And yet…
What did she mean, that she had seen the past?
Suddenly, he had to move. Pushing the monkey off, he ducked its wild screechy swing and went over to his crumpled pile of clothes, pulling on the black sweater and dragging a comb through his hair. For a moment he wanted to look at himself, to see if he looked older, paler, but of course there was no mirror and maybe that was good, because he didn’t want another vision like the last, another ghostly hand clutching at his. He pushed the small journal into his back pocket.
“Stay here,” he said. “And don’t wreck the place.”
Horatio bared his teeth and climbed the curtain.
Jake walked the creaking corridor and ran down the stairs. The house was in its eternal silence, the dark paneled rooms deserted, only the clocks ticking. Then he caught the low mutter of voices from far along a stone-paved passageway at the back that must have once been for servants.
He walked down there and paused in the archway. Heat struck his face, and the sweet smells of tea and toast and baking bread.
It was the kitchen. A vast hearth opened in the roof, and under it—inside it, really—a fire was burning with inglenook benches on each side. Wharton was sitting on one, his legs stretched blissfully out. Sarah perched opposite, her eyes on Jake. Venn was talking to Piers by a big table littered with dishes and books. When he saw Jake, he stopped. “So. We’re all here.”
“Except our friend Rebecca,” Wharton said.
“I escorted the young lady arm in arm back to her car last night.” Piers set out five striped mugs on the table. “Although she would happily have stayed. She was so curious, so breathless. Her voice has registers. She’s not quite the ditsy scatterbrain she appears. Perhaps we should be careful about how much we tell her.”
“I don’t want her here again.” Venn’s gaze was on Jake.
“Don’t tell me who I should see,” he growled.
“See her if you want. But not here.”
Jake shrugged.
As if that was a signal of some sort, Sarah came over and sat at the table. Piers carried the huge brown teapot, its handle wrapped in a tea-towel, and carefully poured hot tea into all the mugs. “My own biscuits,” he said, proud.
They were Christmas-tree shaped, and decorated with swags of icing and small pearly spheres. Wharton dipped one into his tea. “Magic, Piers.” He crammed the rest into his mouth. “Makes most biscuits taste like cardboard. But how on earth do you get the time.”
Piers shrugged, sly. “As you say. Magic.”
“You must give me the recipe.”
Jake sat. Ignoring the others, he turned to Sarah. “Tell me…tell us…exactly what you saw. Please.”
She stirred sugar in the tea, considering.
Venn came and sat opposite. She felt enclosed by their need, squeezed by their desperation. She knew they were both taut with nerves, but so was she. So she said, “At first there was nothing. Even when the bracelet started locking itself. It closed in on my skin—it was so cold, it hurt. Then I felt the mirror change. It became less…solid. It’s difficult to describe, because I think it was at that moment that Jake came running in, and it was as if the mirror…imploded.”
“How…” Wharton began, but Jake said, “Shut up. Go on, Sarah.”
“It just wasn’t there anymore. It became a vacuum, a sucking emptiness. It was so powerful—it pulled at me, as if it would drag me in. It was a sort of”—she shivered, her voice grim—“black hole.”
Venn flicked a glance at Piers, who said, “Like David.”
She looked up. “If it hadn’t been for your spiderweb, I would have been pulled right inside. I felt as if my ears and nose were bleeding; as if there was some tremendous build-up of pressure. And then I saw the street.”
Venn said, “I didn’t see anything.”
“I did. Houses. Big, like tenements or warehouses. A dull gray sky. People, running out of the rain. Umbrellas. The noise of horses’ hooves and cartwheels, a terrible clatter. A stink of dung.”
“People?” Venn was leaning close over the table now, his ice eyes points of fever. “What sort of clothes?”
“Old-fashioned. The women had long dresses. Bustles. There were horse-drawn omnibuses.”
He stared at her, astounded. “Was it London?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
“My God.” He glanced at Piers, then back, his fingers grabbing hers and gripping them so hard, it hurt. “Are you saying this was the 1840s? 1850s?”
She had no idea. She said, “It was definitely Victorian. From pictures I’ve seen. But it was only there for a second. A blink of light. And then it was gone, and I felt so sick and giddy, I couldn’t even stand up anymore. And you were yelling at Jake and the bracelet fell off and rolled away.”
To her own surprise she felt upset, almost tearful. Wharton said, “Take your time,” but Venn just snatched his hand away and leaped up, pacing to the fire.
Piers slid the plate of biscuits toward her. “Eat up.”
She took one automatically, glancing at Jake. She had though he would argue angrily in disbelief, but his stare was considering, and she felt sure all at once that he knew more than she’d thought. Who had phoned him last night? What had they told him? Suddenly she needed to know it wasn’t Janus.
Wharton said, “Well, this clearly doesn’t mean…that is…you obviously imagined you saw it. In that dizzy moment.”
“The rain was on my face. I could have stepped through. Gone there.”
“Oh, surely…”
“I’m not a liar!”
Wharton didn’t flinch. “No?” he said quietly.
“Leave her alone.” Jake’s mutter was hoarse. “She’s right. She saw the past. That’s where Dad is.” He swiveled in the chair, to Venn. “You got him there. You can get him back.”
Venn was near the fire. He turned his head, winter-sharp. “Have you been talking to anyone about this?”
“Like who?”
“I don’t know. But you seem very ready to accept it all of a sudden.”
Jake shrugged. “Maybe I believe Sarah more than you.”
Venn’s stare was level. Then he came and sat at the table. In the silence, only the fire crackled, and a ripple of tea as Piers poured himself another mugful. “Tell the boy, Excellency,” he said quietly. “Tell them all. It’s time.”
When Venn spoke again, he didn’t look at any of them. He looked at the fire and he spoke steadily, to the flames.
“According to Harcourt Symmes, the mirror allows entry to time. I have a theory that it curves space-time, but that doesn’t explain…well. Never mind that now. The fact is we inherited the wreckage of an eccentric’s dream, and had to rebuild the thing almost from scratch. David found it. He was at an auction sale in Durham one time, and this thing was in the catalog. Lot eighty-six. Box containing a Victorian mirror, wiring, associated machinery, etc. ‘Etc.’ turned out to be a journal kept by Symmes, two silver bracelets, and some files of calculations and notes. It seemed to be just junk, but David was interested enough to bid and he got it all for twenty quid. He brought it here, and he read the journal. Stayed up all night reading it. He got really excited about the thing—the Chronoptika, Symmes called it. I was…Well, I didn’t care about anything. Maybe he thought at first it might be something to take my mind off Leah. Then he began to get this strange obsession that it might actually work.
“I didn’t need much persuasion. I was living in a terrible arctic darkness, on and on, for months. This was like a gleam of hope. Like the day you realize the sun will rise soon.
“We needed help. I summoned Piers up—he’s clever with his hands. He and David worked on the thing. They read and experimented and were up all hours. It was a long, difficult process, and they had to look after me too, because at that stage I was…suicidal.” He was silent a moment; Sarah flicked a look at Jake, who sat, arms folded, listening, pitiless.