Anne Barbour (26 page)

“Now, then,” declared Cyrus, “the Roman will stand in roughly the same place and position in which he stood during the lightning storm. Then, you two gentlemen”—he gestured to James and Robert—”will take up the mallet I have brought and bring it down with all possible force on the jar lid. This will create a spark, which in turn will set off the electrical charge. Lady Hilary, of course, will take shelter at a safe distance from the tower.”

“Um” interposed Robert dubiously. “It sounds as though we will have to approach the jar—that is, we’ll be in close range to—”

Cyrus waved airily and drew their attention outside the tower to the wagon, in which, besides the jar, reposed a hop pole, some six feet long, to which was strapped a large metal mallet. “Using this, we should be perfectly safe.”

Robert stared at the contrivance dubiously, and James spoke bracingly. “Come, come, my boy. I know this sort of thing was not in your position description, but surely you do not mind a little risk in the cause of science? Particularly since it is for Rufus?”

“N-no,” replied Robert, his voice lacking certainty. “I suppose not.”

With some effort, the gentlemen present, Rufus included, hefted the mallet into place, after which a thoughtful silence fell on the group. Suddenly, Hilary ran forward and threw her arms about Rufus in an impulsive hug.

“Oh, Rufus,” she cried tearfully, “it’s time to say good-bye, and I didn’t know it would be so hard. We’ll never see you again!”

Rufus returned the embrace, patting her back awkwardly.

“There now, lass, I’m going back to where I belong. It’s been nice meeting you—all of you, but you’ll forget old Rufus in no time.”

“Indeed, we won’t,” interposed James. He drew near to stand at Hilary’s side. He shook Rufus’ hand. “It’s been a pleasure knowing you,
optima,
and not just because you’ve provided this struggling antiquary with the opportunity of a lifetime. You’re a good man, soldier, and a credit to the
Legio Secundum.”

“Tcha!” Rufus, red-faced, but beaming with gratification, clasped James’s forearm in a salute. “I can’t say this ain’t been an interesting experience, even though I’ll be glad to get home to Maia and me children. I’m glad to have been of help to you, James, and I wish you well—not just in your shoveling and scraping, but—” He glanced significantly at Hilary.

“Yes,” said James hastily. “Thank you very much.”

Rufus then shook hands with Robert, and even with Cyrus, who still apparently viewed the proceedings with skepticism.

“Righty ho, then,” said that gentleman. “Are we ready?”

Gulping, Rufus nodded. He stepped into position near the interior wall of the tower and raised his arm as though preparing to lift the shovel that had been laid in place nearby.

“Ready?” Cyrus asked again, this time Robert and James nodded. Hilary, unwilling to miss viewing the results of this literally earth-shaking experiment, stepped back a few paces, but did not leave the tower.

“Now!” cried Robert. With Cyrus’s help, the two men strained to lift the mallet and moved forward with it in unison. Raising it above their heads, they brought it down upon the metal jar lid with a clang that reverberated about the stone edifice like the crack of doom. The next moment, a brilliant spark shot from the lid. A blinding flash, accompanied by a thunderous roar, erupted from the jar, shattering it into a spray of glittering shards.

Then, all was still.

Chapter Twenty-two

Hilary lifted her head slowly and discovered that she was lying in a crumpled heap on the ground. She was dizzy, and realized she had been unconscious for several moments. A searing pain at her wrist drew her attention to an ugly burn that encircled it under the bracelet she had donned that morning. The bracelet itself had melted into a misshapen band.

“What have you done?” The voice came from nearby. It was feminine, though it rang with an almost supernatural timbre. “What have you done, you foolish men?”

The woman’s words were echoed by a faint groan, and Hilary pulled herself to a sitting position. To her astonishment, she saw that it was Dorcas who had spoken. Good heavens, what was she doing there? Rufus was stretched out at the old woman’s feet. To her horror, she observed that his face and arms were badly burned. Near him were James, Cyrus, and Robert, who like her were stirring from sprawled positions nearby. They, too, were marked by burns on hands and face, though not so severely as Rufus.

Dorcas bent to huddle over Rufus. Her remarks had been directed toward the three men, who stared back at her, dazed.

Hilary struggled to her feet, almost crying out in her disappointment. They had failed! They’d created a lightning bolt, but Rufus was still here. She glanced at her companions, who had risen and hastened to where Rufus writhed painfully in Dorcas’ arms. Hilary ran to join them. As she approached, Dorcas glanced up, and her face hardened.

“Were you a part of this, too, daughter?” she asked sternly. Her garments floated restlessly about her gaunt frame, although there was no discernible breeze in the clearing.

“Y-yes,” admitted Hilary, feeling like a murderer. “But we meant no harm. Old One. Indeed, we were trying to help.”

“Help him to do what?” asked Dorcas, her anger undiminished. She reached into a capacious sack she carried slung over one bony shoulder and withdrew a small tin pot. It contained a salve, which Dorcas applied to Rufus’ burns, seeming to bring the soldier some ease.

“Why, to help him return home,” replied Hilary. She caught herself. “That is, Rufus is a—a traveler from a great way off—and— and this gentleman”—she pointed to Cyrus—”is a scientist.”

“Yes, yes,” said Dorcas impatiently. “Did you think frying the Roman like a sausage would help him?”

James, stirred from his place among the little group surrounding Dorcas and Rufus. “How did you know—?” he croaked.

Dorcas silenced him with an imperious wave of her hand. “He will survive,” she declared, her voice still carrying the odd resonance that Hilary had noticed earlier. Corking the pot, she returned it to her sack. “However, he is not well.” Rummaging once more, she produced a glass vial, which she handed to Hilary. “Give him two drops of this daily in some hot wine.”

She stepped away from Rufus and sent a glare about the group that left them feeling as scorched as had Cyrus’s bolt. “You will not again try to mimic the gods. Do not forget, you are but puny mortals, who will only come to harm through such sacrilege.”

The puny mortals gaped silently. At a groan from Rufus, however, they dropped to their knees as one to minister to him. When Hilary raised her head a few minutes later, Dorcas had disappeared. Nonetheless, Hilary had the uncomfortable feeling that they were being watched.

“What happened?” asked James of Cyrus. “Why is Rufus still here?”

“How should I know?” snapped Cyrus. “I gave you your damned lightning bolt. I’m not responsible for the failure of the rest of your project.” He glanced disdainfully at Rufus, being helped to his feet by Robert and Hilary. “In addition”—he scuffed petulantly at the small shards of glass settling in drifts about his feet—”my jar has been destroyed—all to no good purpose.”

James turned away from Cyrus to address Rufus. “I am so sorry,
optima.
I had so hoped this would work.”

Rufus shook his massive head. “I don’t understand it,” he whispered. “I was so sure ... What am I going to do now?” he said to James, his gaze anguished.

James stood silent for a moment, then said heavily, “I don’t know.”

Watching Rufus’s face, gray with disappointment, Hilary interposed,
“Oh, but we will think of something, Rufus. We’ll get you home somehow.”

Cyrus, as though ashamed of his earlier outburst, spoke. “Perhaps the spark from the jar was simply not strong enough. We could try it again with a bigger one. Although the man who made this one said that he thought he could go no bigger. He told me he had the devil’s own time with it. Begging your pardon, ma’am,” he added hastily to Hilary. “In any event, it would take days, perhaps weeks to complete it.” He hesitated, then asked James, “You really do believe this fellow traveled here from Roman Britain?”

James frowned irritably but gazing sharply at Cyrus’s open countenance, he relaxed. “Yes,” he answered simply.

“And you’re trying to get him back where he belongs?”

James nodded, then added, “He has become ill in our era, and he is declining rapidly. I’m very much afraid that if we don’t do something soon, he will—”

“I see.” Cyrus stood silent for several moments before speaking again. “Perhaps—”

Suddenly, Rufus swayed and Hilary, standing next to him, gripped his arm. The soldier’s face was a mask of pain, and a sweaty sheen glistened on his forehead. James, coming to Hilary’s assistance, led Rufus to a boulder and eased him into a sitting position.

Hilary looked around nervously. Once more, she had the feeling that beyond the perimeter of the stone dance, where the forest stood dark and waiting, someone watched.

“I think we should get Rufus home,” she said abruptly, and James glanced up in surprise.

“Yes—yes. I suppose we should. Are you up to the journey,
optima?”
he asked gently. “We must get those burns seen to.”

Rufus looked down in surprise, examining his hands and arms. “Actually, they do not hurt much now. I wonder what’s in the old lady’s salve.”

The soldier was obviously much the worse for his ordeal, however, and he accepted James’s support as he rose. From the tower, they moved to the wagon that had transported the glass jar. The group mounted the wagon and set off for Goodhurst.

Just as they reached the lane that led to James’s estate, Hilary glimpsed a flash of color fluttering at the edge of her vision from some distance away. When she turned her head, it was gone.

The group was largely silent during the journey, and on their arrival, Burnside, displaying not the least curiosity, assisted the men in bringing Rufus inside the house and up to his bed. Unresisting, Rufus permitted himself to be disrobed and soon sank into a restless slumber.

Having sent for the doctor, James repaired with Robert to the library, where Hilary awaited them.

“What are we going to do now?” she asked, breathing a worried sigh. James’s assurance that Rufus appeared to be in no immediate danger had not allayed her fears for the warrior.

Casting a look at Cyrus and receiving no encouragement there, James slumped in his chair. “I don’t know. I suppose we can hustle Rufus to the tower every time a genuine thunderstorm blows up, and hope that nature will take a hand, but that hardly seems like a viable solution to the problem.”

“Or,” contributed Robert, “perhaps the old fellow will adjust to the nineteenth century eventually, and live here happily ever after.”

“There is that possibility,” said James, brightening.

“But he does not want to stay here!” exclaimed Hilary.

“I didn’t want to go to Eton, either.” Robert grinned. “But my parents bundled me off anyway, and I survived.”

“Yes, but—”

Burnside appeared at that moment with the information that the doctor had arrived. Robert rose, declaring he must return to his clerical duties. Bowing, he left the room.

“No, I must not stay,” replied Hilary in response to James’s query. “I promised Mrs. Pimble I would help her with the menu for the Halloween Ball dinner. It’s only a few days away, you know.”

She raised her eyes to James and smiled. “Are you sure you would not like to join us? We will have a lovely time.”

Lord, thought James dispiritedly. What would it take to convince his tedious little love that he would rather be tied by his ankles over a pit of crocodiles than participate in a country costume party?

“Why—why, yes.” He listened to his words with appalled astonishment. “I’d like that.”

He opened his mouth a moment later to refute his promise, but made the error of looking into her eyes. This morning, he decided, they were the color of fine brandy. He beheld the pleasure sparkling in their depths and closed his mouth again.

“That’s wonderful, James! I shall, of course, send an invitation to Robert, and one to Rufus, as well, if you think he would enjoy it.”

James smiled to think of the warrior at large in an assemblage of that most English of modern classes, the country gentry.

“We shall see how he is feeling.”

Hilary picked up her bonnet and, drawing on her gloves, allowed James to escort her to the front door.

“Have you any thoughts on a costume for the ball?” she asked, as she drew on her gloves.

“Actually, yes. I think I could come as King Lear.”

“King Lear! Goodness, how did you come to choose such a... such an unlikely personage?”

James grinned, and, as usual, the process turned Hilary’s knees to soup.

“I played the part in a production at Oxford, and kept the costume in a trunk for years. When I bought Goodhurst, I took the opportunity to retrieve my life’s clutter from various storage places and bring it here. I found the costume when I began the sorting-out process.”

“I did not know you harbored a talent for acting, James.” Hilary smiled mischievously. “So, the eminent antiquarian has a secret life.”

“I beg you will not reveal my shameful vice,” replied James solemnly. “I promise it was a one-time aberration.”

“I shan’t breathe a word of your wicked past,” replied Hilary with equal gravity, belied by the twinkle in her eye.

What a darling she is.
James was caught unawares by the thought, and he was forced to suppress yet another urge to move to her, to touch her, to warm himself at the spark of her vitality. It was as though, he thought in some irritation, she were a lodestone to which he must return at frequent intervals for sustenance. This was nonsense, of course. On the other hand, if he had any sense, he would abandon his excavations at the Roman villa, pack up the ailing Rufus, and scurry for London as fast as his curricle would carry him.

Dropping the hand he had unconsciously lifted to her, he asked casually, “And what will you be wearing?”

“Oh. I believe I shall appear as Diana.”