Chapter 22
Despite not being a morning person (I schedule all my classes in the afternoon for a reason), I wake up excited. For two reasons: I get to spend more time with Leo and maybe find a way home.
But then I realize that one of those actions will put an end to the other, and that puts a damper on things. Because if all goes according to the plan, I’ll be back home in the future, obsessively researching everything on the life and times of Leopold Clifford-Alston, Marquess of Basildon.
Who he ended up marrying. All the children he had with her. How he not only paid off his debts, but probably also refurbished his family mansion and gave it electricity. He’ll have enough left over to keep a mistress in some row house in a semi-fashionable neighborhood, if he wants.
And with that thought, any excitement I had this morning flees. The sudden shift in emotions is a lot to take from someone already morally opposed to mornings, and I’m left in a funk I can’t shake off.
“Are you ready for the trip?” Anne asks as she comes in the door, tearing me from my thoughts.
“Yes!” I throw the covers off to imitate the actions of a morning person, hoping the perkiness will follow. Like the therapists who say smiling can trick your body into releasing genuinely happy chemicals. Or that lying down and closing your eyes can give some benefits of rest, if you can’t sleep.
“I’ve packed for you in case we have to stay the night, and Her Majesty is sending some money for you.” Anne indicates behind her, where two footman are dragging a large chest.
“All this for one night?” Does the word night have a different meaning that scholars don’t know about? Is it code for two weeks? Like fortnight, which took me too long to learn, and I only finally did because of historic romances?
“Her Majesty wants you to be prepared for any situation that could arise,” Anne says defensively.
“She’s very kind.” I don’t want Anne to think I’m ungrateful.
Anne nods and flutters around the room, getting me and my stuff ready for the trip.
She’s scarily efficient, while I’m focusing on preparing myself for how I’m going to feel when I see Leo again, black hair flopping in the non-wind like he covertly invented electric fans and made one of his servants follow him around with the prototype.
We get downstairs just as Leo arrives.
“Are you ladies ready for a trip to the countryside?” he asks when a footman opens the door for him.
He’s got a genuine, careless smile on his face, and I’m struck by the fact that he always looks this happy. He’s got more problems than even me…and I’m literally trapped 130 years and 5,442 miles away from my home.
But he’s still enjoying things. Encouraging me to have fun, dragging me out of my shell when I just want to stand on the sidelines and observe, study, and record.
And he’s helped me more than he knows. I’ve stood up for myself more this trip than I ever have before.
Whether it’s because I don’t have a choice since I’m in the limelight wherever I go here, or because I feel better knowing he’s contractually bound to help me if it all goes to shit, it’s given me a confidence I didn’t know I had. Or maybe it’s all of it.
“Are you all right?” Leo asks.
“Yes.” I snap back into the moment with my own smile. “Let’s go.”
Leo’s carriage takes us to King’s Cross and I get to experience, once more, places I’ve been but only much later in time.
It’s a thrill I haven’t gotten used to yet.
The way that everything looks so similar, but then when I look closer, it’s different.
Here, the facade is the same now and in the future, but when we walk inside, I don’t see the modern-style roof or the shops I’m used to.
And the people! Since it’s a place I’ve been, I expect to see modern clothes even though it’s a Victorian building, but then I’m confronted with Victorian clothes and my brain takes a moment to catch up with my reality.
Leo sees me trying, and failing, to be chill. He gets something out of his coat pocket and extends it out to me. It’s some paper wrapped around a pen and some ink. “We have some time before the train leaves. I know you must want to take notes.”
I shyly take the tools. “Yes. I really do.” I unfurl the paper and look around for something to write on.
Leo, not done being my knight in shining armor even though I didn’t go back to Medieval times, turns and reaches into his footman’s bag.
He pulls out a slab of wood and holds it horizontally in front of me, at around my chest height.
“You really thought this through.” I give the compliment while my eyes and hands are busy on the scene around me and the paper in front of me.
“Although I am attempting to cut down on the gambling, it was a sure bet that we would need these items during our journey.”
I blush, seeing his intense gaze out of my peripherals even though I refuse to look at him directly. It’s too much and I can’t stop wanting to do bad things to him in a crowded Victorian train station. Things that would also be scandalous to do in pubic in 2025.
After I’ve filled up half the page, with Leo patiently holding up a board for me the entire time, I blow on the paper to dry the ink and fold it up to store in my tiny purse.
“Thank you.” I risk looking up at him now, not strong enough to resist seeing his face now that my distractions are over.
He’s got a half-smile, not annoyed or even mad that he’s been my table for the last ten minutes. It makes me feel warm. And not just because I’m waiting approximately fifteen layers in this station among steam trains.
I clear my throat. “Is our train leaving soon?”
“We have time, if you would like to explore?”
“It’s all right. I don’t want to miss the train. We’ve got to get to Cambridge and find out what Andrew knows so I can get home.”
Leo’s smile immediately dims. What did that?
I think back over what I said. Does he hate train rides?
Does he hate King’s College in some pointless college rivalry?
Does he hate the countryside in general?
Is he as disappointed as me about my upcoming departure?
No, that’s arrogance, thinking he cares about me as much as I care for him.
No matter how much I wish it was because he cares.
Leo leads us to a train and then into a wood-paneled train car with lush green velvet damask seats and matching curtains with dark wood paneling in between, and a small wooden table in one corner. This is nicer than the actual apartment that I live in, and it’s a train carriage.
Ugh, eat the rich in any era.
I do support all the wood-paneling in the Victorian décor aesthetic. Something to keep in mind when I go back home, and if I win the lottery to fund a redecoration of my apartment.
The train rambles out of London and then beyond. I soak in the view as the city fades to countryside and sheep replace people, while green foliage replaces gray buildings covered in soot.
At some point, the train porters bring tea and set it on the tiny table, but we get to the Cambridge train station before I even finish my scone.
What a shame, but also my own fault because I spent a lot of the first half of our journey documenting it.
I wrap the scone in a napkin to save for later, shoving it in my purse with my notes before we leave the train.
If I get crumbs all over the notes, well, it won’t be the first time I find food stains on my own papers, including essays from students.
I’m nervous as we walk through the platforms. In the past few days I’ve been alternatively sure this is going to show me a way home and sure that it won’t and I’ll need to plan how to make my life here.
And now it’s here and I have to confront that today will go a long way to letting me know which one I’ll be doing.
We exit the Cambridge train station, and I walk fast away from it, determined to get this over with so at least the anticipation will be over and I can start making plans for next steps.
I don’t get far before a throat clears behind me and I turn to see Leo, Anne, a footman and a pile of luggage a few feet from me.
“I have my carriage coming from the house for us,” Leo says. Even though I’m a bundle of nerves, I force myself to stand on the street and wait for transportation.
“Do you want to write whilst we wait?” Leo gets the board out again.
“Actually, yes. Thank you.” I shyly get out the writing tools and take notes, but my heart isn’t in it this time with all the nerves coursing through me.
Still, my Leo-table is too nice to pass up.
Finally, the carriage arrives, even though it feels like I could have walked to the school faster than it took for it to get here.
Once in the carriage, my right foot bounces, the tapping as loud as a concert or a night club inside the small space.
Despite how much everyone can hear how anxious I am, I can’t stop it.
Leo tries, resting his hand on the knee of that bouncing leg. His touch helps a little initially, but the farther we get in town, the less it works. Maybe if he were touching my skin it would have been more effective. But with Anne here, we won’t get to try it and see.
Then the carriage stops and I open the door with shaking hands. I don’t know if this is the right stop, but I can’t sit in here for any longer.
“Anne, you can stay here where it’s comfortable,” I yell behind me. Comfortable for me, because I don’t want her around while I ask someone about time travel.
“But…” Anne says something else but I’m already out of the carriage. I’ll deal with that fallout later, if she decides to tell Victoria.
I stride up the walkway to a beige stone neo-Gothic gatehouse, ignoring both the carvings on the gate and the porter that comes forward when he tries to ask me where I’m going.
I keep walking through the open doorway, the giant oak medieval door open for my trespassing.
I vaguely hear Leo behind me, saying something in his calm voice to the porter that makes the porter’s voice stop.
Aristocratic nonsense. Useful aristocratic nonsense.
I look back quickly and see only Leo. Anne listened to me, or Leo said something to convince her to stay in the carriage, so that’s one less thing to worry about.
I ignore stone carvings, historic figures and the soaring King’s College Chapel with its beautiful fan vault ceiling to my right to focus on my task at hand. No time to take notes right now.
On the other side of the gatehouse, there’s an oasis of stillness around a grassy courtyard. The noise of the street fades away inside the gates, and I don’t see students running around, worried about being late to class or what they’re going to do this weekend. Just one or two stragglers.
Now where would I be if I was a guy named Andrew, interested in time travel?