Chapter 37
I should have been more specific on who I wanted to trip. I understand that now; I was ambiguous, and the universe acted accordingly.
I lie still at the landing in the middle of the steps, where the staircase changes direction.
I don’t bother getting up until the world stops spinning.
And until the pain stops hammering at various body parts enough that I can do something other than breathe through it.
If the pursuers want to drag me up and carry me back into the house to arrest me, they’re going to have to do the heavy lifting.
Literally.
But as the pain recedes, light filters in through my consciousness.
And it’s wrong.
The light has suddenly gotten better, even though it appears to be later at night than it was just before my fall.
And there’s no arrogant marquess or douchebag government official chasing me anymore.
“No. No no no no no.” My hand lands on my bag when I try to push myself up, so I absentmindedly grab it along the way.
Fully standing, I stretch out the kinks in my back from my second fall within a week. I am too old for this. And for being thrown from time to time, without regard to my plans, hopes, or the feelings I’ve developed.
I limp gingerly up the stairs, trying to rub my back but not getting much out of it through the heavy corset. Something I wish had stayed in the past.
My heart sinks further when I get to the top of the stairs.
Everything looks exactly the same as the conference event I was at before taking my first trip.
Loud music over speakers entertains a crowd inside the house, and as I go inside, I hear laughter and yelling.
I walk into the Durbar Room and see people in modern replicas of Victorian dress, but none in the real deal, and none of them are the people I want to see.
Even irritating Charles would be better at this point, so long as he comes with Leo on the side. But I’m never going to see Leo again, and that makes my lips quiver as I process the implications of that fact.
Was it real? Did I get knocked out from the fall and dream the entire thing? It is something I would imagine. But no. I clutch the bag close to me, filled with my notebooks from the past, and give my dress, a loan from Victoria, an affectionate pat.
“Did you change clothes, Meera?” Heather walks up to me, a little drunker than she was before I left the party, approximately a hundred and thirty years ago.
“What?” Who gives a shit about my wardrobe choices?
I just lost the love of my life. Shit. The love of my life is dead.
He grew old with his beer heiress, probably, or maybe he decided Americans were to his taste and went after a Vanderbilt, or an Astor, or maybe a Rockefeller.
And he had children and lived an entire life without me, dying in his family home, surrounded by love and family and friends.
All in the span of the few seconds it took me to fall down a set of stairs.
And I’m just someone he met once upon a time. With a wild story and strange ways.
I want to stomp my foot and shake my fist and punch the universe right in its face. And cry. A lot.
“Your clothes. They’re much nicer than they were earlier. You should have just worn these all night,” she says.
I narrow my eyes, finding a target for all the heartbreak of losing Leo and frustration over not being taken seriously in my field. Frustration that I let build up for too long without doing anything about it. There’s no time like the present.
“You’re wrong.” She looks taken aback at my vehement defense of the rented costume. “Not about this.” Obviously, a princess’s dress is better than the dress I rented for fifty pounds. And shit, I’m going to have to pay the lost fee for that, on top of everything else.
But I need to focus. “Your continued belief that European history is as white as a group of polar bears sitting on the snow in the Arctic, despite multiple primary sources showing that all of Europe has been in contact with people of color since antiquity, is historically inaccurate and frankly, lazy scholarship.
Unless you want to forget the Romans and Carthage, or Alexander the Great and India.
And that was just the start, leading to millennia of travel and interaction.
The fact that you think people of color would never explore is rooted in racism.
“And sure, maybe they weren’t a majority, but they existed.
And maybe they didn’t start coming in larger numbers until the 1500s, but they did come.
They laughed, cried, made fortunes, lost fortunes, survived, thrived, failed, made homes in new lands, and returned home.
And you don’t get to dismiss that because you don’t bother to look deeper.
I’m not even asking you to study it; you’re clearly not the best person for it.
But you don’t get to tell me, an actual expert in the field, that people of color didn’t live full lives in English history. ”
That off my chest, I finally take a deep breath. Heather is staring at me, eyes wide and mouth open in confusion and maybe a bit of weariness.
“So, I just wanted to say that. Because of what you said earlier.” I don’t wait for another reaction, not sure that there’s anything she could say that I would want to hear, or that would change anything. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to Google something. It’s an emergency.”
I walk toward the coat room, needing to at least do a quick search of Leo before I explode from curiosity.
“Hey, there. Are you feeling okay?” Luis slides up to me as I walk, keeping pace with me. But not too close. Like he doesn’t want to be next.
Great. Everyone in the field will hear about this soon.
“I’m…okay.” Not great. I’ve returned home, which I was trying to do the entire time I was in the Victorian era. But now I’m away from Leo and that sucks too. “I just need my phone.”
He tries to comfort me, because it is apparently obvious that I need it. “I’ll get you some wine for when you get back.”
“Thank you. But I think I’m going to call it a night.” I won’t be fit for company whatever I find out about Leo.
“Okay. Text me if you want to grab food before our flights back.”
“I will.” Then I hug Luis. I might have lost the love of my life, but I gained back all my family, my friends, and Wi-Fi. It’ll have to be enough. I don’t think it will, but it’ll have to be.
The coat room is where I left it this time, and I get my coat, purse and phone back with a desperation that the poor coat check person is probably unused to seeing.
I don’t wait until I get back to my room to start the search.
As soon as I pull the phone out of my purse, I type in Leo’s name in the internet browser’s search bar.
Walking while reading, I exit the door and scroll through the options. He doesn’t have a Wikipedia entry, which is annoying, but I guess makes sense since I hadn’t even heard about him before this in my research. Not everyone in history is written about and remembered, not even aristocrats.
As the event organizers direct me to one of the waiting shuttles back to the hotel, I keep scrolling past the other search results. Some mentions that he existed and was a marquess, but nothing about his life. Or if he got married, which is what I really want to know.
Come on, internet. Don’t fail me now; I came back for you!
Also my parents, obviously.
I try searching for his house, and a website to visit the building comes up first. Apparently, it’s a museum now.
But it’s not as in depth on the history of the house as I would hope.
It goes in depth until Leo, and then just talks about his sister’s family.
About a year after I was there she married a wealthy duke and they had three children.
They were unfashionably in love and even age appropriate.
Whatever happened after I left, at least Leo’s sister seemed to be happy.
After more research, I find that the house is owned by a private trust, called the Alston Hall Trust, but that’s not super helpful, as there isn’t that much information on it either.
“Ma’am? We’re back at the hotel,” the bus driver says.
I look up and finally notice that we’re stopped in front of the hotel, the lights of the bus on, and the door open. I have no idea how long he’s been sitting here waiting for me to notice and get out.
“Sorry. Thank you.” I rush out of the bus, anxious to get my laptop and its research opportunities. Maybe I can make an appointment with the trust of Leo’s house to see the records, if they have any. Or they could be in the local records office for the county.
The trail is not cold yet, and school doesn’t start for another month.
I have some time and nowhere to be. My finances aren’t going to be as excited about the research expedition, but I’ll manage, staying in hostels and eating an unadvised amount of Gregg’s sausage rolls, which will be delicious, if not exactly healthy for me.
“Miss Chopra,” the front desk employee yells after me as I cross the lobby. “We have a message for you.”
“For me?” There was nothing on my phone. I check again as I walk to the desk. Who would know that I’m here but doesn’t have my cell number? Maybe it’s someone from the conference I don’t know well. We’re all staying here.
“Here you are.” He hands me a sealed envelope. It’s small, and has my name written on it in the fanciest script I’ve seen used for my name.
“Who is this from?” I tap the envelope on the counter.
“They didn’t leave a name. But someone came while you were out tonight and left it. Looked like an accountant or lawyer type.”
I have no idea why any English accounts or lawyers would want to leave me a letter, but okay.
Did some family not like what I wrote about them?
Am I being sued? Damn it, now I need to find an attorney here, and they wear wigs…
how can I take that seriously? Oh, but maybe I could get more of their records out of discovery and write another article about whoever is mad.
Maybe a book this time, with all that access.
I open the envelope and start walking to the stairs again. Then I stop in the middle of the lobby when I see the letterhead.
The Alston Hall Trust.
I’m so shocked I almost drop the paper and my phone on the marble floor of the hotel.
And then I almost drop them because someone bumps into me from behind.
Okay, it may be my fault for stopping in the middle of a walkway, but still, driving rules say don’t follow someone so close that you can’t get out of the way if they abruptly stop.
So I think we can all agree we’re both equally at fault.
We apologize reflexively to each other, because the woman is British and I’ve been in England too long.
Then I detour from my room to find a chair in the lobby. I can’t wait for however long it’ll take to get up the stairs to the fourth floor in this heavy dress, or a very slow ride in a very tiny elevator.
Finally, out of danger of being knocked over by people walking, I start reading.