Chapter 16
I feel more than see Leo’s sharp breath. There goes any attraction he might have had for me, now that I’m going around suggesting the impossible.
And there’s still a chance he’ll tell on me. But I’m desperate now, with no way home in sight. So I’m going to have to trust him. And from the time we’ve spent together, he doesn’t seem malicious. A little frivolous and irresponsible, sure.
But he cares about his sister, and about his tenants too.
And I’m running out of time as that letter saying I’m no royal gets closer.
But I can’t worry about any of that right now. It’s the reaction in front of me that I need to focus on. Because if she doesn’t take this seriously or know how to help, then even sort of admitting I’m a time traveler in front of Leo was a waste.
The librarian sits back in her seat, crossing her arms and considering me. She’s not even looking at Leo anymore, focusing all her curiosity on me.
“H.G. Wells has recently published a book on time travel called The Time Machine. And he’s already written a short story on the subject called ‘The Chronic Argonauts.’”
“Yes. In fiction.” But he focuses more on the critique of his industrial society, using time travel as a literary device more than a scientific theory.
Just like Mark Twain did in A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, published six years before the date I’m in now.
“Do you know if anyone’s studying it or thinking of it as a scientific concept? ”
“Time travel doesn’t exist.”
“No. Of course not.” I force a laugh past my lips that I think might sound more maniacal than comforting.
“Wouldn’t that be wild?” I keep up the tight smile and attempt to throw a look at Leo, who is looking back at me without any expression on his face.
I didn’t even know the usually expressive man could do that. Again, no time to worry about that.
“It’s interesting. And we’ve got to study something before we can completely rule it out. Maybe we’ll discover something else. Electricity seemed like a wild concept at one time and now we can light rooms without fire,” I say. They’re not well lit, but points for trying.
The people around me respond to my babbling about as well as expected. More blank stares. So I fix a smile on my lips and hope the librarian says something helpful. Something that will send me home and make this trip and awkwardness worth it.
“You’re incredibly lucky,” she says. Well, the universe tore me out of the comfortable present and into the corsets of the past (both as a metaphor for what this time does to women and also, actual corsets).
So, I’ll reserve judgment vis a vis my alleged luck.
“I think I might know someone who is studying physics and has an interest in time travel. Up at King’s College, in Cambridge. ”
“That’s fantastic,” I breathe out in relief.
“I cannot guarantee he’s accomplished anything. No one believes he will find anything, but we are all watching and gossiping about his attempts.”
“Can you give me his name? Maybe I can visit him and talk about his findings.”
The librarian writes something down and then hands me the paper. “Here’s his full name.” The paper says Andrew Huxley. “Good luck with your search.”
“Thank you,” I say.
I slip the sheet with a possible solution into my purse and turn to Leo, but his face reveals nothing.
Instead of walking back to the entrance and to Anne, I take a few turns through bookshelves until we’ve gone deeper into the library, where even less light gets in and the smell of old books overtakes everything.
A comforting smell for an uncomfortable situation. At least Leo can’t yell in the library. It’s against the rules.
“So…” I avoid looking at him by instead focusing on the leather-bound books next to his head. Leo doesn’t say anything, and I’m too cowardly to look him directly in his face to find out what he thinks. “You probably have questions?”
“Time travel?” His voice sounds shocked and a bit incredulous. “That is not possible. It is only in stories.”
“Come on, you have to have noticed how strange I am. Doesn’t this explain everything?”
Leo hits the back of his head on the bookshelf and then keeps it there, closing his eyes. “You are just…you…”
“I’m a product of another time.”
“I cannot believe I am thinking this. But when do you think are you from?”
“The year 2025,” I whisper. It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud. I’m still half convinced someone is going to jump out of the stacks and commit me to Bedlam, but it feels good to get it out to someone. To get it out to Leo.
It may stop feeling good depending on what he does with the information. But for the time being, it’s nice to be honest with someone who’s been so honest to me.
“Where are you from, in 2025?”
“America. California, to be precise. Although I bet it looks different now than it does when I’m from it.
I was in England for a conference, with an event at Osborne House, when this all happened.
I am really a historian back home and I teach at a university.
I study Indians in England in this particular time, actually.
And you met me the first night I was in this time. The first hour.”
“Are you royalty?”
Even though the British aristocracy looked down on Indians and half-Indians, they still felt a begrudging respect, or maybe more a tolerance, of Indians with royal blood. Or at least to the idea of royalty, from any place.
But while still taking their lands.
It makes little sense, but I’m not going to tell them that. It’s why I’m glad I responded to Victoria’s question with a yes that night, even if I thought it was a joke. Who knows where I would have ended up if it wasn’t for that one question?
But even understanding the history, my heart sinks that it would be important to him. “No. I’m very common.”
“I don’t know that you are particularly common.” He isn’t yelling at me or calling for help to restrain me, so I risk a peek at his face. I can’t see disgust, so maybe he isn’t only obsessed with royalty. “Did you come in a…machine, or was it more a Rip Van Winkle type of transportation?”
“I hit my head falling down some stairs, so probably more the second one.”
He nods, like this is a perfectly reasonable conversation to be having. His face still gives nothing away.
“Do you believe me?” I want him to. Not just because it bodes well for my safety if he does, but because I want him to trust me. Because I like him, and I trust him.
Leo shakes his head. “I do not think I can. It’s too impossible.”
“Oh.” That’s not exactly what I want to hear.
“Can you prove it?”
“Probably.” I turn my hard-fought degree into a sideshow trick and think back on what’s happening right now. It’s hard to do when the stakes are this high.
This is the worst history test I’ve ever taken and I feel a little bad for my students.
“On June 13, Emile Lavassor will come first in the first automobile race, from Paris to Bordeaux to Paris at a whopping twenty-four kph. But he doesn’t win because he’s disqualified for having a two-seater instead of a four-seater, so Paul Keochlin is the official winner.
But you have to wait for the thirteenth to verify that.
And Charles, your Secretary of State for India and future Prime Minister, is having an affair with his best friend’s wife.
But I don’t know how you’d verify that either. ”
This was easier in Twain’s A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court.
There was a convenient eclipse that the titular Yankee knew about happening in a matter of days.
But I never paid attention to the weather patterns; unless something happened to derail crops and lose fortunes, it wasn’t in the books I read.
“What? Forsyth and Lady Dumfries? That is news.” He’s distracted out of his emotionless response at the gossip. Now he has a look of delight on his face to know a thing that no one else does. Aside from me.
“Please don’t tell anyone about the affair. I’ve been sort of lightly threatening him by alluding to it, and if you say something he’ll know I’m talking and I’ll lose the leverage.”
Leo shakes his head. “I will not. I don’t know if I believe you or not, but I suppose we can wait to find out. At least until June 13.”
The letter must be coming before then, but it’s the best I’ll get. “Will you tell anyone in the meantime, about the time travel?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No one would believe me if I did. I do not even know if I do. But while some will easily believe you have been lying, they will not believe you are from the future. Then I will be branded a liar or insane and lose any benefit from our deal. And the deal is working for both of us, so we should keep it as is.”
“Thank you,” I mumble.
“It is at least half self-interest.” Then he looks at me with sharp eyes. “What knowledge that beautiful head must hold, if this is true.”
“Nothing more than what anyone else in my time knows.” As a historian I might retain more of these facts, but everyone in the future at least has the opportunity to know them.
It’s probably not an important distinction for the sake of this conversation, but I don’t want him to think I’m more unique than I am.
“Do you know what will to happen to me?” He asks it as a half joke, like he doesn’t believe me but on the off chance this is true, he wants to know what happens to him.
“No.” I don’t point out that’s probably because he doesn’t do anything of note. “I don’t know information on everyone here. Just the people who...” I don’t know a non-offensive way to say the next part.
“Just the people who distinguished themselves. Good or bad. Enough to be remembered in the annals of history.”
“Something like that.”
“It’s all right. I never expected to change the world. I never thought so much about the future in general, I guess. Maybe I should have.” The last part is a mumble, more to himself than me, I think.
“Well, thank you for not abandoning me. That’s pretty monumental and world changing to me.” I’m so grateful this is how he’s choosing to respond to my news. I would like him to completely believe me and support me, but that’s too much to ask for and I’ll take begrudging silence.
And the opportunity to spend more time with him.
If I have to go without Netflix and Instagram, at least I get to look at Leo. Like I am now. He’s got a thoughtful look on his face, like he’s still not sure he’s being pranked, but he’s going along for the ride until it stops being fun for him.
I smile back at him in thanks and he blinks in confusion. Probably wondering why I suddenly turned on that big a smile, so I dim it to what I hope is a normal level.
He stops the frequent blinking, but his eyes are now locked on my lips. And I realize I left my chaperone behind and I’m alone with Leo.