Chapter 18
The time machine departed the nineteenth century and arrived in the twentieth in a matter of minutes, so to speak. Such things as the time it took to travel through time was more involved than Rebecca Fogg cared to consider. Passepartout parked the machine in the old hiding place, a large cavern in the upper valley wall on Shillingworth Magna property. The entrance had been well hidden by Phileas in their own time.
In this distant future, there was no other time machine to avoid landing on. With growing hope, Passepartout wondered if that was a sign of success. Is machine finally destroyed? The cave itself didn't look like it had been visited in decades.
Rebecca reached down to pick up her skirts–She smiled. No, I don't have to pick up my skirts now. Her future self had written about fashions in the future. They had both been surprised and pleased at what Jules had said. No petticoats, or full trailing skirts. Rebecca looked down at her black silk shoes, which for the first time were seeing the light of day while on her feet. She was wearing her best sheer silk stockings under a heavy black silk skirt, which her future self had made. It fit her hips and hugged her legs, just covering her knees. The jacket was of matching material and the white silk blouse worn under the jacket had a ruffled lace collar and cuffs. Her hat was one of the simplest they owned, and even then, had been robbed of its plumage. Jules had said hats were quite plain in this time. Shoes were different, too. The letter explained it all, saying the closest things they would have to what he described were riding boots and the low-heeled slippers they wore with their morning gowns. The wardrobe she had prepared only consisted of three outfits. Hopefully, we won't be here long.
Passepartout called to her. "I finding exit." He was at the far end of the cavern with a lantern examining the wall. "Much overgrown, but we getting through."
"Good!" Rebecca said. Make sure it is well hidden before we leave. We don't want anyone finding this place."
Out in the open again, they looked over a cold, windswept, winter morning. There was no other way to get back to the house but to walk, so they headed off to the right where the main road into the valley would be.
The first anomaly they encountered was a fence and a cottage that had not existed before. They skirted around it on the high side and passed the front following the main road.
On the cottage's front drive was a vehicle of sorts. They both stared at it as they passed, not quite knowing what to make of it. It had four wheels and a bed for cargo, but it was smaller than a conventional wagon. Passepartout thought it must be some sort of carriage, as it looked made to carry passengers and cargo, but for the life of him, couldn't see any means of hitching horses to it.
Walking on the unbelievably good roads, Rebecca looked over the future of the valley with approval. Few things had changed. The area was still wooded, but with younger trees, and the Huntington estate apple orchard seemed a bit larger with more barns. The fence that separated it from their lands was gone.
Rebecca hugged her arms about her body against the bitter chill of the air. It was much colder than she had expected. The short dress jacket she wore was adequate at keeping out the wind, but her exposed legs were going numb. There was no snow on the ground but by the dampness in the air Rebecca deduced there would be soon. Why had we not thought about the time of year more closely? We should have at least thought of bringing an overcoat. These shoes are wholly inadequate. Her feet felt frozen already. Thank goodness I am at least wearing gloves.
A noisy black four-wheeled vehicle came by. Its driver sat inside its metal shell of a glassed-in driver's box. It growled past them without his so much as a tipping of his hat. Another came by, ten minutes later. This one was a smaller vehicle with no roof. Rebecca considered it as impractical for the weather as her outfit.
This time the vehicle didn't pass by. It stopped and a man in a flat black hat, goggle glasses, and a long black overcoat turned in the driver's seat to addressed them. "Excuse me, are you lost?"
"I am going to Shillingworth Magna," Rebecca said. "This is the road to the manor, is it not?"
"It is," the driver, a young man, agreed and stopped the machine's noise. He stepped out of it, taking off his cap and glasses.
Loren had no idea why the lady was coming to his home afoot. He supposed she was a friend of Roberta's, but why didn't she or this fellow telephone the house from the train station. The lady was dressed in a fine-looking tailored travel suit, but hardly the right thing for the weather. Upon seeing them on the road he had felt duty bound to offer a ride.
In response to seeing Loren's face, Rebecca had to remind herself to breathe. Have we gone forward or back in time? The young man looked so much like Phileas; it is startling. And he is assessing me with the same appraising look Phileas used to have, looking at older girls, back in the day. Rebecca nearly laughed. Now, I am an older girl, something close to twice Loren's age, and he still has the nerve to look at me that way? A Fogg all right. Time to put Loren Fogg in his place.
"Aren't you going to offer your great-grandmother a ride, young man?" Loren Fogg's face lost its appraising look instantly. His mouth dropped open and his eyes grew round as saucers. Rebecca did laugh then. "You don't recognize me? I'm crushed." Rebecca stepped forward, relishing the effect she was having on him. She closed his mouth for him with a finger curled under his chin. "Do all men of this time have such dreadful manners?"
"I… ah, that is… Welcome. Welcome to… home," he stammered, stepping back.
"Thank you." Rebecca noticed Passepartout looking on, silently laughing. "Is my husband in residence?"
"Yes ma'am," Loren said.
"Good, I have a great deal to say to him."
No doubt. Loren led the drop-dead gorgeous red head to the other side of his 38 Morgan drop head coupe. He opened the door and stepped back to watch her step up into the vehicle and settle herself. I don't remember Rebecca Fogg looking that good.' Of course, in the 1860's, all that had been hidden under hooped skirts. How did men back then know?
"Loren!" Rebecca called sternly, bringing him back to the here and now. He was staring at her again.
He did a guilty start. "Ah… yes, to the house." Loren tore his eyes off his ancestress and helped the valet to put their bags in the boot.
"I'm sorry, sir. There is only room for two," Loren said. "I will send a car back for you as soon as we reach the house. Um, here," he said, pulling the blanket from the boot." Passepartout frowned when he offered it, tilting his toward Rebecca. Loren caught on, sprinted around to offer it to her. Rebecca thanked him, wrapping herself in it gratefully. Loren sprinted back around to the driver's seat and sent the car down the road at a quick clip.
Passepartout watched the noisy vehicle move off. He walked on. "Just as well. Not liking to hear what master and mistress saying when they meet."
Phileas was stunned, to say the least, when Rebecca walked into the parlor as he and Roberta were talking. He stood as Loren escorted a curvaceous pair of legs and hips into the room. He still had not gotten used to ankles, legs, and hips being so casually on display. He had nearly choked when his survey reached the beautiful, amused face of his wife.
Roberta looked up surprised at hearing Loren introduce the stranger as Rebecca Fogg, Phileas's wife.
Phileas got hold of himself enough to introduce the two women. Not telling Roberta anything personal had included his married status. A moment of sheepish embarrassment came and passed. Roberta had only this week come down from her room for a change of scenery. He begged Loren for a private moment and escorted Rebecca into the study.
"What are you doing here? And what in the devil are you wearing?" Phileas said, sputtering. "And why aren't you pregnant?"
"Don't you like my traveling outfit?" Rebecca said sweetly, doing a pirouette to show it off to him. "Loren certainly did."
Phileas ignored the baiting and held his ground. "What are you doing here?"
"Coming to warn you that whatever you are doing here, is going to get you killed. Jules came back to our time shot up and bleeding all over the hall. My future pregnant self told me so in a letter. She sent Passepartout to help me bring you back home. We don't belong here, Phileas."
Phileas sat down heavily, shocked. Shot?
Rebecca lost her anger and knelt by his chair to take his hands in hers. "Phileas, what are you doing here?"
"Attempting to keep our descendants alive." He looked down into her sympathetic eyes. "I have missed you so much." Phileas helped Rebecca back to her feet and walked her over to a sofa. After a kiss, he sat her down and told her everything. "So, you see, I felt I had to try. If Count Gregory's minions have come forward to this time to cause our family harm, I had to stop them."
"Of course," Rebecca said. "And I would have done the same. It seems you miss figured the firepower needed."
"Firepower? The timekeepers said he was attacked with knives, not guns. Rebecca, this time has rapid-fire weapons. If the League attacked us with those, it is no wonder we lost." Dawning came over Phileas just then. "They knew I was here. Somehow, we were spotted, and the League changed its tactics."
"They escalated their attack," Rebecca said, agreeing with his assessment. "Now that you know, perhaps you should change yours. Have you personally been out scouting?"
"No," Phileas said. "Jules has been doing that. I thought he would blend in better. I knew I would be spotted immediately."
"It seems they recognized him anyway." Rebecca looked away, considering. "I didn't plan on staying, but perhaps we should all stay close to the house. The attack happened on December 30th, according to Jules. Is that the original date?"
"Yes, so the League won't know we are here until late in December, or they would have stepped up their attack, presumably." Phileas regained his footing and hope as he considered alternatives. Looking into Rebecca's welcome face again, he smiled. "So, we are agreed on trying again?"
Rebecca smiled gamely. "With all four of us here to even the odds, I think we can call your first attempt a dress rehearsal. "We will do better this time."
Phileas felt his confidence rising. His Rebecca was with him. Together they could do it. "Despite it all, you can't know how happy I am to see you. And the outfit is stunning."
"This?" She looked down at her travel suit, rising past her knees while sitting. "I thought it rather plain."
Phileas laughed. "You always look good in black. It makes your hair stand out more. And you know how much I love your hair," he said, reaching out for it, closing in.
"Behave yourself," Rebecca said. She laughed as she placed a hand on his chest to hold him back. "I don't know how far into the past I was called from, but I don't think we should chance creating the baby before its proper time. After all, you were in Vienna for over a month and are supposed to be in London four weeks more. If I suddenly became pregnant while you are away, you would never believe it was your doing."
"Yes, that would be difficult to explain." Phileas laughed at the absurdity of the way that had to be worded. "Shall we go back to the parlor. I haven't told Loren what will happen yet. I thought it best not to until closer to time."
Jean walked in the quiet of the morning in the woods close to the house. He did not like that they were staying. Rebecca was supposed to make Phileas Fogg go home. Instead, she is joining mission. And Passepartout knew this could happen. I have such bad feeling about remaining. Every day, I waking afraid. Master acting as he always does. Headless, always headless. He stopped, replaying what he had just thought. Not right word. English word would be heedless. He stood there, bouncing on his heels, souring further. In this case, meaning same thing.
His train of thought was shattered along with the quiet by shots coming from the manor. By the time he ran within sight of the house, he was too late. Men with guns were dragging Jules from the house toward a lory.
Passepartout knew the vehicle was called a lory by now, and he knew this lory. He had seen it on his first day here. It was the first such vehicle he had seen in this time. It had been sitting in front of a cottage on the road into the valley with a red blanket in its wagon bed. It now had ladders strung along the sides. The large red blanket was being used to hide Jules.
Jean stayed where he was until the lory drove away. Once the way was clear, he sprinted to the house, knowing what he would find and dreading every step that took him to it. The two young cousins he had already seen dead on the front drive. Passepartout found Phileas Fogg sprawled face down in the hall. Rebecca's body was in the dining room, slumped over the table, still sitting in her chair.
He headed to the kitchen next. Two servant girls were crying over several bodies on the floor. They looked to him for guidance. Passepartout told them to call the police and leave the house until they arrived. There was nothing more they could do.
Once that was done, Passepartout left the house with the women, heading for the stables. He saddled a horse and rode over the fields to the cave where the time machine was hidden.
He thought hard about what had just happened as he galloped across the fields. I knowing where to find Jules Verne. But cannot rescue Jules myself? No, not without weapons. Too many. He gave the horse a slap on the withers, sending it back home and climbed into the cave. He lit the lantern he had left by the entrance. Slowly, Passepartout climbed into the time machine and closed himself inside. Once free of eyes and ears, he sank to the floor.
They all dead… excepting Jules Verne and me. But Jules is captured and I hiding in dark cave, being good to no one. Tears ran down his face as the horror he had seen repeated in his mind. I never wanting this, never wanting to see such things.
The mistake was passing cottage by road. That is why League attacked house early. If I going back and making us take different route, and then telling Phileas Fogg where to find League's home… Could we be attacking before being attacked?
Passepartout became dizzy contemplating ways to make Kronos work in his favor. It was more than his years of physics could work with, more than his experience with time travel could fathom, and more than his own inner sense could accept. Time traveling too dangerous, and unknowing. Of that alone I am certain. Anything I do can be countered by some other doing. It would take wisdom of King Solomon to decide good course. Humble Passepartout having no such wisdom.
Slowly Passepartout shifted his position until he was kneeling. He took a little rosary out of his pocket and prayed around the beads for his dead and captured friends. He didn't know what to do, but if he prayed long enough, the Almighty might take pity on his sinful son and give him a plan.