Mary Robb - Down the Rabbit Hole

“He gave me the creeps.” Peabody shuddered.

“It didn’t show.”

“Well, he did, and if it’s okay with you, I’m heading home and staying away from you until morning. So we don’t end up cutting each other to ribbons.”

“For Christ’s sake, Peabody.”

“Why take chances? I’ll write it up, but I’ll write it up at home. With McNab sort of keeping an eye on me.”

“Fine. I’m going the hell home myself.”

“And I’ll keep an eye on her,” Roarke promised Peabody.

She went to her office for her coat. “He has something.” She circled her neck. “Not nearly what he’s deluded himself into believing he has—most of it hinged on the drugs. Wherever he ends up, he won’t have them, but he needs careful watching.”

“He was afraid of you, afraid you have more than he does.” Roarke tapped the dent in her chin. “Perhaps you do.”

“Not a psychic—just a cop who knows how to read killers.”

“I have a hypnotic suggestion of my own.” This time, he laid a finger on her forehead. “You want to go home with me and have lots and lots of sex.”

“You putting the whammy on me, ace?”

“I certainly intend to.”

As they walked out, he pulled the snowflake hat out of his pocket, fixed it on her head.

What the hell, she thought. As hats went, it was warm—and pretty sweet.

For Leslie Gelbman and Cindy Hwang. Thanks to you (and Nora) for making this adventure possible.

Be advised: this is a time travel! My time-travel world began with Amy and Simon in “Amy and the Earl’s Amazing Adventure” in the anthology Dead of Night , which is available as a paperback or eBook.

The magic coin, also known as Poppy’s Coin, is an element in all the anthologies I have done for Berkley. Their chronology varies, and someday I will do a spreadsheet to figure it out for myself. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the Earl of Weston’s adventure.

A couple of elements to note. The “space-time continuum” is a phrase that Amy Stevens used before she and Simon West traveled back to 1805. It was hardly a reflection of her understanding of science but came from the TV show Stargate Atlantis , something she admitted when pressed by Simon. No one really knows (including yours truly) how the coin enables time travel, except for the easiest explanation: “It’s magic!” Please suspend your disbelief and enjoy the story.

I always knew that Weston’s story was waiting to be told, for he is the “earl” referred to in the title of Amy and Simon’s novella. I was delighted when we were given the title Down the Rabbit Hole for this book, because his experience of time travel was totally unexpected (unlike Amy and Simon, who knew where they were going), and it was totally out of keeping with his known reality. Thank goodness he had Mr. Arbuckle to help him and someone to share the experience with him.

LONDON

APRIL 1805

“It’s a disaster.” Bennet William George Haven West, third Earl Weston, moved about the room as he spoke. The mantel needed paint. The books should be dusted. At least the decanters were full. “A disaster, to put it plainly.”

“Come now, Wes, it’s not like we are on the edge of complete bankruptcy. We’ll find a way out.”

Weston loved his cousin and heir presumptive. Ian’s use of “we” made him feel less alone and told him everything he needed to know about Ian’s loyalty.

“It’s almost that bad. These last two days with the estate’s man of business have convinced me that while no one will refuse me credit, there is not enough money coming in to make a dent in the bills that have been piling up for the last two years, at least.”

“Two years?” Ian sounded shocked.

“Two years. Since the old earl’s son and heir died. Apparently my cousin was the only one able to keep his father’s generosity under control.”

“Uncle Weston was an amazing man. Everyone mourned his passing.”

“As did I, Ian. I loved my uncle and benefited from his largesse as much as anyone. He never said no, whether it was to a beggar on the street or to his wife and children.” Weston poured himself just a drop more wine and offered the decanter to Ian, who shook his head. “If only his generosity had not extended to every possible investment suggested. You know as well as I do that each was less successful than the one before it.”

“When he died—has it been three months already?—I wondered then, and still do, if the news of the loss of that ship brought on the apoplexy that killed him.” Ian shook his head, his expression a mix of sorrow and frustration.

They were verging on maudlin ground now.

Weston stood up. “I am off to Westmoreland. The blasted artist is ready to put what he calls ‘the finishing touches’ on my portrait. The portrait I cannot pay him for.”

“Wait, tell me what your man of business had to say about the opportunity to invest in the canals. The new venture that Lord Wedgebrook is so excited about?”

“He said exactly what I expected. That I need to be sure that the investment is sound. The estate cannot stand another failure.”

“But it would be your money, not any of the money that is part of the estate.”

“As it stands now, Ian, I am the estate. The farms are in wretched condition. The tenants can barely call themselves farmers. The cottages are in such disrepair that no one with any ability will sign on.”

Ian shook his head in sympathy. “It’s hard to know where to start.”

Weston felt for the locket in his pocket. He had thought marrying Alice would be the first step toward the future. With her by his side, anything seemed possible. Now he was almost glad she had refused him. Debt was the last thing she would want in a husband.

The less noble part of him missed her. Missed her quite desperately. How could she say no when he knew her heart was filled with the same love and longing as his?

“Wes, what is it? What has you looking so stricken? Truly, there is a way out of this.”

“Stricken? Did I? It was nothing, just a moment of grief.” Let Ian think it was for his uncle. Move on, he told himself. Thinking of Alice only led to an endless circle of anguish that squeezed his heart and made his head ache.

“I will go to Westmoreland and start there.” Weston stood up. “I can close up this house and reduce expenses until next Season, at least. I can sell some horses, and there are some paintings not entailed. The Rembrandt, for one.”

“Dear God, Wes, that would be like announcing to the ton that you are on the verge of bankruptcy. Have you thought of marrying an heiress?”

“An heiress? Never!” Weston answered, more sharply than he intended.

“Very well.” Ian held up his hands as if in surrender. He stood up. “Feel free to call on me anytime, Wes. I will help you in any way I can. Indeed, I may even know someone interested in the Rembrandt.”

“Thank you, Ian.” Weston took the hand his cousin offered and clapped him on the shoulder. “No need to rush into it. I will think on it at Westmoreland. Who knows, something miraculous might happen. Yes, a miracle. Something that neither of us can imagine.”

Within a quarter hour, Ian was off to his lodgings and Weston was bound for the country. Eight hours more and the earl was less than ten miles from Westmoreland. The carriage rumbled on in the moonlight.

He wouldn’t be traveling in the dark much longer. Only a few miles more. The moon was full, the roads were safe, and he had a pistol if he was wrong about that.