Out of Time 01 - Out of Time

the arguing and gargantuan emotional chasm they’d have to cross. But she’d leap the Great Divide when she came to it. Right now she had a job to do, and twigs to get out of her hair. So much for the two hours she’d spent wrangling it into her best Gibson Girl imitation.
    Travers had meticulously given her a crash course in Victorian society. Just the word society had been enough to make her pulse race. Living with Simon had given her a glimpse at how the better half lived, but they weren’t exactly on the social circuit. The closest she’d ever gotten to consorting with the horsey set was getting tips from the touts at the track. She was part of the great unwashed and had the dirt on her cheek to prove it. Thank God, Travers had insisted she stuff that kerchief into her sleeve. She glanced quickly around and spit into before wiping her cheek.
    A smooth start. Taking a header into a hedge and spitting. Her head pounded, but it was heck of a lot better than the headbanger’s ball she’d suffered through last time. Taking a deep breath she felt her ribs squish her innards. The corset she could have done without. Torquemada had nothing on whatever sadist invented it. Compressing her breasts into some sort of one-eyed, monobosom monster, squeezing the life out of her stomach and thrusting her hips backward, it successfully contorted her body into what society of the early twentieth century deemed an acceptable shape. It was all she could do not to rip the dang laces and start the bra-burning age a few decades early.
    Not being able to breathe was the least of her worries. She’d managed to arrive without passing out. Point one for her. But she hadn’t managed to move from that spot. Quickly, she took stock of her surroundings. Large oak trees canopied expansive, outlandishly colorful flowerbeds. Flaming oranges and deep reds swirled in complicated pattern amongst a vibrant purple like some tapestry gone mad. Enclosing the entire thing was a large, boxwood hedge, with whom she was already well acquainted.
    This looked like the right place. Travers had said that if everything went well she’d arrive in Mrs. Eldridge’s garden. It was secluded from the street, thanks to her friend the hedge, and she could arrive without scaring the living bejesus out of anyone. Herself notwithstanding.
    Satisfied she was in one piece, and having stalled longer than was necessary, Elizabeth took a well-measured breath and headed for the front path. All she had to do was utter the simple code phrase Travers had given her and Mrs. Eldridge would give her whatever else she needed.
    As she edged up the path, the mansion loomed even larger. Gothic and imposing. Steeply pitched gables and sharp arched windows made it look more like a cathedral than a home. The fleeting image of being held prisoner inside one of the pinnacle towers flashed in her mind. But she was no Rapunzel and her knight currently had his head up his ass. Just as she was having serious second thoughts, the front door opened and a young man and an elderly woman stepped out onto the porch.
    “ I’ll be sure to give Mother your regards,” the young man said as he bounded the down the stairs nearly crashing into Elizabeth. “I beg your pardon,” he said quickly taking off his goggles and cap. “Are you all right?”
    “ I’m… I’m fine,” Elizabeth managed. “Thank you.”
    He smiled disarmingly. “The thanks is all mine,” he said and then turned back to the elderly woman. “Where have you been keeping her?”
    The woman, who simply had to be Mrs. Eldridge, lifted her pince-nez and arched an eyebrow. “In the garden, it appears.”
    The young man turned back to her and laughed. “You have,” he said and waved a hand in the general direction of her hair, “an intruder.”
    Elizabeth patted at her hair.
    “ If you’d allow me?” he asked, and before she could protest, plucked a leaf from her hair.
    “ That was embarrassing,” Elizabeth mumbled.
    He turned on that smile of his again. “I think it was rather becoming. And I’ll cherish it always,” he said as he stuffed the leaf into his breast pocket. “Maxwell Alexander Harrington the Third, your humble servant,” he added with a bow.
    The older woman sighed and lowered her glasses. “You are incorrigible.”
    “ You’ll have to forgive me,” he said, not taking his eyes off Elizabeth. “Love does strange things to a man.”
    “ Ignore him,” the woman said. “Riding in that new