Anne Barbour (24 page)

“I will gladly provide the transportation,” murmured James. “Might one ask what all this is in aid of?” Cyrus asked. “Oh,” replied James vaguely, “just settling a wager, of sons.” Cyrus sent him a glance of mild suspicion, but asked no further questions. An hour or so later, the logistics of the project settled, the scientist stood at the front door of his house, the lugubrious Digweed in attendance, to bid farewell to his guests. With arrangements for the forthcoming experiment made to the satisfaction of both parties, Hilary and James made their way to the phaeton.

Chapter Twenty

Hilary and James returned to Goodhurst to find Rufus still decidedly down pin.

“I feel fine,” he grumbled, as they walked in the door to his bedchamber. He waved his hand irritably toward Briggs, who stood silently by his bed. “But this blasted old woman insists I stay in bed.”

Despite his assertions, it was all too obvious that the old warrior had not recovered from his indisposition with the quickness he had displayed on previous occasions. He was pale, and his hands trembled slightly as he spoke. His eyes flashed, however, with a belligerent spark.

“I believe you may get up if you wish,
optima,”
said James soothingly, and to Hilary’s shocked amusement, Rufus immediately flung back his covers and swung a pair of muscular, hirsute legs over the side of the bed. He rose unsteadily, and James moved hastily to his side. He eased Rufus gently back to a sitting position.

“Well,” said the soldier in some surprise, “I seem to be more tired than I thought. Still, I’m not going to loll around in bed any longer.”

He rose again and this time, with James’s assistance, made his way to a chair by the window. Sinking into it, he raised a palsied hand to his head.

“Phew! I’m weak as a cat. I don’t understand what’s come over me.”

Hilary and James exchanged a glance as James pulled up two chairs close to Rufus. He seated Hilary in one of them, and took the other himself.

“Optima,”
he said, lightly grasping Rufus’ wrist, “we have good news for you.”

With insertions by Hilary, he related the events of the previous day.

“Tuesday next!” exclaimed Rufus, when he had finished. “Let me see, according to your system of days, Tuesday is Mercury’s day, is it not? Right after Luna’s, and—why, that’s only five days!” His eyes lit, and a wide grin creased his already round face.

“Yes, it is,” replied Hilary, “so you had best take care of yourself between now and then.”

“Indeed,” corroborated James. “You must rest.”

“But I must make preparations!” expostulated Rufus. “There are many things I wish to take back to my own time,” he continued in explanation, as Hilary and James turned puzzled faces to him.

“For example—?” asked Hilary, fascinated.

“Why, some pens and ink, a clock or two, a diagram for making a gaslight, and, of course guns—and powder, and—”

“Good God!” interposed James explosively. “Are you planning on taking the nineteenth century back to the first? Rufus, you cannot possibly haul all that gimcrackery with you.”

Rufus’ jaw thrust forward. “Why not?”

“For one thing, because you would change the course of history—perhaps of time itself. For another—” he added hastily, as Rufus opened his mouth, “you might very well jeopardize the whole experiment.”

Rufus closed his mouth, but his jaw remained at attention.

“Don’t you see?” James rose from his chair to pace me floor. “The operative word here is ‘experiment.’ We have no idea what will happen when Cyrus creates his lightning bolt. You arrived here with nothing, and if you load yourself down with extra clutter, who knows what might happen? Perhaps it would prohibit you from traveling back at all—or you might—”

“All right, all right,” interposed Rufus testily. “You’ve made your point. Do you think,” he asked with a hint of sarcasm in his tone, “I just might possibly leave my chamber between now and next Tuesday? Or am I too frail to step outside for a breath of fresh air and a ray or two of Lord Apollo’s good sunshine?”

“Of course not. In fact, if you feel up to it, I see no reason why you cannot come down for dinner this evening.”

Rufus grunted.

And he did, reported James to Hilary the next morning, go down to dinner.

“He is not his old, robust self,” he said, “nor did he make much of a meal, but he was in better point than he was day before yesterday.”

The two again spent the day at the villa, this time uneventfully. Rufus accompanied them, but participated little in the digging, contenting himself with idle comments, delivered from his perch on a sun-warmed rock.

Hilary had declared herself ready to assist James in gleaning what information they might from Rufus during the time left to them. Rufus seemed to appreciate their purpose, and answered their questions willingly. The hours slipped by uneventfully, as did the four days following. To Hilary’s relief, Mordecai Cheeke was no more to be seen, and Rufus seemed to gain back a modicum of his well-being. One day, he took spade in hand and worked for some minutes on the supposed shrine a little to the north and east of the main house.

A whoop from his direction caused Hilary and James to hasten from their work in the kitchen area and the triclinium respectively. They found Rufus waving something in one, beefy hand.

“See!” he exclaimed. “See, what I have found.”

His discovery proved to be a bronze statuette, badly corroded, but identifiable, declared James, as a water goddess.

James flung an arm about Hilary. “This
is
a shrine! Just as you thought, my dear. I shouldn’t wonder if it was built to honor the deity of the spring. For, now I am certain we shall find one when we investigate that reedy area.”

Turning to look down into her happy, flushed face, James felt his heart lurch. He had cursed himself at some length for giving in to the impulse to kiss Hilary the last time they had been in the villa together. His transgression on the night of the Strindham musicale was bad enough, but he had blamed that on temper. Try as he might, however, he could find no excuse for gathering her in his arms a second time and giving way to the longing that had surged through him as his fingers brushed her cheek. Even now, he wanted nothing more than to take that fiery mop in both hands and draw her to him, to cover her face with kisses, to move his lips down to the silken triangle of flesh so demurely displayed at the collar of her gown, and to invade the delights that lay hidden from his gaze beneath the ruffle that trimmed her bodice.

Drawing a deep breath, he turned once more to Rufus.

“You have done well,
optima.
If you’re feeling up to it, perhaps you should continue digging here. There might be an altar, and perhaps some sign of whatever was customarily offered to the deity.”

A pleased grin spread over Rufus’ blunt features, only to be replaced by one of puzzlement.

“I still don’t understand why all this means so much to you, James.” He waved an arm to indicate the gaunt remains of what had once apparently been a flourishing homestead. “But I’m glad to be of help.” He chuckled. “I suppose you are like those fellows who prowl about the pyramids in
Aegyptus.
I never could understand that, either. What is so fascinating about piles of old bricks?”

“You have a point,” said James musingly. “But don’t you see? An insight into the future can be gained from a study of history.”

Rufus grunted. “That’s too deep for me.”

“At any rate,” said James, laughing, “I appreciate—” He halted abruptly, suddenly alert. He cocked his head.

“Did you hear something?”

Hilary, who had also caught a sound, as though from a snapping twig, some distance off, also turned to listen. After a few moments, when nothing further was heard, James relaxed.

“A rabbit scurrying through the brush, most likely.”

Thoughts of Mordecai Cheeke looming in her mind, Hilary nodded dubiously. Surely, the odious little man would not stoop to spying on them from behind me shrubbery, but her instincts concerning Cheeke lent no support to this assumption.

The little group resumed their tasks, Rufus remaining at the shrine. A layman might have perceived very little in the way of accomplishment among the remains, for the work was painstakingly slow, but Hilary and James declared themselves well satisfied when they put their equipment away to make the journey back to Goodhurst.

Rufus, from whom they had heard nothing since his stellar performance earlier in the day seemed oddly bemused as they mounted the gig. He was silent on the trip home and was still in a thoughtful mood as they ate a modest nuncheon in their favorite haunt, the library.

“Tell me,
optima”
said James through a mouthful of salad, “what do you know about events taking place elsewhere in the Roman Empire of your time? For example, the Judaean revolt.”

“It was an abortive affair, and too many good men lost their lives over there in that godforsaken desert,” said Rufus dismissively. “And that’s all I know about it.”

“But what about—what about Masada?”

“Never heard of it.” Rufus gulped at his wine. “I told you, I don’t know anything about it.”

“For God’s sake!” uttered James explosively. “How could you have lived through one of the most important events in Western history, and not know anything about it?”

“Because it ain’t my business to know about it.” Rufus growled. “A man can get into trouble messing about in the affairs of his betters. I tend to my business, which is mainly marching and repairing armor and hurling a
pilium
when called upon. I look out for my comrades and my family, and I go to the baths and the games now and then, and that pretty much takes up most of my time.”

James grimaced in exasperation.

“For heaven’s sake, James,” expostulated Hilary in English. “Rufus is a foot soldier. If you asked a man of equal rank in Wellington’s army his opinion on the government’s East India policy, what do you think he would say?”

James did not reply, but sighed heavily.

“The next time,” added Rufus, his tone heavy with offended irony, “you winkle somebody from the past, try for a centurion, or better yet a praetor. I did not ask to come here, you know.”

James smiled ashamedly. “Please accept my apologies,
optima.
I can only be pleased that you are not one of the cognoscenti of your time, for experience has taught me that that sort are a parcel of very dull dogs. I am much happier to have made your acquaintance.”

Rufus snorted, but appeared mollified.

“Will you come back out to the villa with us this afternoon?” James asked.

“No, I’m still not feeling up to par. I believe I’ll try reading some more of this Spartianus fellow. I want to hear more about Hadrian, and I’m still working on the clock I took apart yesterday. I want to know how it works. Perhaps I’ll make one for Maia when I get home.”

“To be sure,” replied James, concealing the fervent hope that the -workings of the clock he had donated for Rufus’ inquisitive fingers would remain a closed book to the warrior.

“I shall not be returning with you, either,” said Hilary. She smiled at James’s crestfallen expression. “I promised our housekeeper to run into the village this afternoon to pick up some beeswax candles for the receiving rooms.”

“She cannot do this by herself?”

“I suppose she could. However, I think she feels I’ve been neglecting my household duties of late—and she is perfectly right, of course. Since you arrived, I’ve spent most of my time here.”

“That’s because you have important work to do here,” James snapped.

Hilary was astonished at his dictatorial tone, and stared at him in affront.

“I had hoped,” he concluded, softening his words only slightly, “to make a drawing of the area in which Rufus found the statuette this morning, and to catalog it with its proper description.”

Hilary knew a surge of irritation. So that was the reason for his look of disappointment? The fact that she would be unavailable to work at his direction this afternoon?

“I’m sorry, but you will have to catalog it yourself,” she replied frostily. “Good day to you, James.” She nodded at Rufus and swept from the room.

“My,” remarked Rufus, as the sound of a firmly closing front door reached their ears, “you certainly have a way with the ladies, James.”

James stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”

“Gods above, boy, why do you persist in treating the girl as though she’s nothing more to you than an educated slave? A pretty young thing like that—you should have wedded and bedded her and put a bun in her oven by now.”

James flushed to the roots of his hair. “Good God, Rufus! What a thing to say! Hilary is a lady!”

Rufus chuckled. “0’ course, she is. That doesn’t mean she isn’t a woman, too. And don’t think I ain’t noticed you noticing. Mars Victrix, lad, I’ve seen how you watch her when she’s not looking, and I’ve seen her pink up like a rose when you and her laugh together over some silly thing. You’d do well to say more silly things to her, if you ask me,” he concluded.

“Well, I’m not. Asking you, that is,” James informed him with icy precision. “My only interest in the Lady Hilary is her intellectual attributes.”

Rufus snorted. “Tell that to someone who’ll believe you.” He waved airily and exited the room, leaving James to stare after him in bemusement.

An hour or so later, Hilary made her way into the small village of Little Merrydean, located a scant five miles from Whiteleaves. She mused rather forlornly as her gig clattered along the road.

It had seemed as though James was beginning to look on her as a friend. She might have known better. Men like James Wincanon did not form friendships with females, even females of superior intelligence and learning. Perhaps, she thought for the thousandth time, if she were endowed with long, silky, dark tresses instead of hair like a stack of bricks ... She sighed again. No, to give James his due, she didn’t think he’d be impressed by dark hair—or willowy curves for that matter. Her reflections were halted as she entered the village and stopped before a small shop in the High Street. At the threshold of the little establishment, she paused abruptly. For, just rounding a corner down the street, headed away from the store, she beheld a plump figure on horseback. A figure garbed in a coat of a virulent mustard hue.