Chapter 3

An hour later, Phileas Fogg was sitting in his study with the two thieves, turned guests. One more... two more things to unsettle my world.

His guests had explained by now that they had arrived in his attic due to some odd accident to take place nearly one hundred years into the future. Loren Fogg was a Cambridge student in the year 1941. He still looks like a young version of me; tall, green eyes and black hair.

"I've been told I favor you," Loren was saying. "There aren't many photographs of you to verify that in my time."

His sister sat beside him, a twin. She sat quietly, sipping tea, letting her brother do most of the talking. She was… beyond beautiful, as feminine as her brother was masculine, just a head shorter. That and the fact that her hair had been down and tangled about her face had been what made Phileas and Passepartout think her a girl. She still wore the green dress she had commandeered from the attic, properly fastened. She still looked like a child, playing dress-up. The dress was much too big for her. Most assuredly a mature woman. She had clear perfect skin and large expressive emerald eyes. Phileas recalled the look of them shooting daggers at him. In Phileas's opinion, the lack of hostility in her face doubled its appeal.

"Are you sure you can't think of anything that may have caused this?" Phileas said again. "Anything you haven't told me?"

"Not unless wishing to be elsewhere would do it," Loren said. He was also trying to get his feet under him, finding himself nearly a century in the past. Saying too much to this man was a bad idea. Phileas Fogg didn't need to know what would befall Europe after he was dead and gone. Loren thought he might even be grateful not to hear about bombing raids over London and the two worldwide wars that had caused so much devastation. All the way to London, Loren had had a bad feeling about giving into his sister's wishes. He didn't know why. There had been no raids over London for nearly a week since the RAF's attack on Berlin.

Loren had agreed to the party and the trip to London to get costumes out of a sense of victory. Lacey had finally been convinced to give up her position as a field interpreter for the Red Cross. He had battled with her over that since before the beginning of the war. What had finally changed her mind had been getting detained in France on her last assignment. The family name had been too well linked to the international intelligence community to allow a Fogg to enter occupied France without challenge for long. She had spent three days in a holding cell in Calais before the German authorities let her go. She should have been grateful all they had done was politely ask questions until both English and French Red Cross authorities brought enough pressure to gain her release. The German's, under that pressure, had sent her back home to England without her passport, with a sharp command never to come back.

Loren's intention after reaching the city and been to be away again before sundown, but traffic and detours had delayed their arrival. It had been nearly eight at night before I reached this old neighborhood. By then, we had both been famished. The stop for dinner at a pub delayed our arrival until near ten. Going straight back to Shillingworth Magna by then was out of the question.

On the other side of the room, Phileas assessed what they told him and knew he was being held out on, but he couldn't tell why or why had the two come running out of the storeroom as if the devil had been on their heels? What is an air raid? Loren said those words just before running into the hall. Why would this air raid make them flee? Why did Lacy say there was nothing in the house to steal? Was it unoccupied in their time? If so, what were they doing there? Too many questions unanswered for my comfort. All they have claimed so far involved raiding the attic for a masquerade ball.

"For the time being," Phileas said, "I think you should stay here under my protection. I will say that you are cousins come to visit if explanations become necessary. We should avoid contact with strangers as much as possible. I can't say how much things have changed in the years between this time and yours. I will assume there have been enough changes to make your functioning without making common mistakes difficult?"

"There have been a number of changes over the years," Loren said quietly. "You are right; we aren't likely to know enough to blend well."

Lacey sipped on her tea. A vast understatement. No automobiles, electricity, or indoor plumbing. And no air raids, food rationing, or blackout curtains. She considered the fancy floor length dress she was now wearing. Too fancy for day wear, but normal wear along with petticoats and corsets. Women don't vote yet or do much of anything away from their homes. The civil war in America isn't quite over yet either. And the Queen is morning for Prince Albert.

She gave Phileas a glance, great grandfather. Apparently, he isn't married yet. I wish I knew more about him. Father had been born only a few years before this Phileas Fogg's death. That is what grandmother said, wasn't it? Loren and I were only ten when our grandfather passed. All I recall clearly about him is that he is one of the first of the family in the Secret Service. Is he still part of that?

Lacy looked into her cup. Loren is heading that way, following tradition after Cambridge. And he has the nerve to force me out of the Red Cross. Visiting prison camps to ensure the proper treatment of our soldiers is minor compared to what he will be doing in another year. She shuddered at the thought, and then wondered if wishing had gotten them here. I have been praying for a way to keep Loren out of the service. I've lost too many friends to the military and bombings already.

"We should retire now," Phileas said, breaking an uncomfortable silence. "There are two extra rooms upstairs. You may each have one of them." Phileas then led the way for his guests back upstairs. He showed Lacey into Rebecca's room and offered her the use of Rebecca's clothing. Loren, he put in the spare guest room and gave him one of his own nightshirts to use. Once all was settled and he finally entered his own room with Passepartout on his heels, the two sat down for a private talk.

"You be believing what they say, Master?"

"We don't have much recourse at present," Phileas said. "The fact that the two are Foggs isn't in question; but they are hiding something. They should know more about what brought them here. We will have to keep a very close watch on them."

"Yes, Master."