Ruby Red (28 page)

“Their own fault,” I said. “They ought to have paid more attention in chemistry classes.”

“But the alchemists weren’t really interested in gold at all. That was just camouflage for their real experiments. The philosopher’s stone is more like a synonym for immortality. The alchemists thought if they could only get the right ingredients—toad’s eyes, the blood of a virgin, hairs from a black cat’s tail, no, ha, ha, only joking—well, if they could get the right ingredients and mix them in the right chemical process, they’d end up with a substance that made you immortal if you drank it. The followers of Count Saint-Germain claim he had the recipe, so he was immortal. There are sources saying he died in Germany in 1784—but there are other records of people meeting him alive and well many years after that.”

“Hm,” I said. “I don’t think he’s immortal. But maybe he’d like to be? Maybe that’s the secret behind the secret. It’s what will happen when the Circle closes.…”

“Well, could be. But that’s only one side of the coin, put forward by enthusiastic supporters of cryptic conspiracy theories manipulating the sources for their own purposes. Critics of such theories assume that the legends accumulating around the count are most of them pure fantasy on the part of his fans, all because of his own clever presentation of himself.” As Lesley came out with all this stuff from the Internet, she reeled it off so fluently and with such enthusiasm of her own that I couldn’t help laughing.

“Why not ask Mr. Whitman if you can write an essay on the subject for homework?” I suggested. “You’ve done so much research, I should think you could write a whole book about it.”

“I don’t think the squirrel would really appreciate my efforts,” said Lesley. “After all, he’s one of Saint-Germain’s fans himself—I mean, if he’s a Guardian, he has to be. As I see it he’s the villain of the piece—Count Saint-Germain, I mean, not Mr. Squirrel. He threatened you and nearly strangled you, didn’t he? And your mother said you were to beware of him. So she knows more than she’s admitting. And I tell you what, she can only know it from this Lucy.”

“I think they
all
know more than they’re admitting,” I sighed. “Or anyway, they all know more than me. Even you do!”

Lesley laughed. “Just consider me an external part of your own brain. The count always made a great secret of his origins. That name and title were invented, anyhow. He may have been the illegitimate son of Maria Anna von Habsburg, widow of King Charles II of Spain. Several people could have been his father. Or according to another theory, he was the son of a Transylvanian prince and was brought up in Italy at the court of the last Medici duke. One way or another, none of it can really be proved, so everyone’s just groping around in the dark. But now the two of us have a new theory.”

“Do we?”

Lesley rolled her eyes. “Of course we do! We now know that one of his parents must have come from the de Villiers family, anyway.”

“How do we know that?”

“Oh, Gwen! You said yourself that the first time traveler was a de Villiers, so the count
must
have been a member of that family, whether or not he was born in wedlock. You understand that, don’t you? Otherwise his descendants wouldn’t have the same surname.”

“Mm, yes,” I said uncertainly. I couldn’t quite sort out this theory of his descent. “But I think there’s something in the Transylvanian theory too. It can’t be coincidence that that man Rakoczy comes from Transylvania.”

“I’ll do some more research into him,” Lesley promised. “Oh, watch out!” The door outside the cubicles swung, and someone came into the girls’ toilets. She—at least, we assumed it was a she—went into the cubicle next to ours to use the loo. We kept perfectly still until she had gone again.

“Without washing her hands,” said Lesley. “Yuck. I’m glad I don’t know who that was.”

“No paper towels left,” I said. My legs were getting pins and needles. “Do you think we’ll be in trouble? Mrs. Counter is sure to notice we’re missing. And if she doesn’t, then someone will tell on us.”

“All the students look the same to Mrs. Counter—she doesn’t notice anything. She’s called me Lilly since Year Seven, and she gets you mixed up with Cynthia, of all people. No, listen, this is more important than geography. You must be as well prepared as possible. The more you know about your enemies, the better.”

“I only wish I knew who my enemies are.”

“You can’t trust anyone,” said Lesley, just like my mother. “If we were in a film, the villain would turn out to be the least-expected person. But as we aren’t in a film, I’d go for the character who tried to strangle you.”

“But who set those men in black on us in Hyde Park? It can’t have been the count! He needs Gideon to visit the other time travelers and get a drop of their blood so as to close the Circle.”

“Yes, so he does.” Lesley chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. “But maybe there are several villains in this film. I mean, Lucy and Paul could also be the baddies. Well, they stole the chronograph. And what about the man in black who stands outside number eighteen?”

I shrugged. “He was there this morning, same as usual. Why? Do you think he’ll suddenly whip out a sword?”

“No, I think he’s more likely to be one of the Guardians, standing there in that silly way just on principle.” Lesley turned back to her folder. “I couldn’t find out anything about the Guardians themselves, by the way. They seem to be a very secret lodge indeed. But some of the names you mentioned—Churchill, Wellington, Newton—were Freemasons too. So we can assume that both secret societies had at least some connection. Oh, and I didn’t find out anything on the Internet about a boy called Robert White who drowned, but you can look up all the editions of the
Times
and the
Observer
for the last forty years in the library. I’m sure I’ll find something there. What else? Oh yes, mountain ash tree, sapphire, raven.… Well, of course you can interpret that in all sorts of different ways, but with this mysterious stuff, everything can always mean anything, which means nothing is certain. We must try to go by the facts and not all these fantastic ideas. You’ll have to find out more, particularly about Lucy and Paul and why they stole the chronograph. They obviously know something that the others don’t know. Or don’t want to. Or that they have very different ideas about.”

The door opened again. This time the footsteps were firm and energetic. And they were coming straight toward the door of our cubicle.

“Lesley Hay and Gwyneth Shepherd, come out of there at once and go back to your class!”

At first Lesley and I were stunned. Then Lesley said, “You do know these are the
girls’
toilets, don’t you, Mr. Whitman?”

“I’ll count to three,” said Mr. Whitman. “One…”

We’d opened the door before he reached “three.”

“I’ll have to note this on your records,” said Mr. Whitman, looking at us like a very stern squirrel. “I am very disappointed in you. You in particular, Gwyneth. The fact that you’ve taken your cousin’s place doesn’t mean you can do or not do exactly as you like. Charlotte never neglected her schoolwork.”

“Yes, Mr. Whitman,” I said. This authoritarian attitude wasn’t at all like him. He was usually so charming and only ever a tiny bit sarcastic.

“Now, off you go to your class.”

“How did you know where we were?” asked Lesley.

Mr. Whitman did not reply. He reached out his hand for Lesley’s folder. “And for now, I’m confiscating this.”

“Oh, no, you can’t!” Lesley clutched the folder close to her breast.

“Give it to me, Lesley!”

“But I need it … for the class.”

“I’ll count to three.…”

On “two,” Lesley handed him the folder, gritting her teeth. It was so embarrassing when Mr. Whitman pushed us into the classroom. Mrs. Counter obviously took it personally that we’d bunked off her class, because she ignored us until it was over.

“Were you smoking something?” Gordon asked.

“No, idiot,” Lesley snapped at him. “We just wanted to talk to each other in peace.”

“You cut class because you wanted to
talk
?” Gordon tapped his forehead.
“Girls!”

“And now Mr. Whitman can look through your whole file,” I said to Lesley. “Then he’ll know—I mean, the
Guardians
will know—that I’ve told you all about it. I’m sure I’m not allowed to.”

“Yes, so am I,” said Lesley. “Maybe they’ll send one of those men in black to get rid of me because I know things that no one is supposed to know.” She seemed to think this was an exciting prospect.

“Well, suppose that isn’t such a far-out idea?”

“Then … well, I’m going to buy you a pepper spray this afternoon, and I’ll buy myself one at the same time.” Lesley patted me on the back. “Come on. We’re not going to let them get the better of us?”

“No. No, we’re not.” I envied Lesley her unshakeable optimism. She always looked on the bright side of things. If they had a bright side.

3:00
P.M.
to 6:00
P.M.
, Lucy and Paul came to elapse in my office. We talked about cleaning up the city and restoring the buildings on the bombed-out sites, and the extraordinary fact that, in their time, Notting Hill will be one of the most fashionable and sought-after parts of town. (They described it as “trendy.”) They also gave me a list of all the Wimbledon champions from 1950 onward. I promised to put my winnings into a fund for the college education of my children and grandchildren. I am also thinking of buying one or two of the dilapidated apartment blocks in Notting Hill. You never know.

F
ROM
T
HE
A
NNALS OF THE
G
UARDIANS

14 A
UGUST
1949

R
EPORT
: L
UCAS
M
ONTROSE
, A
DEPT
3
RD
D
EGREE

FOURTEEN

CLASSES DRAGGED ON
painfully slowly, lunch was disgusting, same as usual, and when we could finally go home after double chemistry in the afternoon, I felt ready for bed.

Charlotte had ignored me all day. Once, at break, I tried to speak with her, and she said, “If you were thinking of apologizing, forget it!”

“What would I want to apologize for?” I asked, feeling annoyed.

“Well, if you can’t work that out for yourself—”

“Charlotte! I can’t help inheriting this stupid gene instead of you.”

Charlotte’s eyes had sparkled with fury as she looked at me. “It’s not a
stupid gene
, it’s a gift. Something very special. And it’s simply wasted on someone like you. But you’re too childish to even understand that.”

Then she had turned and marched away, leaving me standing there.

“She’ll recover,” said Lesley as we took our things out of our lockers. “She just has to get used to not being someone special anymore.”

“But it’s so unfair,” I said. “After all, I haven’t taken anything away from her.”

“Well, basically you have.” Lesley handed me her hairbrush. “Here!”

“What do you want me to do with this?”

“Brush your hair, what else?”

I obediently ran the brush through my hair. Then I asked her, “Why am I doing this?”

“I only wanted you to look pretty when you see Gideon again. Luckily you don’t need any mascara. Your lashes are amazingly long and black naturally.”

I’d gone bright red at the mention of Gideon’s name. “Maybe I won’t meet him today at all. I’m just being sent back to 1956 to do my homework in a cellar.”

“Yes, but maybe you’ll run into him before or after that.”

“Lesley, I’m not his type.”

“He didn’t mean it that way,” said Lesley.

“Yes, he did!”

“So what? A person can change his mind. Anyway, he’s
your
type.”

I opened my mouth and then closed it again. There was no point in denying it. He
was
my type, as much as I’d have liked to pretend he wasn’t.

“Any girl would think he was amazing,” I said. “As far as looks go, anyway. But he needles me all the time, and he orders me about, and he’s just so … he’s just so incredibly…”

“Great?” Lesley smiled lovingly at me. “So are you, honest! You’re the greatest girl I know. Apart from me, maybe. And you can order people about yourself. Come on, I want to see this limousine that’s going to fetch you.”

James gave me a cool nod as we were passing his niche.

“Wait a sec,” I told Lesley. “I need to ask James something.”

When I stopped, the bored expression vanished from James’s face, and he smiled cheerfully at me. “I’ve been thinking about our last conversation,” he said.