B008AZB1XW EBOK (17 page)

“Well, hello.”

She studied him through sleepy eyes and then put her head back down. “I like your face.”

Elizabeth couldn’t agree more.

“Thank you,” Simon said, bemused, as he sat back down. He smiled up at the little girl. “I like yours too. Very much.”

Elizabeth snuggled into his side and rested her head on his shoulder. “Little Zog will be one lucky little girl,” she murmured and then let the train rock her into a dreamless sleep.

They arrived in Swindon just past two, said their goodbyes to the children and transferred to the small train up to Cirencester. The Cirencester station was something straight out of an old movie. The entire station consisted of two old brick buildings and a short covered platform. The man working the station shuffled toward them to collect their tickets.

“Do you know where Professor Morley lives?” Simon asked.

The man squinted at Simon and then at Elizabeth.

Simon pressed on. “Would you mind? I’m a colleague from London and I seem to have misplaced his address?”

The station man pursed his lips. The phone in his booth rang and he held up a crooked finger as he walked away.

“Up past the church,” another man said. He’d been leaning against the station wall and limped over on a single wooden crutch. “Right on Whiteway. Can’t miss it. Just look for the birds.”

“The birds?” Simon repeated.

“Can’t miss them.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said and then nudged Simon. He dug into his pocket and handed the old soldier a coin.

“Thanks, guv,” the man said with a tip of his cap. “Thank you.”

As they left the station, Elizabeth noticed a water spigot. “One sec.”

She splashed water on her face and gave her teeth a quick finger brushing while Simon watched with amusement.

“Better?”

Her eyes were still scratchy from lack of sleep and she felt mildly sick to her stomach thanks to the train, but otherwise…”Marginally human.”

Simon took a quick drink and they walked up the main road into town. The countryside was the definition of idyllic. Lush green pastures on rolling hills with dark copses of trees. There were even small herds of sheep with cream-colored coats of long curly wool.

“What’s this area called?”

“This is the Cotswolds. Lovely, isn’t it? This area was actually the second largest Roman settlement in Britain. You’ll notice how straight some of the roads are. Courtesy of the Roman empire, roughly two thousand years ago.”

“That’s amazing.” Elizabeth slipped her arm into Simon’s.

“There are other ruins, even an amphitheater. It’s an area rich in archaeology. Take Tar Barrow over there. Many people think it’s haunted.”

Elizabeth smiled. “You know I love a good ghost story.”

Simon patted her hand, humoring her. “We have enough on our plates. No need to pull in ghosts as well.”

“We’ll come back,” she said with a nod. “When we get back.”

They passed the church, which was a mere 900 years old, just a medieval baby, and turned onto Whiteway. It wasn’t long before they heard the birds. Scores of them flew in and out of trees surrounding a large honey-colored stone house. A flock of Tufted Ducks came in for a landing near the shore of a small pond. It was beautiful and a little creepy.

They walked up the gravel drive to the house and rang the bell. A heavyset woman answered the door and quickly dried her hands on her flowered apron. “Yes?”

“We’re here to see Professor Morley,” Simon said.

The woman frowned. “He’s busy at the moment. Can you come back another time?”

“We’ve come an awful long way to see him,” Elizabeth said.

Immediately the woman’s face brightened. “You’re the American. You’re late. He’s been waiting for you.”

Chapter Eighteen

Professor Morley’s housekeeper ushered a very confused and slightly suspicious Simon and Elizabeth into the house. How could he possibly have been expecting them? The housekeeper rapped smartly on a dark oak door. “Professor Morley,” she said and, without waiting for an answer, opened it and went inside. “Professor?”

A portly man in his mid-sixties sat behind an enormous desk, hunched over a book. He popped a piece of orange into his mouth and answered her without looking up. “How many times have I told you not to bother me when I’m reading, Mrs. Quick?”

“You’re always reading,” she countered. “And besides your American’s here.”

The professor looked up and gave Simon and Elizabeth a cursory glance before looking behind them. “Where?”

“Right there,” Mrs. Quick said nodding toward Elizabeth.

“My dear woman,” the professor said as he wiped his mouth with a white cloth napkin. He pushed himself back from his desk, stood and closed in on them. “Does this girl look like a man from the Appalachian mountains of Alabama to you? If so, you need a rather long rest and if not, you’ve completely wasted my time.”

“It’s our fault,” Elizabeth said, her mouth watering at the sight of the orange. It was the first piece of fresh fruit she’d seen since they’d gone back in time. “We wanted to see you.”

“And so you have. Good day,” he waved a dismissive hand and started back to his desk.

“Please,” Elizabeth said. “We just need a few minutes of your time.”

He turned around slowly and narrowed his eyes. His wild, bushy eyebrows nearly knit together.

“Please,” Simon said with wafer thin patience.

Morley held up a silencing hand. “Shh. Say that again, girl.”

Elizabeth hesitated. “We just need a few minutes of your time.”

“Texas, yes? Tell me I’m right! Wait. North Texas.”

“Lubbock. Right.” She’d forgotten he was a linguist.

“That’s quite impressive, but—” Simon started.

“Sussex,” he said to Simon. “Eton and Oxford. Staggeringly dull. UPR. Thoroughly tiresome accent except, in your case, the way your time in America has bastardized it makes it of marginal interest.”

“Now, see here—”

“Professor,” Elizabeth said, trying to head off whatever chest puffery was about to take place. “I’m sorry I’m not the right American. But we really have come a long way. We’re here to see you about a book.”

“A book? Oh. Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” His face lit up. “Which one?
Centring Dipthongs of Non-Rhotic Accents
or
Intervocalic Alveolar-Flapping and You
?”

“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said. “We met with Professor Giles in London and he said he’d given you a book for your birthday.”

“
The Book of Iona
,” Simon said.

Morley’s face dropped. “Oh, yes, that. I thought you meant one of mine. Giles has never had very good taste in books.”

“No,” Elizabeth agreed quickly, hoping to win him over. “You don’t still have it, do you?”

“Alas no. It and several other volumes of little consequence but, I must say, substantial value were donated to a worthy cause. We all have to do our part, you know.”

“Very noble,” Simon said between gritted teeth. Obviously, he’d noticed the crate of oranges, box of SPAM and other black market goods piled up behind the professor’s desk.

“I’m sure they appreciated your generosity,” Elizabeth said hoping to salvage their trip. “It was very kind of you to part with them.”

“Yes,” Morley said with a put-upon sigh. “They should bring a good price. Put the Spitfire Fund over the top.”

With a little coaxing, she might be able to get more out of him. “Is the Spitfire Fund event here in town?”

“No, no. This is over in Bath. A fundraiser tomorrow night, I think. I don’t like to get too involved in things locally, you understand. Once people sense you’re blessed with a generous nature, they take advantage.”

“I’m sure they do,” Simon said.

Elizabeth put a comforting hand on Simon’s arm. Lack of sleep was making him crankier than usual. “Thank you for your time, Professor.”

Elizabeth led Simon out of the office and back onto the street before he could make a scene.

“Idiot,” Simon grumbled.

Elizabeth arched an eyebrow.

“Not the accent. I don’t care about that. But did you see all of the black market goods? I would very much have liked to have shoved that damn orange down his damn throat.”

Elizabeth patted his arm. “You’re sweet.”

Simon snorted. “That wasn’t exactly what I was going for.”

She hadn’t gotten exactly what she’d hoped for either, but they had found another piece of the puzzle. They hadn’t come away entirely empty-handed.

“Come on,” Elizabeth said as she slipped her arm through his. “Off to Bath? How far away is it?”

“A few hours by train.”

It had been nearly thirty-six hours since either of them had truly slept. The adrenaline from the escape had long worn off, and left her feeling wrung out like an old washcloth fraying at the edges. But, this wasn’t a vacation, and considering what other people endured during the war, the least she could do was suck it up. She tried her best to hide just how tired she was and plastered on a smile “Right.”

By the time they’d walked back into the center of town, dark clouds had filled the late afternoon sky. The weather had been so cooperative, so temperate, she’d completely forgotten about it until a big fat raindrop splattered across the bridge of her nose. Like an idiot, she looked up and promptly got another one right in the eye.

Simon took her arm and helped her over the now slippery brick pavers and into the shelter of a covered doorway. They huddled together as the skies overhead opened up and the rain came down with a fury. People on the street pulled out umbrellas or shielded their heads as best they could and hurried for cover. Across the street, a mother dragged her son down the sidewalk. He kept his head tilted back and his tongue out to catch the drops.

“Wow,” Elizabeth said. “Hello, Mother Nature.”

“Wait here.” Simon turned up the collar of his coat and pulled down the brim of his hat. He stepped out into the rain and jogged down the street.

A few minutes later, he reappeared. “Here.” He took off his hat, shook the water from it and set it on top of her head. He laughed as he pulled it down and it covered her eyes. “There’s a pub just down the road. We can dry out there and get something to eat.”

Elizabeth pushed the brim of the hat back so she could see and held out her hand.

“Ready?” Simon asked and on her nod they dashed into the rain and ran down the empty street.

The King’s Head Inn was dark and wonderfully warm and cozy. A few small wooden tables with a variety of benches and chairs were tucked into nooks or gathered around a large fireplace where a man was busy building a fire.

“I be right with ya,” he said.

Simon and Elizabeth took off their coats and hat and hung them on a coatrack by the door. Nearly every inch of ceiling and wall space was covered with photographs, newspaper articles and miniature flags.

Elizabeth noticed a chalkboard with today’s specials listed. “Oh, I’m starving. Soup sounds good but what’s that wonderful smell?”

“Mulled cider, I think,” Simon said. “Although—”

“I want.”

“I’m not sure that’s wise. It will be hard cider and terribly strong,” Simon said.

Elizabeth waved off his warning. “Hard, soft, it doesn’t matter as long as it’s all mulled and cidery.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The man finished lighting the fire and Elizabeth immediately went over to warm up.

“This is heaven,” she said. “Thank you.”

The man nodded and went back around the bar. “Er have to wait till half past for a Scrumpy.”

Elizabeth smiled. She’d heard all sorts of English accents so far, but the West Country was her favorite. It was a wonderful mixture of charming lilt and old school pirate.

“Tea for now, please,” Simon said. “Two fish and chips, if the kitchen’s open.”

The man nodded and disappeared into the back.

Elizabeth settled into a table close to the fire and after ordering, Simon joined her. “I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for tea for now. Licensing laws. Can’t serve alcohol until five-thirty.”

“That’s all right. This is perfect.”

They sipped their tea until the food was up. The fish and chips were greasy and delicious. At five-thirty on the dot, the drinks arrived and so did a handful of locals, including one old man with a bent walking stick and little Jack Russell terrier in tow. He sat down at a table not far from them, tipping his cap in greeting.

Simon walked to the bar to collect their drinks and gave the owner a few coins. “For the gentleman and one for yourself.”

The little old man raised his walking stick in a salute as the publican took the coins. “Cheers!”

Elizabeth held the warm cup in both hands and inhaled the sharp aroma of apples and ginger before taking a small sip. It was delicious and she didn’t feel the alcohol until she felt the heat building in her chest. Scrumpy was warm and dangerous and wonderful. After a few sips, she already felt a little light-headed.

A few more regulars came in and joined the old man. One of them leaned over to their table and said, “These dirty old sods want to know if you’re married.”

“I am,” Elizabeth said, wiggling her ring finger and eliciting groans from the men. She giggled. “You all are so handsome, surely you’ve been snatched up.”

The old man raised his glass. “Lost me wife in ‘38.”

“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said.

“Every night,” he said, “I be praying the old bat don’t find me!”

The table broke out in roars of laughter.

“Er got a mouth like a forty shilling iron pot!”

Elizabeth and Simon joined in the laughter and listened to the stories the locals spun, but it wasn’t too long before she could feel herself slowly beginning to fade away. The warm room, the good food, the strong alcohol, and loss of sleep were finally catching up with her. Simon tugged at her elbow. Elizabeth looked up to see him standing over her. He had their coats folded over one arm and she vaguely wondered when he’d done that.

“I don’t want to go,” she said in a voice that sounded whiny even to her own ears.

“I’ve got a room upstairs.”

“You did? I love you so much.”

“Good, now come on,” he said as he helped her stand. The room tilted and swirled in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but seldom ended well. They said their goodnights and made their way up the narrow stairway to their room over the pub. It was small and simple, but Elizabeth didn’t care. It had a bed.