A Slip In Time (20 page)

“Gentlemen, it pleases me to present
Miss Julia Hargrove, the young woman of whom I told you. She has
been indispensable in putting order to my library.”

The men’s eyes visibly brightened and
anchored as one on Julia. It was obvious they knew far more of her
and the true nature of her work with Lord Muir than the other
guests.

“Miss Hargrove, allow me to introduce
my colleagues from the Society,” the marquis continued. “Mr. Robert
Armistead, Mr. Thomas Thornsbury, and Sir Henry Boles.”

“Society?” Lord Withrington’s brows
pulled together. “Which ‘society’ is that precisely?”

Mr. Armistead turned his
attention to the older man. “Ours is a philosophical, that is to
say a
scientific,
society, relatively new and devoted to research, the
SPR.”

Julia’s breath caught. Hadn’t Lord
Muir spoken with his associates, after all? Despite their
scientific credentials, if they admitted to being investigators of
psychic phenomena, it would bring a hail of skepticism if not
scorn, and at very least, alert the others to the strange
happenings in Dunraven.

Lord Muir’s colleagues continued to
smile, undaunted, and appeared prepared with an answer. But Lady
Charles spoke first.

“SPR
did you say? Now, let me guess. Does it stand for the
‘Society for Philosophical Research’?”

“How clever you are.” Mr. Thornsbury
gave her a nod of approval.

“Never heard of it, myself.” Lord
Withrington pursed his lips, causing his mustache to
twitch.

Mrs. McGinty chose that moment to appear and
announce dinner.

To Julia’s relief, Lord Muir offered
her his arm and led the procession to Dunraven’s formal dining
room. The others followed, Lilith claiming Lord Eaton’s arm and
Mr. Dilcox flustered he could not position himself near
Julia.

More than a few eyebrows rose when
Lord Muir seated Julia with himself and his associates at the head
of the table. Julia could not fault him. Try as Lord Muir might to
conceal the extraordinary event involving them and her part to it,
after twenty years of waiting, this was his shining moment among
his colleagues. She imagined that was why he could not bring
himself to leave her midway down the table, neglected.

Julia made a composed effort to appear no
more than an interested party to his scientific endeavors, the one
engaged to catalogue his vast collection of books and papers.

Over courses of braised duckling and
smoked salmon roulades, conversation revolved around the
gentlemen’s travels from London, the latest news, and of course,
the day’s hunt at Dunraven and the ladies’ outing to a particularly
dramatic gorge an hour’s ride north. Lord Muir suggested a trip to
the spa at Strathpeffer for his visitors from Braxton. He offered
to see the details arranged and transportation provided at his own
expense.

“You’ve come this far to the
Highlands, you really must take the waters. I wouldn’t be at all
surprised if the royals themselves attended this
Season.”

This brought much murmuring up and
down the table. Julia realized this was the marquis’s canny way of
emptying the castle while their studies of the time slip
progressed.

As supper continued, Lord Withrington
returned to his persistent queries of Lord Muir’s
associates.

“Actually, we are gathering to prepare
an address for the Society that is to be presented in January at
the annual meeting in London,” Sir Henry Boles allowed.

“The subject of our research is all
very hush, hush, you understand, our data incomplete,” Mr.
Armistead continued. “However, we can reveal it centers on the very
nature of time.”

Julia smiled inwardly, for no one appeared
overly impressed.

“All here will be the first to know of
our conclusions,” Mr. Thornsbury promised. “Should any of you have
an interest,” he added with a smile.

After dinner, as the guests adjourned to the
parlor, Lord Muir invited Julia to join him and the others for a
late evening session in his private library.

For the benefit of those in hearing
range, he explained, “My associates have brought several boxes of
new materials to add to my library. As you have been assisting me,
I thought you might like to inspect the boxes for yourself while we
convene. You will need to begin listing and shelving them
tomorrow.”

Seeing that Lord Eaton lingered by the door,
his gaze dwelling on her, Julia was only too happy to stay in the
company of the older men.

»«

“Perhaps, I should begin this evening
by making introductions anew.” Lord Muir stood before the small,
attentive group in the tower library. “But first, for Miss
Hargrove’s benefit, I would like to reiterate our commitment, as
members of the Society for Psychical Research, to seek out and
investigate, objectively and in a scientific spirit, the
Unexplained.”

A chill trickled down Julia’s spine at
the thought of that. Certainly, the time slip phenomena belonged
to the realm of the “unexplained.”

Lord Muir directed her attention to his
colleagues with a gesture of his hand.

“Mr. Armistead and Sir Henry Boles are
both members of the Royal Astronomical Society and bring us their
expertise in that field. Collectively, though at separate times,
they spent a decade at the Royal Observatory at Greenwich mapping
the heavens. Mr. Thornsbury, on the other hand, is our physicist in
residence.”

At Lord Muir’s bidding, Julia
hesitantly rose and came forward to join him.

“Gentlemen, you have met Miss
Hargrove, the young woman for whom the portal of time has opened at
Dunraven. As I indicated to you this afternoon, the phenomena is
centered in the tower bedchamber — one floor below us — the same
location it manifested itself, twenty years ago.

“What is truly astounding, however, is
that Miss Hargrove has experienced not one, but multiple time
slips, six now in all, the most recent occurring only this
afternoon. More, she has encountered one of the early lairds of
Dunraven Castle and has actually spoken with him, touched him, and
even ridden out this day with him on his fifteenth-century
garron.”

Murmurs erupted.

“Incredible!”

“Is it possible?”

“Astonishing!”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen. Let me
emphasize that we do not know the cause or source of the phenomena,
only that the shifts are continuing with regularity, increasing in
duration, and there is no indication they are about to
cease.”

He picked up his red leather journal
from the desk behind him. “I would urge you each to review my
official account. You’ll find all the proper annotations. I would
also ask you to reserve your questions for Miss Hargrove until you
have done so, and not unduly tax her with unnecessary questions.
The phenomena itself is quite exhausting for her.”

Lord Muir returned the book to the
desk and looked to Julia. “Miss Hargrove, is there anything you
wish to add?”

The room fell silent as a tomb.
Self-conscious, Julia fidgeted her ring around her finger.

“As you can imagine, I was shocked to
find myself confronted with the past and a Highland laird,
hundreds of years old.”

Chuckles echoed through the men.

“Rae Mackinnon is the Third Laird of
Dunraven,” she continued. “He has been lost to the annals of time
until now, as has his family. We have learned more of the man
himself now.”

Julia thought of Rae’s heartfelt words
and tender kiss. She slipped one hand over the other, covering the
place.

“And we hope to know more of him in
time to come. I do not know whether it is significant, but Rae
Mackinnon wears a talisman around his neck. It is a round stone,
like a large marble, encased in silver bands and worn on a silver
chain. It appears to be a rosy quartz, exactly matching the quartz
in my own ring.”

She lifted her hand for all to see, evoking
comments and whisperings.

“I can tell you the stone in my ring
is very old and comes from the Cairngorms. It is not unthinkable
Rae Mackinnon’s does as well.”

Lord Muir stepped forward at once to examine
the ring, then raised amazed eyes to hers.

“My sword bore a like stone in its
pommel — the sword I sat polishing the night I witnessed the time
shift. I transferred it to my residence in London after I cleared
my personal belongings from the chamber.”

The trio of men came forward to inspect the
ring.

“It’s likely what Rae Mackinnon wears
is a charm or a healing stone,” Mr. Thornsbury suggested. “The
Highlanders believed such stones ensured the wearer’s health and
protected them against evil spirits.”

Mr. Armistead eyed Julia’s ring
closely. “We might discover something unusual about the internal
structure and density of the quartz when we examine it more
closely. There is a place in Yorkshire where the local rock
contains quartz that is exceedingly dense. The houses are all
built with it. It is said more supernatural activities occur there
than in all of Britain.”

“Perhaps, the stones are drawing Miss
Hargrove and Rae Mackinnon across time,” Sir Henry pointed out.
“Not actually causing the time slip, you understand, only making it
possible for the two to see one another and experience one another
with solidity.”

Julia added another observance.
“Twice, the laird was not actually present in the chamber when
time shifted, but nearby, once in the stairwell and today outside,
in the courtyard. Evidently, the stone — or whatever is pulling us
together — has a range to it.”

Clearly excited, Lord Muir stepped
nearer. “Is there anything more you can recall, Miss
Hargrove?”

Julia began to shake her head but then
remembered Donald. “There may be a Macpherson connection. Rae’s
youngest brother, Donald, is to marry a Mairi
Macpherson.”

Lord Muir considered this as he slipped his
watch from his jacket pocket.

“I shall consult the clan histories
tomorrow.” He turned to his colleagues. “For now, gentlemen, I
would suggest you refresh yourselves. We will reconvene in this
room no later than one o’clock. With Miss Hargrove’s permission, we
will join her soon after and await the next time shift in her
chamber.”

Julia’s jaw dropped. Three more men in
her room? Her reputation would never survive her stay at Dunraven
Castle!

It was comical, Julia thought — four
grown men sitting in a row on the bedchamber floor, their
scientific instruments spread before them.

They need not do so. On the first
night Lord Muir had kept watch with her, they had discovered that,
while the room shifted toward the past during the time slip, it did
so only for her. The surroundings had remained solidly stable for
Lord Muir.

Still, he deemed it best to stay clear
of the main path of activity in the room, lest his, and his
colleagues’ presence disturb any unseen forces at work or affect
the sensitive equipment somehow.

Julia knew little of scientific
methodology but, to her eyes, the marquis and his associates
reminded her simply of rather overgrown and aged boys, tinkering
with their “toys” in the corner, their faces fired with
enthusiasm.

“Here, my dear.” Lord Muir rose and
approached her. “I wish you to keep this pocket chronometer on your
person.”

He offered Julia what appeared to be an
ordinary watch, its case austere, without flourishes or
ornamentation.

“Your own watch has a tendency to slow
during the course of the shift, I’ve noted. The chronometer, being
a marine timepiece, is designed to resist atmospheric variations.
It should maintain its accuracy.”

“Thank you.” Julia examined the piece
and noted the hour and minute.

Lord Muir stroked his beard. “By my
calculations, the shifts are lengthening at both ‘ends,’ so to
speak. The portal is opening earlier and closing later, and rather
significantly, too, I might add. Tonight’s shift should remain in
effect a full hour and a half. Allowing for another increase in
time, it will actually be closer to two.”

Two hours with her rugged Highland
laird and these avid and meticulous men of modern science. Now
there lay a challenge. Julia bit her cheek against the impulse to
smile. She slipped the small chronometer into a hidden pocket in
her gown and crossed her fingers that she was up to the night to
come.

“Miss Hargrove.” It was Mr.
Thornsbury, raising his long forefinger to the air, as if asking
permission to speak. “Might I suggest, you encourage the Mackinnon
to light a candle in his time as we have here. The flame will
reveal subtle disturbances in the air flow.”

“Yes, of course.” Julia thought of the
unglazed, though shuttered, windows in Rae’s century. A flickering
candle might tell them little more than the extent to which drafts
plagued the tower long ago.

Feeling slightly fatigued, Julia closed her
eyes and envisioned Rae, wishing him there beside her, and soon.
Just then, the air grew heavy.

»«

“I thought I should warn ye. Yer aunt,
Beitris, is sore mad, Rae.” Dugal scratched at his chest. “I dinna
know if ye think tae marry Moira, but ye need tae make yer decision
known soon. She’s runnin’ yer puir auld aunt aboot as though she is
already mistress o’ Dunraven.”