Love's Labyrinth (11 page)

In the brief silence, Sir John’s horse stamped at the ground, as though anxious to return to its stall. “I expect this matter to be concluded in as expeditious a manner as possible, Master Warren.”

“And it shall be, Sir John. Once Talcott is apprehended with the plans…”

The knight gave the reins an impatient tug, and the horse knickered and wheeled around. “I’ll do my part, as I gave my Christian word, Master Warren. But there’s to be no more midnight meetings. If such business cannot stand the clear light of the Lord’s own day, I’ll have no more truck with it.”

Warren watched the knight gallop off down the tree-lined, moonlit drive. It was as well that Sir John’s role in the main part of this was ultimately peripheral at most. He glanced up at the round white moon. He’d see Talcott convicted beneath the light of the Lord’s own day indeed, he thought. And burn beneath a noonday sun.

“THIS MATTER MUST be concluded as quickly as possible.” Nicholas stood with crossed arms beside the empty hearth in the cluttered tower room that served as Geoffrey’s “study,” although, thought Olivia as she looked around, it was hard to tell exactly what it was he studied. It seemed to be some arcane combination of alchemy, astrology, and mathematics, for the floor was littered with parchments covered with long algebraic formulas, and the long tables were covered with an assortment of the oddest instruments. The astrolabe and the compass were really the only two she recognized at once. Her fingers itched to prowl through the whole untidy mass, touching for herself the accouterments of the infancy of science.

Next to her, in a pair of Geoffrey’s hose and with one of his long linen shirts belted at her waist, Alison stretched her long legs. She’d flatly refused to wear any of the dusty dresses Janet had proffered that morning. Not that Olivia blamed her. The clothing that had belonged to Nicholas and Geoffrey’s mother dated back at least thirty years or more, and although they’d been carefully stored in chests lined with cedar, and strewn with lavender, they were indisputably musty. And old Lady Talcott had been much shorter than Alison and stouter than Olivia.

Olivia pulled her own shirt closer. It was one of Nicholas’—and beneath the scent of sun-bleached linen, the fabric held the scent of something that was a tantalizing blend of horses and masculine sweat and soap, something which could only be him. It made her uncomfortable to be wearing an item of his clothing, while he was standing there glowering at them all. But there’d been nothing else for them to wear—the scullery maids were the only women in the Talcotts’ bachelor household who might wear clothing that would come close to fitting them, and even Nicholas had not considered their garments suitable. When Geoffrey had approached him to give up one of his shirts and a pair of hose for Olivia, he’d merely shaken his head in disgust. But he’d handed over the clothes. Apparently, their scandalous dress—or lack thereof—was something he was prepared to overlook, so long as they kept to Geoffrey’s study and their own bedroom as much as possible.

“We all agree that you two must be sent back to your own time as soon as possible.” Geoffrey sighed. He ran his fingers through his hair, which at this point stuck up in all directions. It would’ve been comical if the situation weren’t so grim.

“Well, what do you intend to do about it?”

“The trouble is—” Geoffrey broke off. Once more Olivia felt sorry for him. He made a helpless little gesture. “I’ll check through my calculations. Perhaps the angle of the sun…” He sifted through a series of parchments, mouthing formulas. “The answer has to be here somewhere.”

Nicholas shot him a look of pure exasperation and opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by a knock upon the door. “See who it is.”

Geoffrey leapt to his feet and opened the door just a crack. He spoke a few words to whomever stood on the other side, then turned back to Nicholas, shutting the door once more as he did so. “A gentleman to see you. Master Christopher Warren.”

Nicholas looked surprised. “I’d better see him. You do what you can. I’ll be back.” With a muttered oath, Nicholas left the room, shaking his head.

Geoffrey sighed when his brother was gone. “He’s really not like this usually. It’s just he’s—”

“Upset,” finished Alison. “Well, we’re all upset.” She got to her feet, sorting restlessly through the parchments.

“What is all this, anyway? Is there any way we could help you make sense of this?”

Geoffrey looked faintly shocked. “In truth, mistress, I doubt—”

Alison narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “This looks like algebra. Or some weird sort of advanced calculus.” She shook her head. “Your brother’s upset, you’re upset, we’re all upset. What we have to do is stop being upset and think. Nothing else is going to get us out of here and back home.”

Geoffrey narrowed his eyes and picked up the parchment Alison had dropped. “You—you understand these calculations, mistress?”

She shrugged. “Well, I don’t understand the specific equations without working through them—but, yes, I understand the math. I even got an A in statistics in grad school.”

Geoffrey looked mystified. He scratched his chin. “Would you—would you be able to help me, then? Review my work?”

Alison shrugged again. “Of course. Don’t ask Livvie, though. She’s hopeless at math.” She looked over her shoulder at Olivia and winked.

From her place beside the window, Olivia grinned ruefully in agreement. “Right. Don’t count on my help there.” She looked out the window, from which she could just see the tops of the hedgerows that formed the maze, and, from this height, she could discern something of the intrinsic pattern. “But maybe—maybe I could retrace our steps through the maze, try to figure out where it was exactly we got back, and work backward from there. Remember, Allie, there was that weird feeling of tripping over something at one point, but the path was perfectly clear?”

Geoffrey nodded. “That’s worth trying. And there is something else—something I hesitate to mention to Nicholas, but it may be the easiest and the most expeditious way of solving the problem.”

“And what’s that?” asked Alison, looking up from the calculations on the parchments.

“Dr. Dee, John Dee—I mentioned him yesterday—he was my tutor at Oxford, and we’ve corresponded frequently over the past few years. He knows of my, my experiments and he’s offered advice—given me suggestions—he may have some ideas. I’ll send a letter to him posthaste, and ask for his help.”

Olivia exchanged a glance with Alison. “So, in other words, Geoffrey,” Olivia began slowly, “what you’re really saying is that it isn’t going to be quite as easy as you thought to send us back. You don’t think you can do it today—”

“Or tomorrow, or the day after.” Alison finished. She got up and stalked out of the room, shutting the door behind her with a slam.

Geoffrey looked helplessly at Olivia. “Mistress Olivia, I’m sorry.”

Olivia shrugged. “I know you’re sorry, Geoffrey. But Alison’s frightened. She needs to return to our time, and our lives before. She has so much waiting for her there.”

Geoffrey cocked his head and met her eyes with his soft brown ones. “And you don’t?”

Olivia hesitated. “It’s different for me,” she answered slowly. His brown eyes were alight with unasked questions, and Olivia suddenly felt uncomfortable. There were too many things she’d rather not discuss—such as why she felt so much at home in this time and place. Was it all the history she’d learned? Her unrealized ambition to act? Her father’s belief that history was something to be experienced, not learned? Whatever it was, it was definitely making her feel odd. “I’d better see to Alison.”

He gave her an awkward bow, and she left the room, still wondering why she felt so much more at home than she had ever felt before.

“What do you mean, I won’t suit?” Nicholas leaned forward with a puzzled frown. “But surely—just yesterday—”

Warren spread his hands helplessly. A soft breeze blew in from the open window, and he glanced pointedly at it, as though he feared someone lurked, listening, beneath. “Yesterday I was not aware of all the details, shall we say.”

“Details?” Nicholas gestured with an impatient hand. “What details? You said I bore a resemblance—”

“And that’s true enough, my lord. But what you must understand is that we’ve learned that the man who’s to meet the Spanish agent is expected to travel with his wife. The Spanish agent will be looking for a married couple. And you, my lord, have no wife. At least, none you’ve acknowledged publicly.” He bent his lips in a semblance of a smile, and Nicholas felt a sliver of unease. Geoffrey had seemed uncomfortable about Warren for some reason. Had he said why?

‘“A wife?”

“Aye. A wife.” Master Warren leaned back in his chair and sipped the goblet of wine.

Nicholas got to his feet and paced to the window. “And what if I could produce a wife? Or yet the semblance of one?”

Warren raised one eyebrow. “A semblance of a wife, my lord? What do you mean?”

Nicholas paused, thinking furiously. There might be a way to turn Geoffrey’s mistake into an advantage. He raised his eyes to the ceiling. The two women upstairs—at least one of them could come with him. The whole journey—to Calais and back to Talcott Forest—would take less than a week, if the winds and weather were favorable.

No more than two at most if they were not. He stroked his chin. “My, uh, my cousins. I believe you saw them yesterday—when they sang for the Queen? What if it were possible that one of them could—”

“Masquerade as your wife, my lord?” Warren leaned back and shrugged. “Think you one of the ladies would be willing?”

Nicholas smiled grimly. The lady would have no choice, he thought. The taller one had such strange mannerisms she would never pass, but the other—the one who sang—she had a prayer. Momentarily Olivia’s face rose before him, and he wondered what it would be like to kiss those full, rosy lips. With more effort than he wanted to admit, he dismissed the thought. After all, the two of them owed him something, if only for appearing at the most inopportune time imaginable. Geoffrey had better not object, either. “I see no reason why not,” he replied smoothly. “The fortunes of all the Talcotts are linked, are they not? It would be in my cousins’ best interests. I would think.”

Master Warren raised his goblet once again, this time in a toast. “Then I shall inform my master that you are, indeed, the perfect man for this task, my lord. And may I be the first to congratulate you upon your most propitious union?”

But even as Nicholas raised his own goblet in an answering gesture, he had the unpleasant thought that Warren’s eyes really were as black and as flat as a snake’s.

“You want one of them to do what? Nicholas, now who’s mad?” Geoffrey stared at his brother in disbelief.

“I’m not mad at all. You created this wretched mess and here’s a way to turn it into our advantage. And I’m not talking about the tall one—Alison, right? I mean Olivia. She charmed the Queen herself rightly enough. She can do the same for the Spanish agent.”

“By our most blessed Lady.” Geoffrey slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand and turned away, shaking his head and muttering. “What if I send them back first? You would rather be rid of them as soon as possible, wouldn’t you?” There was a questioning note in Geoffrey’s voice that told Nicholas that his brother seriously thought he might be mad.

“Of course I’d rather be rid of them. But tell me, how promising it is that you’ll be able to send them back by the time I leave for Calais?”

“When do you leave?”

“Four days hence.”

Geoffrey bit his lip. He glanced at the parchments, now arranged in neat piles on the table, and the astrolabe, which he’d begun to use once more. “I—I am not sure,” he finally admitted. “I may have to write to Dr. Dee.”

“Dee? The Queen’s own physician? In truth. Geoffrey—”

“The Queen’s own astrologer and a very learned man. There’s no one else in all of England who can possibly help me untangle this coil save Dee. And he’s discreet. He’d say nothing to anyone, lest he find himself without a head, as well.”

Nicholas narrowed his eyes. “And where is Dr. Dee?”