Everywhere on the Kingsley estate, June 28 hummed with excitement. Before the sun came up, Pete and Weasel had the horses ready just as Bailey told them. They polished the coaches and lined them up at the side of the big house. At the first light, the coachmen inspected everything before settling themselves into their places and driving around to the front where the guests waited for their rides to London.
As the last of the guest coaches pulled away, Mrs. Greenly arrived, waving her arms, her hat ribbons fluttering and her cheeks the color of red berries. “Must hurry, you two. Come!”
Pete and Weasel ran after her, up the back steps to the big house and into a long corridor of doors.
Mrs. Greenly pushed open one of the doors. “Your bath is ready. Put on these clothes,” she pointed at two sets of pants, shirts and jackets laid out on the bed. “I hope these boots fit. They are all I could find among Master William’s things on such short notice.” She hurried to the door. “Meet us at the stable. No dilly dallying, boys. We cannot be late this day.”
A tin tub sat in the center of the small room. Steam spiraled into the air.
Pete sniffed. “Smells like—”
“It’s lavender,” Weasel said. He dipped his hand into the water. “And the water’s hot.”
“You go ahead first.” Pete went to the window and stared out at the stable. Behind him, Weasel slid into the tub with a sigh.
“Ahhhh! I’m, like, so much in love with hot water right now,” Weasel said.
“Well, get over it and fast. Mr. Greenly’s on his way to the stable. He’ll be pulling the carriage around soon.”
After they washed, they dressed in the clothes Mrs. Greenly had set out.
“Whoa! Get a load of this!” Pete’s jacket stretched tight across his shoulders. He tugged the sleeves down over his wrists, but the sleeves inched back up as soon as he let go, so it looked as if the jacket had been shrink-wrapped around him. He ran his finger between the high collar of his shirt and his neck, trying to loosen it. “Man, is this bad.”
“Wait till you put on the boots.” Weasel jammed his feet into the second boot and groaned.
“Do I look like a dork or what?” Pete stood in front of a dresser mirror, shaking his head. He’d never gotten to Mr. Peebles for that haircut last month like Aunt Lizzie had told him, so now his hair curled over the top of the collar and his bangs hid his eyebrows.
Without his glasses Weasel squinted into the mirror, licked his fingers and slicked down his cowlick. “Who cares. Let’s get out of here, find Wraith and go home.”
He was smaller than Pete, so his jacket didn’t tug tight across his chest and the high collar was loose, but his feet were bigger. He stumbled down the back steps after Pete. “Ouch. Ouch. And ouch.” He walked as if he had rocks inside his boots.
“How lovely,” Mrs. Greenly said, waving them to hurry.
By way of greeting, Mr. Greenly grunted as they climbed inside the carriage.
The ride into London was much different from the one they’d taken only a couple of days ago. This time they smelled like lavender and sat inside with Mrs. Greenly. Pete pulled at the stiff collar. Weasel wriggled his feet and complained about his sore toes.
“Stop your fidgeting, lads.” Mrs. Greenly shook her finger at them. “Young gentlemen do not fidget.”
Weasel leaned his head against the side of the cab, his legs stretched out. “My toes are numb. Fidgeting helps with the circulation.”
Mrs. Greenly pursed her lips, then said, “You lads must fit in. Miss Margaret is counting on you.” To herself she mumbled, “What is that girl thinking?”
“We’ll do our best,” Pete pulled the jacket sleeves down over his wrists and held them there.
An hour later, the carriage pulled to a stop in front of a three-storied building with stone lions on either side of a door that glittered with gold paint. Over the entrance a plaque read, “Peligrin Scientific Society.” Pete and Weasel stepped out onto a street lined with raised platforms and filled with men, women and children. Overhead, people crowded onto balconies, leaning over railings, calling to one another. It reminded Pete of the big holiday parades at home.
“Come along,” Mrs. Greenly said, pushing them up the steps. She rapped the gilt knocker and waited until the door opened.
“Two guests of Lord Kingsley,” she told the man who peered out at them. She handed him a large card. He read it, glanced at Pete and Weasel, then stepped aside.
“Go on with you,” she said. “Mr. Greenly and I will return with the carriage after the ceremony.”
They followed the man who’d let them in and climbed the winding staircase until they came to a large room with open doors that led onto balconies.
Margaret stood in one of those doorways and waved them to come. “Quickly. The royal coach will be here shortly.”
As they stepped onto the balcony, cheers rose from the crowds lining the streets.
It was only a few moments before eight white horses, pulling a gold leaf-decorated carriage, drew into sight. Bells rang. Cheers grew louder and people waved. They threw flowers.
Weasel gripped the railing. His knuckles went white, and for a moment Pete was sure Weasel was going to be sick. He had that jar-of-paste-with-freckles look, the one he got whenever he was about to hurl.
Pete stared down at the coach passing under them. Inside sat a blond man and a dark-haired woman who wore lots of glittery jewels.
She looked up from her window. And it seemed as if her eyes were focused right at the two of them leaning over the balcony railing. Then she smiled and nodded.
Weasel gasped. “She smiled at me.”
“That’s Queen Victoria?” Pete said. “She sure doesn’t look like her picture in that book of yours.”
“She’s eighteen now. In the picture she was over eighty.” Weasel swiped his forehead. “This is…this is…Wow!”
Pete clapped Weasel on the back. “Like wow and holy beans!”
“Don’t try to tool me, okay? This is good. Getting home is better.”
“Weasel is correct,” Margaret said, “and today we’ll seek out our doctor. In my vision he will be at Number 20 Piccadilly this day.”
The guests on the balcony were chatting now that the queen’s carriage was no longer in sight. They stood and began to cluster around the tables of food. Pete and Weasel copied what the others did, taking food onto plates and moving slowly around the room. They stayed in the background and hoped nobody would ask them anything.
The best part for Pete was the cake, and he ate until his breeches fit tighter than his jacket. Weasel sat nibbling, but Pete could tell his mind wasn’t on the food from the way he kept staring off into space, grinning. Once in a while he held up a foot and wiggled it, then rubbed the toes of his boots.
Two men gave speeches. Musicians played. Laughter sprang up among different groups.
A few hours later Margaret found them. “Come,” she said. “I’ve instructed Mr. Greenly to bring the coach while we still have daylight. The streets should have cleared somewhat by now, and he’ll take us to Piccadilly.”
Margaret said a few quick words to her father, who glanced for a moment at Pete and Weasel. Pete was sure he was trying to figure out where they fit into the family. Maybe he wondered what his daughter was up to this time, but he didn’t seem upset. She kissed his cheek, and he walked with her through the clusters of relatives and guests as she said goodbye.
Margaret signaled Pete and Weasel to follow, and they were quickly out the door, down the stairs and on the wide stoop of the Peligrin Scientific Society.
The carriage, with Mr. Greenly gripping the reins and Mrs. Greenly peering out of the coach window, waited outside. Margaret climbed in and sat next to Mrs. Greenly. Pete and Weasel sat across from them, and soon they were making their way slowly through the still crowded streets. When they arrived at Piccadilly Circus, Mr. Greenly slowed even more. Pete searched for Number 20.
Number 21 came right after Number 19 and before Number 22, but Number 20 wasn’t in between.
“Just like I said, twenty’s not here.” Pete sat back in his seat, his arms crossed, his lips pressed together in a hard line.
“It is here,” Margaret said. “We’re simply not seeing it.” She tapped on the ceiling of the cab and Mr. Greenly pulled to a stop. Margaret stepped onto the street, Mrs. Greenly behind her. Pete and Weasel climbed down after them and stared up at the narrow house.
Pete walked to the door for a closer look, then shrugged. It was only an everyday, ordinary door with an everyday number and an everyday latch. “Just as I said there’s no—” At that moment, the Number 21 shimmered in the fading light. “Huh?”
He blinked and rubbed his eyes, then he touched the number. It wriggled under his finger.
“Holy beans!” Jerking his hand away, he jumped back. He landed on the bottom step next to Weasel and Mrs. Greenly, who clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. Margaret steadied her by the elbow.
“It…It turned…into twenty!” Weasel said.
The horses pawed the ground and shook their heads.
“We’d best leave, Miss Margaret,” Mr. Greenly said, tightening the reins. “This is not a good place. Even the animals know it.”
“Nonsense.” Margaret hurried up the steps, rapped on the door and waited.
Margaret Kingsley was braver than any girl Pete knew at Cogglesworth or anywhere in Hadleyville. She was braver than any of the guys, too. He didn’t like admitting she was braver than he was, but he wasn’t at that door knocking. And right now he didn’t have any plan to climb to that top step.
The sun shifted low and cast their shadows against the building. When their dark images stretched long enough to blot out the entrance, the door swung slowly open. Chilled air drifted from inside.
Pete’s jaw dropped and he stared up into the darkness.
“Enter.” A hollow voice came from inside. “And make it snappy.”
Mrs. Greenly took in a sharp breath and backed away. Without taking her gaze from the house, she felt for the carriage behind her until she bumped into it, then she quickly grasped the handle, pressed it down, and scrambled inside, slamming the door behind her.
Mr. Greenly held onto the reins, but the horses, their eyes rolled back, strained to get away.
“Mr. Greenly,” Margaret said, “you may go down the street and wait there. We will find you when our business is done.”
The coachman didn’t argue. He loosened the reins and the horses bolted away.
Seeing the carriage disappear around the corner, Pete cringed. His head throbbed from the chilled air that poured through the open door. He ran a finger under the tight collar at his neck. In spite of the cold, his neck was damp with sweat.
Weasel clutched the railing.
Margaret didn’t go inside, but she didn’t back down either.
“Okay. Okay,” Pete murmured, making fists and clenching his teeth. If this was Dr. Dread Wraith, he was closer to getting out of 1837. He didn’t have a choice but to find out.
He took one slow step up and past Weasel. Then another and another until he was shoulder to shoulder with Margaret.
“Dr. Wraith?” he called, but not very loudly.
The door opened wider. “Come in. Now!” the same hollow voice said, and it echoed as if the house was large and very empty.
Pete stepped over the threshold, looked back at Margaret, then down at Weasel. “Are you…coming?”
Margaret nodded, then went to stand next to Pete. Weasel glanced at the dark street. Pete knew how Weasel’s brain worked. Weasel was weighing the only two choices he had—stay on that street alone or go inside the house with Margaret and him. It was a while before Weasel let go of the railing and joined them, one slow footstep after another.
As soon as all three were off the stoop the door slammed behind them and they were sealed in darkness.
Pete’s heart hurled itself against his chest so hard it made a steady thudding sound. Weasel panted hot breaths against Pete’s back, and Margaret’s hand gripped his arm.
Pete waited for his eyes to get used to the blackness, but that didn’t happen.
“Try calling him,’ Margaret said, her voice next to his ear.
Pete choked, then swallowed. “Uh, Dr. Wraith?”
Weasel grabbed Pete’s other arm. “Look up.” His voice shook.
Overhead spirals of white vapor swirled, growing bigger and thicker each second. Then in a sudden swoosh, the vapor flowed around them like an icy stream.
“It’s about time.” The voice echoed throughout the dark space.