Much bigger and much older, much more powerful. And much more dangerous. I wanted to keep you out of it.”
“Out of what?”
Mum sighed. “It was stupid of me. I ought to have known better. Please forgive me.”
“Mum!” My voice almost broke. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” My confusion and desperation had been growing with every word she said. “All I know is that something is happening to me that shouldn’t happen at all. And it’s … it’s making me a nervous wreck! I have a dizzy fit every few hours, and then I travel back into another time. I don’t know how to stop it.”
“That’s why we’re on our way to see
them
,” said Mum. I could tell that my desperation hurt her. I’d never seen her look so worried before.
“And
they
are…?”
“The Guardians,” my mother replied. “A very old secret society, also known as the Lodge of Count Saint-Germain.” She looked out the taxi window. “We’re nearly there.”
“
Secret society!
You want to take me to one of those weird sect things? Mum!”
“It’s not a sect. But there’s certainly something rather weird about them.” Mum took a deep breath and briefly closed her eyes. “Your grandfather was a member of the Lodge,” she went on. “And his father before him, and so on. Sir Isaac Newton was a member, like Wellington; Klaproth the chemist; von Arneth the historian; Hahnemann, who thought up homeopathy; Charles of Hesse, who knew all about alchemy and astrology; and of course all the de Villiers family, with many, many more. Your grandmother claims that Churchill and Einstein were also members of the Lodge.”
Most of those names meant nothing to me. “But what do they
do
?”
“That’s … well,” said Mum, “they concern themselves with ancient myths. And with time. And with people like you.”
“Are there more like me, then?”
Mum shook her head. “Only twelve of you in all. And most of them died long ago.”
The taxi stopped and the glass panel went down. Mum handed the driver some banknotes. “Keep the change,” she said.
“But what are we doing here, of all places?” I asked as we stood on the pavement while the taxi moved off again. We’d driven down the Strand until just before Fleet Street. All around us was the noise of the city traffic. Crowds pushed and shoved their way along. The cafés and restaurants opposite were full to bursting, two red double-decker sightseeing buses stood beside the road, and the tourists on the open top decks were taking photographs of the monumental complex of buildings that was the Royal Courts of Justice.
“Among the buildings over there is the way into the Temple precincts.” Mum put my hair back from my face.
I looked the way she was pointing and saw a narrow pedestrian thoroughfare. I couldn’t remember ever having gone along it before.
Mum must have noticed my blank expression. “Didn’t you ever get taken to the Temple from school?” she asked. “Temple Church and the gardens are well worth seeing. And Fountain Court. For my money, it’s the prettiest fountain in the whole city.”
I looked at her furiously. Had she suddenly mutated into a tourist guide?
“Come on, we have to cross the road,” she said, taking my hand. We followed a group of Japanese tourists, all of them with large London street maps held up in front of their faces.
Behind the row of buildings, we were in an entirely different world. Gone was the hurry and bustle of the Strand and Fleet Street. Here, among the majestic, timeless buildings ranged side by side, no gaps between them, peace and quiet suddenly reigned.
I pointed to the tourists. “What are they looking for here? The prettiest fountain in the whole city?”
“They’ve come to see Temple Church,” said my mother, ignoring my tone of annoyance. “Very old, full of myths and legends. The Japanese love all that. And Shakespeare’s
Twelfth Night
was first performed in Middle Temple Hall.”
We followed the Japanese for a while and then turned left and walked along a paved path running past the buildings and turning several corners. It was almost like being in the country. Birds sang, bees hummed in the well-stocked flower beds, and even the air seemed fresh and clear.
Finally, Mum stopped. “Here we are,” she said.
It was a plain building, and in spite of its immaculate façade and freshly painted window frames, it looked very old. My eyes went to the names on the brass plate, but Mum pushed me through the open door and took me up a flight of stairs to the first floor. Two young women coming down the stairs said a friendly good day.
“Where is this?” I asked.
Mum didn’t reply. She pressed a bell, adjusted her blazer, and pushed her hair back from her face.
“Don’t worry,” she said, and I didn’t know whether she meant me or herself.
The door hummed and opened, and we entered a bright room that looked like a perfectly ordinary office. Filing cabinets, desk, telephone, fax, computer … even the middle-aged blonde behind the desk didn’t look out of the ordinary. Her glasses were a bit alarming, that was all: jet black and with such big rims that the frames hid half her face.
“How can I help you?” she asked. “Oh, it’s you—Miss … Mrs. Montrose?”
“Shepherd,” Mum corrected her. “I married. I don’t use my maiden name anymore.”
“Ah, of course.” The woman smiled. “But you haven’t changed at all. I’d have known you anywhere by your hair.” Her glance fell briefly on me. “Is this your daughter? I expect she takes after her father. How are you…?”
Mum cut her short. “Mrs. Jenkins, I have to speak to my mother and Mr. de Villiers. It’s urgent.”
“I’m afraid your mother and Mr. de Villiers are in a meeting.” Mrs. Jenkins smiled regretfully. “Do you have much—”
Mum interrupted her again. “I want to be at that meeting.”
“Well … that … you know that’s not possible.”
“Then make it possible. Tell them I’m bringing the Ruby.”
“What? But…” Mrs. Jenkins looked from Mum to me and back again.
“Please just do as I say.” I’d never heard my mother sound so determined.
Mrs. Jenkins stood up and came around the desk. She examined me from head to foot, and I felt terrible in my ugly school uniform. I hadn’t washed my hair that morning, and it was just held back in a ponytail by a rubber band. I wasn’t wearing any makeup either. “Are you sure about this?”
“Of course I’m sure. Do you think I’d make some silly joke out of such a thing? Hurry, please. We may not have much time.”
“Well—please wait here.” Mrs. Jenkins turned and disappeared through another door between two shelves of files.
“The Ruby?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Mum. “Each of the time travelers is represented by a gemstone. You’re the Ruby.”
“How do you know?”
“
The first pair Opal and Amber are, Agate sings in B flat, the wolf avatar, A duet—
solutio!
—with Aquamarine. Mighty Emerald next, with lovely Citrine. The Carnelian twins of the Scorpio sign, Number Eight is
digestio,
her stone is Jade fine. E major’s the key of the Black Tourmaline, Sapphire sings in F major, and bright is her sheen. Then almost at once comes Diamond alone, whose sign of the lion as Leo is known.
Projectio!
Time flows on, both present and past, Ruby red is the first and is also the last.
” Mum looked at me with a rather sad smile. “I still know it off by heart.”