“Suppose she just gets the butler to say she’s not at home?” I asked. “Maybe she doesn’t want to see you again so soon.”
“‘So soon’ is good—as far as she’s concerned the last time was eighteen years ago.”
“As long as that?” A tall, slim woman with her red hair piled up in a style not unlike mine was standing on the stairs. She looked like Lady Arista, but thirty years younger. I saw, to my surprise, that the upright way she walked was just like Lady Arista as well.
When she stopped in front of me, neither of us said anything, we were so absorbed in looking at each other. I could see a trace of Mum in my great-great-grandmother. I don’t know what or whom Lady Tilney saw in me, but she nodded and smiled, as if satisfied with the way I looked.
Gideon waited for a while, and then he said, “Lady Tilney, I still want to make the same request as I did eighteen years ago. We need a little of your blood.”
“And I still say what I said eighteen years ago. You are not having any of my blood.” She turned to him. “However, I can offer you tea, although it’s still a little early. But we can talk better over a cup of tea.”
“Then in any case, we would be delighted to take a cup of tea with you,” said Gideon, laying on the charm.
We followed my great-great-grandmother up the stairs to a room on the street side of the house. There was a small round table by the window laid for three with plates, cups, cutlery, bread, butter and jam, and in the middle a platter of scones and wafer-thin cucumber sandwiches.
“It looks almost as if you were expecting us,” I said, while Gideon took a good look around the room.
She smiled again. “It does, doesn’t it? One might think so. But in fact I am expecting some other guests. Do please sit down.”
“No, thank you, in the circumstances we’d rather not,” said Gideon, suddenly very much on the alert. “And we won’t trouble you for long. We’d just like to have answers to a few questions.”
“And what are they?”
“How do you know my name?” I interjected. “Who told you about me?”
“I had a visitor from the future.” Her smile widened. “It happens to me quite often.”
“Lady Tilney, I tried to explain, last time, that your visitor was telling you lies,” said Gideon. “You’re making a great mistake by trusting the wrong people.”
“That’s what I’m always telling her,” said a male voice. A young man had appeared in the doorway. He casually sauntered closer. “Margaret, I always say, you’re making a great mistake by trusting the wrong people. Oh, those look delicious. Are they for us?”
Gideon had breathed in sharply. Now he put out his hand and clasped my wrist.
“Not a step closer!” he said.
The other man raised one eyebrow. “I’m only helping myself to a sandwich, if you have no objection.”
“Do please help yourselves. And if you will just excuse me for a moment…,” said my great-great-grandmother. As she left the room, the butler appeared in the doorway. In spite of the white gloves, he now looked like the bouncer of some really trendy club.
Gideon swore under his breath.
“Don’t worry about Stillman,” said the young man. “Although apparently he did once break a man’s neck. An accident, wasn’t it, Stillman?”
I stared at the young man. I couldn’t help it. He had the same eyes as Falk de Villiers, yellow as amber. Like a wolf’s.
“Gwyneth Shepherd!” When he smiled at me, he looked even more like Falk de Villiers, except that he was at least twenty years younger and his hair was jet black and cut short. The way he was looking at me was scary. He seemed friendly, but there was something in his eyes that I couldn’t interpret. Maybe anger? Or pain?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” For a moment, his voice sounded husky. He offered me his hand, but Gideon grabbed me with both arms and pulled me close.
“Don’t you touch her!”
The raised eyebrow again. “What are you afraid of, young man?”
“I know exactly what you want from her!”
I could feel Gideon’s heart beating against my back.
“Blood?” The man took one of the tiny, thin sandwiches and put it into his mouth. Then he held both his hands out to us, palms upward, and said, “Look, no syringe, no scalpel, nothing. Now, let go of the poor girl. You’re crushing her.” That strange glance again when he looked back at me. “My name is Paul. Paul de Villiers.”
“That’s what I thought,” I said. “You’re the man who persuaded my cousin Lucy to steal the chronograph. Why did you do it, Mr. de Villiers?”
Paul de Villiers’s mouth twisted. “It’s funny to hear you call me Mr. de Villiers.”
“And I think it’s funny that you know me.”
“Don’t talk to him,” said Gideon. His grip had relaxed slightly, and now he was holding me close to him with only one arm. With the other, he opened a side door behind him and glanced into the next room. Another man in white gloves was standing there.
“That’s Frank,” said Paul. “And since he isn’t as big and strong as Stillman, he has a pistol, did you notice?”
“I noticed,” said Gideon, closing the door again.
He’d been right. We had fallen into a trap. But how was that possible? Margaret Tilney couldn’t have been laying a tea table for us and stationing a man with a pistol in the next room every day of her life.
“How did you know we’d be here today?” I asked Paul.
“Hm. If I were to tell you I didn’t know, I just happened to look in by chance, I’m sure you wouldn’t believe me, would you?” He took a scone and sat down. “How are your dear parents?”
“Keep your mouth shut!” snapped Gideon.
“But I was only asking how her parents are!”
“Fine,” I said. “Mum, at least. My father’s dead.”
Paul looked shocked. “Dead? But Nicholas is a man like an oak tree, so strong and healthy!”
“He had leukemia,” I said. “He died when I was seven.”
“Oh, my God. I’m so very sorry.” Paul was looking at me sadly and seriously. “It must have been terrible for you, growing up without a father.”
“Don’t talk to him,” Gideon repeated. “He’s just trying to keep us here until reinforcements arrive.”
“Do you still think I’m after your blood and hers?” There was a dangerous glint in the yellow eyes.
“I do indeed,” said Gideon.
“And you think Stillman and I, plus Frank and a pistol, couldn’t deal with you on our own?” asked Paul sarcastically.
“I certainly do,” said Gideon.
“Well, I’m sure my dear brother and the other Guardians have made you into a real fighting machine,” said Paul. “After all, you’ve had to pull the chestnuts out of the fire for them. Or should I say the chronograph? In my time, we just learnt a bit of fencing and how to play the violin, to keep the tradition going. But I bet you can do martial arts and all that stuff. You need to know those things if you’re going to travel around the past getting people to shed blood.”
“So far those people have given me their blood willingly.”
“But only because they don’t know where that will lead!”
“No. Because they don’t want to see the destruction of all that the Guardians have been studying, protecting, and working for through the centuries.”
“Blah, blah, blah! Yes, they kept going on at us in that emotional way as well. But we know the truth about Count Saint-Germain’s intentions.”
“And what is the truth?” It burst out of me.
There were footsteps on the stairs.
“Here come the reinforcements,” said Paul, without turning.
“The truth is that as soon as Mr. de Villiers here opens his mouth, he tells lies,” said Gideon.
The butler stood aside to make way for a graceful red-haired girl coming into the room. She was a little too old to be Lady Tilney’s daughter.
“I don’t believe it,” said the girl. She was looking at me as if she’d never seen anything more peculiar in her life.
“You can believe it all right, Princess,” said Paul. His voice sounded loving and a little concerned.
The girl was standing in the doorway as if rooted to the spot.
“You’re Lucy,” I said. There was no mistaking the family likeness.
“Gwyneth,” said Lucy. She really only breathed my name.
“Yes, it’s Gwyneth,” said Paul. “And the one clutching her as if she were his favorite teddy bear is my cousin, or my nephew, or whatever you like to call it. Unfortunately he’s very, very anxious to leave us.”
“Please don’t go!” said Lucy. “We have to talk to you both.”
“Another time,” said Gideon smoothly. “Maybe when there aren’t so many strangers around the place.”
“It’s important!” said Lucy.
Gideon laughed out loud. “I agree with you there!”
“You’re welcome to leave, young man,” said Paul. “Stillman will show you to the door. But Gwyneth will stay a little longer. I have a feeling it will be easier to talk to her. She hasn’t yet been through all the brainwashing that you … oh, hell!”
The curse was caused by the little black pistol that had suddenly appeared from nowhere in Gideon’s hand. He was aiming it calmly at Lucy.
“Gwyneth and I will now leave the house without any fuss,” he said. “Lucy will accompany us to the door.”
“You bastard,” said Paul under his breath. He had risen to his feet and was looking undecidedly from Stillman to Lucy and us and back again, all in turn.
“Sit down,” said Gideon. His voice was cold as ice, but I could feel his pulse racing. He still kept me firmly pressed to him with one arm around me. “And you, Stillman, sit down too, please. There are still plenty of cucumber sandwiches.”
Paul sat down and looked at the side door.
“One word from you to Frank and I fire,” said Gideon.
Lucy was staring at him, wide-eyed, but she didn’t seem frightened. Unlike Paul, who appeared to think that Gideon meant it seriously.
“Do as he says,” he told Stillman, and the butler left his post in the doorway and sat down at the table, giving us a nasty look.
“You’ve already met him, haven’t you?” Lucy was looking Gideon straight in the eye. “You’ve met Count Saint-Germain.”
“Three times,” said Gideon. “And he knows exactly what you two are planning. Turn around.” He put the barrel of the pistol against the back of Lucy’s head. “Now move forward.”
“Princess…”
“It’s all right, Paul.”
“For God’s sake, they’ve given him a Smith & Wesson automatic. I thought that was against the golden rules.”