“So you thought you were going to the future,” Nicolas says. “Instead, you ended up in the past, in time to warn me.”
“Exactly in time to warn you,” I say. “Which is odd, but also extremely fortuitous.”
“I think so. Particularly as it means I am not now dead and a ghost.”
“You were not truly a ghost,” Edmund says. “Aunt Miranda calls them death echoes.”
“It can happen in the case of a violent death,” I say. “Those with the Sight see a spectral replay, but the ghosts themselves have passed over.”
“So Ididdie. Youdidsee my death, as you claimed. Rather than looking into the future, you were looking into the past.”
“Yes.”
“I do not suppose you brought that bottle of brandy with you? I suddenly feel in need of it.”
Bronwyn laughs. “I can imagine. Come downstairs, and we’ll find you something.”
“In exchange for telling us what you were running from,” Rosalind says. “Do not think I missed that part.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, Rosie.”
“Now, downstairs, both of you. Edmund, since you are clearly not going back to bed anytime soon, you may join us.”
28
Rosalind and Bronwyn are in the kitchen preparing a snack, with Edmund recruited to help. I am quite certain that a late-night nibble does not require three people’s assistance, but I know they have left us alone for a few minutes of privacy.
We are in the sitting room, and I stand by the doorway, watching Nicolas prowl the room, taking everything in. When he pauses at a stack of books, bending to read the titles, I tentatively walk over.
“Are you all right?” I ask. “I know it is a shock.”
He straightens and turns to me. “It ought to be, oughtn’t it? I have stepped into another time. I should be still in that upstairs room, frozen in disbelief, and instead I feel as if I have been transported to a wondrous new place brimming with new adventures. I suspect that means I have not fully comprehended what has happened. But I also suspect...” He shrugs. “As you quoted when we first met, ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, ...than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ Except that my philosophy has always been exactly that—the world contains more things than I can dream of. And so my reaction?”
He shrugs, bends to the books again and takes out a copy ofThe Tempest, holding it up as he quotes, “Now I will believe that there are unicorns.”
I smile and finish the lines, “That in Arabia there is one tree, the phoenix’ throne; one phoenix at this hour reigning there.”
“Yes.” He glances over. “Are there unicorns? Or phoenixes?”
“Only in books. At least as far as I have seen.”
“But if one can travel through time, perhaps there is a past where they are alive, and I have always felt such possibilities are real. That is how I was raised. Believe my own eyes and still dream of more, beyond what I can see. So I accept this as what it is. A wonder.”
“It will still be something of a shock, and my blunt approach did not make it better.”
He chuckles. “I am not certain how any approach could be better. However it is said, I have discovered that you are from the next century.”
“Are you angry with me for not telling you sooner?”
He walks to me, arms going around my waist. “Non. In fact, I am glad that it happened the way it did. Otherwise, I would not have wanted to doubt you, but I would have, and that would have been most uncomfortable for me and upsetting for you. While I am still attempting to understand how such a thing is possible, I accept that it is both possible and wondrous.”
I exhale. “I am glad you think so.”
He grins. “I am in the future. How could that not be wondrous?” He looks around. “Now tell me about everything.” He grabs my hand and tugs me toward a photograph. “Let’s start with this. It is not a painting, is it?”
I smile. “It is not. It is a direct likeness. It is created by...”
I tellhim as much as I can. Then the others arrive, and we tell Rosalind and Bronwyn everything. Well, everything except the death of Andrés, which is not suitable within the hearing of a five-year-old child. My sister may grumble about how much Idothink is suitable for Edmund, but even I draw a line.