Ruby Red (27 page)

“Sleep well,” said Gideon, smiling. “See you tomorrow.”

*   *   *

“
GWEN! GWENNY!
” Caroline was shaking me awake. “You’ll be late if you don’t get up now.”

I pulled the covers over my head. I didn’t want to wake up. Even in my dreams, I’d known there were dreadful memories waiting for me when I came out of my present blissfully drowsy state.

“Honestly, Gwenny! It’s quarter past!”

I kept my eyes closed, but it was no good. Too late. The memories came rushing in at me like … er … Attila attacking the … er, the Vandals?

The events of the last two days were unraveling vividly before me like a film.

But I couldn’t remember how I wound up in my bed, only that Mr. Bernard had opened the door to me last night.

“Good evening, Miss Gwyneth. Good evening, Mr. George, sir.”

“Good evening, Mr. Bernard. I’ve brought Gwyneth home a little earlier than we planned. Please give my regards to Lady Arista.”

“Of course, sir. Good evening, sir.” Mr. Bernard was as expressionless as ever when he had closed the door behind Mr. George.

“Pretty dress, Miss Gwyneth,” he had said to me. “Late eighteenth century?”

“I think so.” I’d been so tired that I could have rolled up on the rug in the hall and gone to sleep on the spot. I’d never looked forward to my bed so much. I was just afraid of running into Aunt Glenda, Charlotte, and Lady Arista on my way up to the third floor. They’d all pester me with scolding and questions.

“I am afraid the family have already had dinner. But I’ve prepared a little snack for you in the kitchen.”

“Oh, that’s so kind, Mr. Bernard, but I—”

“You want to go to bed,” said Mr. Bernard, and a tiny smile appeared on his face. “I suggest you go straight to your bedroom. The ladies are all in the music room. They won’t hear you if you keep as quiet as a mouse. Then I will tell your mother that you are back and give her the snack to take up to you.”

I’d been too tired even to feel surprised by his caution and his concern for me. I just said, “Thank you very much, Mr. Bernard,” and went upstairs. I had only the vaguest memory of the snack and my conversation with Mum—I’d already been half asleep. I’m sure I couldn’t have made the effort of chewing anything, but maybe it had been soup.

“Oh, how lovely!” Caroline had discovered the dress hung over the back of a chair along with its frilled petticoat. “Did you bring it back from the past?”

“No, I had it on before I went.” I sat up. “Did Mum tell you about the odd thing that’s happened?”

Caroline nodded. “Not that she had to
tell
us much. Aunt Glenda was shouting loud enough for all the neighbors to hear. Acting as if Mum were a thief who had stolen poor Charlotte’s time-travel gene.”

“How about Charlotte?”

“She went to her room and wouldn’t come out, no matter how Aunt Glenda pleaded with her. Aunt Glenda shouted that Charlotte’s whole life had been ruined, and it was all Mum’s fault. Grandmother said Aunt Glenda had better take a tablet, or she would be obliged to call the doctor. And Aunt Maddy kept on talking about that eagle, the sapphire, the mountain ash, and the clock in the tower.”

“Sounds dreadful,” I said.

“It was actually exciting,” said Caroline. “Nick and I think it’s a good thing you have the gene instead of Charlotte, even if Aunt Glenda says you have a pea-sized brain and two left feet. She’s so rude.” She stroked the shining fabric of the bodice. “Can you put the dress on to show me after school today?”

“Sure,” I said. “But you can try it on yourself, if you like.”

Caroline giggled. “It’s much too big for me, Gwenny. And now you really must get up, or you won’t have time for any breakfast.”

A refreshing shower finally woke me up, and as I washed my hair, my thoughts kept circling around yesterday evening or, more accurately, the half an hour (well, that’s what it had felt like) that I’d spent shedding tears and snot in Gideon’s arms.

I remembered how he had held me close and stroked my hair. I’d been so upset at the time that I hadn’t even thought how close we suddenly were. I felt all the more embarrassed now. Particularly because he’d really been very nice, not like his usual self at all. (Even if it was just because he felt sorry for me.) And yet I had been determined to hate him forever.

“Gwenny!” Caroline was hammering on the bathroom door. “Come on out! You can’t stay in there forever.”

She was right. I really couldn’t stay here forever. I had to come out—into this suddenly weird new life of mine. I turned off the hot tap and let icy water trickle over me until the last of the weariness had left my body. My school uniform was still in Madame Rossini’s sewing room, and two spare blouses were in the wash, so I had to put on last year’s uniform, which was already a little too small for me. The blouse stretched taut over my breasts, and the skirt was slightly too short. Never mind. My dark blue school shoes were also at the Temple, so I put on my black sneakers, which wasn’t really allowed. But Mr. Gilles, the principal, probably wouldn’t go around all the classrooms inspecting dress code today.

There wasn’t time to blow-dry my hair, so I just rubbed it as dry as I could with a towel and then combed it through. It lay wet and straight over my shoulders, not a trace left of the soft ringlets conjured up yesterday by Madame Rossini.

I looked at my face in the mirror for a moment. I didn’t exactly look as if I’d had a good night’s sleep, but it was better than I’d expected. I put some of Mum’s antiaging cream on my cheeks and forehead. It was never too soon to start, my mother always said.

I felt like skipping breakfast, but I knew I had to face Charlotte and Aunt Glenda sooner or later. I could get it over and done with now.

I heard them talking as I came down to the first floor, long before I reached the dining room.

“The big bird is a symbol of misfortune,” I heard Great-aunt Maddy saying. She was never up before ten. She loved a good sleep and thought breakfast the only unnecessary meal in the day. “I do wish someone would listen to me.”

“Oh, really, Maddy! No one can make anything of this vision of yours. And we’ve had to listen to you going on about it at least ten times.” That was Lady Arista.

“Very true,” said Aunt Glenda. “If I hear another word about sapphire eggs, I shall scream.”

“Good morning,” I interrupted.

There was a brief silence in which they all gaped at me as if I were a little green man from Planet Zog.

“Good morning, child,” said Lady Arista. “I hope you slept well.”

“Fine, thank you. I was very tired.”

“I’m sure it was all rather too much for you,” said Aunt Glenda patronizingly.

But she was right—it had been. I sat down in my usual place opposite Charlotte, who obviously hadn’t touched her toast. She looked as if the sight of me had spoilt her appetite.

Mum and Nick were smiling at me in a conspiratorial way, and Caroline pushed a bowl of cornflakes and milk over to me. At the other end of the table, Great-aunt Maddy waved to me. “My little angel! I’m so glad to see you! You’ll cast some light on all this confusion. What with all the shouting yesterday evening, no one could get a clear idea of anything. Glenda was digging up ancient history from back when our Lucy ran off with that handsome de Villiers boy. I never did understand why everyone kicked up such a fuss because Grace let them stay with her for a few days. You’d think that would have been forgotten long ago. But no, no sooner has a little grass grown over it than some clumsy camel comes along and rakes it all up again.”

Caroline giggled. She was probably imagining Aunt Glenda as a camel.

“This is not a TV series, Maddy,” said Lady Arista sharply.

“Thank goodness, no, it isn’t,” said Great-aunt Maddy. “If it were, I’d have lost track of the plot ages ago.”

“It’s perfectly simple,” said Charlotte in a chilly voice. “Everyone thought I’d have the gene, but Gwyneth has it instead.” She pushed her plate away from her and stood up. “So now she’ll just have to see if she can manage.”

“Charlotte, wait!” But Aunt Glenda was not in time to keep Charlotte from storming out of the room. Before she followed her, she gave Mum a nasty look. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Grace!”

“She’s in a dangerous mood,” said Nick.

Lady Arista heaved a deep sigh.

Mum sighed as well. “I have to go to work now. Gwyneth, I agreed with Mr. George that he will pick you up from school today. You’ll be sent to elapse to the year 1956, in a nice safe cellar where you can get on with your homework in peace.”

“Bummer!” said Nick.

I was thinking just the same.

“And after that, you will come straight home,” said Lady Arista.

“But the day will be over by then,” I said. Was this going to be my routine from now on? Going to the Temple to elapse after school, sitting about in a boring cellar doing homework, then going home to dinner? What a nightmare!

Great-aunt Maddy swore under her breath because the sleeve of her dressing gown had landed in the marmalade on her toast. “This is no time of day to be up and about, that’s what I always say.”

“So you do,” said Nick.

Mum kissed him, Caroline, and me good-bye, like every morning. Then she put a hand on my shoulder and said quietly, “If by any chance you happen to see my dad, give him a kiss from me.”

Lady Arista jumped slightly at these words. She sipped her tea in silence, then looked at her watch and said, “You must hurry if you’re going to be at school on time.”

*   *   *

“
I
’
M DEFINITELY GOING
to open a detective agency someday,” said Lesley. We were bunking off geography with Mrs. Counter and had squeezed into one of the cubicles in the girls’ toilets. Lesley was sitting on the loo lid with a fat folder on her knees. I was leaning against the door, which was scribbled all over in ballpoint and color pen.
JENNY LOVES ADAM
,
MALCOLM IS AN ASS
,
LIFE IS CRAP
, and other, similar remarks.

“Investigating mysteries must be in my blood,” said Lesley. “Maybe I’ll study history too and specialize in old myths and ancient writings. And then I’ll be like Tom Hanks in
The Da Vinci Code.
I’ll look better, of course, and I’ll hire a really hot guy to be my assistant.”

“You do that,” I said. “Sounds exciting. Whereas I’m going to spend the rest of my life hanging about in a cellar without any windows in the year 1956.”

“Only for three hours a day,” said Lesley. I’d brought her right up to date, and it looked as if she had a much better grasp of all these complications than I did. She’d heard it all, up to my story about the men in the park and my guilty conscience. “Better to fight back than get sliced up like a cake yourself” was her comment on that. Oddly enough, that made me feel better than any of Mr. George’s or Gideon’s reassurances.

Telekinesis
was the word Lesley used for the count’s ability to strangle me even from several yards away. Through telekinesis, she said, you could also communicate with other people without opening your mouth. She promised to find out more about it this afternoon.

She’d spent the day yesterday and half the night searching the Internet for Count Saint-Germain and all the other stuff I’d passed on to her. She dismissed my gratitude, saying it was all terrific fun.

“Anyway, this Count Saint-Germain is a rather enigmatic historical character. Even his date of birth isn’t known for certain. Much mystery surrounds his origins,” she said, and her face was positively glowing with enthusiasm. “Apparently he didn’t age. Some people put that down to magic, others to a balanced diet.”

“He
was
old,” I said. “Maybe he was well preserved and looked after himself, but he was definitely old.”

“Well, you’ve proved that bit wrong, then,” said Lesley. “He must have had a fascinating personality, because he comes into a great many novels, and in some esoteric circles he was seen as a kind of guru, an Ascended Master, whatever that means. He was a member of many secret societies—the Freemasons and the Rosicrucians and several more—he was an outstanding musician, he played the violin and composed music, he spoke a dozen languages fluently, and he could apparently—listen to this!—he could apparently travel in time. Anyway, he claimed to have been present at various events when he couldn’t possibly have been there.”

“Except he could.”

“Yes. Crazy. He was also keen on alchemy. He had an alchemist’s tower of his own in Germany for doing his experiments—not sure what sort they were.”

“Alchemy, that’s something to do with the philosopher’s stone, right?”

“Exactly. And with magic. Though the philosopher’s stone means something different to everyone. Some just tried to make gold with it, so there were all sorts of odd developments. All the old kings and princes were after people who said they were alchemists, because of course they all wanted gold. It’s true that attempts to make gold led, among other things, to making porcelain, but most of the time, nothing at all happened, so the alchemists were put in prison as heretics and frauds or had their heads chopped off.”