Down the Rabbit Hole

“And a marriage with me would have completely estranged you from your family at the least, if not all of society. You saw how badly my Season progressed. My aunt insisted we had to at least attempt a Season to see if the ton might be willing to overlook my parents’ behavior, but you were the only gentleman who took an interest, and the ton hardly considered that a mark in your favor.” She looked away again and shook her head, obviously refusing to be drawn any further into the old argument, but then added, “At least that Season taught me all I need to know about helping young ladies succeed.”

Weston decided it would be best not to pursue the subject until he had something new to fuel the debate. Apparently love was not enough for Miss Alice Kemp. He would change the subject. It was wisdom rather than cowardice, he insisted to himself. “So tell me what you think of this wonderland.”

As always, she responded instantly to any question about ideas or observations.

“This wonderland, as you call it, is a cross between shocking and overwhelming. I cannot decide if I am appalled or amazed. I vacillate between the horror of wearing men’s attire and how intrigued I am by the way London has grown and changed.” She paused a moment, but then went on. “Weston, did you see the conveyances that carried dozens of people? And still the roads are not big enough, just as they are not in our day.”

“Yes, and what about the devices that people hold to their ears? I do believe they talk into them. Who are they talking to?”

“Women wear the most amazing shoes. How can they manage on such high heels? And the dresses are so short as to be embarrassing.”

He rather liked that part of this world, but was not about to say so aloud.

“And their reticules, Weston! They’ve grown to the size of a portmanteau.”

“What does one need to carry besides a handkerchief and vinaigrette?” he asked.

“In this day and age, who can say?” She looked around the room and leaned closer to him, not quite whispering. “Another thing I noticed is that women are out and about on their own. Not a maid or footman in sight. Do you think it is safe?” She leaned back and answered her own question. “Of course it is or they would not do it.”

Arbuckle came to the table with two cups and returned to gather a third. They were not proper cups but made of some kind of fortified paper. The smell emanating from them was comforting and familiar.

Arbuckle placed packets on the table and told them it was sugar, which they were welcome to add to the coffee.

Weston tasted it first, and his eyes widened in surprise. “This is the most amazing coffee I have ever tasted. Where is it from?”

Arbuckle looked relieved. “It is the standard Starbucks blend. Some people think it too strong.”

“It’s wonderful,” Weston said as he took another taste.

Alice reached for some sugar.

“Aha,” Weston said. “I knew you would add some. Your taste for sweet things has come forward two hundred years with you.”

“And you brought your superiority with you, as well.”

He recognized this tendency Alice had to criticize him as a strategy to encourage a distance she wanted and he did not. He knew from past experience that when she was honest with herself and with him that her words were completely different.

They drank in silence for a few minutes, observing the chaos around them.

One couple was having an intense low-voiced discussion at a table next to them. Two others at different tables were reading something on a device in front of them and then tapping wildly with their fingers, one occasionally stopping to run his hand through his hair. They seemed oblivious to the line of people waiting for service or the loud voices of the waitresses calling out the items that were ready.

“Is there a way to copy this business?” He had not intended to speak aloud, but once said, it could not be called back.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Weston, why would you want to copy this business when there are already dozens of coffeehouses in London alone?” Alice said. “And surely you would not go into trade! Apart from that shocking idea, what does this Starbucks offer that is not already available, besides wonderful coffee and good lighting? Neither of which we can bring back with us without altering the continuity of time.”

“The space-time continuum,” he corrected. Weston turned to Arbuckle. “And what is the space-time continuum?”

“I’m afraid I have no idea.” Arbuckle looked profoundly apologetic. “All I know is the magic coin enabled Miss Amy and Mr. West to travel to your home and for you to travel here.”

“Exactly what is this magic coin?” Weston asked. “You mentioned it before when I was less inclined to believe you.”

“Sir, I can tell you all I know in a few sentences. A shipment of coins bound for India was lost when the ship sank just off the Goodwin Sands in 1810. The ship was found by treasure hunters in 1987, and among the coins was one that was different from all the rest. It grants wishes.”

“Do you have proof?” Weston asked.