What if a sword-wielding, outspoken time traveler found herself stuck in Regency England?
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Clara Eaton has a secret: she's a member of an elite time-travelling society, concealed in the heart of London.
Clara has spent the last six years learnin...
"If it is a single man that goes missing, the authorities should be made aware immediately. If it is a married man that goes missing, one should count him lucky."
-Andrew Hamilton in 'A Treatise on the Duties of the Female Sex' (1797)
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There were moments, Clara thought, where everything felt as if it was about to change. A sailor's shiver, her mother used to say; it was a tickle you got along the back of your neck just before the wind shifted direction. Looking around the room, she felt it now. Francesca looked down at her hands; Teddy swirled a glass of whisky. James had stopped bouncing his yo-yo, and it hung in the air now, like a person on a noose.
Lucy cleared her throat.
"We were at the Sylvester's ball," Lucy said. "Last March. Harry was drinking with some government officials, and he said that he was going outside for some air with them. It wasn't unusual for him, you know."
Teddy laughed, although it was humourless. "Harry Winchester could never resist a cigar."
"Winchester," Clara repeated.
The missing man was a time traveller, then. Despite herself, Clara felt a pang; she had grown up running through sprinklers in her garden with Andrew Winchester. The connection between the POWER families ran deeper than blood, and even though she wouldn't be staying here – even though Harry went missing hundreds of years before she was even born – a lump grew in her throat.
"You look skeptical," Teddy said, and it took Clara a moment to realize that he was addressing her. "I suppose you believe that we're exaggerating the story?"
Irritation pricked at her skin. "No. I just don't see..." She rubbed her hands on her thighs. "I mean, how do you know it's the government? It could have been another guest." Or Harry could have left of his own volition. Not that Clara was about to suggest that aloud.
"There are rumours," Lucy said. "Some people think that the War Office has a secret branch called the Lazarus club." The flames cast odd shadows across her face. "A bureau designed to hunt down time travellers and kill them."
"And you think they took him?" Clara asked.
"We don't think," Teddy said. "We know."
There was a long moment of silence. Then Violet let out a sigh, setting her empty port glass on the table. "On that note, I think that I'll retire for the evening. You should as well, girls." She indicated Francesca and Clara. "We'll be busy with dress fittings in the morning."
Violet rose. Teddy and James both stood immediately, and it took Clara a moment to realize that it must be a custom. And despite herself – despite the dreadfulness of the day – Clara felt a small, private flicker of amusement. It must have shown on her face because Francesca leaned closer, lowering her voice.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Oh, nothing." Clara's smile widened. "I was just thinking that if my brother had to stand up every time I did, he would have feigned a leg injury by now."
by JKMacLaren
