Fragments (Out of Time) Page 14

  A portly man in his mid-sixties sat behind an enormous desk, hunched over a book. He popped a piece of orange into his mouth and answered her without looking up. “How many times have I told you not to bother me when I’m reading, Mrs. Quick?”

  “You’re always reading,” she countered. “And besides your American’s here.”

  The professor looked up and gave Simon and Elizabeth a cursory glance before looking behind them. “Where?”

  “Right there,” Mrs. Quick said nodding toward Elizabeth.

  “My dear woman,” the professor said as he wiped his mouth with a white cloth napkin. He pushed himself back from his desk, stood and closed in on them. “Does this girl look like a man from the Appalachian mountains of Alabama to you? If so, you need a rather long rest and if not, you’ve completely wasted my time.”

  “It’s our fault,” Elizabeth said, her mouth watering at the sight of the orange. It was the first piece of fresh fruit she’d seen since they’d gone back in time. “We wanted to see you.”

  “And so you have. Good day,” he waved a dismissive hand and started back to his desk.

  “Please,” Elizabeth said. “We just need a few minutes of your time.”

  He turned around slowly and narrowed his eyes. His wild, bushy eyebrows nearly knit together.

  “Please,” Simon said with wafer thin patience.

  Morley held up a silencing hand. “Shh. Say that again, girl.”

  Elizabeth hesitated. “We just need a few minutes of your time.”

  “Texas, yes? Tell me I’m right! Wait. North Texas.”

  “Lubbock. Right.” She’d forgotten he was a linguist.

  “That’s quite impressive, but—” Simon started.

  “Sussex,” he said to Simon. “Eton and Oxford. Staggeringly dull. UPR. Thoroughly tiresome accent except, in your case, the way your time in America has bastardized it makes it of marginal interest.”

  “Now, see here—”

  “Professor,” Elizabeth said, trying to head off whatever chest puffery was about to take place. “I’m sorry I’m not the right American. But we really have come a long way. We’re here to see you about a book.”

  “A book? Oh. Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” His face lit up. “Which one? Centring Dipthongs of Non-Rhotic Accents or Intervocalic Alveolar-Flapping and You?”

  “I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said. “We met with Professor Giles in London and he said he’d given you a book for your birthday.”

  “The Book of Iona,” Simon said.

  Morley’s face dropped. “Oh, yes, that. I thought you meant one of mine. Giles has never had very good taste in books.”

  “No,” Elizabeth agreed quickly, hoping to win him over. “You don’t still have it, do you?”

  “Alas no. It and several other volumes of little consequence but, I must say, substantial value were donated to a worthy cause. We all have to do our part, you know.”

  “Very noble,” Simon said between gritted teeth. Obviously, he’d noticed the crate of oranges, box of SPAM and other black market goods piled up behind the professor’s desk.

  “I’m sure they appreciated your generosity,” Elizabeth said hoping to salvage their trip. “It was very kind of you to part with them.”

  “Yes,” Morley said with a put-upon sigh. “They should bring a good price. Put the Spitfire Fund over the top.”

  With a little coaxing, she might be able to get more out of him. “Is the Spitfire Fund event here in town?”

  “No, no. This is over in Bath. A fundraiser tomorrow night, I think. I don’t like to get too involved in things locally, you understand. Once people sense you’re blessed with a generous nature, they take advantage.”

  “I’m sure they do,” Simon said.

  Elizabeth put a comforting hand on Simon’s arm. Lack of sleep was making him crankier than usual. “Thank you for your time, Professor.”

  Elizabeth led Simon out of the office and back onto the street before he could make a scene.

  “Idiot,” Simon grumbled.

  Elizabeth arched an eyebrow.

  “Not the accent. I don’t care about that. But did you see all of the black market goods? I would very much have liked to have shoved that damn orange down his damn throat.”

  Elizabeth patted his arm. “You’re sweet.”

  Simon snorted. “That wasn’t exactly what I was going for.”

  She hadn’t gotten exactly what she’d hoped for either, but they had found another piece of the puzzle. They hadn’t come away entirely empty-handed.

  “Come on,” Elizabeth said as she slipped her arm through his. “Off to Bath? How far away is it?”

  “A few hours by train.”

  It had been nearly thirty-six hours since either of them had truly slept. The adrenaline from the escape had long worn off, and left her feeling wrung out like an old washcloth fraying at the edges. But, this wasn’t a vacation, and considering what other people endured during the war, the least she could do was suck it up. She tried her best to hide just how tired she was and plastered on a smile “Right.”

  By the time they’d walked back into the center of town, dark clouds had filled the late afternoon sky. The weather had been so cooperative, so temperate, she’d completely forgotten about it until a big fat raindrop splattered across the bridge of her nose. Like an idiot, she looked up and promptly got another one right in the eye.

  Simon took her arm and helped her over the now slippery brick pavers and into the shelter of a covered doorway. They huddled together as the skies overhead opened up and the rain came down with a fury. People on the street pulled out umbrellas or shielded their heads as best they could and hurried for cover. Across the street, a mother dragged her son down the sidewalk. He kept his head tilted back and his tongue out to catch the drops.

  “Wow,” Elizabeth said. “Hello, Mother Nature.”

  “Wait here.” Simon turned up the collar of his coat and pulled down the brim of his hat. He stepped out into the rain and jogged down the street.

  A few minutes later, he reappeared. “Here.” He took off his hat, shook the water from it and set it on top of her head. He laughed as he pulled it down and it covered her eyes. “There’s a pub just down the road. We can dry out there and get something to eat.”

  Elizabeth pushed the brim of the hat back so she could see and held out her hand.

  “Ready?” Simon asked and on her nod they dashed into the rain and ran down the empty street.

  The King’s Head Inn was dark and wonderfully warm and cozy. A few small wooden tables with a variety of benches and chairs were tucked into nooks or gathered around a large fireplace where a man was busy building a fire.

  “I be right with ya,” he said.

  Simon and Elizabeth took off their coats and hat and hung them on a coatrack by the door. Nearly every inch of ceiling and wall space was covered with photographs, newspaper articles and miniature flags.

  Elizabeth noticed a chalkboard with today’s specials listed. “Oh, I’m starving. Soup sounds good but what’s that wonderful smell?”

  “Mulled cider, I think,” Simon said. “Although—”

  “I want.”

  “I’m not sure that’s wise. It will be hard cider and terribly strong,” Simon said.

  Elizabeth waved off his warning. “Hard, soft, it doesn’t matter as long as it’s all mulled and cidery.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  The man finished lighting the fire and Elizabeth immediately went over to warm up.

  “This is heaven,” she said. “Thank you.”

  The man nodded and went back around the bar. “Er have to wait till half past for a Scrumpy.”

  Elizabeth smiled. She’d heard all sorts of English accents so far, but the West Country was her favorite. It was a wonderful mixture of charming lilt and old school pirate.

  “Tea for now, please,” Simon said. “Two fish and chips, if the kitchen’s open.”

  T
he man nodded and disappeared into the back.

  Elizabeth settled into a table close to the fire and after ordering, Simon joined her. “I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for tea for now. Licensing laws. Can’t serve alcohol until five-thirty.”

  “That’s all right. This is perfect.”

  They sipped their tea until the food was up. The fish and chips were greasy and delicious. At five-thirty on the dot, the drinks arrived and so did a handful of locals, including one old man with a bent walking stick and little Jack Russell terrier in tow. He sat down at a table not far from them, tipping his cap in greeting.

  Simon walked to the bar to collect their drinks and gave the owner a few coins. “For the gentleman and one for yourself.”

  The little old man raised his walking stick in a salute as the publican took the coins. “Cheers!”

  Elizabeth held the warm cup in both hands and inhaled the sharp aroma of apples and ginger before taking a small sip. It was delicious and she didn’t feel the alcohol until she felt the heat building in her chest. Scrumpy was warm and dangerous and wonderful. After a few sips, she already felt a little light-headed.

  A few more regulars came in and joined the old man. One of them leaned over to their table and said, “These dirty old sods want to know if you’re married.”

  “I am,” Elizabeth said, wiggling her ring finger and eliciting groans from the men. She giggled. “You all are so handsome, surely you’ve been snatched up.”

  The old man raised his glass. “Lost me wife in ‘38.”

  “I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said.

  “Every night,” he said, “I be praying the old bat don’t find me!”

  The table broke out in roars of laughter.

  “Er got a mouth like a forty shilling iron pot!”

  Elizabeth and Simon joined in the laughter and listened to the stories the locals spun, but it wasn’t too long before she could feel herself slowly beginning to fade away. The warm room, the good food, the strong alcohol, and loss of sleep were finally catching up with her. Simon tugged at her elbow. Elizabeth looked up to see him standing over her. He had their coats folded over one arm and she vaguely wondered when he’d done that.

  “I don’t want to go,” she said in a voice that sounded whiny even to her own ears.

  “I’ve got a room upstairs.”

  “You did? I love you so much.”

  “Good, now come on,” he said as he helped her stand. The room tilted and swirled in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but seldom ended well. They said their goodnights and made their way up the narrow stairway to their room over the pub. It was small and simple, but Elizabeth didn’t care. It had a bed.

  She flopped down onto it and nearly bounced back off. The springs were ready for a fight.

  “Come here,” she said in her best sultry voice. She dutifully ignored the fact that Simon was fighting not to laugh. He sat down on the bed and she pulled him down beside her. She rolled over so that she was leaning on his chest and started to kiss his neck.

  “We should get some sleep,” he said, but she could feel his heartbeat race as she kissed him and heard his breath catch when she found that one particular spot that always drove him to distraction.

  “Mmm-hmm,” she said, working her way up to his jaw and back down again.

  His hands caressed her back for a moment and then held her close. He was warm and solid and snoring. She pushed herself up to look at him through blurry eyes. Yup. Snoring away.

  She was too tired and too tipsy to be insulted, and laid her head back down on his chest. His arms tightened around her and the last she heard was another gale of laughter from the pub downstairs.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Elizabeth felt like someone had stuffed cotton and straw into her head while she slept — scratchy straw that rubbed against her eyes and heavy, water-soaked cotton to slosh around where her brain used to be. Scrumpy cider was evil. Even after two cups of weak black coffee, it was all she could do to get a little bread and jam down. The publican took pity on her. “Her be needing a bit of the hair of the dog.” He pulled out a hip flask and put a splash in her nearly empty coffee cup.

  Simon tipped him and Elizabeth wondered if he’d mind if she just curled up on this bench and never moved again. She forced down the whisky or rye or embalming fluid and followed it with a large glass of water chaser. Simon insisted.

  They thanked the publican and Simon offered her his hat.

  “Is it still raining?” she asked.

  “No, it’s a beautiful day.”

  Elizabeth waved it off and ran a hand over her head to smooth down the bedhead that wouldn’t go away. She’d run damp fingers through it after she’d taken her head out from under the tap, but she hadn’t had the courage to look in the mirror. If she looked even half as bad as she felt, she was better off not knowing it.

  “All right,” Simon said and opened the pub door.

  Light brighter than the surface of the sun ambushed her and nearly knocked her backwards. Simon helped her out onto the street and after a few excruciating minutes her eyes began to adjust. Wordlessly, they walked down to the station. The same old soldier was there, leaning against the ticketing office.

  The train wasn’t due for over an hour, but the bench wasn’t too hard and Simon’s shoulder was just right. She watched life in the quiet town go by until the engine pulled into the station. They settled into their first class compartment, this time the only occupants.

  While her head was much improved, her stomach wasn’t so sure. For his part, Simon looked rested and content. He’d warned her not to drink the Scrumpy and the fact that he wasn’t saying ‘I told you so’ was really just a sneaky way of saying ‘I told you so’. She glared across the small compartment at Simon.

  “What?” he said.

  “You don’t have to rub it in.”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “Your face is saying it. It’s ‘I told you so’ing’ all over the place.”

  “On behalf of my face, I apologize.”

  Elizabeth smirked and tilted her head back against the leather seat. She squinted at the luggage netting.

  Simon frowned. “Not on your life.”

  ~~~

  Somewhere past Swindon, Elizabeth started to feel human and by the time they arrived in Bath, she was whole again. The streets of Bath were busy with mid-morning activity. Cars, coaches, army vehicles and lots of bicycles buzzed along the street. As they stood in front of the station trying to formulate a plan, a shoeshine boy latched onto Simon’s leg like a hungry animal.

  “Shine, Sir?” he asked, already having wrangled Simon’s foot onto his box.

  Simon looked like he was about to protest but must have noticed what she did, the only sadder looking thing than his shoes was the boy. He was pushing all of ten years old. His pale face was streaked with coal like war paint.

  The boy worked at a furious pace as if afraid Simon might change his mind at any minute. “You new in town? I knows everyfink what goes on here. What you need?”

  Elizabeth silently ticked off her needs: a bath, a comb, a dress she hadn’t been wearing for three days, a mysterious piece of Nordic legend that might or might not let Hell reign on earth.

  “What we really need is a place to stay,” Simon said. “Any recommendations?”

  “Oh! Right. Gentleman like you needs a fine place and your lady too. Royal Station. Right across the street. Queen Victoria stayed there, they say.”

  “That sounds perfect, thank you.”

  “All done,” the boy said as he snapped his towel against the toe of Simon’s shoe.

  “Thank you.” Simon dug into his pockets and put a few coins into the boy’s outstretched hand.

  His eyes opened wide and Elizabeth could tell he was sure Simon had made a mistake. The boy couldn’t bring himself to say it, but he couldn’t just run off with too much either.

  “It’s all right,” Simon said. “Just don’t spend it all in o
ne place.”

  The boy tipped his cap twice, grabbed his shoeshine box and took off before Simon could change his mind.

  “The Royal?” he said.

  “If it’s good enough for the Queen…”

  It took a strong heart and good reflexes, but they managed to cross the street to the hotel. The lobby was clean and bright and an enormous blue oriental rug covered most of the floor. She couldn’t wait to take a bath in Bath, and judging from the looks the clerk gave them, he couldn’t wait for her to either.

  Their room wasn’t enormous, but there was an en suite bath and that was all that mattered. She started to undress and caught sight of herself in the large mirror over the dresser.

  “Simon, you need to see this.”

  “What is it?”

  She turned him to look in the mirror and two scraggly creatures looked back. His clothes were wrinkled and dirty and Elizabeth’s dress had several small spots on it she couldn’t identify. Her hair was still wild and untamed and looked like someone had taken an iron to half of it.

  After a moment of what could only be described as stunned silence, Simon ran his hand over two days of stubble. “Good Lord.”

  She sniffed the air. “I don’t know which of us that is, but my eyes are tearing up.”

  “You bathe,” Simon said. “I saw a barber’s across the street. I’ll pick up some things and be back within the hour.”

  “What about our clothes?”

  “The hotel will see to them.” Simon grabbed his hat and headed for the door.

  “And what do we wear in the meantime?” she asked.

  Simon put on his hat and tugged down the brim. “Just our smiles.”

  ~~~

  Professor Morley scribbled in his notebook as he listened to a wax record of a woman from Manchester mangle the English language. It was a miracle those people managed to tie their shoes, he thought as he made another notation. This monograph on class and Northern dialects would surely be his greatest triumph. Of course, only a handful of people on the entire surface of the globe would be able to understand it, but esoteric knowledge was the only knowledge worth having.