Chapter 24
Derrick fidgeted as he rode through predawn, the very predawn London of the twenty-first century. It wasn’t in his nature to fidget, so he took a deep, slow breath, then forced himself to look on the current assignment as nothing more than that: an assignment.
The plan was simple. He needed to get Richard Drummond safely out of the Tower jail and get himself and his companions safely back home.
Unfortunately, the more he looked at the reality of what had to happen, the more the plan seemed to complicate itself.
And one of the most complicated aspects of it was finding out the identity of that unknown quantity who had planted those gems on Samantha.
He didn’t suppose that person would be looking for her, but then again, perhaps he would be.
It had been suggested the night before that it made sense to have her back in approximately the same place so they could use her—and this was what made him extremely nervous—as bait.
He had immediately and vociferously balked at that suggestion, but Samantha had merely looked at him, silent and determined, then turned back to the lads to figure out what she could carry for defense and not land in jail herself.
In the end, he had agreed to her coming along only because Jamie had called him and provided him with a safe place to use as a base, a place where Jamie assured him Samantha would be the safest of them all whilst he and the lads went about their business.
That decision made, he’d sent Samantha up to sleep in his bed, then camped in the salon with his lads. At that point, he had supposed there was safety in numbers.
Samantha had spent the day before with a professional historical costumer Cameron had drummed up for him, having a realistic and very elegant Elizabethan mini-wardrobe created for her.
Thankfully he’d already had most of what Samantha and Jamie had decided he would need—the very useful laird of the clan MacLeod apparently having nothing better to do with his time than look up little details he promised would make the man and woman—and his presence had only been required first thing to take a few measurements.
He had lingered in the shop with Oliver, trying not to frighten the seamstresses.
Oliver had, unsurprisingly, found a pile of scraps and had a nap of unseemly length.
They’d regrouped at his flat for a supper he hadn’t cooked, checked their gear once more, then tried to catch a handful of hours of sleep before setting off on their journey.
The immediate plan was to get back to the right time, then get through predawn London to Sir Thomas Mauntell’s house.
The Globe wasn’t in exactly a posh part of town back in the day; he could only hope they didn’t get either mugged or murdered before they managed to get across the Thames and at least out of the bear-baiting environment.
Money was, as always, something of an issue, though he had been very grateful for the courier that had arrived at his flat the day before with a pouch from Jamie.
It had contained a handful of coins, enough hopefully to see them through their trip.
Jamie tended to be slightly more pragmatic about money and, it had to be said, romance than he was about more exotic things, so Derrick had been surprised he’d bothered, but he hadn’t questioned the generosity.
He would have to agree to journeying to one of the less-palatable destinations Jamie had on his list very soon as repayment.
But once the details had been planned and seen to as thoroughly as possible, Derrick had been plagued by what he still couldn’t figure and that was who had planted those gems on Samantha, and why.
“Three minutes to launch,” Peter said. He looked over his shoulder from where he sat in the front seat. “Think our gear will work?”
Derrick shrugged. “It’s battery powered. Why not?”
Peter looked hopeful. Actually, he looked rather ill, but Derrick couldn’t blame him. He glanced casually at Oliver sitting next to him, but Oliver was in superspy mode, silent and deadly looking.
“Check,” Peter said, fiddling with his watch. “Four twenty-nine and three seconds.”
Derrick looked at his watch, knew Oliver was doing the same, then hoped that the fairly long-range earbuds and mics they all had taped to themselves under their shirts for use later wouldn’t find unexpected static in a different time period.
It was a self-contained system they had previously tested extensively in the most rural spot in Scotland they’d been able to find, but he had no idea why it had never occurred to him to ask Jamie to help him see what it would do in the past.
But if it didn’t work, they would do what they always did, which was improvise. He looked at Samantha. She glanced at him, then smiled.
“At least I’m not the servant this time.”
“I’m not sure that’s an improvement,” he said, “but you do look very lovely.”
“And the cloak’s handy for hiding all kinds of things.”
He didn’t want to ask her what Oliver had talked her into carrying.
The only thing that made him feel better was that Oliver had spent an hour with her in the salon after dinner the evening before, teaching her how to use those things.
Derrick was fairly sure he might regret her having learned any of it at some point, particularly if she decided to use any of her skills on him.
“And here we are,” Rufus said pleasantly. “Give me a wee page when you need me to pick you up.”
“Where’ll you be?” Derrick asked politely.
“‘Pray I’m not in the loo,’” Peter and Oliver quoted in unison.
They’d been saying that in unison for as long as Derrick could remember, though Rufus had never actually said those words. It was just their good luck charm of sorts. It was actually rather reassuring.
Derrick leaned up and put his hand briefly on Rufus’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
“No worries, lad.”
They piled out of the car and huddled together on the sidewalk. Samantha was shivering.
“So, what now?” she asked. “High fives all around, or do we just jump right in?”
Derrick rubbed his hands together. “I say we just jump in. Let’s find the appropriate spot.”
“Do we have to hold hands,” Oliver said quietly, “or just step in together and hope for the best?”
Derrick knew it was a serious question. He looked at Oliver and Peter in turn. “This is the way it works. You step into the gate, thinking about where you need to go as you do so, then the gate opens to that spot.”
“Does it always work?” Samantha asked.
Derrick supposed there was no point in not being entirely frank. “Most of the time.”
“And when it doesn’t?” Oliver looked at him. “What then?”
“We’d better hold hands,” Derrick said. “At least we’ll wind up in the same place that way.”
Peter only swallowed. Mostly.
Derrick nodded in a businesslike fashion, then took Samantha’s hand and walked with her over to where the mushroom ring found itself.
He supposed he should have been relieved to have found it still there, but he imagined the gate would work just as well without its defining marker.
Then again, gates seemed to spawn that sort of ring around themselves.
“What do we do on the other side?” Samantha asked.
“Hope no one sees us,” he said grimly. “Let’s go.”
He had to admit that the one thing about time traveling that made him slightly queasy was the traveling itself.
There was something about those gates that shifted in a way that left him with a vague sort of headache he didn’t care for.
It never lasted more than a few minutes, fortunately, but he could have done without it.
James MacLeod had the constitution of an ox, for he only ever emerged on the other side of anything with a fierce grin and boundless enthusiasm.
“I’m only touching you, Phillips, because I don’t want to get lost,” Peter said distinctly.
Oliver snarled a curse at him, which seemed particularly appropriate for the moment. Derrick took hold of Samantha and Oliver, then looked at his companions.
“Cheers.”
Samantha laughed. He supposed he couldn’t blame her. It seemed the most sensible reaction possible at the moment.
He walked through the gate, towing his companions along with him, then stumbled out into somewhere that was definitely not modern London.
“Smells like a bleedin’ sewer,” Peter gasped.
“Launch successful,” Oliver said briskly. “Let’s get this done.”
Derrick couldn’t have agreed more. He took Samantha’s hand in his, then got them safely beyond the gate and on their way.
“Derrick?”
He shook his head. There was just something about the way Samantha said his name that left him feeling as if he’d just sat down in front of a merry fire.
“Aye, love?”
“Tell me again where we’re going and how Jamie knew about it. I’m not sure I had a genealogy chart available last night to write it all down.”
What he was sure of was that she needed something to take her mind off what they were doing at present.
He looked at the lads. “We’ll make for the river, hire a boat to ferry us across—and hope the wherryman is still half asleep—then disembark and walk quickly to Mauntell’s house. Stick close behind us.”
“And keep a weather eye out for prostitutes and contents of chamber pots,” Oliver said blandly. “Don’t think I didn’t do my research.”
“I never doubted it,” Derrick said. At least the Thames was within throwing distance. With any luck, they might manage to get there without fending off any ne’er-do-wells. He glanced briefly at Samantha. “I’ll tell you how Jamie got his information, though it’s a bit of a story.”
“I have plenty of time.”
He smiled at her briefly. “So you do. It’s a bit convoluted, but this is how it works.
One of Cameron’s ventures is a trust for the preservation of structures of note owned—or on the verge of being lost, quite often—by those who don’t want to sell to the National Trust. It’s the Cameron/Artane Trust for Historical Preservation, by name. ”
“What’s Artane?”