The Titan Drowns: Time Travel Romance by Nhys Glover (highly recommended books .txt) 📕

lounging had already creased her clothing badly. Somehow, before they went out in the morning, she would have to try to make right her appearance if she wanted to blend in with Edwardian society, but right now, it didn’t matter.

Luke sat next to her and resumed his position with his elbows on his knees. His elasticised braces pulled tight as he rounded his shoulders.

‘There are a lot of things that are morally ambiguous about what we do. Taking kids away from parents so we can give them to our childless couples for one.’

‘But history says that they would have been taken from their parents regardless. We just give the children a new life.’ This was an argument where Eilish felt on the moral high ground.

‘Sure, and the same could be said for what we’re doing on this Jump. We’re taking children away from their parents, who would otherwise have drowned, so they can have a new life.’

‘But we could just as easily take the parents too. But we will not. Not unless they can adapt to our world. We will leave them behind to drown.’

‘You know more about Crash and Burn than I do,’ Luke said with a sigh.

‘I know, I know. Adults are far more likely to C and B than kids, especially if they are not prepared beforehand. And it takes a certain mindset to be able to accept our world… to accept time travel itself… and few have that mindset. I know that. I do. I have had firsthand experience with people who could not grasp the reality of our world. Even so, I still feel squeamish about talking parents into letting us take their children…’

Luke rubbed his head and then grimaced at the grease on his palm. He wiped it on his handkerchief. ‘I hate this stuff!’

‘Smells nice though, and it keeps your goldilocks in place.’

‘Hmm. Give me a razor and I won’t have any goldilocks to keep in place. Where was I? Oh, yeah. The way I see it is, if we had a lifeboat and called for children to board it, they’d want to put their kids on it to save them. Any parent would. As far as they’re concerned, once the worry over the safety of their children is taken from them, they can focus on getting to safety themselves. And even though we know they won’t be successful, we can at least feel assured that in their last moments they’ll be content that their children were saved.’

‘But they will not have a choice about keeping or sending their children with us. We will have tricked them into believing they are just trying out the new life raft. They will not know they are gone until it is too late.’

‘But they’ll know they’re at the “lifeboat” when the emergency becomes real to them. Look, it’s all about risks and pay-offs. This whole mission is one huge risk. Even though I’m not happy putting Brat in danger, I can see the advantages of having him with us. The pay-off’s worth the risk. The parents will feel that way.’

‘Bart can convince the children to trust us. And they, in turn, can convince the parents to let us have them…’ Eilish frowned. ‘Yes, it is a good plan. But he is so young. You will have to keep him close. If something goes wrong, you could lose him.’

Luke’s face became the mask of a soulless killer in that moment. ‘He’s nearly eleven. He went through worse than this at a much younger age so he’ll handle it. And I won’t lose him. I won’t go back without him.’

‘What about Faith?’

His eyes were hollow as they looked deep into hers, ‘I will not go back without him.’

‘Then maybe he is better off not…’

‘He’s got it into his head that he’ll be useful on this mission and there’s no telling him he won’t. Have I mentioned he’s as stubborn as a mule? Another characteristic we share. Both Jac and Chen think it’s a good idea. Cara is worried, only because of Faith, but agrees it’ll make the transfer smoother. As for Bart, well he’ll follow direction. He knows what’s at stake. He’s survived the Nazis, and he’s been well trained. I have to trust that it’ll be enough.’

‘I guess that goes for all of us. We would not do what we do if we were not willing to face the danger.’

‘We risk our lives to save lives. It’s what we do,’ Luke agreed grimly.

 

Chapter Three

 

Max

 

12 March 1912, London ENGLAND

 

Maxwell Ingham stared out of his office window at busy Fleet Street below. He loved the cacophony of noise that modern man in his industry could create – the mechanical hum of the automobiles, as they rumbled down the street honking their horns at horse and wagons that might delay or block their passage. Many a flighty horse took exception to this noise and would rear and buck in complaint. People of all classes hurried along the pathways and crossed the thoroughfares at random, often inadvertently walking in front of the speeding vehicles. Yelling and shaking fists would accompany those near misses. It was organised chaos, and he loved it.

His eye was drawn from the general to the specific, as he caught a glimpse of a young woman dressed fashionably in a navy skirt and jacket with a white blouse adorned with a large, floppy bow at its high neckline. A hat, a monstrous navy affair that was utterly impractical for the busy streets, shielded her face. However, when she paused to look up at the second and third stories of the buildings on his side of the road, he gained a much better impression of her appearance.

Her face was pale, milky white with huge eyes and small, upturned nose. Red lips were bowed in a delighted smile as her elegant, gloved hands crossed over heart, as if to keep the organ from jumping out of her chest. She looked to be in her mid-to-late twenties, but there was an air of child-like enthusiasm that belied that age. What little hair was visible beneath the hat was black and wavy, framing her oval face and softening the sharp lines of the outrageous creation on her head.

For the full time he stared at her, he couldn’t seem to draw breath. It wasn’t until she dropped her head, hurried across the road, dodging horse-drawn and horseless carriages alike, and disappeared somewhere beneath him that he felt his breathing return to normal.

‘Maxwell, Darling, what do you think?’ A strident voice jarred him from his strange reaction and drew his eye. Coming across the room toward him was his wife, Agnes, dressed in a sunshine yellow day-dress that quite blinded him with its brightness. It was a wrap-around affair, somewhat oriental in design, with a wide, darkly patterned border that crossed over her bird-like figure.

‘About what, my dear?’ he inquired, knowing exactly what, but wanting to give himself a moment to come up with a suitably diplomatic comment.

‘Why, my dress, silly. Do you like it? My couturier tells me it is the latest thing from the continent, and I plan to wear it to the Royal International Horticultural Exhibition in May. I am taking a risk that no one of any influence will see me in it today. Nevertheless, I just had to show you immediately.’

The small woman pivoted to display her gown and large floral hat. Her mouse-like features broke into a winsome smile.

‘You will turn many an eye, my dear. The flowers will pale into insignificance beside you.’ He spoke the truth, as was his way, but he disguised his thoughts within the effusion of his words, as only a man of the law could do. In truth, she looked hideous, but he had learned early on in their relationship that Agnes did not want to hear the truth. She wanted to mould it to suit herself, and that was what he allowed her to do with his words now.

She blushed coquettishly and giggled. ‘Oh Maxwell, I knew you would love it. Matilda Robson was not so complimentary. But then she is not up with the latest haute de couture, so I dismissed her opinion immediately. You, on the other hand, dear husband, are a man of taste and refinement. I knew you would see its value.’

‘My tastes run to more simplistic and conservative designs, but I do value the unconventional when it is aesthetically pleasing to the eye.’

Agnes smiled sweetly, bowing her head as if accepting another compliment. Then she sighed deeply and waited for him to ask what was wrong.

Obediently, he asked on cue, ‘My dear, what troubles you?’

‘It is father. He is insisting I come down to visit. He assures me I could be back for Easter and the beginning of the Season. His gout is acting up again, and he is driving everyone in the household to distraction.’

Max felt his heart lift. Agnes wanted to go away for a month. It had nothing whatsoever to do with her father; he’d learned this trick fairly quickly after their marriage two years ago. Before that time, he’d believed her to be the gentle, sweet widow she portrayed herself to be. A kind soul, she had been unable to get out from beneath the cruel and tyrannical rule of her father, no matter how hard she tried. She’d told him that her first marriage to an army officer who died in the last days of the Boer War some ten years earlier had been forced on her by that unfeeling man. She’d been only eighteen at the time, and the harsh realities of a brutish husband in her bed had turned her against marital intimacies from that point on.

‘Of course my dear, you must go to your father. I will rub along well enough in your absence.’ His answer was perfunctory and a little brisker than he was aiming for, but sometimes he tired of her games and he just wanted out.

A fleeting look of calculation crossed her features and her beady, little eyes became cold. The expression told him all too well that she suspected he knew her secrets.

‘Then I will say my good-byes, dear one, for I will be gone by the time you arrive home this evening. If you need me, you know how to reach me.’

‘Of course, my dear. Safe journey. I will see you at Easter.’

With a quick peck on the cheek, Agnes bustled out, closing the door firmly behind her.

Moments later, the door opened and Phillip, his younger brother, entered.

Max sighed with impatience. Today his office was as busy as Charing Cross Station down the street.

‘What did she want?’ Phillip demanded, drawing himself up straight to make the most of his five feet five inches. Max was a good half a foot taller, but his bantam rooster brother had always been the more aggressive of the pair.

‘She wanted to show me her new dress and to tell me she is going to Kent.’

‘What? Again? Good god man, why do you put up with it? You know she is going to see that labourer your Pinkerton found out about. Why would you share her bed knowing she has been with that lout?’

‘Not that it is any of your business but I do not share my wife’s bed. We mutually agreed that such an arrangement would come to an end shortly after we were married. So, I care little who she shares intimacies with.’

‘What if she tries to foist his bastard off on you?’

‘Keep your voice down, man. I do not want the whole practice knowing my business!’

Phillip duly lowered his voice and repeated his question.

‘Agnes is forty years old. She has been involved with this labourer all her adult life and has produced no offspring. I doubt very much whether it will happen now. Be assured that I will not allow any