A Lady Out of Time (Helen Foster) Page 2

  “Yeah, they died. But not you. It didn’t kill you like it does the others; your body can disperse the radiation, expel it from your cells.” Helen looked down at the ground for a moment, mind racing. The Nazis had engaged in genetic engineering since the 1940s. Once Hitler had decided that certain groups of people had no value, he could experiment on them at will. Expose them to chemicals, graft things onto them, inject them with whatever compounds they thought might make the Germans better, stronger and faster.

  The US had no choice but to keep up.

  Helen was a product of the genetic race. Her nerves were different from normal people because she could choose how her energy was expended. This meant she could survive in the cold for a long time. Drop her into the Arctic and she’d be able to generate her own heat; live a lot longer than most other people. One of Hitler’s top priorities was making a way for his soldiers to survive a Russian winter. And if the Nazis could do it, then the US needed to be able to do it too.

  Helen could do it. Although, she wasn’t quite sure she understood how the ability to survive the cold and make her own toast meant she could travel through time.

  “Okay, I have another question.”

  He nodded and crossed his arms.

  “Actually, I have a lot of questions. Do you think the Germans are building a time machine too?”

  “Not that we’ve heard of, thank God. Two groups messing with the timeline…just thinking about it gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

  “Why?”

  He smirked, trying to keep things light, but she could see a tightness around his eyes, a forced smile, and it was nice to know he was sad she was going. “Oh good, I get to explain the complexities of time travel to a layperson,” he said, voice thick with sarcasm. She frowned at him. “Think of it…” He chewed on his lip for a moment. “Think of it like throwing a pebble into a pond. You are the pebble, and your entry into the pond creates ripples. It takes a few days for those ripples to settle down. If we sent somebody back in time, and they sent someone…like the next day? It’s bad. Let’s leave it at that. What’s next?”

  She smiled sickly, the expression quickly melting off her face. “Why don’t you just kill Hitler?” Helen asked. “Go back twenty years and pop him when he’s on the toilet somewhere?”

  “Ah. That’s too dangerous. Anything under a hundred years and it risks destroying the space-time continuum.”

  “I don’t know what that means,” she said.

  “It means we could blow up the world.”

  “That sounds bad,” Helen deadpanned, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Yeah, and…well, there are different theories of how this will work. But, we think that even if we could go back and kill Hitler…someone else would take his place. History and time are determined; we can change little things—”

  “Like papers not being sold at auction.”

  He nodded. “Exactly, but to take out people…no. Just…no.”

  “I would also like it noted that when you say 'we think that’s how it will work’ or that there are 'theories’ about what may happen, it scares the crap out of me. I’d feel a lot better about this if you were certain.”

  “Ditto.” He cleared his throat. “Did General Fox tell you that we can’t give you money or clothes? Not even jewelry? Only you will go through.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been doing sit-ups and squats like you wouldn’t believe. If Covent Garden is going to get a visit from Lady Godiva, my ass is gonna be smokin.”

  “Sorry, horses don’t go through either,” he said. Was he joking? That was the trouble with scientists, they were always so literal.

  “Where will I show up?”

  “We don’t know. Somewhere in London. I’ve tried to pinpoint it, but it’s not an exact science or anything.” He chuckled nervously.

  What the fuck do I say to that? She balled her fists, desperate to hit something.

  “I’m sure you’ll come up with something. Break into a haberdasher or something.” He gave her a confidence boosting smile. One that said she could do anything once she put her mind to it.

  Jackass. “A haberdasher is for men’s clothing and hats,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Well, whatever. Find some clothes. You know what I mean. A woman’s haber-something. Anyway, I need to run some more tests before you go. Just double-check some things. If you could roll up your sleeve so I could take some blood, that’d be great.”

  He led her over to a medic station in the corner of the warehouse-sized room.

  She rolled up her sleeve, ready to watch him draw her blood, but pulled her arm back before he could jab her. “Am I going to make it there?” she asked, hoping he’d be honest.

  He gave her a small nod. “I think so. Mathematically and scientifically speaking, you certainly should.” He reached for her arm, tugging it down and laying it flat on the table before swiping it with alcohol.

  That was less than comforting. “How does it work? The time travel thing? I read the file, but it’s confusing.”

  He snorted and jabbed her with the needle, her blood filling the vial quickly. “Time travel is complicated. Now there’s an understatement,” he muttered.

  “Yeah, what I mean is, there are lots of different things I’ve seen, but what’s right? I saw this show where someone goes back in time and becomes his own grandpa. Is that possible?”

  He put a bandage over the pinprick on her arm and set the vials of blood on a table before answering her question. “I’m not familiar with that theory, but it doesn’t sound accurate.”

  It was clear he wasn’t taking her seriously, but she didn’t know how to articulate herself any better. “Well, then…I saw this other movie, and the guy goes back in time, but he starts to disappear— gets erased from the timeline—when he kisses his mom.”

  “You seem preoccupied by incest,” he said, teasing her.

  Her stomach felt as if it were filled with hot lava. “I guess…what I want to know is…can I screw it up?”

  “Sure. Anybody can screw up. Don’t invent anything or kill anyone. What if you kill Einstein’s dad? Will someone invent everything he does? We don’t know for sure. If you change things, we won’t know because we won’t remember how it was supposed to be. That’s why you should stick to the mission. Stopping something from being invented shouldn’t cause as much mayhem as erasing someone from the timeline. Go back, keep a low profile and only do the mission. Get the plans and destroy them. You wipe them out, and the ripple effect should be negligible. Don’t have kids, don’t get married. Don’t do anything that could change the course of someone else’s life.” Gooseflesh swept over her skin as if she were suddenly cold.

  He dismissed her, telling her to get some sleep, but before she left he called her name. She turned back to look at him, and he said seriously, “And just to be safe, whatever you do, don’t sleep with your grandpa.”

  “I haven’t seen how hot he is yet,” she said with a straight face.

  His eyes widened.

  “I’m kidding,” she said.

  “Good. I was worried.”

  “It’s my grandma I’m interested in.”

  His eyes bugged out, and Helen couldn’t help but smile as she left, willing to enjoy even the most feeble joke if it would distract her from what she was about to do.

  The next few days passed quickly and before she knew it, she was standing naked in a laboratory while thirty people stared at her from behind radiation-proof glass. Goose bumps puckered her skin, giving her frozen nipples…fripples. Was that a technical term? If it wasn’t, it should be.

  Daniel escorted her to the giant egg, waiting until she sat down on the cold metal, and gave her a nod before he closed the door. Through a small window, she saw him leave the chamber and a door close behind him. A moment passed and another door, this one made of steel, came down from above, so that no radiation could possibly leak out to the people who watched. Lucky bastards. A speaker came on, and someone wished
her good luck and told her to relax. Helen bit back an obscene and scathing response.

  The coldness of the metal seat on her bare ass was peculiarly distracting. But it was better to focus on that, than the fact that she might be dead in the next twenty seconds. The machine began to hum, and Helen bit her lips between her teeth, determined not to beg for them to let her out. It’s an honor. You’re saving lives. Changing the course of history.

  The humming changed, growing into a vibration, as though she were in a huge cargo plane, riding on top of the engine. The feeling of coldness vanished and she began to sweat, the heat licking at her like fiery tongues, and she knew that was the radiation seeping into her and absorbing into her pores. Was she imagining the sensation?

  Sweat dripped off her nose, the blinding bright light forcing her to close her eyes. Her skin felt swollen, her blood hot and beginning to boil in her veins. Pressure and the scream of twisting metal surrounded her; she smelled blood, felt something trickling down her face and knew that she was just like all the others, another experiment that failed; another body to be hauled out in a plastic bag. She was dead, cooking from the outside in. She couldn’t hold it in. Couldn’t fight the flames incinerating her body.

  She screamed.

  Chapter 4

  Waiting.

  Edward glanced at the clock on the coffee table next to the tea tray. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten his newspaper. Every Tuesday and Thursday for the last year, he had called upon his fiancée and waited for her to grace him with her presence. He’d only been waiting for ten minutes, and he’d be damned lucky if she didn’t make him wait for another half an hour. Edward wanted to sigh, but that would be an outward expression of his irritation and was unnecessary.

  He stood, unable to stay seated a moment longer, feeling as if the sunny room were some type of cage. Edward prowled to the window, clasping his hands behind his back, hoping to erase some of the tension from his shoulders.

  Looking out at the garden with its formal rows of hedges and roses, small paths, and the fountain that gurgled in the middle of it all, he had a sudden urge to leave. Throw open the French doors and just walk out. He could imagine the gardener gasping in horror. Maybe even a maid shrieking in feigned shock for his break in routine.

  That was what it meant to be him.

  Every gesture, every move was scrutinized. By the lords and ladies of the ton, by the staff, by merchants and tradespeople. Everyone was waiting for him to do something—anything—that was vaguely unusual so that it could be talked about endlessly.

  They are waiting for proof that I am like my father.

  Edward was twenty-eight; had been managing his estate and turning a profit for over a decade, but memories were long, and the days were boring. They would watch him until the day he died, hoping he’d amuse them by disgracing himself or causing a scandal. Would he gamble too much, or get a string of maids and actresses pregnant; would he drink himself into a stupor? Really, the possibilities were endless. And then there was the other option, the one everyone eagerly anticipated and undoubtedly discussed ad nauseam, the one he would undoubtedly find in betting books by his peers who would remain nameless—would his poor duchess have as many accidents as his mother had? Always falling and being bruised.

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache starting just behind his eyes. And he sighed. Edward unclasped his hands from behind his back and took a slow wander around the room. A meander really. After all, there was nowhere to go. He opened and closed his right hand, his knuckles sore and red from boxing. Perhaps he should get a newspaper from the butler. He’d take it un-ironed if he had to. The door opened, and his eyebrows rose in mild astonishment. Was it possible Katherine would only keep him waiting for ten minutes?

  No.

  Her mother. His close-lipped smile stayed fixed, but his jaw clenched. He went towards her, exchanging greetings as she blushed over the sight of him. Edward was tall, well over six feet and broad-shouldered. His hair was dark brown, his eyes the color of coffee. The gossip sheets described his looks as devilish, a description he could only call inane. Though accurate when one was the son of a fiendish man.

  “Lady Calper, you look lovely as usual.”

  “Your Grace, it is so nice of you to call,” she said as if his visits were not a standing appointment. She blushed and extended her hand for him to kiss. She took a seat on the sofa, and he went back to his seat, nodding his acceptance when she offered him a cup of tea. Another cup of tea. He couldn’t help but wonder what she wanted, but suspected that whatever it was would somehow inconvenience him.

  “I cannot tell you how nice it is to have a man around the house. If only my Charles were still alive.”

  “He is greatly missed.” Mostly by every actress in town. However, it was an appropriate display of loyalty on her part. It was undoubtedly much easier to forget how much one hated their spouse if said spouse were dead.

  “Katherine misses him too. She needs the guidance of a strong man.”

  Hmm. Edward took a sip of tea, refusing to comment. Was that the faint sound of the trap door swinging open?

  “Now that she is eighteen, she needs more than a mother’s guidance. Your Grace, if I may speak candidly….”

  He waited. His permission was obviously irrelevant.

  “She is no longer a girl. It was admirable, even romantic, for you to allow her to have a season before being wed. But the time has come.” Her gaze fixed on him. Determined and vaguely terrifying. Rather savage, really. “You need an heir, and nothing soothes a woman’s disposition like children.”

  Were children soothing? That sounded damned unlikely. “As well-meaning as you are, Lady Calper, the necessity for an heir doesn’t seem all that desperate at the moment. In fact, I plan on living for quite a while longer.”

  She blinked, mouth opening and closing once, as though that hadn’t been the response she’d expected. Valiantly, she persevered. Mothers. “Well, of course you will! I didn’t mean it that way. Why, never has there been a more vigorous display of manhood than Your Grace.”

  What the blazes did that mean? “I can assure you, I try to keep vigorous displays to a minimum. Sometimes it seems to be my only goal in life.” He smiled, and she frowned. And I’ll ignore the comments about my manhood. Surely, she meant to say something else.

  “But…Katherine’s dear father and I had always hoped she’d be married by now. I can’t help but wonder why you would push it back another six months?”

  “I was given to understand that moving the date was preferred.”

  “By whom?” she said, tea splashing onto the saucer as she set the cup down hard.

  “By your lovely daughter,” he said, keeping his voice polite but firm. He couldn’t remember the ridiculous details, but had been more than happy to agree to push the wedding back. “There was lace for her dress, but it was made by nuns or virgins or children somewhere in Europe and would take a year to arrive. It might even be carried here by nuns or virgins or children…probably via pony-cart or donkey. Something that takes a long time.” With every word he said, her chin pressed tighter against her neck, giving her the look of strangled poultry. “And then there was some flower that she wanted…A tulip? But it would have to come from the depths of some far-away land…probably brought to this country via slow pony-cart. Or donkey…as well.” Maybe even a swimming donkey. Her eyes were wide, and so he kept the last thought to himself. If her expression were any indication to her feelings, she did not think Katherine’s demands were ridiculous in the same way he did.

  He made a dismissive gesture and put down the empty teacup, smiling at her charmingly. At least, he hoped it was charming. “Anyway, it comes from very far away, and she wanted it. My goal was to make your daughter happy.”

  “That is very kind, Your Grace. But unnecessary.”

  “Simply tell me when to be there, and I will,” he said magnanimously.

  After several more minutes of what had to be the most
inane chatter (he’d been unable to work in a reference to the pony-cart, although he’d tried quite valiantly), his fiancée finally made her appearance. She looked as lovely and perfect as always. Her perfection was impressive, something she actively strove for and something he had to admire. She made it look so easy, as if perfection were a game, and she had crafted all the rules. Edward idly wondered if there might come a time over the next several decades when he might be able to ask her if she genuinely enjoyed the rules and formality that governed every moment of her existence.

  Probably not.

  Her pale blonde hair was piled onto her head, her dress cut to emphasize her slender form. She appeared much older than her eighteen years, and he attributed it to her icy hauteur. She was every inch a perfect duchess. The weight of her frosty gaze would stop a person in their tracks; make a servant drop to the ground in terror of being dismissed.

  A skill if ever there was one. Is it too early for whiskey?

  Katherine smiled at him, and he instantly looked to her eyes, something he did out of habit now, waiting to see if they would crinkle a little. A sincere display of pleasure. Not this time. She was ever so concerned about lines upon her face. He smiled back at her and bowed over her hand, kissing her cool flesh and inhaling the rose perfume she always wore.

  It reminded him of his mother.

  In fact, he’d bought her a different fragrance, even taken her to Bond Street to buy something different, but she seemed to have no interest in changing to please him. She’d chosen a perfume, smiled at him and never worn it. With a last lingering look to the gardens, Edward went to his seat, turning his attention to the ladies’ conversation. What exciting topic would it be today?

  The wedding.

  Of course, the wedding.

  Chapter 5