Here we go again! Sorry that it's another one-shot chapter, but this one has been in the pipeline since the end of The Birth so isn't just a random deviation from the next part. RL has prevented me from writing as much as I'd like and inspiration has been thin on the ground but never fear, the story is still coming. I made an executive decision to split The Brides into two parts. The first part needs some heavy editing (I re-read The Birth and a lot of the continuity was lacking) but most of it is finished so fingers crossed, I'll be able to start posting that soon.
I know I've been slacking on my replies to reviewers but I do thoroughly appreciate you all. I'd have given up long before now without your support. A special thank you to Duvetsnuggler for her invaluable rambling and beta-ing!
This chapter is a brief peek into the lives of Mr and Mrs Wells and their journey across America to begin building Warehouse 13. As such, the main characters of the wider story are mostly absent. I'm hoping that you'll enjoy it anyway if you've enjoyed the story at large.
If your search filter has brought you here and you're wondering where Helena/Myka/Christina are, I encourage you to read the rest of the series first!
Behind Secrets and Sacrifice
During the months following Myka and Christina's departure, they had watched their Little One blossom into a wonderful mother, an accomplished inventor and an increasingly impressive agent. Evenings spent doting on their first great-grandchild; outings with the young mother and daughter; birthdays, Christmases, summers... All enjoyed and all over far too swiftly.
Making the decision to leave England for the New World had been difficult but necessary for Mr and Mrs Wells: Regents of Warehouse 12.
Eleanor savoured the feel of her granddaughter's solid presence in her arms, knowing that it would be a long time before she would have the privilege again. She sent a futile prayer to a deity she had never truly believed in, longing for a speedy end to the pain on Helena's horizon, as she pulled back and plastered on a fake smile.
"Well, my love... I am so very delighted that you were able to make the trip to wish us bon voyage," she held the inventor's hands and squeezed them, willing forth the sentiments she wished to impart on the young mother. "I feel quite overcome all of a sudden. I had not thought your grandfather and I would still be adventuring this late in life."
"I only hope I have the same constitution in forty years time," HG declared. She opened her mouth to add something when she staggered to one side and glanced down with exasperation upon a small figure. "Christina, darling; do be careful. One must at least attempt to control one's exuberance in public."
"Sorry, Mummy." A cherub-like face gazed up at the adults, her dark eyes and wavy hair adding to her angelic appearance. "Me want to see the boats," she told her mother with enthusiasm.
"I want to see the boats," Helena corrected her daughter automatically before reaching down to lift the girl into her arms.
"Me too!" the small girl beamed.
Chuckling, Eleanor exchanged a fond look with her granddaughter. "She will get there, Helena. Do not concern yourself about that."
Plymouth's docks were teeming with summer tourists, locals shopping, working or just out for a stroll, and other travellers and their families. The regents' passenger steamer bobbed proudly atop the gentle waves rushing towards the harbour wall and all around there was a sense of excitement and anticipation.
Rupert Wells returned from supervising the movement of their luggage and reached for the child in his granddaughter's arms. "Now then, Miss Christina, what have you discovered so far today?"
"Uncle Charlie gets lost very easy," the four year old declared seriously, having gleaned this vital piece of information while listening to her mother grumble about the writer's navigation skills. Her mother's mumbled 'very easily' settled amongst her subconscious thoughts as she tugged her Pappy's beard and giggled when he pretended to bite her.
The aspiring writer in question just happened to be walking up behind his sister as he heard his niece's comment. He whispered something derogatory into HG's ear and dodged a sharp elbow as he joined their small gathering. "I managed to find the ice-cream shop without much trouble, my dear. Perhaps you do not want your share of the sweets though," he teased the little girl and proceeded to lick the side of his confection.
"I hope you found those at a reputable retailer's, Charles," Helena lectured her brother as she watched her daughter's face cycle through several possible reactions before she settled on a pout. The girl's bottom lip distracted her for a moment as her brain tried to place sense of déjà vu, but when the thought eluded her, she shook it off. "Have you any idea of the lengths certain establishments take to cut costs with their produce?"
Charles paused half-lick and retreated to inspect the treat. "How do you know?"
"Besides the fact that we live in a capitalist society with very few regulations on the manufacturing of consumer products and, to a crook, it makes good business sense?" HG smirked at the dumbfounded look on her brother's face. "I had a tip-off from one of my informants and decided to set up a series of experiments to test the accusations. I have since rearranged some of our suppliers and informed the new ones that I will continue to monitor their quality control." As she talked and ignored the amused observations of her grandparents, the inventor searched through her bag and jacket pockets, mumbling to herself when she didn't immediately find what she was looking for.
"What do you need, Helena?" Eleanor asked through a smile.
"I know I have some litmus paper here somewhere..." On the verge of tipping out her bag on the pavement, her dark eyes lit up. "Ah, here we go!" After a quick swipe through the now melting ice-cream and a moment to study the results, the young mother relaxed and passed it to her daughter. "Enjoy, my love and try not to cover your great-grandfather in sticky residues."
With a hasty 'Thank you, Mummy', Christina eagerly wrapped her hands around the paper cup and tried her best to comply. Rupert would regret not putting the child down when he came to remove his coat later but the mild annoyance wouldn't last long when he remembered the abject enjoyment on her face.
Mr and Mrs Wells boarded their transport sooner than they liked and left their grandchildren and Christina on the docks to wave them off, the siblings still bickering in the playful manner that the always had.
Spectators and well-wishers became a sea of hands waving them off and the regents remained on deck as long as they imagined that they could still see the specks of family they were leaving behind.
Eleanor gripped her husband's hand with increasing ferocity until he moved behind her to wrap his arms around her figure. She shook with the effort to hold her tears in, not allowing herself to break decorum in public. There would be ample opportunity during their voyage to cry for the pain she was knowing leaving her granddaughter to endure. They had accepted their role in this fight. It was too late to go back. The only thing that could make her feel marginally better now was to pave the way for her Little One to meet her soul mate.
Myka Bering would be Helena's saviour and the least the regents could do was to ensure that the future agent was well protected.
As they entered their cabin and took a breath to calm their thoughts, Rupert and Eleanor's first task involved checking through their temperamental inventory.
"Ellie, would you find the neutralising cloth I packed amongst my shirts, please?" Mr Wells asked as he cautiously rolled a large mat out on the bed and inspected it for imperfections.
Mrs Wells nodded to herself as she opened one of her husband's suitcases and lifted a square of shimmering, purple material from the midst of his clothes. "Here you are, dear. I do hope the couriers heeded our warnings. I did wish one of our usual boys could have the task but I suppose that would hardly have aided our low profile. Is it all stable?"
Rupert nodded. Everything appeared to be intact and, despite the heavy flow of energy permeating the ship, barely a spark emitted from the items. Cautiously, the couple repacked all the artefacts, save one.
Eleanor pulled the chair out from under the vanity and placed small, wooden puzzle-box in view. She played with the rings on her left hand as she gazed at it. "I shall lament their loss when they are gone," she sighed softly. "They've been a part of me for so long now. I still remember the expression on your face when I proposed – as if it were both a shock and inevitable. You had accompanied me on an errand of some description: I forget what..."
"You required a chaperone to buy a book," Rupert helpfully supplied. "You knew I would not question whatever nefarious intent was at the forefront of your mind."
Eleanor simply smiled and nodded. "We were walking along the bank of the Thames, past Blackfriars Bridge I believe, and the moment the words fell from my lips, you reached into your pocket and produced these to solidify the occasion. If I had any doubt before then that you loved me, it dissipated in that moment and I knew we were meant to be."
Mr Wells approached his wife and ducked down to kiss her longingly. The last few years, since sending their future granddaughter-in-law and great granddaughter forward in time, they had both questioned the bigger purpose in their lives and agonised over their Little One's fate.
Christina's birth sent ripples through all of their lives but none more so than Helena's. The once tolerated eccentric had fallen out of favour with her parents and only interacted with them during expected appearances at church during the holidays and at any point that Genevieve tried to bully her daughter into marriage. Somehow, their daughter-in-law had managed to persuade her contemporaries that Helena was simply foolish in her choice of altruistic expression and would not be deterred from adopting the poor orphan. For the most part, the inventor and her babe in arms were ignored and treated as shadows, barely worthy of attention.
By comparison, Charles enjoyed a degree of elevation in his parents' estimation and his budding talent as a writer brought out the peacock in him. Where his sister slid slowly into obscurity: her friends and associates abandoning the new mother in favour of their parties and fashions, he preened under the fond gaze of women and drew 'friends' like flies. It didn't seem to matter to him that he was dependent on Helena for her vast imagination. Whether she liked it or not, she was dependent on him for room and board. Did that not make them equal?
Watching their granddaughter blossom into a confident mother while knowing that she continued to serve the warehouse with distinction, brought to the regents a feeling of bitter-sweet pride. They both looked forward to the day that they could stand before their Little One and her family and share the honesty they'd briefly enjoyed during Myka's stay. Every hardship endured between the past and future must somehow allow for victory and security for all. That was what they were fighting for in protecting the Warehouse, wasn't it?
Eleanor manipulated the wooden tool for several seconds, her movements practised. When it eventually popped open, it revealed a small capsule of space, just big enough to allow for her wedding and engagement rings.
"Love, you do not have to do this immediately. There will be time when the ship docks at Boston Harbour." Rupert tried not to show the trepidation he felt. After witnessing Myka's illness, he couldn't help but feel guilty for his part in creating the artefacts. Though his wife had not experienced the same side effects when removing the rings, he was understandably worried for her.
"Rupert, do not vex yourself, darling. Do not ask me why but I feel that the right time is now." She reached for a silk pouch around her neck and tugged the strings open as she took it off. "Once we arrive in America, we will have to continue our journey west and I will have no time to adjust. Knowing that they are close by will help the transition I think."
"Very well." He placed his hands on her shoulders and tried to offer as much comfort as he could. "You know best, dear," he teased her gently, to which she raised an eyebrow and patted his hand.
"And don't you forget it," she chuckled. She took a moment to gaze into her husband's twinkling eyes and fell in love with him all over again.
Reaching into the open pouch in her hands, Mrs Wells pulled out a small lock of wild, brunette hair wrapped with a ribbon. She removed the ribbon and placed the remaining strands in the space where her rings would lie. Before their eyes, the box glowed and absorbed the offering. Both felt a sense of relief in knowing that no one but Myka would be able to find the box.
"So simple," Mr Wells marvelled at the contraption. It didn't seem to matter how many times he witnessed the magical displays of artefacts, he still managed to find a childlike joy in them. "It is an ingenious way to carry messages across battle lines. I can only begin to imagine how much this little device helped us to infiltrate the enemy's ranks."
"Odds are, dear, that it was used at some point to allow invaders into Britannia too. We know that it predates the Roman Empire, even if we know not its creator."
Rupert grunted his agreement. "I imagine it has helped to shift the control of many civilisations. It should suffice for our purpose regardless. It will attract Myka when she is in range and repel all others."
"Yes, to most it may as well be invisible now," Eleanor answered absentmindedly. She took a long breath and gently tugged at her rings. Unlike the last time, they slipped easily from her finger. Perhaps the first removal had loosened them but as that incident had been a few years ago, it seemed unlikely. It is as if they wish to come off, the regent thought to herself. That strange sickening feeling squeezed her stomach again and she took deliberate breaths to stave off her sudden light-headedness.
"Eleanor?" Mr Wells questioned with forced calm.
"I am well," she answered after a beat, though her pallor had paled slightly.
She nestled the rings into the box and took a moment before pushing it closed. Unsure what she had expected to happen, the regent gasped when the completed puzzle glowed once more, twisted into a jumble of pieces and reset itself, the box falling still on the table. A shiver ran the length of her body and the mild aching in her limbs abruptly disappeared.
Eleanor smiled. "I am well," she repeated, the natural relief in her tone giving her words more validity this time.
"Would you like to try the replicas I requisitioned?" Rupert stepped back towards the bed and took a jewellery box from his bag. "Here, love. I hope they meet your exacting standards," he smiled knowingly.
"I am certain they will suffice," Eleanor replied in a mock-regal tone.
The new rings fitted as well as the old ones and to both of their eyes, there was barely any difference. Mrs Wells declared them acceptable substitutes and motioned for her husband to begin unpacking the remainder of their belongings while she secured the artefacts once more.
Their journey across the Atlantic was uneventful, for the most part. They spent much of their time on deck, enjoying the salt-sea air and chatting with their fellow passengers, while their nights brought fancy dinners and dancing. With very little left to plan or discuss about their mission, the two regents concentrated on keeping up appearances and acting every part the adventurous, vacationing couple.
The morning of their arrival in Boston, Massachusetts, Mrs Wells was once more sat at the vanity in her cabin, her fingers fussing with her jewellery, clothes and hair while her husband gave their luggage to the porter and passed along strict instructions for the cargoes' transport. When the door closed and they were once more alone, she felt Rupert's presence behind her and reached over her shoulder for his hand.
"Are you happy with the letter, my love?" Mr Wells asked of the missive his wife had agonised over for days.
"Happy is not an adjective that I feel an affinity with at present, dear," Eleanor replied tersely. "How can I, when every callous move we make must strike a blow for our loved ones? Is Helena not fated to suffer enough?"
Rupert squeezed his wife's hand and gazed at her reflection with a mixture of compassion and exasperation. "Would you turn back after we have come so far?"
"You know that is not an option." The feistier regent rose abruptly from her chair, unintentionally pushing her husband aside. She paced across the limited space of the room and turned on her companion with hands sat astride her hips. "I should sooner tackle the source myself than delegate the task to another!"
Mr Wells waited a beat but when his fiery spouse remained silent after her outburst, he sighed and quickly found her waist with what he hoped was a comforting embrace. "This 'hydra' will not be tackled head on. You know this, dear. You don't imagine that I could rest either if there were any other way, do you?"
Eleanor firmed her jaw stubbornly, reluctant as she was to admit that this path was beyond her power to control. Manipulate, perhaps. Though not to any degree that would satisfy her need to protect her family. "The Warehouse will choose its champion when the timing it optimal," she eventually allowed. Several pain-filled heartbeats passed before she could voice the thought that had been bothering her the entire trip. "What if they can never forgive us?"
Crow-footed eyes blinked away the sudden prickling behind dark eyes and Rupert coughed to cover any hint of distress. "We must believe that they will, love. Myka is the forgiving sort, and if I know our Helena, she will explode with an effusive diatribe before falling into your lap for a good hour."
"She has not done that since she was fourteen," Mrs Wells scolded her husband's teasing as she tried not to admit that she found his recollection amusing. "I suppose we shall simply have to wait and see. The future will not manifest to our benefit if we do not help it along though, so perhaps we should away."
Taking his wife by the arm, Mr Wells led them from the ship, pausing every now and then to allow them to bid farewell to new and old acquaintances alike. As they stepped onto the dock, the couple felt a settling sense of finality and both unconsciously straightened their backs. An hour of stretching their legs and taking in the scenery in near silence brought them along the path to the telegraph office.
Removing specially lined gloves from his coat pocket, Rupert slid them on and then reached into the breast of his waistcoat and produced a silver, embossed quill.
The teller was a portly man with red, blotchy cheeks and wire rimmed glasses that appeared dwarfed by his round features. He mumbled to himself as he processed the current customer's request and turned to Rupert with a grunt once he was done. "Next?"
"I have an urgent message to send to London," Mr Wells began as he explained his needs. The teller jotted down every detail and then handed the gentleman a note pad and pencil. "I would prefer to use my own pen, if you don't mind," Rupert insisted and began to compose his message.
Appearing put out, another grunt came from the portly gent. "Don't have many like you any more, bringing fancy stationary with them," he muttered as he watched his customer write. "Where do you go gettin' a thing like that, eh?"
"It was procured by a colleague and presented to me upon my departure from England," Rupert explained calmly. "The former property of a rather enigmatic lawyer or so I'm told. It was said that once he gave his opinion on a matter, all subsequent retellings were taken as gospel without question." As I hope all who are given this message will believe likewise, he thought to himself. Caturanga had assured him and Eleanor that it didn't matter if Helena didn't read the telegram first hand, she would be compelled to believe its contents in any case, but it wasn't without concern that Rupert began to scribe his pre-rehearsed words.
The teller grunted in response, his expression clearly projecting disbelief in the tall tale. "Don't have no time for lawyers," he grunted under his breath as he leant a particular way so that he might read his customer's missive with more ease.
To Mr and Mrs George Wells. It is with great sadness that I must inform you of the tragic loss of the SS Laurel and all who sailed within her. Mr and Mrs Wells were regrettably not among the bodies recovered. We are forced to assume that they were taken by the sea. May God have mercy on their souls and bring you comfort at this sad time. Yours in faith. Commodore Jackson of the US Navy.
"That's some sad business, that," the teller commented gruffly as he read the note upside-down.
Rupert smiled inwardly, knowing by this response that the artefact was doing its job. "It is indeed," he answered, not bothering to scold the man for his unprofessional snooping. "Do you see how it must be dealt with directly?" He noticed an added glassiness to the man's beady eyes and watched his lips move as if tasting the words again.
"Oh, yes," the teller replied with new-found enthusiasm. "I'll see to this one personally," and with that, he called his assistant to the desk and disappeared into the back of the building.
Confident that his message would get through and that the pen was secure once more inside its purpose made box, Rupert left the telegraph station and crossed the gritty street to where his wife had gone to see to her own task.
The pawnshop was just where Myka had described its location – a stone's throw from the docks and just off the beaten path. Even without the main foot-traffic though, the front windows held a thickening cover of dust and grime, obscuring all but a portion of the merchandise where someone on the inside had made a half-hearted attempt to clean.
Mr Wells found his wife in mid-flow, extolling their 'grandson's' merits and insisting that the simple puzzle box on the counter would be to the proprietor's benefit once HG Wells became a household name. He smiled to himself and shook his head at the obnoxiously proud grandmother act that she had adopted. He continued to stand unobtrusively in the background while he waited for the inevitable point when the man would crack and raise his offer simply to be rid of her that much sooner.
Rupert kept his countenance until they were walking back to the harbour, arm in arm. He glanced to his left and chuckled at the self-satisfied expression on his beloved's face. "Love, you are aware that we are not destitute and therefore do not need the extra five dollars you coerced out of that man, yes?"
Eleanor slapped her husband's arm lightly with her free hand. "My dear, he had three gold teeth and a silk shirt that might have cost more than Percy's annual salary. From the instant I stepped foot in that establishment, I envisioned the hundreds of desperate souls who had likely stepped straight from the boat into his shop, brandishing their last prized possessions. I knew immediately that he'd swindled them in some way."
"That is conjecture. You cannot possibly know that," Mr Wells countered, forever playing devil's advocate to his wife's outrage.
"True," she allowed without a breath and then, just as swiftly, added, "But I am right."
"Yes, love," Rupert responded with an adoring smile.
"You need not look at me with that knowing," she chastised. "It is the principal of the thing. Besides, you know I do not intend to keep our takings. I shall donate them to the first almshouse we pass."
And so their American adventure began. With as much of their affairs in order as they could manage at this point, they bid farewell to the bustling harbour and began the next leg of their land journey west.
Days grew warmer and longer, the last remnants of winter giving into spring and heralding an air of hope that sprouted with the green on the trees and the morning chorus of returning song-birds. Ohio became their first extended stay. After a week spent travelling, Eleanor was beset by a sudden lethargy and, though she fought him, eventually gave in to her husband's insistence that she rest.
Her thoughts burned with the knowledge that their family would have received news of their passing by now. The weakening of her limbs and lack of appetite could well be attributed to fever and cold but deep down, she knew better. This was less a malady of the body and more a wound on her heart and soul.
Sulkily following Rupert's instruction to remain in bed, Eleanor glared her husband into his small clothes and made room for him to slip under the sheets beside her. It was mid afternoon and the hotel's bus-boy had just removed the remnants of their lunch – they were not expected anywhere and she needed the comfort of her beloved's arms.
"It is queer," she began, once her head came to rest on her husband's shoulder. "I had anticipated the guilt to seep deeper into my bones but not this... aching grief, as if it were I in mourning. What right have I to weep when I am responsible for the turn of events? I, who knowingly, willingly inflicted this pain on our loved ones? Such callous undertakings as these surely cannot be forgiven."
Rupert squeezed his wife closer and laid kisses in her hair. Having anticipated this reaction, he waited until the barbed words disappeared beneath an onslaught of heaving sobs and then pulled Eleanor deeper into his embrace, soothing her with gentle hands and soft words. After many years beside this woman, he'd learned the rules of battling with these demons. The first step was always to let them waste their energy on insults and then let his wife drown them in tears. Attempting to challenge them with logic and kind words only fuelled their power if applied prematurely.
As her body calmed and finally slackened in his arms, Mr Wells reached for a clean handkerchief and dropped it into a grateful grasp. "We are certainly instrumental in facilitating a difficult period in their lives and I feel the remorse in that as much as you. Yet our prevailing thought must be for the future and the joys that will come from our actions today." He watched glassy eyes close around his words and knew that Eleanor was listening carefully, feeling his thoughts like a balm on her own. "We had no option of interfering with Christina's tragic fate. In doing so, we would have negated her creation and undone the joys Helena will experience in her lifetime. The trade off might not be pleasant but our Little One will appreciate the lengths we have taken to protect her children and future wife. I expect she will have many choice words to offer us when we finally meet again. However, I admit that I am rather looking forward to being the recipient of that irate glare of hers." He felt his wife's body shake and heard the muffled sound of laughter against his skin.
"Do you think they will forgive us?" Eleanor asked softly, after a long stretch of silence. Now that she'd exorcised most of the negative thoughts that had been plaguing her, she could once again see the objective behind their quest. Any lingering doubts were returned to the box she'd buried them in. Still, by having a significant hand in the shape of events to come, the idea that she could lose her granddaughter's love forever... This gave her cause for alarm.
Rupert placed a finger under her chin and tilted her mouth to meet a reassuring kiss. "Fierce as she is, I do not believe that our Helena will manage to remain at odds with us for long."
Once Eleanor made restitution with her guilt and regained her sense of purpose, the couple contacted an acquaintance in Michigan and arranged to meet with them the following week.
Caturanga briefed them on this allusive contact shortly before they left London. They were all aware that the Warehouse would not stay in England for many more years and the caretaker was very specific about the person who should replace him.
Mr Wilson had been the victim of a particularly vicious pair of leather gloves that had once belonged to a mass murderer. Imbued with an unquenchable desire to kill, the poor man had taken possession of a rifle and climbed onto a water tower to rain terror down on anyone who happened to walk by. He was lucky in the fact that the gloves did not provide him with any sort of skill and that the majority of the locals were attending the county fair. By the time Warehouse representatives were on the scene, he had wounded three people and narrowly managed to escape the ordeal with no fatalities.
Caturanga had felt compelled to join the agents in the debriefing of the man and his family and it was during that time that he met Mr Wilson's two daughters, Gloria and Irene.
The father had since passed on, struck down by consumption the previous year, but it was Gloria they were anxious to see and hopefully, convince to dedicate her life to their cause.
Detroit did not hold the same urgency of Boston but the flow of foot traffic through the market place still hindered the regents as they made their way through the city centre to their destination. Gentle tinkling of a bell, voices raised in distant conversation and the rhythmic clop of heels of tile, drifted in a muffle through the front door of a town house. Eleanor and Rupert waited patiently until the turning of tumblers drew their unwavering attention. A crack widened round the door and two big brown eyes peered out.
"Hello?" A voice crept around the opening, the tone curious but cautious. Tight curls and a strong face surrounded dark eyes that held a timeless sense of wisdom.
"Good afternoon," Rupert greeted the woman. From what little he could see of her, she looked to be in her mid forties and behind her eyes lay a hint of quiet shrewdness. "Mr and Mrs Wells to see Miss Gloria Wilson."
"Glory!" the girl yelled back into the house. "Visitors!"
Hurried feet on stairs announced the arrival of the young woman they were there to see and within seconds, the regents were being ushered into the living room and the wide-eyed woman was sent to make tea.
Gloria shook their hands and motioned them towards a low couch. "Please, have a seat." She waited a beat, shifting from one foot to another. "I was surprised to hear from your people. Is this about my father?"
Eleanor smiled warmly at the young woman and motioned for her to sit across from her and her husband. "Our reasons for being here are for you alone, Gloria, though we would like to offer our condolences for your loss. He was a brave man and made quite an impression on our agents following his trials."
"Is that why you need to talk to me?" Gloria wondered as she perched on the edge of her chair and clasped her hands against her knees.
Rupert opened his mouth to reply but paused as the door behind them opened and their original greeter entered with a tray of tea paraphernalia in her hands. He watched her shuffle over to the table, her gaze sharp and lingering.
"I don't know if my father mentioned my younger sister, Irene?" Gloria said by way of introduction. The regents nodded as Irene offered a smile and a polite hello but didn't move to the exit. "Reenie, don't you have to meet Walter somewhere?"
"Is this about Papa?" she asked, ignoring the none-too-subtle hint to leave.
"It is not," Eleanor assured Irene firmly but respectfully. "We knew your father but it is your sister we wish to speak with today. There is no need to concern yourself, Miss. Wilson."
A stern expression faded from Irene's face, quickly replaced by something akin to shame, though a touch of determination remained. She saw a familiar look of exasperation take over Gloria's face and knew that there would be another lecture later on the manner in which she spoke to people. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. Glory has been tight-lipped with the details and I wondered whether you were going to tell her that his death had something to do with his secret." She paused in her explanation before scanning the guests again. "And it's Fredrick. Mrs. Fredrick. Would you like anything to eat before I leave? We have some macaroons, freshly baked."
The regents declined and with new eyes, watched the woman leave. "You and your father did not discuss the particulars of his incident with your sister?"
"We gave our word," Gloria said simply. "Irene is headstrong and observant though. She knew that there was something not quite right about the stories in the newspaper after the shooting."
"We understand that it is not easy to keep the truth from a loved one," Rupert responded, his gaze offering a modicum of empathy. "It is to your credit that you were able to contain that information. However, what we have to discuss with you today may enable you to finally share your father's secret with your sister, if you choose her as your one."
Unaware that curious ears were listening intently to their conversation, the regents spent the remainder of the afternoon discussing their responsibilities with Gloria Wilson and explaining their hope that she would consent to join them in a world of endless wonder. Once they were sure that they had piqued the woman's interest, they went on to divulge their concerns for the future and their granddaughter's extended involvement in the Warehouse's fate.
Gloria offered to have them stay for supper but they declined and left the woman with a plea to think carefully about their proposal. They would contact her once they had found the new site for the Warehouse and seek her answer in time.
Over the best part of the following month, Eleanor and Rupert meandered their way across the northern states and finally arrived in Pierre, South Dakota. While renting an apartment that overlooked the Missouri river, the couple spent the next year meeting with some of the greatest minds of the day: Thomas Edison, Nikola Tesla, M. and an enthusiastic young man by the name of Albert Einstein, who had many fascinating ideas for how to increase their storage capacity exponentially. In particular, they enjoyed meeting with Mr Tesla, who had their proxy seal of approval from Helena, and who had many amusing tales to tell of their granddaughter's misadventures in Chicago.
Miss Wilson accepted their offer and joined them in the Coyote State a couple of months into their stay. They made arrangements for the younger woman to reside nearby until she was ready to travel to the Badlands to begin the bonding process with the mystical entity, and during that period, they became fast friends. Not long following her arrival, Mr Edison introduced them to a 'computer' called Henrietta Swan-Leavitt who came on loan from Harvard to assist with astral calculations.
No one quite knew what constituted the organic components of the Warehouse. The way in which it transported its consciousness across time and space, to inhabit a new structure, remained an enigma. When precisely would it abandon its previous home, if indeed it did at all? Perhaps it was not so much a question of moving location but more like a mitosis within its higher functioning. But even if the splitting of the Warehouse's 'soul' was the answer, there was no way to tell for sure and so the regents remained in the dark.
They were meeting to discuss Gloria's inauguration and impending journey, and had decided to combine business with pleasure over a light lunch and an exchange of news from their respective loved ones.
"I have seen artefacts firsthand and still I can't wrap my head around how they are created and how they work," Gloria puzzled as she sat opposite Mr and Mrs Wells, at the table in her small dining area. "What do you hope these will do again?"
Rupert had laid his purple cloth out on the table and placed there a roll of yellowed parchment, a chisel and a bone. "If used correctly, we should be able to create a ward to protect Miss Bering and her family."
"As to your confusion surrounding the birth and life of these items, the lore is mired by mystery, and thus cannot be completely understood." Eleanor watched the frown deepen on the younger woman's face and took a moment to consider the conundrum. "Take the artefacts you see before you," she began patiently. "Snorri Sturluson's parchment is imbued with the ability to carry the written word across the ages. He became a legend with his people and passed that energy on through the items he used most. The bone is of unknown origins but is believed to be from a similar region in Scandinavia. Bones were often used to carry runic spells: runes themselves carrying magic in words, and words shaping the world around us. The chisel reportedly belonged to a Viking hero named Sigurd. Since he was a fictional character, it is more than likely that it belonged to someone who revered the legend and used this chisel to carve his story into stone."
"Artefacts are as diverse as people. From the obscure and benign, to the infamous and terrifying," Rupert added to his wife's explanation.
Miss Wilson nodded slowly, her gaze running over the items on the neutralising cloth. "Is it usual to combine artefacts?"
"It is not encouraged," Eleanor admitted. "In fact, it can be quite hazardous."
Mr Wells watched as a cloud of fear darkened Gloria's features. "Controlled tests have been performed to ensure that we are not dabbling in perilous waters, but you are right to be concerned. To conjoin these three was not a decision we came to lightly."
"Desperate times..." Mrs Wells muttered uncharacteristically. "We will leave explicit instructions for the agents of Warehouse 13 to re-house them, once the new structure is up and running," she added, sounding a good deal more reassuring.
Miss Wilson continued to ask questions until her curiosity was sated for the time being. She watched closely, fascinated by the events, as the regents carved a series of symbols into the bone and transferred it to the parchment, at which point, it glowed on the page and then disappeared into the ether. Had it worked? She could only guess by the pleased expressions on the regents' faces that it had.
With the artefacts secured back in their case and the serious portion of their meeting out of the way, Rupert bid both women a fond farewell, declaring his intention to meet with Mr Escher before returning to the apartment he shared with his wife. Left behind with little left to do, Mrs Wells forced herself to relax.
"How fares your sister's family?" Eleanor asked her host as she helped herself to tea and spied a letter from Irene on the table.
"They're well," Gloria replied and picked up the letter. "Irene tells me that her eldest son is hoping to enter into an apprenticeship in a factory that manufactures automobile parts. It doesn't seem like a day ago that he was a babe in arms, now he's a young man with bright prospects." She sipped her own tea and observed the regent's pensive expression. "How is your granddaughter? Have you heard from Caturanga recently?"
As time persisted in its pendulant quest, Eleanor thought about Helena with increasing regularity. Her granddaughter was a sore subject with her these days and she had developed a habit of snapping at anyone who dared to tell her that everything would work out in the end. On the other hand, she wasn't one to miss an opportunity to reminisce. "She is a wonderful mother and an effective agent, as I knew she would always be," Mrs Wells responded with a subdued sigh, hedging around a direct answer. "From Caturanga's latest missive, I gather that she continues to butt heads with my daughter-in-law and to struggle with accepting her brother's new-found popularity at her expense. However, while she has Christina in her life, she will soldier on."
"I look forward to meeting her in the future," Gloria commented as she tried to find some words to console her mentor. In the short time she had known the woman, she had developed an impression of a strong-willed and highly intelligent individual, but one with a sensitive soul, who took personal failings deeply to heart.
Eleanor met kind eyes with a wan smile. "As do I," she added. "Assuming that she will deign to see me." She heard the pitiful self-loathing in her own voice and shook her head. Far too often of late, she had fallen into this rut of punishing herself for the choices she had made, and was still making. Had anyone but Helena been in the line of fire, she would not hesitate quite so much and she was beginning to find her own thoughts on the subject exasperating. "It signifies not. We do what we must, Miss Wilson. Time will tell on these matters and not a moment before."
Two weeks hence found both regents and the new caretaker in a carriage, travelling almost as the crow flies alongside the Bad River, heading southwest towards Kadoka and the Badlands. This was it: the final leg of their journey.
All of the regents' belongings were either packed for storage or had been donated to good-will. What remained in their 'carry-on' luggage consisted of whatever they could not do without and the artefact required to enable their temporal transition to the future.
A palm-sized piece of rose quartz, grown at the foot of Mt Parnassus, had survived countless generations of use before regents of Warehouse 8 had tangled with it in Switzerland and deemed it too dangerous for public exposure. They designated it, the Cronus Stone.
The legend that followed the stone originated with the tale of the titan god Cronus, who devoured the stone in place of his son, Zeus. As an item of some religious import, many hands had sought to possess it. The rock's intrinsic time properties likely supported the evolution of the Greek myth, to include the ambiguous association with Chronos as the manipulator of time. After some in depth study, scholars with the Warehouse theorised that, the believed healing properties and the natural rhythm of quartz, coupled with the absolute faith of its handlers, had given birth to an artefact that defied the laws of time and could harness matter in the form of energy.
After that discovery, details and information of the stone's whereabouts were deliberately classified to all but the caretaker... Until now.
The town of Univille left much to be desired in the way of amenities, but what it lacked in entrepreneurial spirit, it made up for in peace and isolation. The cabin on the outer limits was a perfect location for future agents to take residence and the trio entered after their long ride feeling hopeful.
"Once Warehouse 13 is functional and Warehouse 12 is no longer in use, we will require more substantial lodgings for our agents," Rupert observed as he noted the small kitchen and living room. "Two stories at the very least and, I should say, half a dozen self-contained bedrooms."
"All in good time, dear," Eleanor smiled at her husband, thinking back to Agent Bering's description of the eventual bed and breakfast. "Sparse as it may be compared to the home we left behind, it will suffice for the short time we are to remain here."
"Well," Mr Wells continued, the building plans now firm in his mind. "I shall discuss the need with our contractors this afternoon. There's no time like the present after all," he winked at Mrs Wells, his moustache twitching with amusement.
Dark eyes rolled in their sockets but Eleanor couldn't entirely suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. "Très amusant, mon cher. Now, if you are quite finished, perhaps you might consider lighting a fire? One does not wish to enter into oblivion with a chill."
"Of course, darling." Rupert approached his wife and embraced her, his whiskers tickling her cheek. "I live for your whim. If you should find the temperature still on the cool side, do remember that I am well versed in a myriad of ways in which to keep you warm." He chuckled as she searched for their companion and then hit him when she realised that they were alone.
Afternoon passed swiftly into evening, leaving but one task to complete.
"You are positive that this will work?" Gloria pleaded once more as she stood before her friends and prepared to bid them goodbye.
"Provided you follow our instructions, it will work," Eleanor assured the younger woman with patient understanding. "Do not fret, Miss Wilson, we are in good hands and shall awake on the other side amongst friends," she added, secretly hoping that she was right.
"There is nothing else for it," Rupert chimed in, sounding jovial as he often did. "After all, we have made it this far. It would be a shame to turn back now."
The caretaker-to-be nodded and smiled sadly. "Then I will do as you ask. No matter what happens, I want you to know that I've enjoyed your company and I will miss you. You have given me such a lot."
Mrs Wells cleared the space between them in three quick strides and threw her arms around the uncertain woman. "We have bestowed upon you a great burden but I am pleased that you are looking forward to the challenge. If all goes well with your merger, we will likely see one another in the future, however briefly."
"I will look forward to it," Gloria choked as she held back her tears. "I wish you all the best."
Rupert held out a hand for a firm shake and leaned in to kiss her cheek. "And you as well, Miss Wilson. I am certain that we shall hear great things about you."
Gloria flushed a little and retreated to where she had been instructed to wait. The Cronus stone stood on an end-table, which the regents had placed in the middle of the room, giving them plenty of space in case the artefact should decide to transport something other than the two of them.
Rupert reached for Eleanor's hand and entwined their fingers tightly. "Ready, my love?"
"To put my life in your hands? Always," she replied before brushing a last, loving kiss on his lips. "Let's go and help our family."
It took little more than a touch from their joined, glove-less hands for the stone to hum against their skin, sending tendrils of energy flowing through their veins. Through their combined concentration, molecule by molecule, their earthly bodies disintegrated and became as one, their life-force swirling through the air and being absorbed into the crystal.
As if time and space were no longer a consideration, thought and emotion suspended as the artefact transported them to where they longed to be, so when mind and feeling returned, and their bodies reintegrated and emerged in a strange location, both regents experienced a long moment of disorientation.
A high-pitched squeak drew their attention and they turned in unison. Not five feet away, a young redhead stood; her expression frozen as she stared at them in wonder. "It worked," the girl gasped.
"So it would seem," the Eleanor spoke after nodding to her husband, assuring him without words that she was ok. "Are we to take it that you are Claudia Donovan?" she asked, recalling Myka's narrow debriefing.
The young redhead gave a timid little wave, appearing pressured under the regents' gaze. "That's me." There was a lengthy pause where no one ventured another thought and the redhead began to twitch slightly; her curious behaviour painting puzzled frowns on the time travellers' features. Eventually though, a giggle rose from the young woman and she skipped a little on the spot. "I'm so hyped: HG is going to shit a brick."
A/N: I came across Henrietta Swan-Leavitt's story while researching for The Brides and thought it was amazing. It occurred to me that, in the world of The Warehouse, she could easily have been an agent. I wanted to honour her in some small way by giving her a mention but she won't be part of the wider story. If you have a moment, look her up.