Asher's Dilemma (9 page)

Satisfied he’d done all he could for the moment, he raced back to the house. There, he discovered Cheeves and the other servants locked in the cellar, shaken but unhurt. He released them with the barest of explanations, brushing off his butler’s exclamations at his disheveled appearance, and hurried to his study on the first floor.

This private sanctum overlooking the square across the street had always been his refuge, but the sight that greeted him brought him no peace of mind. On the chaise longue where he’d pondered many a problem, was Minerva, stretched out on the velvet, her head propped up on a couple of cushions. Her hair fell in loose, fair skeins around a face pinched paper-white. Her eyes were shut, her expression calm and beatific in contrast to the anguished look on Quigley who crouched by her side, desperately holding on to her hands as if by doing so he could prevent her from disappearing. His gaunt eyes mirrored his turbulence as he spun round at Asher’s entry.

“Well?”

“I’ve done all I could for the moment.” Asher moved to his desk, which was littered with plans and drawings of his chronometrical conveyance. He gathered up a sheaf of them and thrust them onto the dying fire sulking in the fireplace. The paper lit, curled and blackened at the edges, before the flames leaped higher. For a few moments the drawings and figures glowed before the fire consumed them. Sighing, he reached for another fistful of paper, and the greedy fire gobbled them up.

“Is there any change?” he asked.

“I can’t be sure, but I think the fog is lifting from her.”

The sight of Quigley holding Minerva’s hand and stroking her brow triggered a queer sensation in Asher’s stomach. There was such a trembling, loving tenderness in Quigley’s touch. It hit Asher how much it must have cost Quigley to hold himself aloof from Minerva’s attractions. He’d written her all those love letters, and she’d yearned for him, yet Quigley had resisted the temptation to become her lover. And he was willing to sacrifice everything for her. So it would be mean of Asher to be envious of him touching Minerva.

He saw that Quigley was right, that the haze which had threatened to obliterate her was beginning to lighten and thin out in patches. As he watched, the colors of her skirts returned, solid and reassuring.

“It’s working,” Quigley said. “She’s coming back to us. The cosmos is eradicating the anomaly.”

Heartened, Asher swept everything off his desk and threw it all into the fire. Next he moved to his bookshelves and pulled out the texts he’d studied for years. One by one the books met their fate in the roaring fire until the room shimmered with heat. He stood back from the fire and dusted his hands.

Quigley spoke. “I know how much it pains you to sweep away years of labor.”

Asher prodded at the fire with the poker. A rare, treasured treatise on the properties of promethium burst into flame. “They are worth nothing without Minerva.”

Quigley sat beside Minerva, his fingers firmly intertwined with hers. He let out a sigh heavy with infinite regret. “You will look after her, won’t you?”

“If she’ll let me.” Asher snorted. “She puts a high price on her independence.”

“No more than you and I do.”

Asher nodded. “I promise always to be there for her, whether she likes it or not.” They sat in silence for a while before he picked up a decanter of whisky and poured out two measures into crystal tumblers. He passed one to Quigley. “Well, we’ve done as much as possible. Now, it’s just a matter of waiting.” He took a seat in a nearby armchair, gradually becoming aware of his aching muscles. His body had been put through the wringer today—blasted with his own Viper Ray, killed, resurrected, shackled, half-poisoned and then shot again.

The wind rattled the windows, and stray draughts eddied through the room. Quigley reluctantly released Minerva’s hand before lowering himself into a wing chair opposite Asher and leaning his head against the back. Lines as deep as canyons carved his face. At the sight a spasm passed through Asher.

“How long will it take?” he asked.

Quigley lifted his head as though it weighed a ton. “I don’t know. An hour, a day, a week. Who knows? But when it does I hope it comes swiftly.”

Asher winced. There were no words of comfort he could offer. He raised his glass. “I salute you, Quigley.”

In reply Quigley merely grunted. After a while he said, “Here, before I forget, I have something for you.” He fished out the stalking compass from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to Asher.

The compass which had led him through time to Minerva. Biting his lip, Asher closed his fist around it. “Thank you.”

The other man did not speak, but downed his whisky in one gulp.

On the chaise longue Minerva stirred, and her eyelashes fluttered open. Her eyes were the sweetest blue Asher had ever seen.

“My goodness,” she said. “Don’t tell me I swooned.”

Chapter Nine

With the equanimity borne of long years of service, Cheeves had regained control of the household and obeyed Asher’s mysterious commands without comment. Supper for three was brought up to the study, but Cheeves was instructed to leave the trolley outside the door. As well, hot water, towels and clean clothing were similarly ordered. When these had been delivered, Asher ordered his faithful servant to barricade the house and the workshop and then retire for the night.

The north winds tore at the house like a wild beast, juddering windows and baying down chimneys, but inside the study the curtains had been drawn, the fire was warm and the door securely fastened. Minerva sat on the chaise longue, a healthy pink hue on her cheeks, her hair a loose mass of burnished gold about her shoulders, while she glanced between Asher and Quigley with rapt attention.

“So one of my mothers is now living amongst the ancient Celts?” she asked. “And the other has simply ceased to exist?”

“Precisely,” Asher replied. “I hope you don’t mourn the loss too keenly.”

“How could I after what she tried to do?”

After a final swipe across his washed face, Asher tossed his used towel into a waiting bucket and shrugged on a clean shirt. He’d provided Quigley with a fresh shirt too. Quigley was still busy at his basin. Not content with a quick sluice, the man was shaving his chin with slow, careful strokes.

Lifting his head, Asher caught Minerva staring at him, her gaze fastened to where his partially buttoned shirt revealed his chest. The frankness of her stare stopped him in his tracks, set fire to his loins. So she was recovered enough to desire him! The realization set his blood humming and curled the edges of his lips, but then her eyes lifted to his, and she must have thought his smile too smug, for the sensual admiration disappeared from her face.

Her brows drew together into a vee. “What was that poison she used on us?” she hurriedly asked.

“I believe it’s cacodyl chloride. Not only are the fumes extremely toxic, they’re also very flammable. She meant to kill us and then burn the whole workshop down to hide all evidence of the crime.” He fastened his shirt and pulled on a smoking jacket.

Some of the color left Minerva’s cheeks. “Well, then I’m glad she’ll never be around to cause more mischief. I pity the poor Celts who have her now. But how ironic that it was her own error which sent her back thousands of years.”

“Schick assured me she was a highly competent operator. She must have made some mistake in her haste to complete the computations.”

“And now you have burned all your books and documents, you will never know the real figures to correctly calibrate the machine.”

Asher didn’t reply. Without wishing to, his gaze strayed to Quigley’s back. The man stood in front of a mirror, carefully tying his cravat. As if sensing Asher’s eyes on him, he spoke without turning round. “No, Asher,” was all he said.

Minerva’s brow crinkled in puzzlement, but Asher didn’t enlighten her. He knew well enough what Quigley was saying no to. The only person who knew how to operate the chronometrical conveyance was Quigley. Only he had computed the correct figures, laboriously working through the calculations by hand, double-checking each step, until he’d arrived at the final answers.

With a final tweak to his cravat, Quigley put on his jacket before turning to face the room. He crossed over to Asher and placed his hand on his shoulder. “No, my friend,” he said in a low tone. “I will never divulge those numbers to anyone. Of that you can be sure.” He addressed himself to Minerva. “Shall we dine now?”

So, that was that. He hadn’t seriously considered that Quigley would give him those elusive figures, and now he found himself glad and somewhat relieved. The burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He would forget everything he’d discovered about the chronometrical conveyance, the millennium machine, indeed, the whole aethersphere. There were more than enough other areas of discovery to occupy his mind.

He stood back and watched as Quigley escorted Minerva to the small table as though they were attending the most fashionable restaurant in all of London. Washed and shaven, Quigley looked the epitome of the elegant gentleman, and Minerva was clearly admiring of his suave appearance. She turned and beckoned to Asher, her eyes smiling. “Come, Asher. Come and sit.”

So they all three sat at the round table. They dined on baked oysters, turtle soup, plovers’ eggs in aspic, asparagus, truffles and dressed crab, all washed down with champagne, and to follow they had chocolate cream, maraschino jelly and a large wedge of Stilton. It ought to have been a celebration, but Asher was too aware of what still lay ahead to enjoy the meal. Quigley ate with a spare appetite, taking his time to savor each morsel, while Minerva dined with a subdued air, no doubt sensing the mounting tension in the atmosphere.

Quigley cut off a fragment of cheese and held it under his nose to inhale its pungent scent.

“Ah, my favorite cheese,” he murmured, his eyes half-closed.

“All these dishes are your favorites.” Minerva stretched her arm across the table cloth and pressed Quigley’s arm. “Yet you’ve only picked at this and that like a sparrow.”

“I don’t need to fill my stomach. It’s enough just to sample each dish.”

“I don’t understand.” Her gaze darted between the two men. Asher wanted to give her an encouraging smile, but his lips wouldn’t work. “Something is wrong. I can sense it. Will one of you please tell me what it is I don’t know?” She turned to Quigley. “Well?”

Quigley stared back at her. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but at the last moment averted his face, the flash of distress telling Asher it was up to him.

“Minerva.” Asher drew in a deep breath and plunged on. “You understand what happened when I destroyed my chronometrical conveyance and why that saved you.”

“Yes. Because if your device did not exist, then Mrs. Nemo could not use it in the future, and so to remedy this anomaly she must have been erased from time. The pliability of time.”

“Exactly so.” He hesitated before clasping her hand. “But your mother was not the only anomaly created. There is another still with us.” He paused, unable to continue, but there was no need as he saw the dawning realization break across her face like an earth tremor.

“You mean… No—” She went white as though he’d punched her in the chest. “You can’t mean Quigley?”

Why did it have to come to this? The horror stamped on her face savaged him, but he had no means to comfort her.

“Asher!” Her fingernails dug into his palm. “No. It can’t be true. You must have a solution. You must.”

Quigley came to his rescue. “My dear, there is nothing anyone can do. The laws of the universe must be obeyed. Since the chronometrical conveyance no longer exists, it is an anomaly for me to use it in the future. I am now a temporal paradox, and I must be eliminated.”

“But—but what will
happen
to you?”

“I imagine something very similar to what started to happen to you. I shall start feeling faint and then gradually disappear into nothingness. I believe—and hope—the whole procedure will be fairly painless.”

“No!” Minerva jumped to her feet, jarring the dishes on the table. “I refuse to accept this. There must be something that we can do.”

Quigley rose and pressed his hand on her heaving shoulder. “Please, you mustn’t distress yourself. I knew this would happen, and I’m quite prepared for it.”

“But I am not!” Her eyes shimmered with a desperate light. “I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

“If it’s any comfort to you, when I’m gone you will also lose all memory of me being here. You will forget how you felt. It will be as if I never existed.”

She shook her head wildly. “At least when someone dies, their memory lives on in those left behind. This—this is worse than death.”

Quigley’s chest rose and fell, his eyes glimmering with a turbulent emotion that Asher could only guess at.
And I will forget everything about him too.
The terrifying thought constricted Asher’s throat.

“I was never meant for you,” Quigley said, his voice wavering under the strain. “I think you know that, Minerva.”

She gave a strangled sob, looked at Asher and leaned across to grab him by the arm. “Asher, what are we to do?”

He’d never witnessed her so broken up, never felt so helpless, but beneath all the anguish he became aware of her clinging to him, seeking his support. She loved Quigley, but it was him she would always turn to. Just as it was always meant to be.

He held her tight. “Minerva, sometimes there is nothing we can do but accept Fate with good grace—”

He broke off as Quigley emitted a sudden groan and doubled over, his knuckles whitening as he clutched his chair for support.

“Quigley.” He rushed over and caught the man just as he began to teeter. “Are you in pain?”

“No pain, but a sudden faintness,” Quigley managed to croak. Minerva hurried to support his other side, and the three of them shuffled across the room towards the chaise longue where Quigley subsided onto the upholstery. “’Tis a very odd feeling, I have to admit.”

So, it had started already. Asher stood rigid and immobile while Minerva fussed over Quigley, hoisting his feet onto the embroidered cushions and tucking more pillows beneath his head.

“You’ve not eaten enough,” she said, anxiously hovering beside the couch. “I will bring you more soup.”

“No, no soup.” Reaching out, Quigley held on to her arm. “I’ve tasted all my favorite dishes for the last time. It’s not food I require now.” His gaze travelled beyond her, searching out Asher, the unspoken question clear in his green, familiar eyes.

Asher’s feet rooted on the carpet as Quigley’s silent petition excoriated his mind. He took in Minerva’s agitated fluttering, Quigley’s grip upon her sleeve, the pure paleness of her skin showing just below the cuff. The memory of her naked skin came roaring back at him. The one night they’d shared together, the intimacy and infinite sweetness. He’d carried the recollection of that one night for a long, long time. How could he begrudge Quigley a last moment of privacy with the woman he loved?

Asher sketched a hasty bow. “I’ll be in my room down the hall.”

He forced himself to move towards the door, but Minerva reached him before he got there. “Where are you going? You can’t leave him now.”

“He wants to be left alone.” He swallowed. “With you.”

Astonishment broke across her face, quickly chased by indignation. “Well! How—how dare you? Both of you.” She swung round to shoot a glare at Quigley. “I’m not some possession to be passed back and forth between you two. How preposterous.”

On the chaise longue Quigley shifted, and Asher found himself lowering his eyes.

“My dear, you must forgive us,” Quigley said. “It’s an unusual situation to say the least.”

Minerva hesitated. She smoothed down the skirts of her dress and straightened the lace at her bodice. “I—I appreciate the extraordinariness of our circumstances.” She worked her lips, frowning at Asher. “It’s true I would like to—to talk to Quigley in private, but you must not construe that anything further would…that he or I would…” Her lips pouted as she huffed out a breath. “Oh, this is too ridiculous for words. Asher, kindly leave this room but please sit outside. I’m sure we’ll only be a few minutes.”

Her cheeks had colored, and her eyes had deepened to dark blue. She always looked so damned alluring when she was telling him off.

Quigley stirred on his pillows. In the past few seconds his face had drained to a pasty white, and his breathing had become a labored rasping. Shame shafted through Asher. The man could hardly lift his head at all. Of course he had no improper designs on Minerva.

“Very well.” Asher leaned down to grip Quigley by the hand. “I will see you by-and-by.”

“Naturally, old chap.” He squeezed Asher’s fingers with an effort he couldn’t conceal. “By-and-by.”

He couldn’t think what to say further, so he turned and retraced his steps. “Don’t tire him out too much,” he muttered to Minerva at the door. “I still have much to discuss with him.”

“I’ll be no more than ten minutes, I promise.” As he exited the room, she plucked at his elbow. “Thank you, Asher.” Her lower lip quivered, and her cerulean eyes started to shimmer.

“I’ll be outside.” Before her tears could gather further, he brushed past her and shut the door behind him. Outside, he leaned against the solid wood and sucked in a long breath. If he didn’t know any better, he might have suspected a few tears of his own gathering in the corners of his eyes.

The corridor outside was dim and draughty. The marauding gale forced its way through cracks and crannies, blustering down the hallways, taunting the guttering wall lamps. Wrung out, he dropped himself into a chair positioned near the door of the study and rested his head against the wall. With the house groaning and rattling under the wind he could make out no sound coming from the study. Not that he wanted to hear any. Whatever Quigley and Minerva had to say was no concern of his, and if his heart twinged at the thought of sitting out here alone, it wouldn’t last long because that memory, along with Quigley, would soon vanish forever.

As he digested this realization, he took out notebook and pencil from his jacket and spent several minutes composing a few lines. Eventually satisfied, he tore out the piece of paper, folded it around the stalking compass Quigley had given him and pushed both down into his jacket pocket.