Shattered Moments (19 page)

The professor’s house was a sweet cottage on a leafy street located not too far from the center of town; its white façade smothered by roses and hydrangeas, their shaggy heads a stunning purple and blue that contrasted wildly with the reds and yellows of the roses.  The effect was dazzling.  The garden looked well-tended, as did the man responsible who was sitting on the porch, reading the paper and sipping a glass of something cold that looked like lemonade. 

“Professor Bloom?” Valerie called out, hoping he couldn’t see her nervousness.
  Her hands were shaking, her heart racing in her chest.  This was it.

“Yes, how can I help?”  He still had a slight trace of a British accent, even after all these years in America, and his well-pressed khakis,
butter-yellow polo shirt, and polished loafers made him look as if he just stepped off the pages of some catalogue catering to older gentlemen.  Valerie was relieved to see that he wasn’t annoyed by the intrusion, quite the opposite.  He seemed eager for company. 

“We are friends of Frederick Taylor,” she
announced, carefully gauging his reaction, which was instantaneous and very positive.  Professor Bloom’s face broke into a warm smile, his eyes twinkling with pleasure. 

“Is that so?  What a wonderful surprise.  How is dear old Fred?  I haven’t seen him in
three decades at least, not since the last time I went for a visit when my auntie died.  Do come in.  Lemonade?  Tea?”

“Actually, dear old Fred is living in the seventeenth century with his wife,” Valerie supplied as she followed the old man into the house.  She wasn’t sure what she expected, but it wasn’t the burst of laughter as Mr. Bloom smacked his knee with mirth.

“So he’s finally gone and done it, has he?  Do sit down.  I want to hear all about it, but first things first.”  He disappeared into the kitchen, and Valerie smiled at Alec and gave him the thumbs up.  So far so good.

Mr. Bloom
reappeared a few minutes later with a pitcher of lemonade, glasses, a plate of butter cookies and a bowl of berries, all arranged on an old-fashioned tray.  He set it down on the coffee table and sat across from Alec and Valerie, openly studying them as if they were interesting specimens and not two people who just appeared on his doorstep.

“You were born in the twentieth century,” he observed as he looked at Valerie, “but you are far from home, aren’t you?”  He gave Alec a sympathetic look as he reached for a cookie.  “I recognize the look of a man who feels utterly out of place.  Please, tell me why you came to see me.”

Mr. Bloom listened carefully as Valerie told him their story, his eyes occasionally growing large behind his glasses and his eyebrows disappearing almost entirely under his bushy white hair.  He completely forgot about his drink, the glass left untouched on a little end table by his elbow.  “Is that so?” he asked several times as Valerie told him of her journey through time and their subsequent trip to the present to get Alec to a hospital.

“Women are always right,” he said when Valerie finished; “it’s their most annoying quality
.”  He gazed sadly at the portrait of a smiling middle-aged woman in a large sun hat.  “That’s my Nancy.  She passed away two years ago.  Breast cancer.  It was Nancy who came between Fred and I.”  Mr. Bloom chuckled at the memory.  “When she found out what we were up to, she gave me the mother of all ultimatums.  Said it was either Fred, or her and the boys.  She would have left me too.  Nancy was always a woman of her word.  She said it was only a matter of time until some poor, unsuspecting soul found himself God only knew when and where.” 

He looked at Alec, studying his features.  “When that Hungarian student disappeared from Fred’s village, Nancy had the right of it.  She said, “Mark my words, Isaac, that girl didn’t run away
; she fell through time thanks to your friend.  So, she was your grandmother, eh?  Yes, I can see something of Magyar in your face.  Hungarians have some very distinctive facial features, don’t you think?”

“I actually haven’t met any, except for my grandmother, but she was very beautiful,” Alec replied, smiling at the eccentric little man.

“Was she angry about what happened to her?  I was always curious about that.”

“She might have been at the beginning, but by the time I came along, she was very much a woman of her time.  She did miss some things though, and she told me about them in secret.  I think she just needed to feel that it had all been real and not a figment of her imagination.”

“Yes, I can see how after a while it would all seem like a dream.  I’m glad to know that she found a place for herself.  I thought of her often, and wondered how Fred was coping with the knowledge that he sent the poor girl to the past.  I thought he might have gone back for her, but he hadn’t.”

“Would you have gone back for her?” Valerie asked.  Mr. Bloom’s answer meant a lot since it showed what kind of person he was beneath the charming exterior.  Fred Taylor took the easy way out and let the girl fend for herself in the sixteenth
century.  He chose to protect himself and his secret rather than save the girl, or save Valerie when the same thing happened to her.

“Yes, I would have gone back.  It’s one thing to want to time travel
; it’s quite another to wind up somewhere and have no recourse.”  He cleared his throat, suddenly realizing that he’d just described their present situation.

“
Anyway, we had some good times, Fred and I,” Mr. Bloom went on.  “Fred was always interested in WWI and the Russian Revolution, but I was more of an Egyptologist myself.  I went back a dozen times; saw them building the pyramids, my dears, and feasted my eyes on the beauty of Cleopatra,” he confided, his eyes misted with memory.  “She was actually quite plain beneath the paint, but no one dared to notice.  She was a queen through and through; highly skilled in self-promotion and political maneuvering; a major accomplishment for a woman of her time.”  Valerie couldn’t help chuckling.  He was so happy to talk to someone of his adventures.  “One day, Nancy just happened to be in the room when I popped back in.  She saw the white tunic and my kohl-lined eyes and nearly died of apoplexy.  She guessed right away…”

“And put a kibosh on the whole thing, ha?” Valerie asked, smiling at Mr. Bloom.

“A “kibosh” doesn’t begin to describe it, dear girl.  It was a dressing down of epic proportions, with me cowering like an errant schoolboy as my wife read me the riot act.  God, I loved that woman.”

“Mr. Bloom,” Alec interjected smoothly, “can you help us?”

“Oh, of course, of course.  Now, I haven’t dabbled in time travel in decades.  Promised Nancy and kept my word, even after her death.  It will take time for me to build a device, and then it must be thoroughly tested before you can attempt to return.  In the meantime, you kids should have some fun.  Think of it as a vacation.”

“It’s actually rather difficult as we have no legal documents or ready funds,” Alec replied softly.

“Not to worry.  You can stay with me.  I have plenty of room, and all the neighbors need to know is that my nephew from England is visiting with his wife.  You can even borrow my car.  I know you don’t have a license, but even if you get a ticket, it’s not as if you’ll be around to pay it.  Go to the shore, visit New York and see a show, go to the Metropolitan Museum.  They have an excellent Egyptian display.  Did I say something wrong?” he asked as Valerie’s face visibly paled.

“My sister works at the Met.  She’s an art restorer.”

“Better stay away then.  Could royally mess things up, considering where she is now.  Oh, sweet Jesus, can you imagine her reaction if you told her what you just told me?” Mr. Bloom was rubbing his hands and practically cackling.  The old guy obviously had a good sense of humor.

“Now, there’s a guest room at the top of the stairs. 
Fresh linens and towels in the cupboard, and a private bath.  How does that suit?  Valerie, my dear, do you perchance know how to make lasagna?  Nancy always made it for me, but I haven’t had it since she passed.  I like it homemade.”

“It will be my pleasure to make you lasagna, and anything else you might like as long as you send me home, Mr. Bloom.”

“Deal.”  Isaac Bloom catapulted out of his armchair, looking around for his keys.  “We’re off then.  I need to get some things for my device, and you, my dear, need to get ingredients at the supermarket.  Alec, how are you with mowing the lawn?  It could use a trim.  I have one of those lawnmowers you can drive.  Bet you’d like that,” he beamed at Alec.  “Not a sports car, but a start, eh?  Try not to run anyone over.”  With that, he practically sprinted from the house with Valerie on his heels and a bemused Alec looking after them.

August 1626

Virginia

Genevieve paced in front of the bench, her heart beating wildly at the thought of Cameron refusing her. She’d asked Minnie to deliver a note to him asking him to meet tonight, but they hadn’t seen each other in days, and she thought he might decide to stay away; simply to send her the message once again that their association was over.  She whirled around at the sound of a breaking twig, letting out a breath of relief at the sight of Cameron’s tall figure heading toward her from the direction of the barracks.  He looked tired, and his hair hung down to his shoulders, not confined to its usual queue that he wore while working.  She tried to ignore the wary expression on his face as she invited him to sit down, her cheeks hot with embarrassment.

“Cameron, I didn’t ask you here to… you know,” she stammered.  “I just really needed someone to talk to
, and I suddenly realized that with both my uncles gone, I have no one to turn to.”

Cameron’s face softened, his eyes gazing at her with more affection than he probably wanted to show.  “What is it, lass?   What’s troubling ye?”  He didn’t mean to, but his hand reached out for her, enveloping it in his calloused palms and instantly making her feel better.

“I just don’t understand what’s happening, and I’m scared,” Genevieve whispered, looking into his eyes.  “First, my aunt and uncle left, supposedly to see a physician.  They’ve been gone for some time now, and no one knows where they are or when they’ll be back.  Lady Sheridan nearly jumps out of her skin anytime anyone asks.  Then, Uncle Charles, Annabel and the children left for Jamestown.  I know there was a terrible confrontation the night before, but I don’t know what about.  And the worst is that Lord Sheridan has been arrested for the murder of Aloysius Deverell. Lady Sheridan is beside herself with anxiety.  Everything seems to be unraveling like a ball of yarn.”

Genevieve didn’t mean to cry, but hot tears
spilled down her cheeks; her hands pleating the fabric of her skirt as they always did when she was scared or nervous.  It had taken her a long time to convince herself that she really had a family now and that she would be safe and cared for, and all of a sudden everything was falling apart.  Uncle Alec and Aunt Valerie disappeared, and Lord Sheridan could swing for murder.  Just the thought of that made Genevieve cry harder.  Kit was one of the nicest men she’d ever met, and the notion of him dying such a horrible death was more than she could bear.  No matter what anyone said, he couldn’t have killed that man.  He didn’t have it in him.

“Lord Sheridan has been accused of murder?” Cameron asked, his face slack with shock.  “Why?”

“It seems someone came forth with information about his involvement.  I’m not sure exactly what.  Lady Sheridan is keeping us in the dark, for the children’s sake, I think.  She still hopes Lord Sheridan will be exonerated.”  She looked up at Cameron, but he seemed to be staring off into the distance, his mouth a grim line across his face. 

“What is it
, Cameron?  Had you seen something that night?” she asked.

“N
ae, but Lord Sheridan is a good man; I’d hate to see him hang for a crime he dinna commit.  I ken well enough what it feels like to be accused of something ye had no’ done.”  That was the first time he’d mentioned anything of his past, and Genevieve remained quiet, hoping he would continue to talk, but he turned back to her, the moment gone.  Genevieve leaned in as Cameron caressed her cheek with his knuckles, his face soft in the gathering darkness. 

“I
ken ye’re scared, but try to be brave, aye?  Yer aunt and uncle will be back soon, I’m sure of it, and Lady Sheridan will find a way to help her husband.  She’s a very clever woman, she’ll think of something.  Ye just do the yer best to help her and mind the children.  Everything will work itself out, aye?”  He pulled away his hand, realizing what he’d done.  “I best be going now, but I’ll come back in two days to see how ye are.  When’s the trial?”

“Friday
after next, so they can hang him on Saturday, and pray for their eternal souls on Sunday,” Genevieve answered bitterly, angry with herself for feeling so scared. 

“Promise me ye’ll be strong,” Cameron demanded, taking her hands in his.

“I promise,” she murmured, wishing she was promising to love and obey him till death did them part.

Louisa jumped to her feet as Sir George Yardley walked through the door, giving her a curt nod.  “Good afternoon, Lady Sheridan.  What can I do for you?”  He was normally very courteous, but Louisa could see the irritation in his eyes and the brisk manner in which he shifted papers on his desk before finally giving her his undivided attention.  It had taken her a full two days to get an audience with him, his clerk constantly fobbing her off and telling her that Sir George was unavailable, but Louisa wouldn’t take “no” for an answer.  Time was of the essence, and she needed to plead Kit’s case in person.  It was always much harder to deny a person to their face than by letter.  She’d waited in the governor’s anteroom for hours both days, refusing to leave until he finally agreed to see her.

“Sir George, I implore you to release Kit.  You’ve known him for years, and you know he couldn’t have done such a thing.  Besides, what possible reason would he have to kill Mr. Deverell?  As a matter of fact, you just saw them both at the Deverells supper party, and there wasn’t a hint of animosity between them.”  Louisa smiled at Sir George in a futile effort to win him over.

“Lady Sheridan, I hold your husband in very high regard, and I personally don’t believe that he would have killed Mr. Deverell, but as governor of this colony, I can’t go about freeing people purely because I happen to like them.  There’s a credible witness who heard your husband threaten Mr. Deverell, and I can’t simply dismiss her statement.  Mrs. Whitfield is also of high standing in the community, and I see absolutely no reason why she would fabricate such a scenario.”  Sir George held his hands aloft, demonstrating his impotence to do anything about the situation.  “Now, if you could vouch for your husband’s movements on that evening, then we’d have grounds for doubting Mrs. Whitfield’s claim.  Can you account for his whereabouts?”

“I went to bed with a headache, so I didn’t see him, which is not to say that he wasn’t there,” Louisa answered defensively.

“Lady Sheridan, Mr. Deverell was killed either in the evening or during the night.  Unless you can assure me that your husband was with you the entire night, I can’t dismiss the testimony against him.  Now, I would advise you to seek legal representation.  There’s Mr. Brooks, who is a man of the law and has assisted me in drafting several legal documents.  He’s an honest and learned man; you should go and see him.”

“I would like to represent my husband,” Louisa
blurted out, staring down Sir George.  Louisa knew little of the law, but she knew that a seventeenth-century lawyer who lived in Jamestown most likely had absolutely no courtroom experience.  He drafted wills and deeds of sale, which was the only type of skill needed in the colony.  In all her time in Virginia, there’d never been a murder trial that she could recall.  There’d been hangings, but the accused had confessed in the hopes of getting a diminished sentence, which didn’t happen.

“Out of the question.  You are a woman, and the wife of the defendant.  By law, you are his property, so it stands to reason that a servant cannot defend the master in court.  Get help.”  With that
, he rose to his feet, signaling that the interview was over. 

Louisa would have liked to express her feelings on the subject, but bit her tongue and sank into a curtsy, her upper lip curling with sarcasm.  “As you say
, Sir George, a feebleminded woman should never take on the task suitable only for a man.”

“Rightly so, Lady Sheridan, rightly so.  I’m glad you see sense.  Good day to you, ma’am.”

“May I see my husband?” Louisa asked, smiling despite an overwhelming desire to kick him in the balls.

“You may not.  You are overwrought
, and no good can come from a hysterical outburst.  Your husband is accused of murder, and is not permitted any visitors besides his counsel until the trial.  I feel that’s a wise course of action. 

Now, if you would like to bring something for him, the guard will make sure he gets it.  Otherwise, stay away.  The trial is set for Friday of next week.  I suggest you consult Mr. Brooks with the utmost expediency.  Now, good day, Lady Sheridan.” 

Sir George strode out of the office, leaving Louisa stunned and afraid.  If he wouldn’t even let her see Kit, things were worse than she thought.  They were close acquaintances, and had spent many an evening dining, talking, and playing at cards and dice.  The governor didn’t want his reputation tainted by an association with a possible murderer, and he might be that much more severe in his judgment of Kit just to avoid any implication that he was being lenient due to their personal relationship. 
Oh, Kit
, Louisa thought, stumbling from the governor’s office,
how am I to help you
?