Caleb leaned back against Amelia with a pathetic moan. “I’m going to get sick,” he complained.
“Cheer up,” she told him as lightning flashed through the dimming light. “You’re soon going to be too rain soaked to care. If, that is, the townsfolk don’t kill you first.”
Indeed, two waiters and an elderly lady were rushing toward them, brandishing fists and, in the case of the latter, a handbag.
“Remind me why I didn’t take up a quiet career, such as geography,” Caleb asked, looking over both his and Amelia’s shoulders at the pursuers.
“Because you don’t like getting dirty shoes,” she said.
He sighed, leaning back against her once more. “No, it’s because you were doing history. Which makes this all your fault, I believe.”
Amelia sensed Vanity staring at her wide-eyed and gave the girl an apologetic smile for Caleb’s nonsense. Then she held up a warding hand to the pursuers, who were nearly upon them.
“Gentlemen! Madam! Stop, please! Your behavior is unbecoming.”
Immediately, the waiters flushed, stumbling in their haste to obey her. The elderly lady, bringing up the rear, halted so abruptly her ruffled hat nearly flew off. She turned on a sensible heel and strolled off, chin high, as if she’d merely been taking exercise and was quite finished now.
“I told you that Oxford University would cover all costs,” Amelia lectured the men. “It is most unseemly of you to harass us in this fashion.”
“Er,” said one waiter.
“Um,” said the other.
Amelia raised her voice slightly as the dogcart continued to carry her inch by inch away from them. “I want you to write three pages on the importance of paying attention, and furthermore straighten your neckties.”
Automatically they reached for their collars.
“You may go now.”
Both men nodded to her thankfully, murmured apologies, and scurried away like schoolboys having been caught smoking behind the bicycle shed.
“Gosh!” Vanity exclaimed with delight. “That was remarkable, Professor! I can see why people call you—”
BOOM!
The universe proved its benevolence at that moment by sending a large clap of thunder. Vanity squeaked. Closing her eyes, Amelia lifted her face to the cold, somber wind. She felt a single raindrop like a kiss. She felt Caleb’s finger stroke the edge of her hand.
Flutter flutterwent the whole world.
Chapter Six
They say history is written by the winners, but that’s not true.
It’s written by journalists, historians, and conspiracy theorists.
I, on the Past, Cornelius Ottersock
It was goingto be a dark and stormy night. Well, of course dark, since that was the definition of night, but a storm could also be reliably predicted. Amelia need not be a geographer to do that. Turbulent clouds, rumbling with thunder, blotted the sky above the low hills. To the north and east, the horizon was lavender like…er…lavender flowers (Amelia’s teachers had never gone in for poetic metaphors, considering them too American for decency), but to the west the last of a bitter red sunset seeped through the clouds, casting beams of old light that illuminated autumnal groves here and there, making them seem to catch fire.
From her seat at the back of the dogcart, Amelia gazed around her with wonder. She’d had no time to research the history of this region before coming here and so, instead of enjoying it intellectually, was forced to fall back on emotion. The expansive panorama filled her heart with a great and desperate yearning, such as she’d felt when a Tudor goblet cameup for auction at a price higher than she could afford. As the wind blew loose strands of hair over her face, she imagined herself to be a Saxon princess on her way to marry a great king. He’d ride out to meet her, his noble brow shining in the late light, his hair golden like his crown, and as he knelt on the dirt road to welcome her with all honor, he would declare—
“Uuurghh,” Caleb moaned at her side.
“Upon my word,” Vanity declared from where she sat in what had been Caleb’s seat until his nausea had forced an exchange. “I’ve never seen a fully grown man be so affected by the smell of horse…er…”
“Excrement,” Amelia supplied complacently, and upon hearing Vanity’s gasped response, she winked at Caleb. He gave her a big-eyed, mournful look in turn.
“Poor boy,” she murmured, and patted his knee. “Look at the beautiful sky.”
