Mary Robb - Down the Rabbit Hole

She looked at the earl with a question in her eyes.

“Yes, my dearest love, if your wish is to find a life together as man and wife, then my wish is the same.”

“How can you put that before your family and the estate’s needs?”

He shrugged. “Because with you anything is possible.”

Mr. Arbuckle found his hat and bowed to them. “I will leave you to discuss the details of your future. If you should leave before I return I must say that knowing you has been both a pleasure and a unique experience.”

“The feeling is most assuredly mutual,” the earl said, and Alice nodded in agreement. “When you return to the nineteenth century please come to Westmoreland. You will always be welcome.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Arbuckle answered, smiling with delight. “I will see you again then, if not tomorrow morning.”

When he left and it was the two of them alone, they sat together on the settee, holding hands as they had not since they arrived in this time and place.

“This moment is perfect.”

“Yes,” the earl agreed. “I was thinking the same thing. I wish this was our future.”

“Oh, so do I, Weston. So do I.”

Suddenly overcome with an amazing fatigue, they both fell asleep, and their dreams took them home.

* * *

As he awakened, the earl recognized the disorientation, the odd sense of travel with his mind as much as his body, that he’d felt the day before. Weston was not surprised when he opened his eyes and found he was on the settee in one of the salons at Westmoreland, surely in his own time.

Alice was beside him, her head on his shoulder, still sound asleep. He smiled and decided to wait for her to join him in 1805. He looked around the room, at the spot above the shelves that would hold his portrait, where the painting of Venice by Guardi currently hung.

Or should have.

The space was empty, the wallpaper a bit less faded than what surrounded it. Someone had stolen the Guardi! Or had the trustees taken it upon themselves to remove it for sale, to pay the most egregious of the estate debts?

“What is it, Weston?” Alice whispered to him, obviously having woken up and followed his gaze.

“There should be a painting there, and I have no idea why it’s been moved. I will have to investigate or have someone do it for me. What I want to do most now, besides kiss you, is find the coin that has been at the heart of this bizarre adventure.”

“You certainly are not kissing me.” Alice stood, a little unsteady on her feet, but paused a moment and then straightened, smoothing her gown. “Thank goodness I am wearing my own clothes!”

“I rather liked the jeans we wore. They were comfortable.”

“But hardly appropriate for 1805. Nor is my presence alone with you. I must leave this room at once.” She smoothed her hair and looked at the door as if someone would burst in at any moment.

Did she learn nothing in the twenty-first century? he wondered. “Very well, preserve your name for now. But I know you love me, and with that magic coin Arbuckle insists anything is possible, even having you agree to marry me.”

She would have argued, but he took her by the shoulders and turned her around. “If you take that door, it will lead you into a room that is almost never used and you can come out into the passage. Tell the footman you are newly arrived and have lost your way to Lady Anne’s chambers. You will have the day with my sister, and then I will see you at dinner.” He twirled her back around and pressed a kiss to her mouth; a kiss that left no doubt of his intent.

Alice merely shook her head, though Weston thought he saw the ghost of a smile before she gave him her back and hurried to the connecting door.

He watched her leave, the future firm in his mind, then folded his arms across his chest and waited for the magic coin to find him.

In the meantime he decided he would circle the room and try to recall if anything else was missing. He didn’t think anything was.

It was not long before there was a scratch at the door. The butler came in at his “Enter.”

“My lord, I have been trying to find you for the past hour.”

“Really, Stepp, I thought you knew my every move.”

“Yes, sir, but you have been so unpredictable lately.”

“I have?” And he could just guess why. Simon West had had no Arbuckle to help him adjust to 1805.

“I’m sorry, my lord, but yes.”

Weston nodded and moved to sit behind his desk. Not that he was tired, but he had a feeling that it would be a while before life returned to normal, if it ever did. Sitting at his desk reminded him that he was the final arbiter of all that happened at Westmoreland. And something must have happened, besides the disappearance of the Guardi, or Stepp would not be looking so, um, tense. Yes, tense. He usually never betrayed his sensibilities.

“You have found me now, Stepp, and you have my full attention. What is it that you need?”

“Thank you, my lord.” The man bowed with some formality, which was hardly the norm. “I would never bother you with a domestic issue, but this involves money. A coin, to be precise. And, oh, my lord, Lady Anne has dismissed her maid.” As Stepp spoke he placed a coin, the magic coin, on Weston’s desk.

Weston did his best not to grab the coin and shout for joy. He barely contained his smile. “What a relief,” he thought, aloud, unfortunately.

Stepp looked shocked, and Weston hurried to assure him. “The coin, Stepp. The coin is mine. I brought it from London and somehow it disappeared. I am so relieved that someone found it.” Now he did pick it up and tuck it in his pocket. Please God, it would stay there until he had addressed the other, and to Stepp, far more important issue.

“As for Lady Anne and her maid. Am I right that my sister’s maid is your daughter Martha?”

“Yes, my lord,” Stepp acknowledged without any emotion.

“Did Lady Anne give any explanation for Martha’s dismissal?”

“Not much, my lord.” The butler spoke with asperity, then seemed to recall to whom he was speaking. “I do not mean to sound rude, sir. It was something to do with the coin. One of the maids found it, Martha took it, and it went awry from there.”

“I am sorry it has come to that,” Weston said as he felt the beginnings of a headache. “I will talk with Lady Anne and Martha and see what I can do to help.”

“Thank you, my lord. But you had best know right away that both Lady Anne and her maid are adamant about never working together again.”

“I understand, Stepp. Two strong-minded women.”

“Yes, sir. I do think you understand.” Stepp drew a deep breath, which did not seem to ease the rigidness of his posture. “There are one or two other issues that would benefit from your attention. If you do not think it too impertinent.”

“Never, Stepp. Please go on.”

“First, the coin, my lord. It bears the date 1808, but quite it is only 1805. How can that be?”

“Ah, yes.” Weston prayed for inspiration as he pulled the coin from his pocket. “Well, you see, Stepp, the coins are being minted for use in India, as you can probably tell by the foreign wording on it.”

Weston handed him the coin so Stepp could examine it. “Yes, sir, I noticed that. Everyone has.”

“The coin has no value in itself. It is a medium exchange like the paper currency the government is trying to have us use now.”

Stepp nodded.

“The estate has interests in mines in Wales, and the ore from those mines is being used to mint these coins. This is a sample given to me as a gesture of . . .” He hesitated, trying to think of the right word. Stepp was hanging on every detail and, no doubt, this would be the official explanation spread belowstairs.