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As Joyce followed Malcolm the butler down the hall and up the stairs, she tried to reconcile the events of the past few hours in her mind. She and Giles were transported to who-knows-for-sure-where by a magic mirror. At first, the place seemed to be straight from a 19th century Victorian romance, but now she was beginning to doubt her initial theory. The clothing was different, the accents more varied, and then there was the idea that these strangers could very well be her ancestral family. She was expected to stop her great-great grandfather from committing some time-altering crime, although she had no idea what it was or how to stop him. There was more than a chance that she would never see her daughter again, whether she failed or succeeded. It was overwhelming, to say the least.Giles followed Joyce a step or two behind, equally lost in thought, but he wasn’t thinking about Gothic novels, not by a long shot. He was watching the way she moved... gracefully and with confidence despite the unbelievable circumstances. She was wearing slacks and a matching pullover shirt made from a silky, clingy material that did nothing to hide her slender figure from view. Her golden curls bounced around her shoulders, soft and inviting. He began to wonder what she would look like in the clothing of the period, perhaps an off the shoulder gown that showed off her lovely neck... He was so busy with his daydream that he almost collided with her when their procession stopped in front of a nondescript doorway.
"Your room, Madam." He opened the door stiffly, then retreated, his face frozen in a mask of disdain. She ignored him and stepped inside.
The room was decorated in delicate shades of rose and soft green. It was obviously a lady’s chambers, with ruffled curtains and an ornate oak vanity in front of the window. A matching settee and side chair faced the door to the adjoining room, creating a small sitting area. A tall armoire and a beautifully carved dresser lined one wall. She noted the wash stand and bowl, complete with towels, and realized that for all intents and purposes, she really was in the 19th century. No chance for a whirlpool bath here.
She turned to see if Giles had a comment, and was greeted by a closing door. Malcolm obviously disapproved of her, since she had been so quick to state that she and Giles weren’t married. She kicked herself mentally... why did it matter what the people in this topsy-turvy world thought? Why was she so quick to correct them when they assumed Giles was her husband? All that mattered was getting home.
A knock on the adjoining door stopped her musings. Crossing the room, she turned the lock and opened the door. Giles stood there with an amused look on his face, one hand propped up against the door frame. She motioned him in, glancing at his room curiously. It was decorated in browns and tans, and was as masculine as hers was feminine. She smiled, seeing that to her theory about husbands and wives having separate rooms was justified. This suite was obviously set up for a couple.He waited for her to sit, then sat carefully in the side chair. He mentally admonished himself for his wanton thoughts, and took a more practical tone as he said, "We’re expected for dinner, I suppose. I found suitable clothing in the wardrobe, if it fits."
She nodded, then got up to check her armoire, noting in the back of her mind how he stood with her. ‘Good manners are automatic with him, ’ she thought. She opened the doors wide and admired the collection of beautiful gowns waiting there. This household seemed to favor strong colors; the gowns were in vivid shades of gold, green, dark blue, and red. ‘This could actually be fun, ’ she thought, ‘So long as we don’t have to kill someone tonight.’ She frowned suddenly, ‘Or be killed.’
"It seems you are equally... ah, prepared for dinner." He failed to keep the huskiness out of his voice as he gazed at her.
"Yeah. These dresses are beautiful... I’ve never seen anything like them." She took two gowns out and held one up against her. "What do you think... the red or the gold?" She draped the red dress across the bed, and displayed the gold dress, giving him a chance to see the colors against her skin.
He swallowed hard, trying to keep his mind on the conversation. "Uhm, well, either one would be, ah, lovely... It’s your choice, of course, but I tend to f-favor red, personally." ‘What a stupid thing to say, ’ he told himself.
"Really? I would’ve thought pink was your color." She teased, arching her eyebrows at him.
He thought about the scrap of pink satin hidden in his drawer at home, blushed, and laughed nervously. "Yes, well, red will do, in a pinch."
Was it getting warmer in the room? He cleared his throat and tugged at his collar as she hung up the gold gown and spread the red one out on the bed.
‘He really is cute when he blushes,’ she thought as she returned to her seat on the settee. She couldn’t wait to see him in period clothing... he seemed to blend with this time, seeming perfectly at home. Once again, she was amazed at his adaptability. She shook her head to clear away all extraneous imaginings, and concentrated on getting back to twentieth-century Sunnydale. "I’ve revised my original theory." She leaned back, making herself comfortable, and kicked off her shoes. "I thought we were in the middle of a Victorian novel, but now, I’m not so sure. There are too many surprises here... things I haven’t read about."
He relaxed a little, relieved to have something concrete to discuss. "It seems possible that we are actually in the nineteenth century, in your ancestral home, or an altered reality thereof. It is as plausible as anything else that has to do with magic."
"True enough. What do you make of our hosts? Do you believe them?"
"For the moment, I do. But they are hiding something, I’m sure of it. There is more going on than the theft of a magic mirror. Lady Morag seems to be in fear for her life."
"And Gussie is worried sick about her, that’s obvious." She shifted, putting her feet up under her. "What about destroying the mirror? Is there any other option?" She tried to sound level-headed, but the idea made her want to cry.
He sensed her hurt, and a protective feeling rose up in him. He wanted more than anything to sit next to her and hold her in his arms. Instead, he stood and started pacing. "If I only had access to the library, or to the family records, I might make some sense of this. There are too many unanswered questions: Why was Wolf banished from the family? What is his connection to the mirror? Why did the mirror choose us? What are we to do? Why couldn’t Buffy activate the mirror? How can we return home? Are we damaging the timeline just by being here? What if we have already altered history, and don’t realize it? It’s all too unclear..."
He stopped, realizing how discomforting his words were. He glanced at Joyce, and was horrified as a tear escaped from her eye and coursed down her cheek. ‘The poor woman, ’ he thought, mentally kicking himself for his thoughtlessness. ‘I deal with this sort of thing daily, but she is just finding out about all this.’
He knelt beside her and offered her his handkerchief. "I’m sorry, Mrs... Joyce, that was thoughtless of me. We shall get through this, I promise, and all will be well."
She sniffed, embarrassed at her tears. "I just can’t bear the thought of never seeing my little girl again, Mr. Giles."
"Call me Rupert, please. I... I think we’re beyond such formality, now. And I would miss her terribly, as well."
She smiled and nodded. "I know you would, Rupert. They’re probably trying everything they can to get us back. Do you think we have to be in the same room for the mirror to send us home?"
"I don’t know. Perhaps. We should try to slip away and get back to it. Do you remember where the room was?"
"I think so."
"We should get dressed, and do some exploring, then. First, the library, then the mirror. If we are found out, we can say we got lost looking for the dining room. All right?"
She stood, impatient to get started. "All right. Now scat and let me change."
He graced her with a warm smile before disappearing into his room. She heard the door click shut, but deliberately left it unlocked.
****** "What do you mean, uh-oh? Angel, give! Did you find something?" Buffy jumped up, immediately on guard.
"Yeah, maybe. It’s an old diary... the ‘diary of Morag Fergusson.’ It has a picture of the looking glass on the front of it. I just happened to notice it when I pulled another book out from beside it."
She grabbed his hand, tilting the cover so she could see. "‘Morag Fergusson’... Who the heck is that?"
"Don’t know, but it has something in it about the mirror. It’s in Gaelic. The front cover has a... a warning... not to misuse the mirror, or dire consequences will result."
Buffy waited impatiently while he read the first few pages. It seemed to take him forever. "Well? What? Does it mention the mirror swallowing people? And how to get them back?"
"I don’t know... I’m still reading."
"Hurry up, Angel! Anything could be happening to them in there!" She reached for his arm in her desperation.
Angel shrugged her off and sat down on the steps. "If you’ll stop jostling my elbow, I might just be able to find out."
****** Wolf waited impatiently for an answer to his knock. Old Malcolm was getting slower and slower. Or perhaps his cousins saw him arrive, and were not anxious to let him in. No matter. He would get in, eventually. The house held many secrets, and no one knew those secrets as well as he.
The door finally creaked open, and the ever-present Malcolm eyed him with baleful distrust. Not waiting for the butler to speak, Wolf pushed his way into the hall. "I’m expected." He said over his shoulder as he strode toward the sitting room, knowing he would find Morag there.
He burst rudely into the room without knocking. Seeing his cousin’s wife sitting in her usual seat, calmly waiting for him, he began to fume inwardly. She had always been one step ahead of him, but not this time. This time the cycle would end. He would accomplish his purpose, and the rest of them could go to the devil.
Morag drew herself to her feet, still regal despite her obvious weakness. "Wolf. I knew ye would come."
He smiled wickedly, and stepped towards her, invading her space, trying to intimidate her. "How could I stay away? You have the glass... and I am here to take it from you."
"Have ye not discovered that your evil is destroying us all? Please, for the love of God, do not pursue this! Your own descendant is here... and she is innocent of your wickedness." She laid a trembling hand on his arm, her voice beseeching. "We were wrong, Wolf... the curse does not follow the bloodline. If ye stop now, the evil stops with you. Have you no compassion, man? She has a child! A daughter, whom ye would orphan with your dark deeds!"
"Compassion? Where was compassion when my loving family cast me out? Did they worry about how I would live? What I would eat? If I would live or die? And you talk of compassion!" He snarled, towering over the frail woman. "What do I care of a child yet unborn?"
She looked up at him without fear. "Compassion is what brought us to expel you from the house. Dark magic cannot be used around the looking glass... grave destruction results, this ye know."
"And I care not. My only salvation is in the looking glass. I must have it. I must try."
"You will fail. I have seen it."
He sighed, suddenly tired of the conversation. "Then I fail. And I shall take you all to Hell with me." He turned abruptly and left, the door slamming shut behind him.
She sighed heavily and returned to her seat, exhausted. Her husband entered from the next room, where he had overheard to the entire conversation. He crossed to her and placed his hands on her shoulders comfortingly.
"I warned you, darling, he wouldna listen." Carruthers smoldered with anger at his wayward cousin.
She gazed up at him, sadness in her eyes. "Aye. But I was bound to try. He’ll have his troubles getting past our guests, Gussie. They’re stronger than we thought."
"The Sassenach is more than he seems. Did ye see his reaction when I brandished my sword? He barely flinched, and his stance told of experience in battle."
She nodded. "It was meant for him to be here. I know not why or how, but he may yet save us all."
****** Joyce knocked softly on the adjoining door. She had swept her hair up in a loose french curl, and was wearing pearl earrings and a matching necklace that she had found in the jewelry box. The clothing and shoes fit her perfectly... too perfectly. She swallowed her trepidation as the door swung open.
She took one look at him and said, "Wow." Did he ever look good in the clothing of the period! His trim body was perfectly fitted in a charcoal three piece evening suit. And the green cravat brought out the color of his eyes... he looked dashing, handsome, and slightly dangerous... everything one looked for in a leading man.
He seemed equally enthralled as he gazed at her, resplendent in her red satin gown. As he had hoped and imagined, it was an off the shoulder garment, daring even by modern standards, and quite becoming. She wore the 19th century garments with ease, as though she was born to them. She was stunning, and he was duly stunned.
Impulsively, he reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips in a centuries-old gesture. The kiss sent a tremble of electricity up her arm, and she bit her lip to keep from gasping.
They stood for a long moment, trying to think of something proper and polite to say to each other. Giles finally recovered enough to say, "You, you look... lovely, Joyce." He offered his arm and she took it, feeling girlishly nervous and excited.
"You look great, too, Rupert. Victorian suits you." She fought to keep her voice light, but she was trembling inside.
"Th-Thank you. Ah, well, we’d ah, best be going." He opened his door and peered out into the hall. Satisfied that they were not observed, he led her down the hall to the staircase. They cautiously made their way down, listening carefully to avoid being seen. As they got to the bottom of the stairs, they heard a knock at the door and scrambled to hide in the closet beside the staircase. They were able to hear the ensuing conversation easily from their vantage point.
Joyce’s eyes widened as she realized who the visitor was... her great-great-grandfather had arrived! They listened, barely breathing, as he argued with Morag in the sitting room just across from their hiding place. Wolf hadn’t even bothered to close the hall door in his anger and haste. They heard him angrily slam the door, his heavy footsteps telling them he was climbing the stairs to the floor above them.
Giles waited until he felt sure there was no one else in the hall, then he eased the door open. They once again began to walk towards the library.
Joyce tittered nervously, despite the need for silence. "Now, if the Vicar was to arrive, this little scenario would be complete," she whispered.
A quick flash of a smile was his only answer. They stopped in front of the library door and looked at each other, gathering their courage. Giles finally grasped the doorknob and turned it firmly. They stepped into the room, expecting it to be empty. Joyce gasped in surprise as she realized it was not.
****** Angel was stunned as he read. Only a few pages into the diary, he already knew he held the key in his hands. But, it was too bizarre. He couldn’t understand it at all.
His face showed his puzzlement, and Buffy picked up on it immediately. "Angel? What? Tell me!"
"I don’t know what to make of this. It’s... well, it’s all dated the same day. April the twelfth, eighteen forty-three."
"Whaddaya mean, the same day? There’s gotta be more than a hundred pages, and there’s stuff written all over ‘em!"
"I know. But still, it’s all the same day. The entries differ slightly, but it describes the same day, over and over."
Buffy jumped to her feet, exasperated. "That’s impossible! They’d have to be stuck in some kind of time-loop, like in ‘Groundhog’s Day!’"
Wesley stood, pushing his glasses firmly onto his face. He stepped away from the library table, and came to where Angel was sitting. "Wait a moment, Buffy. Angel, if you’re saying what I believe you are, then we have our first concrete clue!"
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