Revived Spirits (10 page)

Seventeen seventy-two, she guessed, glancing down at her flip-flops, then at Frederica’s stylishly faded and torn jeans. She’d never time traveled without being dressed properly.

Liv glanced toward the palace and the Orangery behind it. Things didn’t appear all that different.

Frederica stood up and began to look around. Liv wondered what she thought of the subtle differences. The lawn was still green, but not clipped to perfection. The Dutch Garden pond was surrounded by a shorter hedge, and the Orangery wasn’t crowded with people the way it had been a moment ago. In fact, there was no one in sight—just two out-of-place girls and a parrot.

“We’re in the same place, but it isn’t the same,” said Frederica. “The crowds are gone, the trees aren’t as huge, and. . .”

“Exactly.”

“Did I do it?”

“Probably.” She stepped slowly toward Frederica, reaching out with both hands to take the box. “Just stay very, very still, and I’ll try to get us back.”

“Back to wh-what?” Frederica stood rigidly still, her eyes open so wide their colorless lashes nearly touched her eyebrows.

“Never mind—I’ll explain when we get back.”

From the front of the palace came the rumble of male voices, and Liv whispered, “Hide—we need to hide!” The urgency in her voice was contagious, and Frederica crawled along with her in the grass. McGinty dug his claws into Frederica’s shoulder.

“Ow!” She pulled at his toes and Liv watched in disbelief as the parrot flapped his wings and soared above their heads. Frederica pursued, leaping and missing him, and dropped the box in the process. Liv longed to make a beeline for it and save herself, but she followed Frederica, and together they watched McGinty land in a chestnut tree branch that overhung the gravel path.

Liv grabbed Frederica’s arm and pulled her back. They crouched behind a large boxwood as two men rounded the corner and walked toward them. One wore George Washington-style clothes, cut from silk instead of plain cloth, and as they walked he removed his powdered wig and tucked it under an arm. His uncovered head was completely bald.

His companion, who kept his wig on, was dressed more eccentrically in a long, sleeveless coat of maroon silk embroidered with gold thread, worn over a flowing white shirt. Short red breeches matched the coat, with white hose beneath them.

Three unacceptable things tumbled into Liv’s mind at once: the box was out of reach; McGinty was eyeing the head of the bald one; and he looked vaguely familiar.

Her shock turned to fascination when he spoke. “I tell you, Maskelyne—er, Sir Nevil, I’m at wits’ end over that rogue Morehouse. All he needs to do is help round up his fellow pirates – there aren’t many of them left—and he’d be paid handsomely.” He wiped beads of sweat from his head with a silk kerchief. “But he let the word get out that he’s bound by some silly sense of loyalty. Imagine! Loyalty to His Majesty is the only kind that counts, and piracy has been out of fashion for years!”

Maskelyne stifled a yawn and made no comment.

“I was counting on a peerage or a baronetcy in exchange for bringing him over to the Crown’s way of thinking. Perhaps a title to pass on to my heirs. Lord Cumpston—that has a nice ring to it.”

Of course.
Even bald and with no fake tan, there’s a resemblance.
The set of the jaw, the hardness of the eyes—they were very much like his modern descendant, Morehouse’s partner. And he knew Morehouse!

Liv held her breath and strained to listen. “At the very least, I had hoped for a knighthood or generous land grant if I simply eliminated him.”

Maskelyne raised his eyebrows, but Cumpston continued: “But the man is like a shadow. I’ve pursued him in London, exposed his slight cheating on taxes—no more than most of us, but enough to get him arrested, I thought. I even paid agents to cross the Atlantic and assassinate him in America.”

He chuckled. “The fellow did at least leave Morehouse with a good scar to remember him by. Still, the whole business has been most distressing.”

They paused under the chestnut branch. McGinty picked off a piece of bark and let it fall from his beak, where it fell close to the men. He unclasped the toes of one foot, stretched, and regripped, pulling himself almost into a split. The other foot followed, until he was positioned perfectly above Cumpston. His eyelids lowered to half-mast and his body went perfectly still.

Liv looked from the bird back to the men. Maskelyne complained: “So you’ve chased a rogue pirate for a few years? You call that distressing? You can’t imagine how I’ve suffered at the hands of that miserable John Harrison!” He spat out the words. “Having to hear about his precious clocks for decades, traipsing across the world to Barbados on His Majesty’s orders to test them, when my way is best—I know it is!”

Cumpston asked, “And how do you know that, Sir Nevil?”

“It relies on the tried and true—the moon and stars—not the latest fantasy of this son of a carpenter, who squanders time in his workshop trying to squeeze a reward from the Crown and all the glory for himself.”

Cumpston pursed fleshy lips and clasped his hands behind his back. “And you don’t entertain the possibility that he could be right?”

Maskelyne roared, “Well of course not, man, because that would imply I’m wrong!” The multicolored menace crouched, with shoulders hunched and tailfeathers twitching.

Cumpston pulled his hands to the front and studied the lace on his cuffs. “I can see that you really dislike this clockmaker.”

“Dislike? Is that what you call it?” The astonomer spluttered, “I detest him, I despise him, I loathe him! He is vermin in my eyes. He is a carbuncle on my backside. He. . .Oh, words fail me to express my disdain for him.”

Cumpston continued smoothly, “Yes, yes, I can see how unnerving it might be—someone working tirelessly, inventing things you could only dream of making, capturing His Majesty’s attention and finally getting part of the reward he was promised— it all makes you look bad.”

Maskelyne made a slight choking sound, which Cumpston ignored.

“I could take care of it for you, ensure that he goes away and never comes back. People will forget about him.” He looked at Maskelyne and laughed. “Oh, squeamish, are we? Afraid to take that bold step and—”

Liv gasped as McGinty took perfect aim and dived from his branch straight to Cumpston’s head, grabbing pink skin in a three-pronged attack of beak and claws and not letting go.

“Ah-hh!” Cumpston danced around, batting at McGinty and screaming. “Get it off me! Get it off me!” His attacker parried each swat with a vicious peck.

“I’m trying! Can’t you see I’m trying?” Maskelyne waved half-heartedly at McGinty, clearly not anxious to dislodge him and become the next victim. He stopped suddenly and turned his head toward the Dutch Garden. “What on Earth?”

McGinty grew tired of the game and flew in the direction of Maskelyne’s gaze. Maskelyne ignored the parrot, shaded his eyes with one hand, and squinted. “Who is that? Young boys playing some kind of prank? Trespassing on His Majesty’s property?” He ventured no further and turned on his heel to address Cumpston, who was busy blotting drops of blood from his pate with the handkerchief.

McGinty quietly returned to Frederica as if nothing had happened. Liv was taking no chances. She plucked him from Frederica’s shoulder and held him close, one hand around his beak. The three remained hidden.

“When you’ve finished nursing your wounds, go around the back and get the guard dogs’ handler. Tell him to turn them loose over there.  I must be going—I’ve an appointment to keep.”

Liv held her breath as Maskelyne strode past Cumpston, oblivious to the little brown box lying by a tree trunk, and to the look of contempt in Cumpston’s eyes. He banged on a side door of the palace, and a uniformed servant opened it, nodding in deference.

The girls jumped as Cumpston spoke, the sneer on his face creeping into his voice. “Well, Sir Nevil Maskelyne, Astronomer Royal and esteemed scientist, the price of getting rid of your rival has just doubled.” He folded his silk square and replaced it in the pocket of his embroidered coat. “Oh, that’s right—you didn’t ask me to get rid of him—you were horrified at the suggestion. Too bad.”

He turned in the direction of Liv’s and Frederica’s hiding place and narrowed his eyes. “Hmm. . .perhaps I can flush those two out and save myself the trouble of fetching the dog man.” He walked along the path, slowly at first, looking all around and stopping every few steps to listen.

Frederica whispered, “We can move over there—in the Dutch Garden. You go get the box. I’ll meet you at the end opposite the palace.”

Liv looked at the green water in the garden’s man-made pond and shuddered. “It’s too far—we might not make it, and we’d be trapped with no way out if he saw us. Let’s get behind those rosebushes.” She pointed to a row full of deep red and golden yellow blooms, tantalizingly close to the box. A ten-yard sprint, and she could get it. If they stayed quiet for a few minutes, maybe Cumpston would give up and go away.

Liv relaxed her hold on McGinty, and he flapped his wings and opened his beak. She sucked in her breath, fearing Cumpston had heard the flaps, and surprised herself by thumping the parrot on the head. He couldn’t change his expression, but he cowered. She felt guilty, but hissed, “Shut up, birdbrain—I’m trying to save your life.” She crouched lower, hoping the riot of colors in the flowers would make the macaw’s brilliance less noticeable. Somehow, McGinty seemed to understand the seriousness of the situation and remained perfectly still.

Frederica was deathly pale, looking like she might throw up or faint. Liv reached for her arm and squeezed it, careful to aim high enough to avoid the new cuts.

Their pursuer walked right past them and disappeared around the corner of the palace. Liv counted to ten and readied herself to spring into action. Then her heart sank as she heard voices.

Here came Cumpston, this time with another man and two huge hounds. Liv couldn’t understand what they were saying, but he gestured in their direction and the dog handler nodded. His charges were attached to thin leather leads, stretched even thinner as their quivering bodies lunged again and again. The man strained to keep them from breaking free for now, but Liv didn’t have much confidence he would deny them the pleasure of attacking when they found the girls.

From the front of the great house emerged the perfect distraction. A beautifully dressed lady glided down the path, cooing and talking baby talk.
Maybe she’ll ask the guy to call off the dogs if she sees them eating us.

Liv squinted and saw a tiny dog in the lady’s arms, its glossy dark coat brushed to perfection and a pink ribbon tied around its neck. The giants had something else to think about for a minute, and they sniffed and jerked their heads around to follow the scent.

That was enough for the lapdog. It yapped ferociously from the security of its mistress’s arms, and the curious brutes bolted, dragging their handler and nearly wrenching his arms out of their sockets. In a blur, the girls took it all in: the shrieks, the shouts, the frantic waving. The lady moved fast for someone with such elaborate long skirts, but she couldn’t outrun the hounds. One dog bit the hem of her dress and pulled while the other stood up on his hind legs, paws on her shoulders.

She struggled, and kept both her balance and her dog. But her powdered wig, a work of art nearly a foot tall with sausage curls trailing down her silk-clad shoulders, flew off and onto the path.

Now the dogs had a new prize, better than the yapping thing. They snatched it together and tumbled over each other, pawing and growling. Only when they had ripped it in two were they satisfied, taking off and escaping into the woods beyond the palace, their leashes trailing behind them.

The two men looked at the lady, gazed with longing at the woods where the dogs had escaped, and slunk toward her with bowed heads, their apologies drowned out by her angry screams and the never-ending barking of the furball who had started it all.

“Maybe they’re in enough trouble to forget about us for a few minutes,” whispered Liv as the unhappy threesome made their way to a door and disappeared inside the palace. “We need to get out of here. You stay—I’ll be right back.”

She darted across the path, holding McGinty tighter than ever, praying that the hounds wouldn’t get tired of the wig and come back for them. Just a few more steps. There—she had it. She crouched and froze as she felt the wind shift.

Trying not to exude the smell of fear, Liv took a few steps and hid behind a tree. Then the inevitable happened. Their scent reached the dogs again, and the baying was furious.

Not caring if they could see her, she ran back to Frederica and knelt to adjust the drawers of the box to take them back to the present. Frederica sucked in her breath. “Listen! They’re coming back.  Can’t you hurry?”

There was no time to reply or do anything except will her sweaty, trembling fingers to find the correct notches and pull the drawers out. The shouts were coming closer by the second. “Hold on to me!” she screamed, and they were gone.

“Hahh!” Frederica threw back her head and laughed. She stuck out both arms and spun around twice, then landed on the grass and lay there, looking up at the sky and smiling. Liv held McGinty and said nothing.

At last, Frederica sat up and leaned back on her elbows. “I’ve never felt so alive before—so absolutely exhilarated! We time-traveled, didn’t we? I don’t care if you glare at me, silent as a statue. I know it’s what we did, and it was fantastic! I have thousands of questions, but never mind right now. I just want to do it again!”