Trip and T'Pol made their way through the numerous and confusing halls of Whitehall Palace. People of all ranks from servant to noble moved through the building, which was musty and damp and smelled terrible. T'Pol was grateful for her nasal numbing agent and her keen memory. Their scanners, which they had tucked away in their layered clothing, had told them where to look for the strange radiation readings, which had become muted since they first arrived.

However, it shocked none of them that the radiation that still showed up on the scans was emitting from Whitehall. It had become of the utmost importance to discover the source of the radiation because T'Pol believed it was interfering with their scanners' ability to find the captain. The whole of Whitehall was a kind of dead zone that their most sophisticated scanners couldn't reach.

"I'm still keeping an eye out for the captain," said Trip, "I know this place is huge, but we should still be looking for him."

"It's very possible that the radiation readings will lead us to him," replied T'Pol in a low voice as they reached a door. It appeared to lead toward a residential apartment, and not a very important one. They were in a section of the palace far from the queen's chambers.

Trip knocked on the door. There was no answer. T'Pol looked around and intended to use a hidden piece of equipment to open the lock, but she stopped short. A human man in black clothes and a white collar, very similar to the clothes Malcolm wore, appeared in the corridor. At least, he looked human, but she would recognize him anywhere.

He tortured her once. It was hardly something she could forget.

"Silik, you son-of-bitch, where's the captain?" spat Trip as he moved toward the Suliban, eyes and body language reflecting his anger.

"I've lost track of your captain, human," replied Silik in a low voice. "He has more important company than mine to amuse him these days." The Suliban produced a key and unlocked the door. To T'Pol's surprise, he beckoned them inside.

"We know he's gotten the attention of the queen," said Trip, "If we're going to restore the timeline, we have to get him out of here."

T'Pol pulled out a scanner. She found the source of the radiation was a trunk in the corner. Now that her scanner was in close proximity, it appeared to be the kind of radiation that would come from equipment such as Silik and Daniels used in their time traveling.

Silik frowned. "Your captain believes that he might restore the timeline if he can win the queen's favor. She might help us understand what has gone wrong. Since the timeline went awry, I have no information on which-"

Trip laughed, unpleasantly. "That plan backfires, according to our information."

Silik squinted. "What do you mean?"

Trip briefly explained what Malcolm had read in the history, and Silik kicked the side of a desk. "What is it with you humans? Is there no end to your ability to make bad situations worse?"

T'Pol glared at him. "We need to speak to him. Do you know where he is?"

Silik folded his arms. "He's gone to the country with her majesty. I don't know when he'll return."

Trip glanced at her. At least they knew where he was, and that he would return. That was at least progress.

It was late afternoon and Archer and Elizabeth were riding together. A dozen of her guards rode behind them, but they were back far enough to create the illusion that they were alone.

"You know, Sir Jonathan, you ride with the form one would expect of a sea captain," she said.

Jon glanced at her and she smiled. She liked to tease, but she meant no harm. She was right, too. He'd been on a horse four times in his life, so he knew his form must be atrocious.

"I could never hope to compete with you, your grace," he said, and he wasn't exaggerating. He didn't know much about horseback riding, but she rode with such elegance, it seemed like she and her white horse were telepathically connected. And she managed to do this in a bulbous velvet gown.

"It's a beautiful horse you are riding. The most beautiful I've ever seen," he said.

To his surprise, she looked appalled at the remark, and then angry. He, in turn, must have looked bewildered, and her face softened into sadness. Damn, this woman changes moods quickly, he thought.

"We miss our master of horse," she said, inhaling softly as she spoke.

Archer looked at her blankly. "Your grace, I'm just a humble sea captain. I am not current on court gossip. What happened to your master of horse?" he asked carefully, assuming the man must be dead.

She met his eyes. "He's under investigation for murder. He's innocent, but I had to send him from court for appearance sake."

Archer absorbed this bit of information. She seemed awfully upset that her horse master had been accused of murder and had to be sent away. Then, it dawned on him. It was obvious. She is in love with this horse master.

That would not only explain her oddly emotional reaction to his question, but also why she had suddenly starting spending time with him. Archer, as the mysterious sea captain who had saved her life, was a substitute for the absent boyfriend, who may or may not have murdered his wife.

The cogs in Archer's brain turned further. A queen waiting in the wings might be a powerful motive for killing an inconvenient wife. "Do you think he'll be cleared soon?" asked Archer.

She inhaled and looked off into the distance.

"We believe so. We must believe so," she said.

When turned back to look at him, he caught her eyes. "I hope, for your sake, he's back by your side soon."

She glanced at him, as though doubting his sincerity. But he was sincere. He just wanted to help Silik restore the timeline. He wanted nothing else from her. Except, maybe to find out what made her tick. She was an interesting lady, after all.

"If Sir Robert returns, you'll have less time to spend with me," she said haughtily, "I could very well return to riding with him. He's certainly a better horseman."

Archer smiled at her. "I'm more comfortable training your dogs, anyway. I'll better earn your favor in that capacity," he replied, "and beyond that, I plan on continuing my explorations. It would please me to know you won't be without company while I'm gone."

Elizabeth kicked her horse into a gallop. "Sometimes, Jon," she said as she rode away, "I almost believe it when you say you want nothing but my happiness."

Malcolm arrived to Kew House, alone, having received an invitation that morning. He knew for a fact that Sir Robert had gone hunting that day. The invitation was from Lady Mary SIdney.

A servant took his cloak and showed him into the same room where he'd met with Sir Robert, and a roaring fire had been lit. Malcolm, accustomed to the near-perfection of a starship's climate system, walked toward the fire to warm himself. For a moment, he envied Trip having a built-in bed warmer in the form of a Vulcan.

Lady Mary practically glided into the room, and Malcolm bowed.

"Reverend Reed," she said, offering her hand to kiss, "I am very pleased you could come."

He kissed her hand, taking note of the wedding ring and a golden bracelet. Her nails weren't painted, but they had been manicured in some way. Unlike most every person he had met since arriving in this time and place, her hands weren't dirty or calloused. She also had all her teeth, and they were relatively white. Beyond that, she was quite beautiful. This thought saddened him, as he knew that sometime in the not so distant future a bout with smallpox would destroy that beauty.

"It is my pleasure, milady," he said, looking into her brown eyes.

"Robin is distraught over the investigation, and he cannot appear to interfere in it. However, I have contacts at Cumnor Place. They claim to have information that might clear Robin of Amy's murder. I was wondering if you would accompany me. You're not known to be associated with our family. You could question the witness without being suspect."

Malcolm stared at Lady Mary, and he asked a question to which he already knew the answer. "Why not just send the witnesses in question to the official investigators?"

Mary looked pained, and she turned to stare out the window. She did not answer. Malcolm answered for her instead.

"Perhaps it's because you care for your brother enough to find out what the witness will say," he said smoothly, "which is what any loving sister would do."

She closed her eyes. "You are right, but perhaps you don't guess my reasons. He loved Amy," she said. "It was a love match from the beginning. He would not have harmed her, of that I am certain. However, if he's cleared of her murder that might make him believe he could marry the queen. Or the queen might believe she could marry him."

Even in the wrong history Malcolm read, that had not happened. However, Malcolm was curious as to why Mary seemed so concerned about the possibility of her brother becoming king consort.

"It might benefit you and your family, especially your children," said Malcolm, "if the queen raised your brother up to consort."

Mary turned and glared, tears forming in her eyes. "I had a brother who was consort for nine days. He lost his head. As did my father, whose ambition put Guildford there. As did my sister-in-law, who was innocent in the whole matter. Robin, John and Ambrose were condemned, and only my youth and sex prevented me from going to the tower. Robin learned nothing from those days if he thinks he can marry the queen."

Malcolm nodded. The tragic story of the nine day Queen, Jane Grey, was well known to British schoolchildren. He realized that he had a powerful ally in Lady Mary Sidney, who would want her brother restored to the queen's good graces but not so much so that the queen would think it prudent to marry him. Lady Mary's goals lined up with Malcolm's own.

"We'll go to Oxfordshire tomorrow," he said, "and we'll talk to your witnesses. I've a feeling that the truth will work in your favor, milady, if not precisely in your brother's favor."

Mary appeared to relax at that, and she held out her hand. "Thank you," she replied.

Malcolm kissed her hand, and suddenly he found himself quite looking forward to a ride in the English countryside.

T'Pol looked down at the metal tub that several members of the crew had filled with

fresh water. The journey to the palace had covered T'Pol with a layer of dust and smoke, not to mention other foul smelling particles of indeterminate origin. If she hoped to sleep at all, she needed a bath.

The crew had transported in the water from the ship and then heated it with phase pistols rather than bringing it in kettles. Nevertheless, it was still gracious of the crew acting as servants to set the bath out for her. One of them had also built a roaring fire in the fireplace, so the room, which had exposed wooden beams and small window that looked out over the front garden three stories below, was relatively warm.

It was Mr. Reed who had insisted they needed a base on the surface. In his guise as a minister and representative of the Tucker family, he had rented a rather fine house not far from Sir Robert's home. He hoped as neighbors, they would be able to get news from court as well as win Sir Robert's trust.

From within the house, they could transport up to the ship and back, but Mr. Reed feared that curious neighbors might somehow discover an absence when none of them had been seen leaving the building so he suggested minimal trips back and forth. They had also brought minimal equipment, just what could be easily hidden.

She and Trip were sharing the large master bedroom, ostensibly to further the ruse they were the Master and Mistress of the household. Neither Mr. Reed nor any of the other crew commented, and they all treated this as an expected and, in fact, normal sleeping arrangement. So did Trip.

Trip was currently on the first floor, working on improving the safety and efficacy of some pistols they had purchased. This was a dangerous and primitive time in Earth's history, and it was logical they be armed when moving about the city.

So, she was alone. She was also unable to undress herself. The laces of her gown and corset were not designed for the person who wore them to undo. She understood this was customarily the job of a woman's servant, but she didn't want to bother Cutler or one of the other crewmen acting as servants with such a task. All of them were busy making the the house comfortable and or trying to track the source of the the strange radiation they had detected.

The door opened a crack. "Is it safe to come in, Mistress Tucker?" drawled Trip in a teasing voice.

"It is," she replied, "I require your assistance."

Trip came in the room and shut the door. "What do you need?"

She didn't turn around to look at him. "I need you to undress me."

She heard him laugh and glanced over her shoulder. He looked maddeningly amused.

"I can always ask Cutler..."

"No, no," he said, "I get it. I can't get out of my clothes very easily either. I can't imagine what yours must be like. These getups are so uncomfortable, I'm envious of the people playing the servants."

He stepped behind her and undid her gown. She took the dress from him and carefully hung it on a hook in the wardrobe. Trip then undid the laces of her corset, which he removed for her and tossed on a nearby dresser. He then put his fingers in the small of her back and pressed hard.

"Thank you for your assistance," she said as her body relaxed.

"My pleasure, Mistress Tucker," he said softly.

Her heart beat faster at the way he spoke the words. It was just a cover identity, and yet he seemed to behaving as though they were actually mates.

"Traditionally, human women of this time bathed in their undergarments," she said, eyeing the bath.

"Thankfully," he replied, "Vulcans aren't so modest. Bathing in your underwear would be silly." He casually walked to the window. "I won't look. I promise."

"Very well," she replied and quickly stripped naked. She lowered herself into the bath. The water was warm and soothing. She began to wash her body. This time and place smelled so unpleasant, she had returned to using a nasal numbing agent, but she could still tell her bath had been sweetened with rose water.

"Cutler said that when I am finished, she will arrange clean bath water for you," said T'Pol.

Trip who had turned around and was watching her from the window. "Looking forward to it. It's dusty as hell out there with all the horses kicking up the dirt roads."

"I hope we will be able to return to the ship soon."

Trip folded his arms. "And then what? Say we find Archer. Say we restore the timeline. Then what? Daniels, the guy who brought us here, is dead. How are we going to get back to our own time?"

She sighed. "I don't know," she replied.

"What do we if we're stuck here forever?"

"We'll find a way to survive," she replied, "The other Enterprise did, when they found themselves trapped in the wrong time."

She moved to get up, and Trip took a towel and held it out for her, wrapping her against the chill while averting his gaze. This was illogical, of course, he knew what she looked like unclothed. He moved her in front of the fire, where she could dry off and be buffered against the chill. He brought her a white nightshirt, which she pulled over her head.

"Your turn," she said, and she pulled her communicator from a drawer and arranged for the old water to be transported out and in favor of new. After that was done, Trip heated the water with his phase pistol.

He needed little help getting out of his clothes and slipping into the water. He didn't have an elaborate hairstyle to maintain, so he wet his hair. Without a word, she knelt behind the tub and began assisting him as he lathered his hair, massaging his scalp with her fingers.

"Thanks," he said.

She took a pitcher and rinsed his hair and dried it. He finished bathing and stood up, and she wrapped him in a towel. He shivered from the chill and moved closer to the fire as she gave him his nightshirt.

"I miss the ship," he said, dropping the towel and pulling on the gown quickly.

As he did so, she kept her eyes locked on his face and nothing else. She remembered what he looked like, though.

"I miss it as well," she replied.

"Maybe I should transport up. We've been using the transporter for equipment, food and water. Nobody's gonna come looking for us"

She shook her head.

"We can't be sure of that, and we can endure this a few nights, at the least."

He nodded, and then he glanced over at the bed.

"You want me to sleep on the floor?"

"That's not necessary," she said.

She climbed into the bed and gestured for him to join her. He did so, crawling under the blankets. The width of the bed was small, but they were able to situate themselves for sleep so they were not touching.

"Goodnight, Mistress Tucker," he said.

"Goodnight," she said.

He was soon asleep, but she lay awake a long while wondering if they ever would return to their own time.