A Slip In Time (12 page)

The marquis poured her another “drop”
of whiskey, which Julia accepted but left untouched. At his gentle
but persuasive insistence, she yielded and began to recount her
strange experiences of the past two days, omitting the more
intimate points. Lord Muir sat spellbound as she detailed each of
the three “time slips.”

“By your description of
Rae Mackinnon, he must be someone other than the man I saw. Scant
information survives on the early lairds, none on the third. At
least now we have a name to put to him. My dear, do you realize
your experience far exceeds any other on record? And to
think
thrice
you
slipped time and conversed with the laird directly.”

And touched him, and kissed him, and now
bore a rash all over her body from his scratchy plaid, Julia
mused.

“So, Rae Mackinnon’s not a ghost after
all.”

“No, my dear,” Lord Muir exclaimed,
eyes sparkling. “He is perfectly real.”

Julia was trying to decide whether that was
good or bad when the marquis caught her hands in hers, tears of joy
brimming his eyes.

“You don’t know how I’ve
waited these long years for this moment, Miss Hargrove. Tonight, we
shall watch in the tower chamber
together!”

How did she let herself agree to this,
Julia reproached herself for the thousandth time? Bad enough she
must endure another night in the tower, but that she should allow a
man into the bedchamber with her, regardless of his age?

Julia glanced from her place on the bed to
where Lord Muir busily removed an assortment of instruments from a
deep, velvet-lined case and arranged them on the table before him.
Despite the belated hour, he brimmed with energy.

Could she have done otherwise, she wondered?
She had insisted she must leave. He had implored her to stay,
appearing stricken by the possibility she might not. He reminded
her of a small child who had been tantalized with the most
resplendent of gifts only to see it snatched away.

Julia sighed. How does one say no to an
overly excited youngster of seventy-three, one who happened to own
the castle, not to mention the horses and carriage needed to see
her away? In the face of his earnest, urgent pleas, her resistance
crumbled. The phenomenon might be connected to her personally
somehow, he had stressed. It was not enough for him to watch in the
chamber alone, but vital she be present as well.

Settling back against the pillows, Julia
twined a strand of hair around her forefinger. Now that she
understood something of the occurrences in the tower, she admitted
she was intrigued. But if she must face Rae Mackinnon once more,
she much preferred to be chaperoned, however improper the
arrangements. She only hoped no one had observed the marquis enter
her bedchamber.

Julia loosed the coil from her finger and
looked again to the elderly lord. He bent over a small, worn book
now, making notations, oblivious to her ruminations.

He wouldn’t heedlessly jeopardize her
reputation, of that she felt certain. Indeed, earlier he had shown
himself to be most considerate.

After their encounter in the library,
he had directed Mrs. McGinty to release Betty from her routine
duties, so that she might solely attend to Julia’s needs. He
further had instructed that additional help be hired from the
village to assist Dunraven’s overworked staff with its many guests.
This Julia learned from a very excited and chatty Betty, thrilled
by her elevation to the status of lady’s maid.

To Julia’s relief, Betty remained ever
present whenever it became necessary to return to the chamber, as
when she changed gowns for afternoon tea and later again for
supper.

The evening meal proved a
grand affair and Lord Muir a genial host. Course after course
flowed from the kitchen beginning with a thick, creamy crab soup
called
Partan Bree,
followed by smoked salmon terrine, haunch of venison with
tart rowan jelly, pheasant and mushroom pie, a selection of fruits
and cheeses, and a delectable plum charlotte, all accompanied with
a fine claret and followed with port.

Julia assumed the sumptuous menu to be
the marquis’s doing — or Cook’s, demonstrating her approval of the
lord’s return to all. In any event, the guests indulged themselves
to excess, Lady Henrietta to embarrassment.

Lord Eaton ate little by comparison. Usurped
from the head of the table by his uncle, he occupied a place at its
opposite end, though not at its foot as one might expect. Julia
detected a thread of tension between the two lords, and could only
guess at its cause. At tea, Emmaline had divulged that Lord Eaton
had relinquished his room to the marquis, though Lilith maintained
he had done so of his own accord. In all frankness, Julia cared not
at all where Roger Dunnington resided as long as it was far distant
from her own lodgings.

After dinner, Angus played the pipes
outside the parlor window, to everyone’s diversion and delight.
Julia then participated in several games of whist to pass the
time, Mr. Dilcox roosting ever near.

Lord Muir, accustomed to early hours
and being of advanced age, retired early without ruffling a feather
of suspicion. Julia, however, prudently waited to withdraw with the
other ladies. When at long last the hour arrived, the men escorted
them to the bottom of the hall’s grand staircase, lit their
candles, and wished them good night. As the women ascended the
steps — and Julia headed for the corridor behind the stairs — the
men retreated to the smoking parlor for their whiskey and
cigars.

In the tower chamber, Julia readied
for bed with Betty’s assistance. But as soon as her new maid
departed, Julia doffed her nightclothes, laced herself loosely back
into her corset, and slipped into a roomy morning dress.
Comfortable and decently attired, she awaited the lairds of
Dunraven Castle.

At the appointed hour, well past midnight,
Lord Muir arrived, exercising the greatest of caution to enter
unseen. Julia wondered if her reputation could possibly survive
with so many eyes and ears about. Secrets did not remain so for
long in such places as this.

Julia diverted her gaze once more to the
marquis and found him sitting motionless, his pen poised over his
notebook, his face clouded with thought.

“Your lordship, is something the
matter?”

Lord Muir heaved a sigh and rested
back in his chair. “The instruments, I almost fear to use them.
Their very presence could disrupt conditions. My own, as
well.”

“And if you are not present, however
will you be able to witness your ‘time slip’ again?” She smiled
gently.

He returned her smile, sending her a
nod of agreement. “What are the instruments you have there?” Julia
rose from the bed and went to stand beside him.

“Compass, barometer, thermometer, and
chronometer.” Lord Muir pointed out each one. “They will register
any changes in the atmosphere that occur during the actual time
shift. The compass is sensitive to the electromagnetic field, the
barometer reads air pressure, and the thermometer temperature. The
chronometer, of course, is the most accurate device available to
track the precise time. We will compare its reading with the other
timepieces both inside and outside the chamber after the time slip
occurs. We may find discrepancies.”

Julia considered the items, a sudden
thought striking her. “It is possible you might not have the
opportunity to make use of the instruments.”

“How is that, Miss
Hargrove?”

“During each of the time alterations I
witnessed, the furniture in the chamber vanished. The furniture in
our own time, that is. It stands to reason, should the table
disappear tonight, so will your instruments. Even your chair could
evaporate beneath you, spilling you onto the floor.”

Lord Muir looked to the piece with
mild surprise. “I hadn’t thought of that. Years ago, when I sat
polishing my sword, I did so there on the floor.” He gestured to a
place right of the fireplace. “When the time slip occurred, I
remained there, undisturbed. But what of the bed? Are you not in
the same danger?”

Julia shook her head. “The bed exists
in the past, though the mattress is lumpier.” She
smiled.

Lord Muir stroked his beard. “It was
not present in my own experience, which might indicate an earlier
date. I will make a notation and ponder it later. For now, you are
quite right. I best claim a space on the floor.”

Julia pointed out where the
medieval-style trunk would appear as well as a rough table and
three-legged stool. They decided to relocate him to the corner
nearest the door — the door in the current century. After
transferring the instruments to the floor there, Julia brought
pillows from the bed and helped the marquis settle himself.
Whatever discomfort he suffered, he made no complaints.

As the night deepened they
fell to a companionable silence. Julia immersed herself in
Tennyson’s
Idylls of the King,
reading by lamplight. When her head suddenly
jerked forward, she realized she had dozed off.

Julia drew a deep, freshening breath
of air, then massaged her neck and shoulder where the muscles
bunched. Looking to the corner, she found Lord Muir awake but
rubbing his legs, which she guessed to have fallen
asleep.

“Would you care for a glass of water,
your lordship?” she asked, rising and crossing to the narrow table
that stood against the wall.

“Hmm, what?” Lord Muir looked up from
his book, where he browsed his notes. “No, Miss Hargrove. Thank
you.” He returned his interest to his book, thumbing a
page.

Julia reached for the pitcher, but as she
did the air grew weighty.

“Do you feel that — the air, pressing
down?” She lifted her hand to her head.

“I feel nothing.” Lord Muir
straightened, glancing to Julia, then his instruments.

Before Julia’s eyes, the pitcher,
tray, and glasses dissolved to air. Julia gasped and sprang back a
pace.

“Miss Hargrove? What is it? Do you see
something?”

“No, I don’t. What I mean
is, the table is gone and everything on it. So are the chairs. I
can’t see them.” She scanned the room.
“So
is the armoire and my traveling trunk, the little mirror on the
wall . . . all the furniture is gone, excepting the
bed.”

She pointed to the space where roughly
the armoire had been. “There, against the wall, the trunk is back.
It’s bound with thick, iron strips and looks very old,
weather-worn. Can you not see it yourself?”

“I see nothing, Miss Hargrove. But can
you see me?”

Julia looked to where Lord Muir sat.
“Yes, yes, but not your instruments. They are gone,
too.”

“No, they are all here in front of me,
but the needle on the compass is fluctuating wildly.”

“I don’t understand—”

“Do not worry over it, Miss Hargrove.
Such is known in other cases. Tell me what else you
see.”

“The implements by the hearth are
different, but the carving on the fireplace hood is the same — a
rather homely boar’s head, with a bone in its mouth.”

“Yes, the Mackinnon crest.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Please, go on.”

Julia moved toward the bed. “The
hangings are no longer blue, but a deep, rich scarlet.” She
fingered their texture then looked to the wall. “There is a door on
the wall here now, but the one beside you has
disappeared.”

“Is the laird present?” Lord Muir
asked, his tone hopeful. “No, however the door is open to the
stairwell. There are voices.”

She stepped closer, then leapt back as a
bent figure entered, nearly colliding with her.

“What, Miss Hargrove?”

“A servant. He’s carrying thick bars
of peat. He just deposited them before the hearth and is squatting
down. He’s beginning to build a fire.”

“Can you describe him?”

“He looks to be in his early twenties,
clean-shaven, his hair a medium brown. He wears a bulky kilt and
the colors are muted.”

“Mmm. The
feileadh-mor,
the great
wrap. The dyes would be made from vegetable matter, whatever is
available hereabouts. Have you seen the man before?” She shook her
head. “Does he see you? Can you talk to him?”

Julia attempted to speak to the servant,
joining him at the fireplace, but he continued at his task, taking
no notice.

“He doesn’t see me, but it was the
same in the hall. No one but the laird could see me.”

A certain dread gripped Julia that Lord Muir
might think she merely fantasized what she claimed. She could offer
no proof.

“Rae Mackinnon and I did speak, truly.
And I can assure you, he was quite solid to the touch.”

“You touched him?” Lord Muir’s snowy
brows shot upward.

“Actually, he touched me. We touched
each other.” Julia wished to kick herself for opening the subject.
“He no more understood my appearances and disappearances than I
his. In one instant, he feared me to be supernatural and trapped me
by the arms. When he held me against him, I felt his
breath,”