Revolution in Time (Out of Time #10) (16 page)

“It’s all in the loom, you see,” Spragg went on, drawing out the “ooo” syllable and Victor’s patience.

Victor opened his eyes, ready to tell the man to be quiet, when the sound of a gunshot came from outside the carriage. It was quickly followed by the dull thud of a lead ball burying itself into the leather and wood of the coach seat next to Travers’ head. Spragg cried out with a girlish scream.
 

The coach lurched forward as both driver and horses spurred ahead.

Travers’ eyes went round as he turned and gaped at the bullet hole. He stuck his finger all the way in and looked stupidly at Victor. This man was going to be no help at all, Victor thought as he reached for the gun in the waist of his breeches.

Victor glanced through the window of the coach and saw two men on horseback, pistols out—highwaymen, or worse.

As Travers sat numbly, Spragg threw himself onto the floor of the coach.

“Move,” Victor demanded and gave him a shove with the toe of his shoe for emphasis.
 

Spragg crawled back up onto his seat, pulled the small wooden chest from under the seat and held it protectively on his lap like a small child as he recited the Lord’s Prayer.

Austin already had his pistol out as he joined Victor by the window. “How many?”
 

“Two that I can see.”

“How many guns do we have?”

“Three,” Victor said. “Four if you count the driver.”

Just then another shot rang out and a large mass flew past the window.
 

Victor watched the driver’s body tumble as it hit the road. “Make that three.”

“Was that the driver?” Travers asked.

Victor couldn’t see the men on horseback now. They must have dropped back behind them. “Unfortunately.”

“Then who’s driving?”

Victor gave him a blank look and Travers went a whiter shade of pale. The horses did not slow.

“Your gun,” Victor commanded Travers.

It took him a moment, but Travers nodded and fumbled into his pockets. He pulled out a small handgun and held it uneasily in front of him.

“
That
is the one you chose?”

Travers’ eyes flashed with impatience. “Can’t we talk about this later?”
 

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want ….”

“Yes, yes.” Victor held out his hand and Travers gave him the small pistol. “All right.” He turned to the other man. “Shoot them if you can.”

Austin frowned. “What are you going to do?”
 

Victor tucked both guns into his waistband. “Something very stupid.”

Victor opened the coach door. Despite the size of the carriage, they were going fast. Far too fast. The rough ground ran away beneath them.

He leaned out but couldn’t see the highwaymen. He looked toward the front of the coach. The driver’s box was empty and beyond it, the horses raced on wildly, aimlessly.

He planned out a path to climb up to the empty driver’s seat, but just as he was about to start his ascent, the carriage hit a large hole in the road.
 

Victor’s foot slipped as the carriage lurched and jumped. He held onto the door as it swung out wildly. His feet dangled just above the rocky ground.

Austin reached out and managed to grab hold of the door and swing it and Victor back in.

Victor was breathless. “
Merci
.”

Austin gave him a crisp nod of acknowledgment.
 

Spragg lay in a quiet heap, leaning against the wall of the coach. He must have been thrown up in the air and hit his head on the ceiling. At least he was silent now.

Travers checked the man’s pulse, and apparently satisfied with whatever he found, took position as lookout on the other side of the cab.

Victor knew he had no time to waste and started his climb again. With Austin’s help, he managed to get a foot into the window of the door and leverage himself up onto the roof of the carriage.
 

He turned and saw the two gunmen still giving chase again, pacing along just behind the coach. One of them raised his gun. Victor pulled out Travers’ small weapon, pulled the hammer back and prayed the fool had loaded it properly.

He had. The gun fired in a small puff of smoke and the man on horseback fell backward as the bullet pierced his shoulder.
 

Victor was impressed but had little time to admire the pistol’s handiwork as the injured man’s partner galloped up to ride even with the carriage. He had Victor at point blank range and readied to fire. Victor ducked down as the gunshot came. It missed wildly and was followed by another, this time from Austin inside the carriage. He did not miss and the man slumped forward in his saddle.
 

Victor let out a short breath and got back to the business of not dying on the first day. Holding on for dear life, he clambered carefully over the luggage to the driver’s seat. The big Breton horses were well-spooked and running as fast as they could, which would have been impressive if each stride weren’t taking them closer to death.
 

The reins trailed behind on the ground like wild snakes.

“
Merde
.”

He started to climb down ready to grab them when he saw that the pin holding the tongue and harness to the carriage was loose. The crucial pin danced in the hitch, threatening to pop out and send the team of horses on without them.
 

He climbed down to the base of the hitch and found purchase on one of the struts. He tried to reach down to grab hold of one of the reins, but they were just out of reach. He stretched his arm as far as it would go and one of the reins flicked away just beyond his fingertips.

He looked up just in time to see the road curving ahead. It was too sharp and they were taking it far too fast.

“Hold on!” he cried out as loudly as he could over the din of the horses and carriage.

The stress was too much for the pinion that connected the horses to the carriage. When the horses turned, the carriage did not.
 

The pin connecting them to the horse hitch popped out of place. The horses stumbled but kept on around the turn. The front wheels of the carriage turned with them, but too sharply and caught the ground. He felt it flipping onto its side and jumped off it just before he was crushed.

Victor hit the nearly frozen ground hard, his shoulder popping out as he tumbled along the hard earth. He stopped rolling just in time to see the coach fall with a crash onto its side. It slid along on the brown grass of a fallow field until it, too, finally came to a stop.

Victor managed to stand and popped his shoulder back in. He winced in pain. “Welcome back to France, Victor.”

S
EPTEMBER
27, 1774 - L
ONDON
, England

The London Coffeehouse was next to St. Martin’s on Ludgate Hill. Their carriage ride was rough enough to knock out a filling as they jounced nearly all the way back across London, ending up just a stone’s throw from where they’d first arrived.
 

Simon held the door for Elizabeth and then stepped inside behind her. The coffeehouse was really little more than a tavern. A low ceiling with thick wooden beams pressed down as the breast-high wainscoting rose up from the planked floor.
 

The room was modest. It had a bar, fireplace, and dark, heavy wooden tables with squat chairs. A few men sat scattered around the room reading newspapers by candlelight and having a drink of punch, beer or coffee.
 

Places like this were popular meeting spots for clubs or groups of like-minded men. They could talk business or politics or literature and enjoy a drink. Traders met at the Baltic. Stockbrokers at Jonathan’s. The shipping news was read each day by insurers at Lloyd’s. And here, at the London, a group that called themselves the Honest Whigs met. Rumor had it that Paine often sat in.

Simon scanned each man carefully. He’d memorized every inch of Phillips’ pallid face. He was one of the men who’d wanted to kill his family. Simon looked forward to meeting him.
 

A burst of laughter came from a group of a dozen men at the far side of the room sitting at a series of tables they’d drawn together. Simon looked at each face he could see, but he didn’t find Phillips or Paine.

Elizabeth scanned the opposite side of the room and turned back to him. “I don’t see him.”

Simon nodded toward the group. There were several there with their backs to them whose faces they couldn’t make out.
 

“Nonsense. Jefferson is no more than a rabble-rouser. He has a way with words, I’ll admit, but I should expect more from a gentleman than this.” The man tossed a piece of paper onto the table with disgust. “A Summary View of the Rights of British America? More like sedition, I’d say.”
 

Another at the table picked up the paper and started to read. “Resolved?” he choked back a laugh. “Far from it, I think.”

“You may mock,” another voice said in a lilting, amused way, “but you ignore this to your own peril. The winds are shifting, gentlemen, and quickly.”

The man he’d rebuked was about to argue further when he noticed Simon and Elizabeth. His eyes passed quickly from one to the other and then he stood very erect. “May I help you?”

His gaze lingered with discomfort on Elizabeth.
 

“What is it, Roberts?” the amused man said as he turned in his chair. “Things were just starting to—”

Before he even turned around, Simon knew who he was. It might have been the way he spoke or the long fringe of hair circling his bald head, but there was no mistaking him when Simon saw his face.

He rose from his chair, graceful despite his girth, and smiled disarmingly at Elizabeth.
 

“Well, hello, my dear.”

Elizabeth’s mouth hung open for a moment before she met his smile with one of her own. “Dr. Franklin.”

He bowed at the waist with a flourish of his hand. “Your humble servant.” He looked up at her, mid-bow, with a cheeky grin. “Is the position open?”

Elizabeth laughed and Franklin took her hand as he turned to the others. “A delightful sound, is it not, a woman’s laughter?”

He kissed her hand.

“A pleasure to meet you, sir,” Simon said.

Franklin looked almost surprised to see him standing there. “Oh,” he sounded disappointed. “You are a big one, aren’t you? Looming.”

He leaned toward Elizabeth. “Does he always loom so?”

“He is a master of the art.”

Franklin chuckled delightedly. He gestured to his chair. “Please, won’t you join us?”

Elizabeth started to sit, but Roberts’ glare stopped her. He tried to cover it with a strained smile.
 

“I’m sure you are very charming, Madam, however, as Dr. Franklin knows, this is a gentlemen’s club.”

Elizabeth looked to Franklin.

“He does not a want a woman to join the argument,” he said then added with a sly grin to the other men, “He loses enough of those at home to his wife.”

The joke won a round of laughter from all of the men, except for Roberts.
 

“Very droll, Franklin, but you know the rules as well I. No offense, Madam.”

Simon stepped forward. “We did not mean to interrupt. We were simply looking for Thomas Paine.”

“Tom?” one of the men said. “He hasn’t been here in a few weeks, I believe.”

For his part, Franklin merely gazed at Elizabeth and ignored the question.

“You are from America?” he asked.

“British America,” Roberts corrected.

Franklin waved a dismissive hand. “I should love to know how my native land is doing.”

“Not nearly as well as you,” she said, winning yet another laugh from the doctor.

“You might try the Black Swan,” another man suggested to Simon. “Covent Garden.”

The man next to him grinned. “Using
Harris’ List
again?”

The first man blushed and glared at his friend.

“Thank you,” Simon said, unclear on what had just passed between the two. He turned to his wife. “Elizabeth.”

“Elizabeth …?” Franklin asked.

“Cross. Sir Simon and Elizabeth Cross,” Simon answered for her.

“A British and an American in a happy union,” Franklin said. “You see? It is possible, gentlemen.”

“If only you were half as pretty as she is,” one of the men chimed in.

“You should be so lucky,” Franklin quipped.

The men laughed and Franklin led Elizabeth a step away. He dipped into his pocket and pulled out a card. “I do hope you don’t think I am too forward in offering you my card. But I am old and find it better to act than to regret not having done so.”

Elizabeth took the card. It was written in his own hand and read simply,
Dr. Franklin - Craven St
.
 

“It would be my pleasure to see you again, both of you, of course,” he added with a quick look at Simon then seemed to remember something. “Will you be at Lady Pawluk’s ball at the Pantheon this Saturday? Oh, do say yes. Your company has livened my spirits even more than Mr. Jefferson’s essay.”

“Oh, well,” Elizabeth said and glanced at Simon. “Possibly. If we have the time.”

He smiled and kissed her hand again. “I wish you a very good evening.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Simon led Elizabeth out of the coffeehouse and back onto the street.
 

Elizabeth burst into a fit of giggles and then looked up at Simon. “Ben Franklin hit on me.” She held out her hand. “Benjamin Franklin kissed my hand.”

“Twice.”

“Don’t be jealous,” she admonished with a teasing glint in her eyes. “I’m sure he would have kissed yours too, if you’d asked.”

Simon laughed and looped her arm through his. He led her back to the coach they’d hired for the day. He had known Franklin was an incorrigible flirt, but the descriptions paled in comparison to the reality.
 

“He is quite the character, isn’t he?”

She held up his card. “We have to go to that party.”

“First things first, remember?” He rapped on the side of the carriage. “Covent Garden.”