The Time Baroness (The Time Mistress Series) (25 page)

Staying low, he crept up to the building, keeping the flagpole in sight. It was a dark night, and he had to assume the guards were asleep. They had lanterns at their posts, but the feeble candlelight only penetrated a few feet. Once up against the building, and being careful to avoid the first floor windows, he looked up to locate James’. He counted five down and three over from the flag pole, which glimmered faintly at the top of the building. There was just enough starlight to dimly reflect on it and the windows of the prison.

He activated the ladder again and climbed up. The white rag was tied to the bar. He rapped quietly on the window, and James came up to it and waved. Nick motioned him to move back from the window. Secure that his actions couldn’t be detected by ear, he removed the V-FOG, attached it to the glass, where it stuck by suction, and activated it by pressing a tiny switch on the side. Within a few seconds, the glass began to vibrate violently. Nick backed a few rungs down and turned his face away. The glass shattered with a pop and glass rained over him. He heard the V-FOG clatter down the ladder and reached out to catch it. He then scurried back up and attached it to the bars with a wire fastener. He activated it again, and again he moved down and out of the way. This time, the shaking created a great grinding noise. The bars fell out of the window in one piece as he swung around to the back of the ladder just in time to avoid being hit. They landed on the ground with thud and the V-FOG deactivated itself. He scrambled back up, threw the black clothing in to James and motioned him to hurry. James put the clothes on over what he was wearing and donned the hood.

“Grab the sheets off your bed!” whispered Nick.

“What? Why?” replied James.

“Just do it!”

James pulled off the rough cotton sheets and, standing on a chair, stuffed them out the window. Nick threw them to the ground. The only thing James took from his cell was his journal and his pocket watch, which he snatched up and stuffed into his shirt. He then clambered out the window, while Nick climbed down the ladder before him.

Just as they reached the ground, Nick put out his hand to stop James. A guard was coming around the side of the building on his rounds, lantern swinging. They stood still, but it was clear that he would collide with them if he didn’t see them first. Nick reached in the satchel and pulled out a bottle of sleep elixir. The guard moved to within the sound-proofed area and spotted two black-clad figures, hovering before him like phantoms. Horror stricken, he shouted with alarm, and blew hard on his whistle, though it was unheard by anyone. As he stood uselessly blowing, Nick ran up to him, grabbed his arm, and touched him on his exposed wrist with the sleep elixir. The guard tried to wrench away, but James went to Nick’s aid, and they both wrestled the large man to the ground, James kicking over the lantern to extinguish it.

The guard struggled wildly, but not for long. His strength soon began to ebb and within two minutes was fast asleep. Nick grabbed up the sheets and quickly tied them together. He nodded at James, and they ran across the yard to the wall. They easily scaled the ladder up one side and down the other. Nick left the bundle of sheets at the bottom of the wall. James cocked his head inquisitively.

“Let them figure it out,” Nick whispered. “At least they can imagine that you used them in some way to get over the wall.”

The two men then continued noiselessly to the carriage, where Cassandra sat shivering with cold and anxiety. The men removed their hoods, and Nick helped Cassandra down off the bench and into the coach with her son.

Nick drove while Cassandra sat inside with James, clinging to him and weeping for joy. James was tense, worried that they wouldn’t get to the portal exit before they were apprehended. But the streets were bare. It would probably be past daybreak before anyone noticed the sleeping guard or looked in on James’ cell. They left the sound blocker engaged until they were well into the center of town.

Once they approached the area around Covent Garden, the wheels began rattling away on the cobblestone streets. Nick pulled up in front of the alleyway. Cassandra and James could just make out, through the carriage windows, the sleeping figures of some ragged men at the far end of the alley. There was the faintest light in the sky.

Nick came around to open the door. He was holding a cello case by the handle.

“What is that?” asked Cassandra.

“My cello.”

“I know it is a—”

“I could not leave it behind, so I stuck it in the luggage compartment of the carriage. It is the only thing I am taking back with me.”

“Of course,” she smiled.

“Hurry now,” he said, turning to James. “We have to be careful, though, not to wake the beggars.”

“Good-bye, my sweetheart,” said Cassandra and clasped her son in her arms.

“Mom, I am so sorry—” he began.

“Shhh,” she replied, “I love you so much. You are my boy, and nothing else matters. I am glad we experienced this together.”

He hugged and kissed her. “Mom, be careful. Promise me you will be careful. Are you sure you will be all right?”

“Yes. I am going to the police station now. I will just pretend to be an addled woman. You will have to trust, until you see me on January twelfth, that I will be fine. I have Ben to take care of me.”

“But you promise you will come back? You will not stay here for love, will you?”

“I promise, James. Nothing is more important than you.”

He gave her a wide grin. Nick coughed, looking at the ground, then urged James toward the exit. “Good-bye, Cassandra,” he said. They embraced. “Oh, wait!” He took the atomizer out of his satchel. “Do not forget this!”

“Oh my God!” she whispered.

“We have everything else in the bag. I shall be waiting for you to return too,” he said fondly. “Maybe I will join the team if they will have me.”

“I do not think there is any doubt that they would welcome you.” She kissed him on the cheek and he beamed like a schoolboy. “Good-bye,” she said. “I shall see you soon. Go!”

The two men crept to the end of the alleyway, carefully avoiding the vagrants, and in seconds, first James, then moments later, Nick, with his cello, disappeared.

Cassandra had to finish the job. She climbed back onto the carriage, and, following Nick’s instructions, managed to maneuver the horses a few blocks to the music shop. There was a
Closed
sign on the door. Cassandra imagined that people would wonder about the quiet music seller so mysteriously disappearing the same day as James Franklin. He had told the shop boy in advance that he was leaving, and he had left a letter for him, knowing that the young man’s caring mother was just literate enough to understand it. It said, without great explanation, that he had gone back to America. It contained enough money to keep the boy and his family comfortable their whole life. He’d explained to Cassandra that he didn’t want to raise suspicions by closing out his bank account, but he had hurriedly left instructions with his attorney the morning before to sell off his property, including the store, pay all his servants a ten-year advance in salary, and give the remainder of the money to charity. He’d sealed the instructions and asked them to open it if they didn’t hear from him in a week.

When Cassandra got to the music store and rang the bell, the shop boy appeared, looking sleepy. Cassandra turned the horses and carriage over to him, tipped him, and hurried off to the police station on foot, clutching the atomizer in one hand. She was becoming numb from the cold, but she pressed on. After ten minutes, she arrived at the station. She took a deep breath, flung open the doors, and ran inside.

“Where is the sergeant?” she cried, “I must see the sergeant! There has been a breakout at the prison! Get the sergeant!”

The drowsy station sprang into action, and, as several constables tried to subdue the hysterical lady, the sergeant was summoned. She refused to speak to anyone but him. Rather than sitting quietly in a chair, she leapt up and walked nervously about the station house, muttering something about a strange smell and spraying her atomizer into the air.

Once the sergeant arrived, she insisted on seeing him alone in his office. She looked around the cramped space until she noticed the safe in the corner. She sprayed the atomizer in its direction, knowing the submicroscopic particles would travel inside the safe to where the player must reside.

“Madam, please!” said the sergeant, “would y’ stop that? What on earth’s the matter?”

“I had a dream!” she shrieked.

“You woke me out of bed and called me here for a dream?”

“Yes, I dreamt that my son, James Franklin, had broken out of prison and was making his way to Ireland. I am desperately worried about him! I fear I will never see him again! Please find him!” She buried her head on the desk and pretended to sob.

“James Franklin? Oh, that sorcerer fellow. We have that witchy thing of his right here in the safe. You are his mother, ay?”

“Yes, yes,” she sobbed, “and he is gone! I just know it, gone!”

“Now, now, ma’am, don’t you worry. He is safe at Millbank. No one has ever broke outta there. You just go on home now. Gibson!” he called to a constable. “Get Mrs. Franklin a cab, will ya?” Turning back to her he said, “He will be fine. You go home and rest now. Go on.”

Cassandra complied, whimpering and mumbling to herself. The cab arrived and the sergeant ushered her out, shaking his head. She went back to her hotel, wondering if she’d had success, and if her performance would help to avoid implicating her in the escape. She fell fast asleep.

 Around noon Regina came to summon her. A constable was at the door. Cassandra was escorted back to the police station, where she was informed that James had indeed escaped from Millbank and could not be found. The guard who witnessed the escape thought he’d seen two men, but couldn’t be sure because he’d passed out. At this news Cassandra launched into an even greater performance, outdoing the last, weeping real tears, screaming and flailing about and shrieking about her dream. The sergeant then tried to question her to see if there was any reason to suspect her, but could find none, and so dismissed her. No one had bothered to look inside the safe.

Cassandra left the police station and hurried through the chilly damp air, her thoughts racing. She passed a man handing out political pamphlets and absentmindedly took one from him. Glancing down at the paper, she formed an idea.

She arrived at her hotel and ensconced herself in her bedroom. Observing that the fire in the grate was cold, she plucked out a bit of coal and scrawled a note over the print in thick, dark letters. She then took a hack chaise to Ben’s townhouse, preparing herself to continue the performance. As soon as she was shown into the parlor, she burst into tears.

“He is gone!”

“What? Who?” Ben strode across the room to her and took her by the shoulders.

“James! He has escaped!” She wrung her hands and moved away so as not to look him in the eye.

“Cassandra what are you talking about! No one could escape from that place!”

“I have just been to the police station,” she said walking to the fireplace and pulling a handkerchief out of her handbag. “They said the bars had been pulled loose, the glass shattered, and he used a sheet to get over the wall!” She wiped at her eyes.

“I do not understand! How could James have pulled those bars out?”

“I do not know! Oh, I must sit down.” She dropped down onto a divan as if in a swoon. “Perhaps the cement that anchored them was old.”

“But the prison is practically brand new!” He went and stood over her.

“Well, perhaps the construction is shoddy. Anyway, there is something you must see. Look!” She held out the pamphlet to him. He took it and read out loud:

Mother,

I have escaped. I am on a boat on the Thames. By the time you read this, I will be on my way to America. I have bartered to work for my passage. Do not worry.

James

“A street urchin stopped me on my way to the hotel as I was on my way back from the police station. He was wearing James’ pocket watch—payment, I assume, for the delivery. Oh, dear heavens,” she wailed. “What if he is caught? Or what if something happens to him on the passage! I may never see him again!”

“This is extraordinary!” exclaimed Ben. “We have only to hope he will not be apprehended before the vessel gets beyond the channel. We must hope that the authorities do not think to detain and search ships for a few days. It depends on the swiftness of their thinking, their determination, and the resources at hand.”

“I see.” Cassandra sniffled.

Ben rang the bell for a servant, then threw the pamphlet in the fire. “Best to destroy this.”

“Of course.”

The servant entered, and Ben ordered brandy. He looked at Cassandra. “I know it is early, but I think we could use it.”

“My darling, I think this means I should go back to America myself. Right away. I must go to my son.”

“Yes, of course,” Ben replied, taking a chair across from her. “But, my love—”

“On the other hand,” she added quickly, “If I hasten to leave the country, it would look suspicious, as if I knew he was going back to America. Perhaps I had better wait, resume my life, fulfill my year’s lease at Sorrel Hall, and go when this has all blown over.”

“Yes, Cassandra, yes, you are right. But…you have to know that if you go, I shall go with you.”

“Oh, my love, let us not speak of that yet. Right now, we must deal with the situation at hand.”

The servant entered the room with a decanter of brandy and two glasses, and Ben poured them. Cassandra sipped the strong, sweet liquid and let it melt down her throat. Ben moved to sit with her on the divan, picked up her hand, and began to stroke it.

She regarded him thoughtfully. “Although I have been cleared by the police, what will the papers say? By tomorrow morning I am sure they will be full of news of James’ escape, and I will be hounded. Perhaps even by the Charleses themselves. I should not leave the country, but perhaps I should leave London for awhile—somewhere remote. Not back to Hampshire.”

“Yes, certainly,” he responded with concern. “It would be best to get out of London. Right away, even. But where will you go?”

 She thought while she sipped her brandy. “Well, I have always wanted to visit Dorsetshire, the county of my birth, and the town of Lyme Regis, where my mother was born.”

Ben cleared his throat. “What do you think of me going with you?”

She tried not to smile. “Really? You could go?”

“Of course, why not?” He drew closer to her on the divan. “Can you imagine, just the two of us, alone in a place where no one would know us?”

She shivered with the anticipation of it. “No, I can hardly conceive of it. All the more reason. Can we leave tomorrow? I will have no problem packing my things up on short notice. I want to get out of this town.” She set down her glass. “Oh, Ben, my poor James! Do you really think he will be all right?”

“I think he is quite an intelligent and resourceful young man, far more so than I ever imagined, if he could manage to escape from Millbank.”

“Yes, even I, who think he is the brightest young person on earth, would never have thought he could have the courage and the ingenuity to do such a thing. If he can be so brave, I must be brave for him as well. I must believe that he will return to America in one piece. I must have faith in my boy.”

“I agree. But I do think we should leave London immediately. Can you be ready by morning?”

“Yes. I do not have much to arrange.” She rose, and then a thought stopped her. “Ben, what do your parents know of this situation? Do they know of your association with me? With my name all over the paper, and then you suddenly leaving town—”

“No.” He stopped her. “I have never mentioned you to them, which I hope you will not take amiss. I do not want them to know about my personal affairs. They do not know I am in London and I have admonished my attorneys not to tell them. Therefore, all the better that I go with haste.”

Cassandra went to her hotel to pack. At nine the next morning she breakfasted, then sent a missive to her bank, ordering them to pay the additional six months rent to Sir Frederick. Ben came at ten, bringing Cassandra’s coach and four from the nearby stable house to carry them the more than one hundred miles to the Dorsetshire coast.

The first day of their journey, they passed through Hampshire within just a few miles of Selborne. They stayed in Winchester overnight, though in separate rooms. They took the opportunity that evening, just after sunset, to walk around the city by lamplight, passing by the famous Winchester Cathedral. Cassandra knew that this was the burial place of Jane Austen, but the Cathedral was closed for the night, and they could not go inside.

The next day they pressed on to Lyme Regis. It was well past dark by the time they were descending the narrow road through the town that led to the waterfront. Ben had the name of an inn that had been recommended to him by a friend, and, as it was the off-season for visiting the seaside, they hoped there would be a room. When they arrived at the small inn, nestled just at the edge of the road, they presented themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Johnston.

The proprietor was a short, stout man with a bald head and a large, bulbous nose. “Sorry to say,” he informed them, “I have got no rooms at such late notice, just a li’l cottage a bit down the hill that I sometimes rent.” He looked the two guests up and down. “It might suit ye, if y’were staying more than a night or two, ‘cause normally I would charge a higher rate for it, but if yer in town for a while, I can knock down the price.” Ben began to speak but the innkeeper cut him off. “In the summer, families sometimes take it, as it is bigger than a room; it includes a wood stove for heatin’ and cookin’, if yer so inclined, a basin and pump. It is very private, and has a nice view o’ the Cobb. Would y’ like to see it?”

Ben and Cassandra grinned at each other. “Yes, we would,” Ben replied.

They followed the innkeeper down a steep hillside of stone steps sloping toward the sea. The man opened the door with a skeleton key. Cassandra gasped when she beheld the spacious room of plank floors, a raftered ceiling, rough-hewn furniture, and windows of thick-paned glass, white lace curtains hanging daintily from pegs. “It is charming!”

“Yes!” said Ben at once, spying the bed in the corner topped with white feather quilts and pillows. “We will take it, for two weeks.” He paid the innkeeper.

“Sir,” Cassandra stopped him on his way out the door. “Is it too late to order a bath?” Ben raised his eyebrows, and she winked at him.

“No, problem, none at all, think nothing of it, have it down in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Something like a half an hour, I should say.” With that the innkeeper bowed out the door.

When he was gone, Ben grabbed Cassandra in his arms and pulled her close. “I want you now,” he whispered. “I do not want to wait for a bath.”

“Nonsense,” she teased. “We shall have a bite to eat as well.”

When two servants came in with the wooden tub, she asked if the innkeeper could also send down some cold meat, cheese, and bread. A maid appeared soon afterward with an appetizing supper, and they ate at the thick wooden table as the bath was filled with hot water and a fire was lit in the stone fireplace.

When the final bucket had been added, Cassandra thanked the servants, tipped them well, and asked that they wait ‘til morning to return to fetch the tub.

“Oh, and please do not disturb us in the morning,” she requested. “We will light the fire ourselves. We have had a long day today, and will probably want to sleep late.”

“As you wish, ma’am,” replied the last maid who curtsied out of the room.

In the firelight, Cassandra turned to Ben, and slowly, as he watched, began to undress. He observed her hungrily. When she had finished, she stood glimmering, naked before him.

“Why don’t you join me?” she said to him, stepping gingerly into the hot water. She sank down into it. Ben began to remove his clothes. She thrilled to see his slim, muscled body before her again, and made room for him in the tub as he eased into it opposite her. He gazed at her, taking in her delicate breasts just submerged below the water, her hair floating on top like seaweed, her gleaming shoulders.

She wrapped her long legs around him and they languidly kissed. His hands traveled over her slippery body, as did hers on his, finding him erect. She lowered herself onto him, tightening her legs behind his back, and they slowly moved together in a gentle rhythm. After several minutes he gasped, “Let us get into bed.”

“One minute,” she responded.

She reached for the soap on a stool nearby, and smoothed it over his body and her own. Laughing, she dunked under the water and washed her hair, then did the same to him. The night was cold, and in spite of the fire, the water was cooling fast. The air was chilly on their wet bodies. They reached for the drying sheets that lay close and quickly dried off. They ran to the bed and jumped under the clean bed sheets and thick covers.

“This is what I have been waiting for,” growled Ben as he covered her body with kisses, ending with her mouth, and thrusting his tongue deep inside. She responded with all the passion and longing that she had stored up since they had last been together in Hampshire. All of the anguish, fear, and frustration of the last month she let go of now as she buried her face in his shoulders and felt his strong arms around her, his hands caressing her. Finally he entered her and moved on top of her with all of his long-restrained urgency. Her release was immediate and then seemed like it would never end. He soon erupted into complete ecstasy, and then collapsed beside her. They did not speak, but only kissed. She then simply curled up in his arms and they fell asleep, for the whole night, the first since their relationship began.

In the morning, they made love again, taking their time, knowing that for once, their time was practically limitless. When they were satisfied, Ben dressed and walked up to the inn to ask that breakfast be brought to the room. In the meantime, Cassandra dressed in a simple, warm woolen gown, appropriate for a day of exploring along the coast.

After breakfast, the couple decided to start with a stroll on the Cobb. The day was sunny and brisk, and Cassandra donned her cloak. Her heartbeat quickened as they approached the famous stone jetty from the beach. They mounted narrow steps that took them the twelve feet up onto its walkway. She then linked her arm into Ben’s, and they followed the inner curve of the structure the few hundred feet that it jutted out into the English Channel. Waves lashed the outer ledge, making it slippery, an abrupt plunge to the sharp rocks below. On the opposite side, the water was calm, fishing boats anchored nearby and protected from the violent sea.

Cassandra felt justified that she had waited to visit this place until her time journey, so she could have the experience of seeing it unchanged by modern progress. They stood quietly at the end of the Cobb, taking in the view, the green-gray ocean, the distant blue silhouette of the Isle of Wight, and the cliffs along the Dorset shore.

“It reminds one of Persuasion, does it not?” offered Ben.

“I am sorry?” Cassandra responded, startled.

 “Persuasion,” he repeated, “Miss Austen’s Persuasion. You know, when Louisa Musgrove jumps down off the Cobb right over there, and Captain Wentworth fails to catch her.”