pregnancy. But how are we going to explain Cassandra?”
“That is easy,” Charlotte assured her. “You said she is American. Nothing could be more likely than that you have a letter of introduction to an American lady living in London. In fact, if Roland were suspicious of you, which he is not, that would be enough to abate his mistrust.”
“Great. All right, you tackle Roland and I’ll tell Giles. Boy, I can’t wait to see the big city.”
Giles was equally enthusiastic, though his reasons were quite different. Apart from his desire to return home and his concern over the dangers of their lengthening stay, he was eager to discuss the theory of time travel with someone who must know more about it than he did.
Used to more scintillating company, Lord Thorncrest also welcomed the suggestion that they should all go up to town. Vastly outnumbered, Roland conceded and sent a groom up to London with instructions to the staff of his town house to prepare for their arrival.
~ ~ ~
Three days later they were off. After the first few miles, Jodie found the journey excruciatingly tedious. She envied Giles, riding alongside. He looked splendid on horseback, sitting tall and straight yet relaxed, in contrast to Roland who somehow managed to appear pompous even in the saddle. Lord Thorncrest had driven ahead in his curricle, promising to call on them the next day as he had his own house in London. Jodie wished she could have gone with him, covering the fifty miles in four hours instead of the six or more Roland’s travelling carriage would take.
“Oh no,” said Charlotte when she mentioned this wish, “not on the post road. It is unexceptionable to drive with a gentleman in an open carriage about the country lanes, or in town, of course. Indeed, it is every young lady’s desire to be driven in the park by an eligible gentleman.”
“Then I shall have to coax Roland or Thorncrest to take me, as Giles does not drive. All in the way of research, you understand.”
They stopped to take luncheon at the Saracen’s Head in Beaconsfield. Jodie found the coaching inn fascinating. She tried to take notes when they set out again but the carriage, though comfortable and well-sprung, rocked too much. She had to acknowledge that it was almost equally impossible to write in a car on a freeway. Nonetheless, when at last they stiffly emerged from the vehicle onto the Mayfair sidewalk, she murmured, “Three cheers for Henry Ford.”
The Faringdale townhouse was on Grosvenor Street, one of a row of Georgian brick façades joined in a terrace. Pilasters framed the front door, and the ground floor windows had curved pediments that reminded Jodie of Lord Thorncrest’s raised eyebrows. On either side of the steps up to the entrance, ornamental ironwork separated the sidewalk—no, the pavement—from the sunken “area”. The kitchen and “domestic offices” would be down there in the basement. Jodie glanced down the steep stairway and was glad to see that at least the servants had plenty of light and air from large windows.
Whatever his faults, Roland treated his servants well. To her relief, she soon discovered that the family was equally well taken care of; like Waterstock Manor, the house had Burmah water closets.
A half hour later the travellers were comfortably ensconced in the back parlour, with a fire blazing against the chill of early March and a tea tray on the way. Roland fussed over Charlotte, placed a footstool for her, asked anxiously was she quite comfortable. Giles was restless. Walking slightly stiffly after a day in the saddle, he went over to the window and looked out into the dusk.
“I suppose it’s too late to go and see Mrs. Brown today,” he said regretfully.
Roland looked round. “You are excessively eager to meet the lady. A beautiful young widow, is she?” He chuckled to show he was roasting Giles.
“Quite attractive as I remember. I’ve only met her once.”
So Cassandra Brown was young and
“That is easy,” Charlotte assured her. “You said she is American. Nothing could be more likely than that you have a letter of introduction to an American lady living in London. In fact, if Roland were suspicious of you, which he is not, that would be enough to abate his mistrust.”
“Great. All right, you tackle Roland and I’ll tell Giles. Boy, I can’t wait to see the big city.”
Giles was equally enthusiastic, though his reasons were quite different. Apart from his desire to return home and his concern over the dangers of their lengthening stay, he was eager to discuss the theory of time travel with someone who must know more about it than he did.
Used to more scintillating company, Lord Thorncrest also welcomed the suggestion that they should all go up to town. Vastly outnumbered, Roland conceded and sent a groom up to London with instructions to the staff of his town house to prepare for their arrival.
~ ~ ~
Three days later they were off. After the first few miles, Jodie found the journey excruciatingly tedious. She envied Giles, riding alongside. He looked splendid on horseback, sitting tall and straight yet relaxed, in contrast to Roland who somehow managed to appear pompous even in the saddle. Lord Thorncrest had driven ahead in his curricle, promising to call on them the next day as he had his own house in London. Jodie wished she could have gone with him, covering the fifty miles in four hours instead of the six or more Roland’s travelling carriage would take.
“Oh no,” said Charlotte when she mentioned this wish, “not on the post road. It is unexceptionable to drive with a gentleman in an open carriage about the country lanes, or in town, of course. Indeed, it is every young lady’s desire to be driven in the park by an eligible gentleman.”
“Then I shall have to coax Roland or Thorncrest to take me, as Giles does not drive. All in the way of research, you understand.”
They stopped to take luncheon at the Saracen’s Head in Beaconsfield. Jodie found the coaching inn fascinating. She tried to take notes when they set out again but the carriage, though comfortable and well-sprung, rocked too much. She had to acknowledge that it was almost equally impossible to write in a car on a freeway. Nonetheless, when at last they stiffly emerged from the vehicle onto the Mayfair sidewalk, she murmured, “Three cheers for Henry Ford.”
The Faringdale townhouse was on Grosvenor Street, one of a row of Georgian brick façades joined in a terrace. Pilasters framed the front door, and the ground floor windows had curved pediments that reminded Jodie of Lord Thorncrest’s raised eyebrows. On either side of the steps up to the entrance, ornamental ironwork separated the sidewalk—no, the pavement—from the sunken “area”. The kitchen and “domestic offices” would be down there in the basement. Jodie glanced down the steep stairway and was glad to see that at least the servants had plenty of light and air from large windows.
Whatever his faults, Roland treated his servants well. To her relief, she soon discovered that the family was equally well taken care of; like Waterstock Manor, the house had Burmah water closets.
A half hour later the travellers were comfortably ensconced in the back parlour, with a fire blazing against the chill of early March and a tea tray on the way. Roland fussed over Charlotte, placed a footstool for her, asked anxiously was she quite comfortable. Giles was restless. Walking slightly stiffly after a day in the saddle, he went over to the window and looked out into the dusk.
“I suppose it’s too late to go and see Mrs. Brown today,” he said regretfully.
Roland looked round. “You are excessively eager to meet the lady. A beautiful young widow, is she?” He chuckled to show he was roasting Giles.
“Quite attractive as I remember. I’ve only met her once.”
So Cassandra Brown was young and
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