Voyage in Time: The Titanic (Out of Time #9) (2 page)

Elizabeth grabbed him by the tie and pulled him down into a kiss.

He smiled as they pulled apart. “On second thought …”

Elizabeth laughed, leaned back and rested her head on his shoulder as she looked out of the window again. Her thoughts turned back to the mission. “I wonder why Bohr went to Cambridge so suddenly.”

“He did study there under Thomson for a time,” Simon said. “Perhaps Thomson has something to do with Bohr’s meeting.”

That was possible, she thought. Their mission wasn’t just to find Bohr and keep him safe, but specifically to keep him safe long enough to attend a mysterious meeting on the 19
^th
of April. In typical Council style, they had no idea who he was meeting with or where it would happen. Knowing what little she did about Bohr, Cambridge seemed as likely a spot as any.
 

“At least we’ve got ten whole days to find out,” she said.
 

“Let’s hope that’s long enough.”

~~~

It was early evening by the time they checked into their hotel in Cambridge. While the concierge told them Bohr wasn’t staying at their hotel, he did tell them about a lecture being given that evening by one of Bohr’s colleagues, J.J. Thomson. That would be as good a place as any to try to find his trail. With just over two hours until the lecture began, Elizabeth lingered in the bath and then squeezed herself back into her corset. It wasn’t as bad as the one she’d had to wear when they’d chased Jack the Ripper, but it still squished parts of her that preferred to run free, like her spleen.

The latest fashion wasn’t the curvy S, but a flat silhouette, which would have been fine if she’d been a tentpole and not a human. It was disturbing how history physically shaped women into new ideals by sheer force. She was tempted to start a bra-burning revolution a little early, but then the bra hadn’t even been invented yet.
 

“This is my least favorite part of time travel,” she said as she managed to close the last hook on her corset.

Simon’s eyes drifted over her body. “I’m afraid we’ll have to disagree on that. I rather enjoy it.”

“Spoken like a man.”

He gave her a very sexy half-smile. “Very much so.”

Her face flushed. She was fairly certain most women could get pregnant just from that smile. She wasn’t one of them, she thought, as she turned to dig through her trunks for just the right dress. But the thought tripped her up and she distracted herself with the half dozen gorgeous gowns she’d brought along.
 

They’d been trying for months and months now with nothing to show for it. A little traitorous part of her brain wondered if they’d ever—

“What’s wrong?”

She startled at the sound of his voice, so close behind her now. She hadn’t even heard him walk over to her.

“Nothing.”

He took her by the arms and turned her toward him. “Elizabeth.”

She smiled up at him and shook her head. With so much on their plates dealing with Bohr she didn’t want to add an extra helping of her personal worries. “Nothing, really. I just wonder which of these gowns says filthy, stinking rich to you?”

Simon knew she was withholding something from him, but he didn’t press. He glanced down at the trunks. “They all do.”

“That’s not very helpful. We’re wealthy patrons of the arts and sciences,” she said, affecting a bad upper class accent.
 

Simon looked like he was about to argue again that she was being silly, but he looked down at the trunks again. “The green one.”

Elizabeth snapped her fingers. “The color of money. Good choice.”

He kindly didn’t remind her that wasn’t the case in England in 1912 nor did he press her about her abrupt shift in mood. Giving her arms one last reassuring squeeze, he walked over to the mirror to make sure he looked his part.
 

He did, of course. In his black dress coat, white waistcoat and black trousers he looked ready for the opera or something equally chi-chi. But then, he always did.
 

Elizabeth laid out her dress. Magically, the silk hadn’t wrinkled. Well, not much, she amended, as she found a few and tried to smooth them out. “Why don’t you refresh my memory before the lecture?”

They’d been given a thick dossier on Niels Bohr, his myriad accomplishments in the field of physics, and the scientific community he belonged to. The world didn’t know it yet, but he would become one of the most important scientists involved in fashioning an understanding of the atom. He would win the Nobel prize and would be instrumental in the development of the Manhattan Project during World War Two. It was a lot to take in.
 

Simon looked at her reflection in the mirror. “I don’t think there’s going to be a quiz afterward.”

“I don’t want to look like a dope.”

He turned back to her. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Start with the chocolate pudding thing.”

Simon chuckled. “Plum pudding.”

Elizabeth grinned. “You see?”

Simon sat down in the chair by the bed and humored her. “About eight years ago J.J. Thomson theorized that an atom’s negatively charged particles circled around inside its positively charged mass, like raisins in a plum pudding.”

“Raisins? Where are the plums?”

Simon’s expression was flat.

Elizabeth smiled in apology and picked up her dress. “Sorry, go on.”

“A few years ago, Ernest Rutherford, another of Bohr’s mentors, revised Thomson’s theory.”

“As physicists do,” Elizabeth said, her head swimming with visions of dancing raisins and cake.

Simon continued as if she hadn’t interrupted him. “A few years from now, Bohr will refine Rutherford’s model which in turn leads to men like Heisenberg and Schrödinger—”

“The cat guy?”

Simon chuckled. “Yes, the cat guy, and Chadwick and others who’ve given us our modern understanding of atomic theory.”

Elizabeth wriggled into her dress. “And atomic power?”

“Yes.” He stood and brushed some lint from his pants leg.
 

“All of that is important.”

Simon laughed. “You could say that.”

“But all that stuff hasn’t happened yet. That’s World War Two—his involvement with Tube Alloys and the Manhattan Project. The people who are after him now don’t know all that’s going to happen.”

Elizabeth turned her back and looked over her shoulder.

Simon stepped forward and helped her fasten her dress. “This is where the dossier got uncomfortably vague, I’m afraid. Bohr’s a young man right now, but he’s already emerging as one of the leading scientists in his field.”

“Right.”

“Apparently, someone doesn’t want him to make this mysterious meeting on the 19
^th
. It’s possible that it’s the Germans, or someone else, who either wants to stop whatever progress he’s making—”

“Or make him work for them?”

Simon fastened the last hook and eye closure. “Possibly. World War One is still a few years away, but the seeds are being sown now. My best guess is that someone sees Bohr as a potential weapon-maker. They want him on their side or on none at all.”

Elizabeth turned around to face him. “Better living through chemistry?”

“Precisely.” Simon lifted a few stray strands of hair away from her face. “And if something should happen to Bohr now, the repercussions could affect the outcome of not one but two world wars.”

“No pressure,” Elizabeth said with a grin. She took a step back. “So how do I look?”

“Beautiful.”

“And ready to save the world?”

Simon smiled. “Aren’t you always?”

Still having a little time before the lecture, they went downstairs for a light dinner, as light as dinner in 1912 England could be, and then set off toward Cavendish Laboratory.
 

Their hotel was nestled in the corner of a lovely commons in the middle of town. The sun dipped below the horizon and the sky was a bright palette of reds and oranges. The lush green lawns seemed to almost glow in counterpoint. Throw in a few spectacular 16
^th
and 17
^th
century buildings and it was the epitome of what Elizabeth thought of as England.

“It’s beautiful here,” Elizabeth said as they walked toward the New Museums Site and Cavendish Laboratory, and they hoped, Niels Bohr.

Simon hmm’d in response. “I suppose so.”

“Suppose?”

A few young men in the traditional academic dress of hood and gown hurried past them.
 

“It has its charms, but it’s no Oxford.”

Elizabeth fought down a smile. It had been twenty years since he’d attended Oxford. Despite that, and the fact that the memories he’d shared with her of his time, there weren’t what she’d describe as overly positive, the sense of rivalry endured.

Elizabeth looked around and couldn’t tell the university from the town. It wasn’t like UCSB or any college she’d been to in the US. There wasn’t a campus with all of the various departments. Cambridge was divided into dozens of colleges, sort of like Harry Potter’s houses, but they were each independently operated. Each college had its own coat of arms, gown and colors and nearly everything else. Not only that, but they were scattered all throughout the town of Cambridge. It was very confusing.

“Are you sure we’re headed in the right direction?” She could hardly tell what venerable old building was part of a college and which was just a venerable old building.

Simon glanced over at her. “I’m sure. I used to come here fairly often.”

“To enemy territory?”

His eyes slid over to hers briefly. “I had a … friend who went here. Evelyn.”

Elizabeth nearly tripped, but managed to keep from falling flat on her face. Barely. “Oh,” she said in what she hoped was a noncommittal way. “A friend?”

“A fairly good friend, actually,” Simon said.
 

Her jaw tightened a little. “Funny, you’ve never mentioned an Evelyn before.”
 

“Haven’t I?”

Elizabeth glared at him, but managed to shape her mouth into a curious smile as he turned to look at her.

“No. Pretty sure I’d remember that.”

It wasn’t that she was jealous. Simon was a grown man. A man who’d lived forty years before they’d met. Of course he’d had relationships. He’d probably had plenty of them. After all, he was handsome, smart, and rich. The women of England had probably thrown themselves at him relentlessly, like that hussy Evelyn.

“Are you all right?” Simon asked.

“Of course,” Elizabeth assured him, even though she wasn’t. In some confusing, territorial, primal way she felt threatened by a woman who, by all rights, didn’t even exist in this moment. The whole thing was surprisingly discombobulating. It was silly. Of all the things in the world she knew she could rely on, Simon’s love for her was a constant, above all else. And yet it still bothered her. She wasn’t going to let Simon know that, of course. He’d be far too gleeful about it. Although, judging from the smirk he was trying to hide, he had a pretty good idea already.

“How far is it?” she said, hoping he’d let the conversation shift.

He gave her one last enigmatic smile and then nodded toward a set of buildings. “That’s it right over there.”

Cavendish Laboratory was an impressive three-story building that looked more like an elegant hotel than a lab. Simon led her through an elaborate arch that fed into a short tunnel. It made Elizabeth a little giddy to think that twenty-nine Nobel Prize winners had or would make that same walk.
 

They emerged into the inner courtyard where ivy climbed the walls.

Simon paused and glanced around. “Over here, I think.”

They walked toward a doorway and as they got close enough Elizabeth could read the placard, Maxwell Lecture Theatre. As Simon opened the door she heard voices inside.

The lecture hall wasn’t very large and was nearly at capacity. There were six or seven rows of long, dark wooden desks and benches. Most were filled by students and fellow scientists. Their rumpled suits and pipes were as much a uniform as the students’ robes.

A few outliers in cutaway morning suits and top hats sat in the back row. Elizabeth was, as far as she could see, the only woman there.

An older gentleman, who looked exactly like the Monopoly guy, Rich Uncle Pennybags, right down to his white mustache and cane, bumped into Simon as he came into the room.

He tipped his top hat in apology. “So sorry. Terribly clumsy.” He noticed Elizabeth and took off his hat completely and bowed chivalrously. “Madam.”

She smiled back and then looked for seats again. “Quite the turnout.”

“Yes, I don’t know if—” he said. “Ohhh, I see three over there. If you don’t mind some company.”

“Not at all.”

“Bully!” He held out his arm for Elizabeth to take, then seemed to remember Simon. He looked at him, a little abashed, and cleared his throat and bowed again. “Sir Charles Ridley.”

Simon removed his hat and held out his hand. “Sir Simon Cross and my wife, Elizabeth.”

“Charming.” He smiled at her and then glanced up at the empty set of seats. “I’m afraid we’d better …”

Simon nodded and gestured for Ridley to proceed. Ridley held out his arm again for Elizabeth. She took it and he smiled broadly at her as he patted her hand and led her up the stairs.

“Are you the scientific enthusiast or is your husband?”
 

Elizabeth was impressed he hadn’t simply assumed it was Simon’s interest that had brought them here.

“A little of both.”

“Very good. Shared passions are healthy for a marriage. Although for the life of me I never could make a go of Whist no matter how often we played. Dreadful game.”

Elizabeth barely managed not to laugh as they took their seats.

Simon leaned around her and addressed Sir Charles. “I take it you’re familiar with Thomson’s work.”

“Oh dear, yes. As much as one can be when one doesn’t possess a scientific mind. I do find it fascinating though, don’t you?” He held up his hands as though he were holding an invisible beach ball. “A whole world around us, so small, so minute that it’s nearly undetectable. And yet, it’s the fabric of everything we see.” He shook his head. “Remarkable.”