Authors: Kerstin Gier
“Get up!” Gideon held out his hand to me. He had put his sword back in his belt. I saw, with a shudder, that there was blood on it. “Come on, Gwyneth! People are already looking at us.”
It was evening, and it must have been dark for some time, but we’d landed under a streetlight somewhere in the park. A jogger with headphones on glanced at us in surprise as he ran past.
“Didn’t I tell you to wait in the coach?” I didn’t react, so Gideon took my arm and pulled me to my feet. His face was completely drained of color. “That was incredibly reckless and … dreadfully dangerous and…” He swallowed hard and stared at me. “And, dammit all, rather brave of you.”
“I thought when the blade struck a rib I’d feel it,” I said, my teeth still chattering. “I didn’t expect it to be like … like cutting up a cake. Why didn’t that man have any bones?”
“I’m sure he did,” said Gideon. “But you were lucky and thrust the sword somewhere in between them.”
“Will he die?”
Gideon shrugged. “Not if it was a clean wound. But eighteenth-century surgery can’t really be compared with an episode of
Grey’s Anatomy
.”
If it was a clean wound? What did that mean? How could a wound be clean?
What had I done? I might have just killed a man!
The full realization of that almost made me sink to the ground again. But Gideon was holding me firmly. “Come on, we have to get back to the Temple. The others will be worrying.”
He obviously knew exactly where we were in the park, because he led me purposefully on along the path, past two women walking their dogs who stared at us curiously.
“I’m a murderer,” I whispered.
“Ever heard of self-defense? You were only defending yourself. Or rather me, come to think of it.”
He gave me a crooked smile, and it occurred to me that only an hour ago, I’d have sworn he would never admit to such a thing.
And sure enough, he didn’t.
“Not that it was at all necessary,” he added.
“Oh, so it wasn’t necessary? What about your arm? You’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing. Dr. White will see to it.”
For a while, we went along side by side in silence. The cool evening air felt good. My pulse gradually slowed down, and my teeth stopped chattering.
“My heart missed a beat when I suddenly saw you,” said Gideon at last. He had let go of my arm now. Obviously he trusted me to stay on my feet by myself.
“Why didn’t you take a pistol?” I said crossly. “The other man had one!”
“In fact he had two,” said Gideon.
“Then why didn’t he use them?”
“He did. He killed poor Wilbour, and the shot from the second pistol only just missed me.”
“But why didn’t he shoot again after that?”
“Because back then each pistol fired only one shot, of course,” said Gideon. “Those neat little handguns you see in the James Bond films hadn’t been invented yet.”
“But they
have
been invented now! Why do you take a stupid sword into the past instead of a proper pistol?”
“I’m not a professional killer,” said Gideon.
“But that’s just … I mean, otherwise what’s the advantage of coming from the future? Oh!
Here
we are!” We had reached Apsley House on Hyde Park Corner. People out for an evening stroll, or jogging, or walking their dogs were giving us odd looks.
“We’ll take a taxi to the Temple,” said Gideon.
“Got any money with you?”
“Of course not!”
“But I have my mobile,” I said, fishing it out of my décolletage.
“Ah, the
silver shrine!
I might have known it was something like that. You silly—oh, give it here!”
“Hey, that’s mine!”
“Yes, and do you know the number?” Gideon was already punching it in.
“’Scuse me, dear.” An elderly lady was tugging my sleeve. “I just
have
to ask—are you from one of the theaters?”
“Er … yes,” I said.
“I thought so!” The old lady was having difficulty holding on to her dachshund’s leash. The dog was pulling hard as it tried to get at another dog only a few yards away. “It looks so wonderfully genuine! Only a good wardrobe mistress could have made that outfit. You know, dear, I did a lot of sewing myself in my young d—stop it, Polly! Don’t pull like that!”
“They’ll come and pick us up at once,” said Gideon, giving me my mobile back. “We’ll go on to the corner of Piccadilly.”
“And where can people go to see the play you’re in?” asked the old lady.
“Er, well, I’m afraid it was the last performance this evening.”
“What a pity!”
“Yes, I think so too.”
Gideon was pulling me on.
“Good-bye,” I said to the old lady.
“I don’t understand how those men could find us. Or what orders were given to that man Wilbour to get him to drive us to Hyde Park. There was no time to prepare an ambush,” Gideon was muttering to himself as he walked on. Out here in the street, passersby stared at us even more than in the park.
“Are you talking to me?”
“Someone knew we’d be there. But how did he know? And how was it possible anyway?”
“Wilbour … one of his eyes was…” Suddenly I felt my stomach heave.
“What are you doing?”
I retched, but nothing would come up.
“Gwyneth, we have to get moving! Breathe deeply, and it’ll pass.”
I stopped dead. This was too much!
“Oh, so it’ll pass?” I made myself speak very slowly and distinctly, although I really felt like screeching. “And so if I’ve just killed a man, will that pass, too? My entire life has been turned upside down today—will that pass? Will the fact that an arrogant, long-haired, violin-playing creep in silk stockings can’t think of anything better to do than order me about, even though I’ve just saved his stupid life, will that disappear as well? If you ask me, it’s not surprising that I feel like puking. And just in case you’re wondering, you make me want to throw up too!”
Okay, so maybe my voice had risen to a bit of a screech with that last remark, but it could have been worse. All at once I realized how good it felt to get all that off my chest. For the first time that day, I felt truly liberated, and the nausea suddenly disappeared.
Gideon was staring at me with such a blank expression that I’d have giggled if I hadn’t been so angry. Aha! Just for once he seemed to be left speechless.
“And now I want to go home,” I said, trying to round off my triumph with as much dignity as possible.
Unfortunately I didn’t bring it off entirely, because at the thought of my family, my lip began to quiver and I felt my eyes filling with tears.
Dammit, dammit, dammit!
“It’s all right,” said Gideon.
His surprisingly gentle tone of voice was too much for my self-control. The tears came rolling down my cheeks before I could stop them.
“Hey, Gwyneth. I’m sorry.” Gideon came right up to me, took me by the shoulder, and drew me close to him. “I’m an idiot. I was forgetting what this must be like for you,” he murmured somewhere just above my ear. “And I remember perfectly well how stupid I felt the first time I traveled back. In spite of all that fencing practice. And the violin lessons.…”
He stroked my hair.
I just sobbed louder.
“Don’t cry,” he said helplessly. “It’s all right.”
But it wasn’t all right. It was all horrible. That frantic chase around the house, only last night, when they’d thought I was a thief. Rakoczy’s sinister eyes, the count with his ice-cold voice and his hand around my throat throttling me, and finally poor Wilbour and the man I’d stabbed in the back with a sword. And, most of all, the fact that I couldn’t even manage to give Gideon a piece of my mind without bursting into tears and making him feel he had to comfort me!
I tore myself away.
Where was my self-respect? I felt so embarrassed. I wiped my face with the back of my hand.
“Handkerchief?” he asked, smiling, as he took a lemon-yellow square of fabric trimmed with lace out of his pocket. “No paper tissues in the Rococo age, I’m afraid, but you can have this.”
I was just about to take it when a black limousine drew up beside us.
Mr. George was waiting for us inside the car, his bald patch covered with tiny beads of sweat, and at the sight of him, all the thoughts circling around and around in my head calmed down a little. I was still completely knackered, but that was all.
“We’ve been beside ourselves with anxiety,” said Mr. George. “Oh, my God, Gideon, what happened to your arm? You’re bleeding! And Gwyneth looks distraught. Is she injured?”
“Just exhausted,” said Gideon briefly. “We’ll take her home.”
“No, not yet. We must examine you both, and your wound has to be treated immediately, Gideon.”
“It stopped bleeding a long time ago. It’s only a scratch, really. Gwyneth wants to go home.”
“She may not have elapsed for long enough. She has to go to school tomorrow, and—”
Gideon’s voice took on its familiar arrogant tone, but it wasn’t meant for me this time.
“Mr. George. She’s been gone for three hours. That will be enough for the next eighteen hours.”
“It probably will be,” said Mr. George. “But it goes against all the rules, and then we have to know whether—”
“Mr. George!”
He gave up, turned, and knocked on the window between us and the driver. The glass moved sideways with a soft swish.
“Turn right into Berkeley Street,” said Mr. George. “We’re making a little detour. Number 81, Bourdon Place.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. I could go home. To my mum.
Mr. George was looking at me very gravely. His expression was sympathetic, as if he’d never seen a more pitiful sight. “What happened, for heaven’s sake?”
“Three men attacked our coach in Hyde Park,” said Gideon. “The coachman was shot.”
“Oh, my God,” said Mr. George. “I don’t understand it, but that makes sense.”
“How do you mean?”
“It’s in the
Annals
—the twenty-fourth of September, 1782. A second-degree Guardian by the name of James Wilbour was found dead in Hyde Park. Half his face was shot away. They never found out who did it.”
“Well, now we know,” said Gideon grimly. “That is to say, I know what his murderer looked like, but I don’t know the man’s name.”
“And I killed him,” I said in a flat voice.
“What?”
“She came up and ran Wilbour’s sword into his attacker’s back,” said Gideon. “Well, we don’t know whether she really killed him.”
Mr. George’s blue eyes were round. “She did
what
?”
“It was two against one,” I murmured. “I couldn’t just stand there watching.”
“Three against one,” Gideon corrected me. “But I’d already finished off one of them. I told you to stay in the coach no matter what happened.”
“It didn’t seem as if you were going to last much longer,” I said without looking at him.
Gideon didn’t answer.
Mr. George looked from one to the other of us and shook his head. “What a disaster! Your mother will murder me, Gwyneth! It was supposed to be the safest of operations. A conversation with the count in the same house, no risk at all. You wouldn’t for an instant have been in danger. And instead the two of you go halfway around the city and get set upon by footpads.… Gideon, for heaven’s sake, what on earth did you have in mind?”
“It would have been fine if someone hadn’t given us away.” Gideon sounded angry now. “Someone or other must have known about our visit. Someone who was in a position to persuade this man Wilbour to drive us to a meeting place in the park.”
“But why would anyone want to kill you two? And who could have known you would be visiting the count on that very day? None of it makes sense.” Mr. George was chewing his lower lip. “Ah, here we are.”
I looked up. Yes, we really were in front of our house, all its windows brightly lit. Somewhere inside, my mum was waiting for me. So was my bed.
“Thank you,” said Gideon.
I turned and looked at him. “What for?”
“Maybe … maybe I really wouldn’t have lasted much longer,” he said. Another crooked grin flitted across his face. “I think you actually did save my stupid life.”
Oh.
I didn’t know what to say. All I could do was look at him, noticing that my silly lower lip was beginning to quiver again.
Gideon quickly brought out his lace-edged handkerchief. This time I took it. “Better mop your face with this, or your mother might think you’ve been crying,” he said.
He meant to make me laugh, but at this moment, that was right out of the question. At least I didn’t burst into tears again.
The driver opened the car door, and Mr. George got out. “I’ll take her to the door, Gideon. I won’t be a minute.”
“Good night,” I managed to say.