Puck and Prejudice

Chapter Twenty-Four

Lizzy’s headache felt like a relentless tempest, pounding against the walls of her skull. All she could recall was being at

the Crawfords’ ball and thinking more champagne would be brilliant. She had hazy yet horrifying memories of attempting to

crawl onto Tuck’s lap in the carriage, yet he gave no indication that anything was amiss. When she’d finally woken up, he’d

simply placed a glass of water, some toast, and a pot of strawberry jam on the table in her room. She couldn’t quite bring

herself to face the jam, but the toast helped settle her stomach. Now she and Tuck were crossing Rotten Row to meet a stranger

named Ezekiel Fairweather near the park’s mermaid fountain at the hour he had chosen.

“Why is this place called Rotten Row?” Tuck glanced around as they strolled. “I expected a dump, but it’s pretty.”

“It used to be called Route du Roi, or the King’s Road. It is hard to believe, but Hyde Park was once a wild expanse on the

outskirts of the city. King Henry the Eighth took the land from monks and turned it into a royal hunting ground to use with

his friends.”

“A way better hobby than chopping the heads off wives, I suppose.”

Lizzy let out an unexpected laugh. “Yes, quite.”

It felt strange that they could speak of anything else at all, considering they were going to meet another time traveler—someone from Tuck’s era, who even knew him in his hockey dealings. Yet, chatting of other matters somehow made the weightiness of the moment feel lighter. It helped her resist the mad urge to seize his hand and suggest they flee London, head back to the Woodlands, and live a quiet life together.

She cast him a sideways glance, noticing his size, the set of his jaw, and the way he frowned when lost in thought. His face

didn’t seem warm or friendly, except when he spoke to her; then his eyes softened, and he smiled more, as if he couldn’t help

but find her amusing.

In his presence, she felt a sensation of leaning in, like a sunflower facing the sun. The problem was that she might be falling

for him—just a little, maybe more than that. And it was a joke, because one should love one’s husband; that was a good and lucky thing. Unless he came from another time, and their marriage was false, and

then she was a ninny.

“Are you unwell?” He turned and faced her. “Never mind. Dumb question. Of course you are. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let

you come hungover.”

“Let me?” She placed her hands on her hips. “Have you forgotten who you are speaking to? I’m not the kind of woman you let do anything.”

He snorted. “True. And I do want you to meet this guy. Incredible, isn’t it, that we didn’t know where to begin looking for

answers and then an answer found us?”

“What’s incredible is that you were recognized. Are you quite famous?”

He considered it. “I guess it depends on the audience. Sometimes I can be out for a day and no one looks twice at me or says anything. But if I’m in the right locations, where people know my sport and who I am, then yeah, I guess I’m famous enough.”

This pleased her in some strange way—not that it mattered what the world thought of him, but his success made her proud. She

wanted him to be admired. He deserved it. But...

Her stomach contracted, churning and twisting.

She wasn’t the only woman out there who could see that not only was he a handsome man, but a good one.

“Uh-oh.” He took her hand and looped it through his arm. “I recognize this look.”

“What do you mean? I’m a bit under the weather due to my overindulgence.”

“Well, that’s true, but when those two lines appear between your eyebrows? That means there is a worry. What’s up?”

Her lips were so dry, and her tongue felt like sandpaper. She mustered a bright tone, despite not having the energy for a

smile to match. “Worry? Me? I’m not worried about anything, I can assure you.”

His gentle grin faded. “Guess that makes one of us.”

“Why are you worried?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Guess it’s the whole going-to-meet-a-time-traveler-and-learn-about-my-fate thing. You know, normal stuff

for a Sunday morning.”

She bit her lip. “You don’t have a woman in your time, do you?”

“What?” He tripped, a look of surprise stamping his features. “Is that a serious question? If you thought that, why are you

just now asking?”

“I do not think you have anything formal established or you would have surely mentioned it by now. You are a man of charac ter. However, given that you have just stated you have fame, and also clearly possess good looks, and likely a respectable income, it does seem odd that you’d be unattached.”

“In truth? I’ve been way too busy to think about dating. You know, fighting a life-threatening disease and everything.”

“I see.” They walked a few more steps. “Most men wouldn’t let that stop them, though, would they?”

“Are you asking if I have had opportunities to be in a relationship? Yeah. Sure. Of course. I’ve dated, but, look, it’s a

game that gets numbing. Especially in a position like mine when you don’t know if anyone ever likes you for you, or what you

do when you strap on some skates and get on the ice.”

“Women like men who skate for money?”

He chuckled. “When you put it like that, you make it sound dirty. I suppose whenever someone is well known and successful

at something, it makes them more attractive or popular. In my era, sports like hockey, which I play, are prominent. But then

there are things like basketball, where you throw a ball through a hoop, or football, where you kick or throw a pigskin to

each other, or baseball, where you hit a ball with a big stick.”

She cocked her head, considering. “And people enjoy doing such things?”

“Yeah, of course. And even more people enjoy watching it.”

“I suppose it’s like bull-baiting,” she said, reaching to make a relatable correlation.

Tuck shook his head. “Never heard of it.”

“I’m not privy to the particulars, but as I understand it, there exist venues where individuals convene to witness the spectacle of a bull tethered within a chamber and then assailed by hounds. Wagers are laid on who will outlast the other, and it is deemed quite diverting entertainment. Although I must say, I personally find the idea positively nightmarish.”

“Yeah, that’s messed up. I’d say that’s one example of where the idea of entertainment has moved on to way better avenues.”

The mermaid fountain came into view, and there before it waited the wiry, gray-haired gentleman Lizzy had recognized from

the ball.

His eyes lit up when he saw them approaching, and he came forward to meet them, walking briskly, arms extended. “Hello, hello.”

He took Tuck’s hand and shook it heartily before turning to face her, clicking his heels and dipping into a full bow.

“Madam Taylor. Pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Ezekiel Fairweather, also known as your humble servant.”

Lizzy met Tuck’s dancing eyes and tried not to laugh. Mr.Fairweather’s manners were very earnest and she didn’t want to give

offense.

“I imagine you have many questions,” Zeke said. “But from what I learned last night, I believe it would be helpful for me

to make a summary. Is this agreeable for everyone?”

They nodded.

“Very good, we can stroll about the fountain as we talk. I’ve always been partial to this place when I visit town. Now, from

what I understand, on the night of the winter solstice, in the town of Hallow’s Gate, you, Tuck, were driving ... Pardon

me, Mrs.Taylor—I might be using some terminology that is unfamiliar for this time.”

“And I must confess, hearing you refer to me as Mrs.Taylor gives me more of a start than the mere mention of horseless carriages.”

“Ah, yes. Your marriage is a recent thing, I believe.”

“Yes. And while Tuck has deemed it wise to not reveal much about the future, I have been able to glean a few things.”

“It is very wise of him to exercise prudence.” Mr.Fairweather nodded. “One doesn’t know how the future can be affected if

information crosses time. Better to share as little as possible. Now, where was I? Ah, yes, you were driving and to avoid

hitting a boy and his dog, you overcorrected the car and crashed into a frozen pond. While attempting to free yourself, you

emerged here in the year 1812.”

“That’s about it, yes.”

“In the modern world, I was a professor of Celtic studies at Berkeley. In this era, I’ve been fortunate to pursue similar

work as a scholar in Oxford. Crossings have become quite a passion project of mine, and through my research, I’ve determined

numerous likely portals on this island that were well known in ancient times, predating the arrival of the Celts and the rise

of the Druid class.

“The indigenous Britons believed in the power of the unseen world. There are over one thousand standing stones across Britain

and Ireland, and this number doesn’t even begin to account for those over the Channel in Brittany, or Basque Country, or as

far out as the Black Sea. When we consider the burial mounds, hill forts, and springs, and we can begin to put together ancient

maps that reveal energy pathways or ley lines.

“And of course, these are stories that extend far beyond the boundaries of Europe. There are the stone circles of Senegambia

located in Senegal and Gambia, and the Stonehenge of Keishu in Japan, and—”

“Ley lines?” Tuck asked.

“For those who believe in the power of the earth’s energetic vibrations, ley lines hold great significance, often referred to as the earth’s veins. These lines cross the globe conducting metaphysical energy. But here’s where things get interesting. At the intersection point of some of these lines, energy gets concentrated like a battery.”

“What’s a battery?” Lizzy asked.

“Think of it as a device that can store energy. Where we have these intersections, there is an excellent chance at finding

a portal. Take Hallow’s Gate. The name of the town is itself a clue. Hallow originally comes from the Old English word halig , which means ‘holy’ or ‘sacred.’ Over time, halig evolved into hallow , which refers to anything that is considered holy, sacred, or consecrated.”

“That old cow pond is a sacred energy storage?” Lizzy said incredulously.

“Precisely!” Mr.Fairweather clapped his hands. “And remember, in ancient times, it wouldn’t have been an old cow pond at

all but a place of reverence, ceremonies, and contemplation. Time leaches memories, and over centuries and even millennia

that which was holy and sacred is often forgotten.”

“But if that’s the case and the pond was some energy battery or whatever, then why didn’t it work when I jumped back in?”

Tuck asked.

“Ah, very good question.” Mr.Fairweather shook a finger, increasing his pace. “The night you took your crossing was December

twenty-first, the winter solstice, or Yule, or, as the Druids called it, Alban Arthan. This is a night of great energy, when

the ley lines seem to supercharge. The pond would have been at maximum power.

“We know Druids celebrate what is called the Wheel of the Year, and while they arrived after the first people of Briton, they learned some of their knowledge. The wheel is made up of eight Druid high holidays, times when I believe the energy supercharges through the ley lines. Some you will know, like Samhain, or Halloween in your time, Tuck. But the next one is in a few weeks—Lughnasadh, which has been mostly forgotten. It was said to honor the beginning of the harvest.”

Lizzy glanced at Tuck, only to find him already staring at her.

“If I go back to the pond on Lughnasadh, you think that I’ll...”

“I think there’s a reasonable chance you will cross back to your own time. And given the accident and the trauma—I do wonder

about one of my theories, the omni-reality paradox. For people like myself, who cross over with full knowledge of their actions,

my best guess is there is a straight transference of corporal matter.”

“I’m not following,” Tuck said. “Can you explain it to me like I’m in kindergarten or something?”

“Certainly, I’d be thrilled to boil down my years of complex esoteric research into a neat little sound bite,” Zeke said with

a wry chuckle. “In essence, I suspect that a portal can be used a bit like an airport, enabling a person to enter at one location

and exit at another. However, my omni-reality paradox theory takes this a step further, addressing what might occur when an

individual experiences a traumatic event and crosses unintentionally.

“According to this theory, it’s conceivable that the person’s body could remain in a state of stasis, such as a coma, in their

original world. Simultaneously, their presence in another time period could be a predestined event, meaning that their existence

in that time was always meant to occur. In other words, their body might exist in two different times and realities at once.”

“Forget kindergarten. I need the preschool CliffsNotes,” Tuck muttered.

“It’s a paradox,” Zeke said with a shrug. “Absurd in nature and yet—”

“Wait.” Lizzy held up a hand. “Let’s suppose that all of this is true about ley lines and batteries or what have you. And

imagine that Tuck enters the pool to cross at the correct date and time. Who is to say that he won’t end up in the time of

William the Conqueror? Or back when those so-called ancient Britons roamed the island in nothing but furs and mud?”

“Ah.” Mr.Fairweather nodded. “That’s a question, isn’t it? And a very good one. Now, first, it’s important to remember that

everything I am saying is speculative. There is no independent research to verify these claims, just educated guesses, if

you like. But while I have never personally encountered another crosser, I’ve come across stories here and there of others—and

one thing the legends and stories hold in common is the idea of a lodestone. If a person has an affinity for someone in a

time, they place their mental effort there. The lodestone acts as a sort of magnet that draws the person to that time.”

“But you yourself have never returned?” Lizzy asked. “You suggest Tuck should go off wandering through time and space when

you have not?”

“I’m not suggesting he do anything.” Mr.Fairweather’s tone remained infuriatingly mild. “If he wants to return, this is what

I know.”

“Why don’t you try?” Lizzy swallowed. “I don’t mean to sound snappish. I truly am curious. Why don’t you return?”

“Because my hands are bound with beautiful manacles.” Mr. Fairweather pointed to a ring on his finger. “I fell in love. I have a wife now and two beautiful children. I wasn’t born into this time, but it’s where I belong, and I’m not willing to risk crossing four people through a portal to the same destination. While I believe in the power of the lodestone, it is a theory, and my reality is that I put my family first. So here is where I landed; here is where I’ll remain.”

“I don’t want to be asking only prying questions, but I do have another,” she said.

“Never say sorry when an inquiry is to be made,” Mr.Fairweather exclaimed. “I’m an academic. While I have veered very much

into the metaphysical world, I do value debate and questions.”

“If a lodestone is what is to guide Tuck home, what led you both to this time? You had no prior knowledge of or acquaintance

with this period. It sounds as if you, Mr.Fairweather, were far more interested in life thousands of years ago, but Tuck,

well, Tuck didn’t have a great deal of curiosity in this century.”

“True,” Tuck agreed with a shrug.

“Well, if I might be so bold, I’d like to suggest that this could well prove the lodestone theory—insofar as it’s possible.”

“Do go on,” Lizzy said.

“I crossed and met the woman who became my wife,” Mr.Fairweather said. “I came to my lodestone without knowing or planning.”

He smiled, his eyes darting between her and Tuck. “Perhaps it is the same for the two of you? The mysteries of fate.”

There wasn’t much to say after this. Tuck and Mr.Fairweather talked a little hockey. They agreed not to share any news from

the future to be safe, but Mr.Fairweather asked if Lizzy would write if they did decide to try the portal and it worked.

The walk back to the townhouse was quiet. Tuck glanced at her again and again, but she pretended to be otherwise focused on admiring a bird singing in a low branch, or a pretty horse and carriage. Anything to avoid focusing on the many confusing things Mr. Fairweather had spoken about.

When they got to her street, Tuck paused. “Don’t shut me out.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” She attempted to laugh it off. “No one is shutting anything.”

“Can you talk to me? Please?”

“I am pleased we have a viable plan to return you home,” she said briskly. “It’s coming up soon, so we will need to plan our

departure from London. Of course, there is that little tiny problem that this is all going to work based on the loose-knit

theory of some man. I’m trying to get my mind around the fact that when you cross you might very well be sending yourself

right into the heart of the bubonic plague or the Viking wars.”

“You heard what he said about the lodestones.”

“I did, but does it feel strong enough to stake your life on it?”

He halted. “What do you want from me? To stay here in 1812?”

She glanced around. The street was quiet. A few pedestrians were out, but no one was close enough to eavesdrop.

But still...

“This is not a conversation to have in public.” She resumed walking, and he followed.

“Well, it’s a conversation we need to have.”

They didn’t speak again until they were in her bedchamber. The house had been empty when they arrived, which wasn’t a surprise.

Mr.Alby and Henry were likely at the club and Mother out on a social call.

“Very good,” Lizzy said, removing her gloves and laying them on the dressing table. “We learned quite a lot.”

“I wouldn’t believe a word that came out of Zeke’s mouth except for the fact that I have no other explanation for how I got

here.”

“Yet all he uttered was fraught with peril. What happens if you end up in another, more dangerous time? If you emerge from a pond at the wrong time and the wrong person sees you, that could be your doom.”

“He talked about lodestones. My sister is one. I could focus on her. She drives me crazy, no doubt. But she’s my closest family.”

“As a theory.” Lizzy’s voice cracked. “As nothing more than speculation.”

“Are you crying?”

“Should I be ashamed of tears?”

“No. God, no. It’s just... I’m not sure I’ve ever made a lover cry about me before.”

“Congratulations to you, then.” She swiped at her eyes, willing the tears to dry up. But they kept coming.

“That’s not a track record I want. Babe. Come here.”

She stiffened as he embraced her. “I’m not a babe. I’m a very confused woman.” He didn’t release her. If anything, he held

her tighter.

“You were meant to be a stepping stone to all my ambitions; instead, you became my rock.” She buried her face into his chest,

inhaling freshly laundered cotton. “I wasn’t supposed to develop feelings for you.”

He stopped patting her back. “What did you say?”

She pushed him off in a quick gesture that took him by surprise. “I said I am developing an attachment to you, which is not only a bad idea, but a worse one to say out loud. I should be telling myself it’s a passing fancy and that it means very little. But I don’t like to lie to myself. And that’s not what this is. It’s not some silly fancy because you are a handsome man who happens to be around me. Or because there is a novel strangeness about our circumstances. Or because we married. It’s as if somehow you became the air that I breathe. And the thought of you leaving, it’s suffocating.”

“You care about me?” he repeated, searching her face. “More than this just being fun?”

“I won’t repeat it.” Her face was flaming. “Because when you speak a thing, you give it more power.” She pinched her eyes

closed and counted to three. “I’ve told you my truth, and that’s enough. You don’t have to be polite and make some excuse

to spare my feelings. But you can do me the courtesy of forgetting I ever mentioned it.”

“That’s not going to happen.” He moved with speed and precision, his gaze fixed on her.

“What are you doing?” Before the question was finished, she was up against the wall.

“Who said I’d make an excuse?”

“Tuck.” It was impossible to take a breath when he was so close, and when he looked so keenly serious.

“Have you never thought even one time that I might care about you too? That I might have been developing genuine feelings

ever since you hit me in the head with that stupid half-eaten apple?”

“But that’s impossible.”

“The hell it is.” His warm mouth slanted over hers, and as their tongues tangled, she knew she had gotten it all very, very

wrong. Tuck wasn’t a stepping stone, nor was he her rock. He was a landslide.