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Joyce closed the diary in front of her and looked somberly at the floor. "Mr. Gi ..... Rupert, be honest, what are the chances of our being rescued by Buffy and her friends?"
Giles gave the question a moment or two of consideration, then answered, "If Wesley is helping them, actually quite good." He was somewhat surprised to hear himself make that admission. "He may be irritating but he is quite capable. If they all put their heads together and use the wealth of resources available to them," he added, unable to resist pointing out how well-stocked his library was, "I imagine they might very well pull us back eventually."
"I came to the same conclusion, which is why I think we should hold off destroying the mirror until we have no other option. Keeping the mirror intact for as long as possible is our best chance to get home."
"I agree, I only wish we had some idea what this Fergusson chap had in mind for it. Ironically it may be that he has no desire to destroy it either."
"Making for something of a standoff?"
Giles reply was cut short by the sudden entrance into the library of Malcomb, the butler. "Ah, here you are Ma'm, Sir." He nodded crisply at Joyce and Giles but his eyes could not conceal a glint of suspicion.
"Oh, Malcomb, yes, we were just about to.....," Joyce stammered, attempting to replace the diary on the bookshelf, "These journals are fascinating and I'm afraid my curiosity got the better of me. I was just so excited to find out anything about my ancestors. I hope Mrs. Fergusson will understand."
"If, indeed, she needs to know at all," Giles offered tentatively.
The stoic servant raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly in Giles direction. "Indeed," he echoed, "The business of Madame and her guests is none of my affair, Sir. I merely came to announce that dinner is served.” With that Malcomb turned and briskly left the room, not closing the doors after him.
Giles and Joyce exchanged relieved shrugs. "Shall we?" Giles said crossing to her with his right elbow extended.
"I would be honored, kind sir." She said, taking his arm. They swept out of the room feeling - for a few moments at least - that they were a part of nothing more than an elaborate costume ball.
~~~~~~ "I have to get back there, help them!" Buffy declared, stomping over to the mirror to do who knew what. She stood in front of it, staring in frustration, as if the answer would appear to her if she wished hard enough.
"But Buffy," Willow said, "It didn't work for you, it only liked your mom. And besides, even if you did find a way, isn't it.....?" she trailed off, leaving the unspoken belief that they all held: that it was too late to save them. It had already happened, they had read it. How could anyone change it now?
Buffy knew what her friend had been about to say and her eyes flashed in characteristic defiance. Let somebody, anybody - Watcher, friend, some lousy book - tell Buffy Summers that something was impossible and her immediate reaction was to prove them wrong. Especially now. She walked slowly toward Willow, daring her to say what she was thinking.
Oz, seeing no benefit in trying to convince Buffy that there was no hope, jumped in and steered the conversation toward practical problem solving. "Giles said the mirror needed a man and a woman. Maybe it needs two adults to work. No offense but we're all kind of....well, on the bubble."
"What, you mean it has some kind of age requirement, like a drinking age?" Xander scoffed, "It won't work 'til we're, like, twenty-one or something?" He shook his head in mock frustration, "The times ya don't have your fake Enchanted mirror I.D. on you!"
"Perhaps I could go," Wesley volunteered, "Providing we find a suitable companion, of course."
"Oo, I have an idea," Cordelia said, "Can you take Mrs. Lundquist with you? I have a paper due for her English Lit class that I am soooo behind on."
Before anyone could comment on the practicality, or lack thereof, of Cordelia's suggestion, Angel - who had wandered over to the mirror to closely examine the Gaelic script - spoke up, "Wait a minute, I don't think Giles was reading this thing exactly right."
The others turned their attention to him.
"What do you mean?" Buffy asked.
"Well, it does say 'man and woman' , but his translation was too literal. In the idiom of that time, according to the way it's used here, 'man and woman' means husband and wife."
Puzzled expressions reigned.
"Giles and your mom are married?" said Cordelia, "God, nobody tells me anything."
"No, you're not getting it," Angel continued, "this was common terminology for a couple who had ....been, um, together."
The implications of that statement took it's time settling into the awareness of the group until Oz clarified things, "Boffage."
"You mean my mother......" began Buffy.
"...and Giles........?" continued Willow.
"...did it?" completed Xander.
"I say," Wesley commented, adjusting his glasses.
~~~~~ For Giles and Joyce, dinner was proceeding pleasantly enough under the circumstances. They were entertained by the gregarious Father Ramsey, who seemed to revel in the spotlight of the many stories, jokes or anecdotes he spun with great vigor. The pudgy, ruddy-faced cleric had greeted them with a broad smile and a relaxed warmth. Joyce had been introduced as "an American cousin" taking her daughter on the Grand Tour, and Giles as her daughter's "tutor".
"Tell me, Mr. Giles," Ramsey inquired at one juncture, "Do you have family in Cornwall? You bear a striking resemblance to a ......colleague ....of mine."
"Why, yes," Giles answered guardedly, "In fact my....father's brother is from that area." It was not much of a stretch of the truth; Giles did have family there. In this case, however, they would be several generations removed. He supposed it was possible that Father Ramsey could have encountered his great, great grandfather or uncle somewhere along the line.
As the two men chatted about Cornwall and other generalities Joyce watched and listened intently to Giles. She had noticed, almost immediately upon meeting Ramsey, that Giles seemed somehow wary, if not out-and-out suspicious of the man. Not that it was obvious, or that Giles was enjoying Ramsey's company any less than she, he was a delightfully animated storyteller, but she could tell something was bothering him. A certain narrowing of the eyes at times and a subtle attempt to glean more information about Ramsey's background than the priest seemed willing to divulge. Joyce tried to imagine what Giles was digging for, maybe she could help.
"Father, you feature a rather prominent cross hanging around your neck," Giles commented, referring to the four or five inch silver ornament gracing the front of the cleric's barrel chest, "that is somewhat unusual, is it not?"
"Ah, yes, a bit ostentatious perhaps but, as I'm sure you've noticed, I'm not one for subtleties in either my manner or appearance, eh?" He laughed heartily and took a generous drink of red wine, some of which dribbled down onto his full beard. "But I take comfort in it's presence," Ramsey further explained about the cross, "I feel it affords me a certain protection....especially at night....."
Warning flags went up for both Joyce and Giles. They were anxious to pursue that line of conversation when they were interrupted by the serving of the main course and Morag's steering the talk in a different direction. Later, however, Ramsey saw fit to turn the tables ever so slightly.
"Mrs.Summers, pardon my rabid curiosity, but, well what would social occasions be without it, eh?" He laughed with gusto before continuing, "How old did you say your daughter was?"
"Eighteen."
"And how is it we are not graced with the, undoubtedly lovely, young lady's presence tonight?"
"She's....ah, staying with relations not far from here for a day or two," Joyce improvised, "Young people, you understand, closer to her age. She would have been dreadfully bored here....oh, um, no offense to the company at hand."
"None taken, dear," Morag said with a smile.
"Ah, yes," Ramsey concurred, "Your Anne is no doubt taken with some of the young gentlemen of these parts. Strapping lads, they are. But tell me more about her, Mrs. Summers, what are her interests, what does she enjoy doing?"
Joyce glanced at Giles, rolled her eyes imploringly and plowed on, resigned to fending off the relentlessly curious and somewhat mysterious cleric for the rest of dinner.
~~~~~~ "On second thought, maybe I'll just leave them there."
For a moment none of Buffy's friends were certain if she was serious. Especially Cordelia. "Leave them there? Oh, come on Buffy, get over it already!"
"Helloooo...." Xander interrupted, "Not grasping the concept of black humor, are we Cordie?"
"Wait a minute," Buffy said, turning back toward Angel and the mirror, "This means that....." She took two steps and the mirror began to glow. Two more and it glowed and radiated invitingly. Just as it had for her mother and Giles. "Angel and I can go."
"Wow, free admission for members of the happy club." Xander said.
"Wait," Wesley protested, "Let's not rush into anything here. As I understand it, the mirror will take both of you, leaving the rest of us at a significant disadvantage if anything should happen here. What with Faith and the Mayor and who-knows- what else going on."
"Wesley has a point," Cordelia said, quick to take any opportunity to come to his defense, "All the strongest and smartest of us lost in that mirror? No offense, Wes. What happens to the rest of us? What if Miss Trailer Trash and some of her new vamp buddies come after us?"
"Cordelia's got a point about Wesley having a point," Willow reasoned, "Plus you don't know where you'll end up in there. There could be any number of factors that we're unaware of that brought your mom and Giles to where they are. You guys could end up on the dark side of the moon for all we know."
"But I have to try! If there's any chance at all.....don't you see?"
"I can't leave the town practically defenseless at a time like this," Wesley countered, "There has to be another way. There is, for instance," he cleared his throat and tugged at his tie nervously, "someone I...I could call who would be, ahem,' eligible', so to speak, to go through the mirror with me."
"You have a girlfriend around here?" Cordelia asked, a bit more anxiously than she'd intended.
"Um, well, she's not exactly my girlfriend anymore nor is she around here...."
"Meaning?" Buffy pressed.
"She's a Watcher. In England."
"So it'll take her at least six hours to get here," Buffy replied, shaking her head, "No good, we don't have that kind of time. Their lives are at stake."
"Gee, Xander," Willow said with mock innocence, "Too bad Faith isn't one of the good guys anymore, you two could have gone through together."
Xander opened his mouth to protest, then changed his expression into a wince of anticipated pain. Cordelia's eyes flashed in anger and bore into the back of Xander's head like laser beams.
"You and that.....Teen Tramp 1999! Was that before or after you lip-locked with Willow?! You pig, how many other little hussies did you.....?!"
"Woah, time out," Oz tried to say, defending Willow's honor.
"Hey! Whatdya mean hussie?!" Willow protested on her own.
Soon the room erupted into a babble of accusations, recriminations and explanations punctuated by Wesley and Buffy's fruitless attempts to quiet things. Finally, a terrifying roar of animalistic proportions hushed the group. Angel, in full vampire face, glowered menacingly from across the room.
"Thank-you," said Buffy. Wesley emitted a small squeal as he fumbled to produce a cross from his jacket pocket.
"Relax, Wes, it was just for effect. Put that thing away," Angel said, morphing back into human face.
"OK, guys," Buffy glared at her friends, "Can we lose the Dawson's Creek thing and stay focused on the situation at hand?" They replied with a muted chorus of apologies. Buffy approached her Watcher and looked him in the eyes. "This is my mother and Giles we're talking about. Angel and I might be the only chance they have."
The young Watcher considered his charge intently. He didn't know Buffy very well. They'd hit it off like oil and water. But in the few weeks he had worked with her, he had seen enough to be impressed with her work ethic and abilities. And he had no doubt as to her dedication to the job. It had been drilled into him during his own training that his job was to keep the Slayer focused, that her first responsibility was to her duty, that she should put family, friends, even her Watcher second. He had believed it. But that had only been in training he told himself. This was the real world. He also reminded himself that this situation was an opportunity to forge a bond of trust between himself and Buffy. And no trust is earned without an element of risk.
"I understand that last summer you and Angel were absent for an extended period of time," Wesley said to Buffy, returning her determined look, "And somehow the world survived. Perhaps your friends," he cast a glance around to the others, "can enlighten me as to exactly how they managed to hold down the fort." Everyone nodded as he turned back to Buffy, "Go. And Godspeed.”
Buffy looked at him for the first time with a measure of respect. She felt like she should say something but she wasn't sure what. "Thanks...we'll be back. I promise."
"Let's get going then," Angel said, "Time waits for no man. Or demon. At least as far as I know."
~~~~~~ Despite Joyce's apprehension, the remainder of the dinner passed fairly uneventfully. Taking their cue from Morag and her husband, Giles and Joyce made no mention of the mirror or anything to do with it. Apparently, the Fergussons had not chosen to take Father Ramsey into their confidence on the matter. In due time the table was cleared and, in keeping with tradition, the men retired to the library for brandy and cigars while Morag led Joyce --much to Joyce's dismay---away to "discuss domestic matters", as the older woman put it.
"Take ye care wi'the brandy now, Gussie," Morag chided her husband, "Ye know what it does to ye."
"Aye, Mum," the man replied, slightly disappointed. Upon entering the library, however, Father Ramsey immediately poured a generous snifter for Gussie.
"Come along then, eh? Life's too short for a man to be denied his few pleasures." He handed Gussie the glass, poured one for himself and Giles and offered cigars from a small breast pocket humidor. The three men passed a few minutes with innocuous small talk until, in short order, Gussie's head drooped to his chest and a faint snoring could be heard.
"Ah, right on time," Ramsey said, plucking the brandy snifter and cigar from harms way in the sleeping man's hands. He placed the glass on a table, the cigar in an ashtray, and turned to look at Giles. He silently took the measure of the unusual visitor, this "tutor" traveling with a married woman. Ramsey rubbed his beard a few times, took a drink of brandy, walked over to the fireplace and, without looking back at Giles began, "For every generation there is a chosen one......"
Giles hesitated, then responded, "One who has the power to fight the vampires, the demons, the forces of darkness."
Ramsey turned around to face Giles now and completed the phrase, "She is the Slayer. So, it is as suspected, you are a Watcher."
Giles nodded, "And you. The name sparked some recognition. Something from one of the Watcher journals. This is 1835 so that would make the Slayer....Hmmmm, Amanda Callaghan? And her Watcher would be Gordon Stewart?"
Ramsey nodded approvingly, "Well done! It is heartening to see that research has not been forgotten. Even in the future." As he spoke Ramsey's demeanor changed. Gone was the jovial, Falstaffian character of dinner, in his place was a precise, assured man of few wasted words. Economical of movement and cautious in manner, Ramsey now presented an entirely different persona.
"I can't say I'm necessarily surprised to find a watcher here," Giles said, "with the mirror and all, but I am somewhat surprised at your knowledge and calm acceptance of the fact that Mrs. Summers and I are from the future."
"Don't be. We've been aware of the existence and location of the mirror for quite some time and we're aware of it's nature. Before it came here the Watchers had some opportunity to study it. We found the secrets it revealed to be....most interesting."
"And what about this Wolf fellow? What are his designs on it?"
"We're not certain, but his history indicates no good will come of it. He's crafty, that one, and his pockets are very deep. He retains a string of unsavory characters who do all sorts of mischief for him. What we don't know is why he hasn't just stolen the bloody thing by now."
"Apparently it will only function for a direct descendant of Morag. He could do nothing with it until such time as one was transported through it."
"I see, so Mrs. Summers is that person?"
"Yes."
Ramsey nodded, tugged on his beard some again, then said, "Tell me is Mrs. Summers' daughter, in fact, the current Slayer?"
"She is."
"And she is eighteen?"
Giles nodded.
"Then she survived the test. Impressive."
"Buffy is nothing if not impressive," Giles said with no small amount of pride in his voice.
"Buffy!" Ramsey repeated with a chuckle, "Those Americans and their new ideas."
Giles resisted the temptation to inform the man that his staid olde England would one day be capable of producing a Ginger, a Posh and a Scary. Instead, he walked over to snoring Gussie and sniffed the glass on the table next to him.
"Tincture of laudanum?"
"Yes, just a pinch. Harmless, but enough to allow us to speak freely." Ramsey crossed the room and sat in the chair to Gussie's right. Giles sat opposite him. "We must be prepared for anything, Mr.Giles. Wolf can be a very dangerous man. He is no doubt aware of your arrival and is plotting as we speak.
~~~~~~ From his place in the dark, Philan heard everything. The narrow space tucked behind the bookcase on the east wall of the Fergusson's library was cramped and airless but it afforded the stable hand ample opportunity to eavesdrop on any conversation taking place there. He had learned much, Wolf would be pleased. And pay well. Watchers, the future, the Slayer; Philan understood none of it but true to a curious ability that had drawn Wolf Fergusson to him in the first place he would recall and repeat everything to Wolf word for word, and sell it for a good price.
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