O wonder!

How many godly creatures are there here!

How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,

That has such people in't.

—William Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act V, Scene I, ll.

XX

"You work in this shop?" Mary asked mystified. Shirley Simpkins, the owner of the clothing store Mary had stumbled onto her first day in this other time, gave her a probing look. This young woman fascinated her. She appeared in the street just outside her store, dressed in a classic Worth gown complete with reticule and elbow length gloves. She gave her name, in the haughtiest of tones, as Lady Mary Crawley. She had given her a singularly disdainful glance up and down as she spoke the title. As if she was not used to introducing herself directly to shop merchants.

It was all Shirley could do not to laugh. But something stopped her. This woman was quite serious. She was not an actress. Not a cosplayer of some sort. She seemed out of place. Genuinely a being from an earlier time. The stately movement of her body. Her regal bearing. Her obvious confusion with regards to how to cross the street. She had almost gotten killed right in front of her shop.

Shirley had called a "look out child" just in time for Mary to trot as best she could in those remarkably period accurate shoes without tripping or ripping the gown. She nearly fell right into Shirley's arms.

"My goodness." Was all the girl had said. And flicked a couple of loose strands of hair back across her coifed head. Coolly spoken, even as Shirley knew she was flustered as anyone she had ever met. But unwilling to let on. That's when she spoke her name. And Shirley brought her inside.

"Let me get the kettle on. We'll have a good chat." And she patted Mary's shoulder and led her inside. "Do you need to use the loo?"

Mary looked on blankly. "Loo?"

Shirley looked over the tip of her spectacles. "The toilet, love."

"Oh." Mary blanched. She actually did need to relieve herself. But here? Wherever here was? "Um… thank you."

"It's just the top of the stairs. Mind your head going up." And she pointed to a narrow ledge where one would have to duck around to get to the second landing.

Mary knew of course about modern plumbing. It had just been installed at Downton. She navigated the stairs and into cramped lavatory with barely room enough for her maneuver the train of the gown. After locating the toilet itself, a bit of grunting and struggling with the layers of material and the under drawers, she managed the task. Even in her time this chore was never an easy one.

She stood up, cleaned off, and reaffixed and smoothed her dress.

Then tentatively she took two fingers and pushed down gently on the single handle. There was no chain pull as she was used to. Nothing happened.

She could not just leave it as such. So she tried again. This time pushing down all the way and was reassured to hear the familiar flushing sound.

She finished her toilet and returned downstairs. This was all giving her a headache. The heat was unbearable. She felt sticky and in need of a long bath. But that room had only what looked like a glass box with some hoses and handles. No tub at all. And she certainly was not going to impose on this stranger's hospitality more than absolutely necessary.

But where else was she to go?

Why was she here? What was going on?

Shirley had put out a pot of tea and some fresh baked scones. She explained she owned the shop and lived on the top two floors along with two of her employees. "My waifs and stray" she called them. "Oh speak of the devils…." She said as Mary's eyes rounded and opened wide as two younger women staggered in and out joking around that they had gotten snookered the previous night and had just woken up. "Well at least you didn't bring that punter back here" one said. The other giggled "Oh but I might tonight." They then air kissed towards Shirley and left. "We'll be ready for the afternoon shift, Shirl, I promise."

Mary's head pounded. She had no idea what had happened to her. One minute walking the Mall trying to convince herself that Matthew would be better off without her. Then berating herself for being a coward and deciding that maybe she would tell him about Pamuk. About her disgrace.

And then she was here. London. Still the same, but absolutely different. The skyline alien. The streets more full of people than she had ever seen. Dressed so perversely, speaking so many different languages. She had wandered around several corners before attempting to cross the street to the one shop that seemed to cater to the clothing she had on.

And now found herself in this inadequate kitchen, drinking tepid tea. And feeling more out of her wits than at any time in her life. Including that night with Kemal Pamuk.

But Shirley was so friendly. And she needed a friend. Mary closed her eyes and tried to calm her nerves. She let the older woman chatter on about the shop, irritating customers, and pricing of vintage gowns.

Mary's eyes shot open at that. Money. She had no money. How was she live? Such a thought had never entered her head before. She never carried money. Completely distracted by this thought she was no longer listening to Shirley who was saying, "This dress? Is it for some kind of costume party?"

Mary looked down at her clothing. Yes, that was another thing. She was decidedly out of fashion. Her eyes narrowed. Something else that had never happened to her.

She must have walked through the looking glass. Or into a Wilkie Collins novel, the Woman in White or something. She had no idea what was happening. Or why. But she had to get on with things. Learn to adapt. At least until she figured out how to get back home.

She took a cue from the younger women in the flat. "I must have gotten in rather late." She fibbed. "And didn't have time to change…" Mary tried to appear as if she knew what she was talking about. She shrugged and her mouth gave a little moue of disgust.

Shirley accepted the story. Though she wasn't sure she believed it. This refined young lady did not look the type to sleep off a piss at a stranger's house.

"And… and" Mary decided to continue the lie "I believe I've been robbed." Her brow furrowed as she rummaged through the reticule, pretending to find something that was never there in the first place. "I've no place to go." She concluded the story. "I've … I've been removed from my house." Remembering how Sybil had threatened to run away with Branson and the idle threats of Robert to have Tom throttled. "My father…"

But she didn't even need to finish. "Oh dear…" Shirley's mothering instincts gave way to this young woman. She may be lying but she was obviously in some kind of trouble. "Well…. Let's see how I can help."

Mary gave her the most grateful of looks. And mentally apologized to her dear papa for perpetrating such a lie about him.

So Shirley had taken Mary under her wing. Along with the other girls who rented rooms in the floors above the shop. Had given her some clothes to wear. And tried to purchase the Worth gown and accoutrements. But acknowledging they were worth far more than she could pay, although the price Shirley quoted to Mary seemed more than adequate. Until she realized over the course of the next several weeks that the cost of everything was more than she could have imagined. They had ultimately arranged that in lieu of money, Shirley would pay for the gown in free room and board for Mary.

The gown took center stage in a display to draw in customers.

Mary had never thought she'd have to worry about a roof over her head. She'd either marry Matthew and become the Countess of Grantham of Downton Abbey one day. Or, if Matthew rejected her after the confession of taking a lover, marrying another. Someone second best. Cora would see that Mary settled well. Maybe not happily, but with a home and status in society.

But now, in this strange time, she was happy to accept Shirley's arrangement. For she could now finally breathe. She had gone to work for Shirley. And found it thrilling. The shop, a high end vintage establishment as she later learned, catered to a clientele Mary recognized. An aristocratic set who could afford the best.

It had a steep learning curve. One customer made so many demands on Mary and insinuating the girl was dawdling in retrieving a broach she wished to view, Mary retorted viciously "You can make all the scene you want, but it will still not improve your appearance. I can only work so many wonders."

The woman left in a huff. Shirley, none to pleased to lose a customer but still admiring Mary's acerbity, realized then she had found a kindred spirit. This girl would not suffer fools or take prisoners. It had reminded her of her own younger self.

And Mary's knowledge of early 20th century fashion Shirley found quite encompassing. Mary tried to study up on other periods of fashion as well as listening intently to her new flat mates to try to fit in. Antoinette and Kassidy took her to get her hair cut. She had chosen the blue highlights after one night at the local pub where she had seen another woman with the streaks in her hair. The tattoo came swiftly next. Along with the new wardrobe of '60s mod.

Antoinette had recommended the ankle length red boots to go along with the mini skirt and the tight jumper.

"I wouldn't dare." Mary had said. The skirt was so short. The jumper so revealing. And the boots, although she adored the ticking sound they made on the hardwood floors, so red she thought she was in a tart's boudoir. Her cheeks flamed as she tried all of it on at the back of the shop. Another thing to adjust to. No Anna. No servants at all. And dressing in front of strangers. She had never given thought to being undressed around the servants. That was just how it always was.

Her flat mates though, they giggled as she struggled with the hooks of the brassiere. "Do you not ever wear one before?" Kassidy had joked. "That's rather daring." But of course in Mary's life she had not…

It was positively and literally out of her known world.

"I'd definitely wear the boots and tights. Show off those legs. If I had those…." Kassidy added "I'd have half the men in London laying at my feet." Her own 5' always making her jealous of her long limbed friends.

Mary grinned wickedly. "Maybe I will…." And she did. She was fitting in and loving it. Disoriented and thrilled at the same instant seemed to suit her.

And then Matthew walked into the shop.

She had first thought it was his doppelganger. She had read of the term in mythology and poetry. For surely the real Matthew could not have crossed into this time to find her. So it must have been his double. Someone who merely looked like him. She had been helping a client with locating some jewelry. And in so doing walked past another couple perusing some brooches and earrings. The man had turned on a dime and spoken her name. She had noticed the passing resemblance to Matthew. But he was subtlety different. Hair a bit longer. But when he twisted around, it was the suit that made her do a double take. He was in a tuxedo. Looking similar enough to the man she had left at Sybil's ball to give her pause. Of course he was wearing white tie that night. But the jacket and collar, the blonde hair, were all so familiar.

He was so very handsome.

Then the voice. So rich. So lost. So very much Matthew. A guarded, hush whisper of her name "Mary?" Then as she tried to complete the transaction with the other client, a more confident, slightly desperate "Mary."

She was about to answer when she noticed the woman hanging about his shoulders. The woman had made sure Mary noticed. Especially with the kiss and the lipstick smudge. That had flummoxed Mary. Maybe she was wrong and it wasn't Matthew. But he knew her name.

And she knew it was Matthew. It had been about six months since they had seen each other. Since she had crossed into this time. It had never occurred to her that anyone else would follow. How could they? How did she? Yet here he was. And had wasted no time adjusting himself so she saw. The tux was new. Not vintage. Armani? Tom Ford? She would need a closer look. But it was expensive. As was the girl on his arm and the cash he paid for her gift.

He wanted to explain he said, at the door. When she had dismissed him with a wave of her hand, he left despondent.

What was there to explain? She had moved on. Adjusted. As had he. Could they really find each other again? Would it ever be the same? And she was still with her scandal in the past. At least in this 21st century life she had no worries there. At best the fact that a man was found dead in her bed may have trended on Twitter for a day or two…but would not ruin her life.

Maybe she didn't want to go back. Maybe she didn't want to see Matthew ever again. He represented her past. Explaining to him would still be explaining to a man of a previous century. With those attitudes and standards. With a judgmental stare. And a belief she was a fallen woman. A woman he could not love. A woman he could not marry.

No. She would not seek him out. And would ignore him should he come back. Deny she was the person he remembered. Maybe even threaten to call the coppers on him.

She laughed at that. A rather embittered laugh. She must move on and put Matthew behind her.

Into this brave new world.

Could she really do that?

XX

Matthew sat at the pub counter eating a sandwich. Slowly. For he had nothing else to do. It was over six weeks and he was down his last fiver. Luckily he had some cash in his billfold when he traveled to this other time. Because in the time before, he had been searching for Mary. In London. In Southampton. He had needed some ready funds and had withdrawn a sum of cash from his bank.

Initially he feared no one would even take his money. Because of the dates. And it was the wrong monarch as well. But most didn't give a second glance. But when some did, and refused to take his twenty, he had to assess the situation.

So instead he had gone to a coin dealer. Had idly asked how much could he get for the various pound notes and three gold sovereigns he showed the man behind the counter. When the man had responded with what Matthew thought was an astronomical sum, he gulped and accepted with as much disinterest as he could muster.

But it had all gone towards finding a place to live. And to eat. At first he stayed at a hotel. But that became too expensive and so had eventually settled in a youth hostel. Clothing was not as big a problem. He had gotten several odd looks from passersby within minutes of the time shift so had pulled off his stiff collar, opened up his jacket, and taken off the bowler hat. He had used some of his money to buy secondhand clothes at an Oxfam he had found by wandering the streets of London and examining what others were wearing. He chose trousers and an open collar shirt. Kept his shoes. And bought a bag to put the rest of his clothes in.

Once the immediate needs were met, Matthew had spent the next few days reading everything he could get his hands on. He observed people carrying rectangular objects in their hand that they seem to use to type words on and hold up to their ear. He was constantly trying to doff a non-existent hat and say "Oh I say, Excuse me" to people who bumped into him oblivious to their surroundings.

He scratched his head in confused bemusement over it. He finally figured out it was a kind of modern mechanical telephone when he sat down for a meal and could hear conversations on the devices. And eavesdrop at the table next when they typed on the mirrored screen.

Such modern conveniences he would have to master had he hoped to secure a job.

So a great deal of time was spent observing the people around him. Taking up conversations with people at restaurants and pubs to learn modern vernacular. Hours spent at various London libraries boning up on the multitude of changes to the law. So many changes. Flabbergasted by all the intricacies of computers and the internet at first. Although observing others using portable devices that had a typewriter and some kind of mirrored glass rather than paper to view what they had written, he had not clue one as to how use such a mechanical wonder to find what he needed.

And he was stymied by the lack of permits. Many of the law libraries he found required he present his solicitor's license or complete a form inviting him to present his academic credentials. Since he had neither, he had to reassess how to access the information he needed. He ended up at the large central London Public Library trying simply to read relevant updates on property and industrial law in Blackstone's Statutes. Also trying not to appear completely a fish out of water, he used his university German to pretend (which was not hard…) that he did not know how to use the UK system of accessing information on the computers. A word he now knew to use from eavesdropping on conversations and reading magazines.

He quietly approached the two young women at the circulation desk. "guten Morgen." He smiled. "Erm…Ich brauche Hilfe. Uh." Switching to heavily accented English, "I need some help." And the combination of the accent and a pair of warm, pleading eyes it had worked. And had almost gotten several dates with the librarians who took pity on the handsome foreigner.

Over the course of the next several weeks he read and absorbed as much as he could.

Now the goal was twofold. Find Mary for he was now convinced that his trip to this Neverland was inextricably linked to her disappearance. Find Mary, find a way for them both to return home. In the meantime, as his scouring of London had not resulted in one single encounter with her, he had to find a job.

He had obviously somehow moved exactly 100 years into the future. He knew that because of all the centenary commemorations he read in the papers. As soon as this time shift had occurred, he had stopped at a news agent and spent some coins on various newspapers. What he found however, in the pages of the news chilled him. One hundred years ago almost to the month he had left, a war will start. A war that would see the deaths of almost one million British soldiers. Matthew read all this, a growing horror in his bones. He had known that war was imminent. The talk all over London that July 1914 had turned from Ireland to Germany. To the Balkans. But he had no idea of the scale it would take.

And the deaths. He had taken a somber visit to the Tower of London that day. Saw for himself the installation of upwards of a million symbolic poppies, spilling down from the walls of the ancient fortress and onto the lawn, mixing the green with the red. The red of the poppies. Of blood. Of the symbol of the sacrifice of millions. The flower of manhood, the tourist brochure had said. A lost generation.

Including his own when he went back? If he went back? Walking that day around the tower, he knew he had to go. His duty, whatever that perplexing word meant, required it.

But first things first. He still needed to eat and sleep and the money he currently had in his pockets would not last but a few more weeks. He knew if he was to ever find a job it would have to be in the law.

So here he sat. In the pub around the corner from the library. He had taken some time away to grab a sandwich and water. And listen to the flow of conversation around him. Picking up the threat of talk of the two well-groomed men sitting next to him at the pub counter.

They were talking about overseeing the transformation of a piece of property from ordinary flats to high-security condominiums at a cost of about £8bn.

The older man was clearly unhappy with the progress of the property development. The younger man, sweating and eager to please, threw all the blame on the local authorities "fucking delays" and the bank's bureaucratic auditing practices.

The man in charge waved a dismissive hand. "Then get on them and lean harder. This needs to be in my hands within the next month or else we'll lose the property." He motioned for another drink. And in so doing turned in Matthew's direction.

The moment arrived. Matthew leaped in and said in a cool, detached manner, "You should never trust a bank with property, or a local property developer with your money." He then arched an eyebrow and took a sip of his drink. He noticed his hand was shaking with anticipation and nerves. He needed to impress this guy and fast.

It had turned out that Matthew had read an article just that morning on how these new corporate entities were ripping up old neighborhoods, framed in terminology of "long-term stewardship" and "adding value," they were essentially mimicking the aristocratic domains of Matthew's time. Matthew had long suspected that such estates as Downton were untenable in the 20th century. But given his position as only heir apparent, he never quite knew how to bring the subject up with Robert. And he had learned so much from the older man about the interconnectedness between the estate and the people who lived and had their livelihood sustained by Robert's governance. A paternalistic control, though Matthew long suspected, that was based too much in the old and not enough in the modern.

And now he saw the results of such noblesse oblige. Most of the estates of Robert's vintage had long been sold off or razed to the ground. The captains of industry had won. And were now tearing up all sorts of old neighborhoods for their own private gain. Whether he agreed with the practice or not, he had to cast his future with the winners. Replacing entitled aristocrats with corporate executives was simple enough. They were both insufferable in their arrogance and assured status as virtual gods of their domains. He knew how to stroke such fragile egos. And it would be satisfying for once to use at least some of his past familiarity and diplomatic skills and use it to get a job.

The man spat an excited approval. "Exactly. Put the thumbscrews to 'em and keep them where we want them." Pointing an accusatory finger to his chagrined employee, he growled, "And I don't want the Qataris or other foreigners to get to this property first."

Matthew stroked his neck slowy with his fingers and grunted what he hoped was the appropriate sound of approval. "You want to use Section 106 of the Town and Country Planning Act to make it in the local authorities' best interest to allow your scheme to continue. Give them something small but meaningful so that they can go back to their councils and get their approval. You could offer up some kind of public park or health centre." He was completely talking out his arsehole he told himself, but part of the trick was to make it just sound like he knew what he was saying.

And it worked. "Roger Fedden." The man held out his hand to Matthew. "Do you have time to talk?"

Matthew accepted Fedden's business card. He clasped the card in his shaking hand and internally breathed a heavy sigh. Against the glower of the sacked employee who stared daggers in Matthew's direction, Fedden arranged for Matthew to meet up with him later at a club he owned around the corner. "We can get a private table and talk over some things."

And that was how Matthew got his job. He smiled slowly and agreed to the meeting. Never let them see you sweat worked in any time.

When he arrived at the club, he had showered and changed. Put on the one suit he owned, a combination of old waistcoat and tie and new trousers and shirt. Matthew's later assertion that he had entered "Dante's ninth circle of hell" was to his mind no exaggeration. The 'private club' catered to a business clientele. But one who indulged in the delights of the flesh as well. Half clad, barely clad or not all clad in much of anything women strutted around from table to table, taking orders and whispering in ears, and sitting on the gentleman's lap (or otherwise engaged…) when asked.

Matthew desperately tried not to stare. Not to look like the country bumpkin in the big city. But he had never seen such overt sexual practices on display. It both aroused and repelled him.

Fedden looked on indulgently as Matthew apprehensively fingered the collar of his shirt. "Have one of these." And he handed Matthew what looked on his initial glance as a combination of a fountain pen and a metal tube. He blinked rapidly. What the hell is that?

The older man said with a gruff, "The wife wanted me to give up the smokes, so I've switched to these." And he inhaled slowly and in a controlled manner puffed for three or four seconds before putting it down. "Not as enjoyable as a good fag, but it's not bad." The smoke, or vapor as Matthew realized came out his mouth, but without the smell or acrid aroma of nicotine.

Matthew tentatively put his own to his mouth and tried to imitate Fedden. He almost choked as a liquid filled his mouth. "Drag it out longer." Fedden joked. "Short puffs will pull the e-liquid into your mouth." And he demonstrated the long drag technique.

Matthew saw back with a growing headache. And apprehension that he'd ever master living in the 21st century.

But he got the job. On a cash retainer after recovering from the vaping incident and concocting a story of just arriving from New Zealand (that was far enough away right?) and not having his accounts up to date… etc etc… He ended on his education. At least that was something that was not an outright lie. He had studied law at Oxford. He was a practicing solicitor. But one currently at loose ends.

That was for sure.

"Where are you living then?" Fedden leaned in closer. "We've got room at the house. And my son could use some help at school." Fedden had been more than impressed at Matthew's skill and knowledge. He didn't want this fish to get away. His team of lawyers came and went on how well they worked under his close scrutiny. And this one, although he could tell was keeping something back, was cool under fire.

"Help?" Matthew's voice only slightly unsteady. He did want another place to live. The cramped hostel was barely a bed and a bath.

"Latin is giving him shits." Fedden sounded disgusted. "But he needs it to get into Oxford."

Matthew knew that well enough. "I could help out a bit." His Latin was as rusty as his German but passable. He breathed a sigh of relief. He was in.

And so it was agreed to. Matthew moved to the Kensington garden detached house that afternoon. His room was a bit small and at the top of the third stairs, but quiet.

He laid down on the bed and for the first time since his arrival in this time felt at peace.

Now to find Mary. And complete whatever journey God or fate had bestowed on them. She had to be here too. Why else was he thrown here? If not to find her. To help her in some way.

She just had to be here. In London. He just had no idea where.

"Mary." He pleaded out into the night air. An invocation. A wish. "I need to kiss you."

XX

"Marriage can be fun." Kassidy said, opening the door to the Red Lion. Antoinette and Mary followed. Antoinette guffawed "Yeah for the man. He gets it all from you and you're stuck with the babies and the chores. And he's out again with his mates, leaving you at home."

Mary stayed out of their discussion for it seemed to her that women had so many more rights and freedoms in this time than she could ever have hoped for. Yet here her flat mates were, still saying that the men held women in rules of their own making, for their own benefit. Maybe some things had not changed. Mary excused herself and went to the lavatory.

The others moved towards the bar.

Kassidy rolled her eyes. "You're just jealous." And then retorted. "I need a stiff one…." Double entrendre or not, she wanted a vodka tonic. Moving towards the bar she glanced around, hearing some raucous laughter come from one of the benches in the corner.

"Oi Chris!" She cried out in surprise. "You better not be tying one on tonight as well. You'll be in no shape for the booze up on Saturday." This was Thursday and she and her intended's stag and hen parties were to be over the week end. The wedding being the following Friday at the register's office.

"I got it well in hand girl, don't you worry." Chris Hardwick was one of Todd's best men. He had no intention of missing out on the pub crawl over the week end. "We're just celebrating our new boy's here victory." And he pointed down the booth to the attractive blonde man putting a pint to his mouth.

Antoinette certainly took notice. "Oooh." And she sidled down next to Matthew, who gulped noisily as her hand slipped down next to his thigh and started a quick squeeze. "What did you do love?"

Just then Mary appeared next to Antoinette. Her eyes bugging out at her friend's cheekiness. And the man receiving the ministrations.

Matthew's face flushed to a bright pink upon seeing Mary. Under these circs of all things.

He was a bit worse for wear. Having not seen her since that afternoon in the vintage shop. Where she had given him the cold shoulder. Mostly he was sure because of Susanna. His current burden, Susanna. She was Fedden's daughter. And he had been asked as another obligation to stay rent free at the residence, to ..uh take care of her. Which mostly meant he was to indulge her crush upon him. He found her to be a silly poor little rich girl. Used to getting her way. Pretty in her own way. Nice enough.

Didn't hold a candle to Mary though. Only made him lonely for her.

He would have raced back to see Mary had she not given him the brush off. And then Susanna wouldn't let him out of her sight the rest of the evening. She had seen his attentions towards "that shop girl" as she insisted upon calling her, and determined that Matthew would pay the price for his straying eye. And he didn't want her running back to Daddy, so he left it to the next day.

Where he was then thwarted by Fedden wanting to take him to the property site. The one by Nine Elms and the new US Embassy. Which took all day. But they had convinced the local councils to give them what they wanted, and as a reward Matthew received a bonus.

And now the rest of the crew took him out to celebrate.

Only he was not in the mood for a celebration. He still had not gone back to see Mary. Maybe she didn't want to see him. Maybe their past baggage, their troubles, were too much for her. She was free of him here. Maybe she didn't want him leading her down the same path again. He had not understood why she took so long to answer his proposal. He had hoped for a response at Sybil's ball when she had disappeared.

Only to appear here. God she was beautiful. Mary had always been lovely. A goddess, with alabaster skin, a high forehead, and wide set brown eyes. But the woman he saw in the shop, a kind of modern Mary, whose blue hair and tantalizing tattoo had invaded all his dreams of late, she drove him to a kind of madness of desire. Arousing, sweetly painful dreams.

And she was here. Mary. Here. Finally. Everything would be made clear this night.

He shook his head vigorously, trying to recover his senses. Mary still stood opposite him. Next to Kassidy. Antoinette remained seated next to Matthew, who moved away from Antoinette's grip upon his trouser leg.

Chris answered Kassidy's request for introductions. "These are my work mates. Claire, Melisa, and Matthew. Matthew got the old man what he wanted this afternoon and we're all 'ere celebrating on his tab."

Matthew flushed again. It had been Chris's idea to go to the pub. He didn't want to disappoint the others so he agreed. Spread the joy around, make some good will. They had been making a weekly thing of it, the trip to the Red Lion and it seemed to Matthew it was his time to pay the bills.

But now Mary was here. And he needed to sober up quickly. He had perhaps been indulging too much of late. But the encounter with Mary had been disconcerting. And had left him depressed.

Mary could see that immediately. Had she brought him to this sad state? But didn't he deserve it, she reminded herself as Kassidy repaid the request by introducing her friends. He had crossed time and space to find her, only to get discouraged and taken up with another woman within a few months of her presumed disappearance.

Mary noticed Matthew peering at her over the top of his pint glass. Contemplating her.

"Congratulations." She finally said. "I do hope we're not interrupting."

Matthew stared at her. That was the very first thing she had ever said to him. When he had been such a prig about having one of Cousin Robert's daughters pushed upon his bachelor status.

"You're not interrupting at all." He rejoined, his voice deep and soft. "Delighted to have some more company."

"Oooh listen to him will you, delighted I'm sure." Melisa joked, seated next to him on the right along the bench. "And me never getting a civil word out of him." And poked Matthew with her elbow.

"You don't deserve it." Matthew jested back and they both laughed. Melisa had been particularly kind to Matthew and they got on well.

"Thank you." Mary said, taking the seat opposite Matthew. "I wouldn't want to push in."

Matthew nearly choked. She was idly playing with her hair, looking straight into his eyes. Was she playing with him? Could he hope she was actually flirting? He took the last sip of his ale. And turned back to Mary. "Why don't I get you something? A glass of wine perhaps?"

Mary replied thinking of the drink Antoinette ordered when she wanted to take the piss out of a guy coming on to her, "Perhaps a tequila?" And she licked her tongue slowly, indulgently around her mouth. "Got any salt?"

Matthew's eyes grew large and he shifted uncomfortably in the seat. Damn she had taken to this time and all.

To whoops and slaps on the table all around they ordered a round of tequila, licked the salt off their hands and downed it in one drowning the taste by sinking their teeth into slices of lime citrus.

"That's such a girlie drink." Chris complained. "Gimme some lager." And he pushed his chair back to get some at the bar counter.

Matthew leaned over the table. "Maybe that's enough for right now." Her eyes had become unfocused after downing the drink. He had no idea she even knew about hard liquor. "I'm not sure you understand how that affects your faculties."

"I know exactly what it does." Mary said, "And I like it." She narrowed her eyes and looked over at him. "Perhaps I should teach you." And she held out the bottle. "I will hold it steady and you can help yourself. You'll soon get used to it."

Matthew's mouth fell open. She was intentionally replaying their initial combativeness upon first meeting each other. Her haughty words about him not being able to hold his fork properly. His anger at their condescension.

"Yes." He said, replaying the words of that long ago conversation in his mind. "I know. Thank you. And it's true, I am accustomed to a very different life than this."

"That's for sure." Mary replied, her voice a whispered hush only Matthew could hear.

The conversation swirled around them as they sat and drank in each other's presence. Then the reverie was broken by Claire's squeal. "King Cepheus!" She called out triumphantly, answering the repeated pub quiz question appearing on the screen above the bar. And she held out her sparkling water glass as a toast to Matthew. "Wouldn't have gotten that one in a million except for you."

"Glad to help." And he looked slyly over at Mary. She was smiling back at him.

"The sea monster didn't get her did he?" She said.

"No." Matthew replied. "She was rescued." He couldn't take his eyes off her now.

"By Perseus, son of a god." She took his outstretched hand. "Rather more fitting, wouldn't you say?" And a tear formed at the side of her eye. Oh she had missed him.

"That depends. I'd have to know more about the princess in question." He squeezed her fingers. "Who knows? Perhaps they were well suited."

They could keep apart no longer. Their heads came together across the expanse of the table. "I'm so very glad to see you." Matthew said quickly trying to take advantage of the thaw in her demeanor. "I have so much to tell you. To ask you. But you must know I was not with Susanna that day in the manner you thought. She's my employer's daughter. I was... I was merely indulging her. We were to meet her friends and go to a concert. It's sort of part of my duties." He brushed his finger against her cheek. "I could never do anything to hurt you."

Mary nodded. "I see. Part of your job?"

"More or less. I live with them. Ever since… well ever since I got here." The noise at the table rose in decibel. They had still so much to talk about.

"What about you?" He asked. So much to talk about, but he didn't want to do it now. Now he just wanted to live in this moment.

"I live with the owner of the shop you saw me in." She smirked playfully, knowing how alien such a sentence would have been to the Mary he had last known. "She took pity on me and I'm very grateful."

Matthew's face must have shown his astonishment. "Don't look at me like that." She said, "I have learned a thing or two."

"I can very well believe that." He eyed her tattoo, displayed on her bare shoulder. He longed to kiss it. But they needed some privacy. He got up and took her hand. They walked over to the dart board.

"Watch out Mary" Chris warned. "I almost got killed last time he threw darts."

"Then stay well out of it." Matthew rejoined and turned back to Mary. "Pay him no mind. I'm actually quite good."

"Better than the coconut saloon game?" She teased. Another memory. The local fair. Matthew digging in his pocket for change. Not hitting a single thing as he was distracted by Mary's presence and the subject of the "Great Matter." The thing that had kept them apart. The estate had been entailed to Matthew. Mary resented him. Or so he had thought. "My life makes me angry, not you." She had replied to his apology.

It had given him hope. Hope that a relationship might just blossom between them. And it had. They had learned to have good arguments and indulge in the wit and banter they both thrived upon. And he had proposed. And she had almost accepted. At that late night tete a tete in the dining room. The table with the sandwiches, and the wine, and the strawberries he remembered her putting slowly in her mouth and sinking her teeth into the sweet fruit. Squeezing her lips around it and driving him mad.

As she was again this night, in this new time.

"Don't play with me." He said picking up the darts from the dish under the board. "I don't deserve it."

"Oh I don't know." Mary said, moving closer to him. "You're quite the flirt. First Sybil. Now this Susanna. Careful who's heart you'll be breaking next."

"And can I count you among those conquests?" He said, into her ear. Brushing it with his lips.

"I don't know." She swept curled strands of her hair back against her head. So that they tickled his skin as he stood next to her. "Maybe you're just mocking me."

"You gave me quite the brush off the other day." Matthew's voice grew deeper. "It lives fresh in my memory."

Their eyes met. "Oh Matthew, what am I always telling you? You must pay no attention to the things I say."

The kiss, after that memorable exchange, was inevitable. As inevitable as it was bittersweet.

There was still so much to tell him. So much that could potentially hurt not now. Not in this moment. Now they were grateful to just know the other lived. The other still cared. The other still loved.

Lips met. His arms encompassed hers and made little circles with his fingers moving back to front and up and down her back, made her body shiver. Their bodies molded together. Flesh to flesh. A delightful frisson that both satiated them and left them wanting more. They exhaled, suddenly aware of their closeness.

"Let's get out of here." Matthew said. "I can get us a taxi."

Mary nodded. She too wanted to leave. To be with Matthew. But first she needed to explain why she had disappeared from the ball. Before they could move on with this life, or somehow return to the lives they knew best, an expiation was necessary.

And he would despise her after all.

XX
HAPPY AU DAY! Please review. I soooo appreciated all your kind words about the first chapter. It made my day, my week, my month! This story does require some handwaving on the time travel issue… but it's fun right? And it's purpose will be made clear in the next chapter!