Sat, May 19 2012
Several weeks later, late at night, Phileas Fogg found himself standing in his own study in his own house staring into a glass of brandy watching the reflections the firelight created in it with a major decision on his mind. He was recovering from the Count’s use of the mind screw well. He would have a small scar to add to his collection, but not an overly noticeable one.
The League’s hideout, north of London, had been raided six hours after their escape. It had been found abandoned. There had been broken equipment and small fires everywhere, attesting to an attempt to destroy information, but no people had been found.
Unknown to him, his cousin and companions in captivity had been hatching an ingenious plot. Passepartout had rigged small chemical explosives in the workroom to create a distraction which had allowed Jules to duck down under a table flipping a switch that had been wired directly into the time machine’s controls. He had caused the thing to start on its prescribed journey, taking the Count and his two minions with it. They had not, however, been sent into Andrea Westland’s future.
Jules had also changed the controls slightly. The Count had traveled back instead of forward in time, to December twelfth of the year 1004. The area the time machine had been sitting on at that time would have been nothing but a heavily wooded forest. The machine would have reappeared under that forest, hopefully causing no one trouble ever again.
‘The Count had been beaten, finally!’ Fogg thought with great satisfaction.
Passepartout and Jules had conceived the plan. Rebecca and Mrs. Westland had decided on how to get the Count on the time machine again by causing the monster to doubt Fogg’s trustworthiness in doing as he had been told without direct control. Andrea had then called Fogg away for his good-bye kiss to save him from joining the Count on his last time trip. Fogg had been very carefully kept blind to what had been planned through Mrs. Westland’s interventions. It had been a brilliant plan really. Truly brilliant!
Mrs. Westland . . . Andrea, Fogg then thought in regret, was presently upstairs in his guestroom asleep. There was now no way to return the lady to her own time. She had agreed that fate to help Passepartout's plan along, consigning herself to permanent separation from her former life.
The woman did have knowledge of this time due to her prior vocation, Fogg then allowed. She could and was adjusting to her new surroundings well. Rebecca had been taking her under wing, providing her with clothing and the basics of a woman's life. The brave lady had been doing very well, but she could not continue to act as his house guest forever. Phileas, in his mind, felt directly responsible for placing her in this situation and it therefore became his responsibility to make a place for her.
With the decision made, he put his glass down. Fogg would go wake her now for privacy to ask Andrea to marry him. She might object to the idea at first, but Phileas would be patient and persistent. He did not love her, but that could come in time. ‘This was a matter of propriety and duty,’ Phileas acknowledged within himself. He had no doubts of the rightness of his course or that with determination he would not in time win her over.
Fogg then turned, left the study and had just reached the stairs when a sudden attack of dizziness hit him. It increased in strength sending a deep hard bout of nausea through his stomach. He dropped to his knees in the hall fighting to get a grip on himself.
‘What in the world caused this!’ his mind called out. There was no real pain, just acute disorientation. Slowly, the attack lessened.
A pair of strong hands took him under the arms from behind to raise him up. Then he was lead back to the study. Phileas was then gently settled into his favorite chair to wait the attack of dizziness out.
“Thank you,” Fogg called out to Passepartout. “Some water please,” he asked?
A glass was pressed into his hand. As the dizziness cleared, Phileas saw that it wasn’t his servant’s hand that offered it. The fingers were too long and the skin too light and aged. When he looked up, it was not his manservant's face he saw either, but his own he looked into, his own face . . . but older.
There was no black in the hair, no long sideburns ornamenting the face. Age lines had taken a stronger hold. The eyes were sympathetic to his confusion and smiled down at gently. Those eyes did not seem to belong in that face though, the younger man thought. They were the right shade of green, but they were far too . . . cheerful, happy? They did not window the soul he knew.
The apparition that owned those eyes then sat down in the chair next to him and waited out the younger’s scrutiny. Fogg looked over his other self a second time from head to toe. The suit the man wore was excellent, but looked like a funeral ensemble. It was completely black with the exception of the crisp shirt. The lines were different, some variation on a theme to be introduced in future seasons perhaps.
‘Yes, a future Phileas Fogg,’ he thought. ‘It had to be.’
”I suspect you have deduced who I am by now,” his older self said addressing him. “I must tell you why now and get on with my business. This meeting of selves can be problematic and should not be prolonged unnecessarily.”
”Time travel again?” The younger Fogg said with disgust. “Have we not done enough damage with that already?” He demanded of the older man.
”A great deal,” his gray-headed guest agreed gravely. “I trust I caught you before you went upstairs to see Mrs. Westland? Before you bother saying anything, let me tell you what's going to happen. The lady will refuse us,” he informed the younger bluntly. “Your persistence will gain you nothing. She will leave us to take on a teaching position at a ladies academy in Essex. And then, two years from now; will die of pneumonia. Andrea Westland will then be added to our collection of greatest regrets.”
Phileas took in that mouth full of prophecy knowing in a flash why this trip was made. “You have come to take her home,” the younger Phileas stated.
”Exactly,” the older said. “When young Al's time machine, which we sent drifting in time, reappeared, I took possession of it and made this trip one of my priorities. The woman doesn't belong here friend,” the older man said gently, “and nothing we could do made her part of it.
Go wake her now. I will take her back to her own time a day after Count Gregory and we took her away and then see her safely back to the hotel and her proper life.”
‘Presumptuous bastard,’ Phileas thought! ‘And what if I choose not to allow my houseguest to go with you?’ For all the resemblance, this man was no future contingency he could fathom. The old man’s manner grated mightily! ‘But the decision to go or stay was of course Andrea’s, not his,’ he reminded himself. He had no business withholding this from her.
“All right,” the younger Phileas then said, countering his outburst. “I will wake her.” Fogg then stood carefully lest the dizziness come back.
”A reaction to our being together in the same moment,” the older man explained without prompting. “A momentary effect.”
Nodding acknowledgement, the younger man then turned again to the stairs and climbed them heading for his guestroom.
The lady was found sleeping, but woke as he moved into the room. She looked up in confusion as his presence, sitting up on her elbows. ”Is there something wrong Phileas?” Andrea asked.
”No,” Fogg answered. “May I?” Phileas then asked, gesturing toward the side of the bed.
The woman was understandably confused at his requesting an audience so late, but gave him permission to sit. Andrea then sat up further in bed to face him. The thick cotton gown she wore was, to her, modest enough for company. Its collar ruffles went to the chin, sleeves to the wrists and hem to the floor.
”Andrea, you need to consider making a place for yourself here,” he said in defiance of his older self's predictions. Phileas would be damned if he would let that old man make his decisions for him!
“We have made a good start on a companionable relationship. If you would give me permission, I would make it my life's work to make you happy here. Marry me Andrea?” Phileas asked.
He had taken her hands in his as he had talked. Phileas then raised one to his lips and kissed it. Then he began to bring her into an embrace. There was urgency in his mind. He had come to have great respect and admiration for this woman. Phileas did not want her to leave.
The lady, in response, backed away from him pulling her hands free. “Phileas, no,” she asserted firmly!
The surprised man stopped in mid-gesture and did as ordered. Even with forewarning, he had not really expected her to refuse so forcefully.
“You cannot do this,” the lady said quickly. “It's a mistake!”
”There would be no mistake in my making such a beautiful woman my wife,” he assured her softly. “I know we could do well together.”
The lady then started to say something, but dropped her eyes and smiled. She even chuckled at his gallant pronouncement, but she was shaking her head negatively too. “That is very flattering Phileas, but that is not what I meant. Phileas, I cannot marry you. Truthfully, I would make a very poor wife for a man of this time. At any rate, you are on record as having something else in store for you and I will not get in the way of that happening.”
”That talk of my dying a, what was it . . . a pampered happy old man,” Fogg quoted from memory. “How do you know that future does not include you?”
”Because I could not give you children and you I assume would one day like to have an heir?” She said frankly.
Fogg was momentarily stunned at that announcement.
Andrea then took the advantage and continued. “I am being as honest with you in this as I can, Phileas. I will not go into details, but it is not possible for me to conceive again. I read some of how the future is supposed to work out for you. If you marry me you change history and the Foggs that are supposed to come after you will never be born. I am not going to get in the way of another woman's happiness and the birth of your future children just because you are noble enough to offer me their place,” she said gently. “It would be selfish and change too much.
I have already given some thought of my future here,” Andrea went on changing the subject. “I am going to look for a teaching position. Some girl's boarding school or college will do. I like teaching. I will do fine,” she then said taking his hand again. “Don't worry for me.”
‘It is just as he said,’ Phileas acknowledged, and reluctantly gave up the fight. He then set himself and said what he should have upon entering this room.
“No Andrea, you won't do fine. You need to go back to your own time,” Phileas told her firmly, placing her hands in her lap. “Downstairs, a way for you to return to your own time is waiting. Get dressed. I will tell your escort you are on your way.” Fogg then stood up and left the room before Andrea recovered from the shock of his words.
When he returned to the study, his older self was found still seated in the study. “She refused us again.”
”She did,” Phileas admitted, silently damning him. “How had the older man known what he had done?”
Shortly, Andrea came downstairs in the light blue wool dress and cloak she had made her original journey in. The two Phileas Foggs stood to greet her. The older stepped forward in greeting and then offered his arm to escort the surprised lady to the back of the house where the time machine was waiting.
“It has been just as you told me,” the senior Fogg said quietly to her as they walked to the back door. “Thank you,” he offered with a kiss to her hand.
Phileas the younger stopped at the back door not wanting to follow further. Andrea Westland then turned back to him questioningly. Fogg just watched from the porch for her to continue. Andrea then left the older man’s side to come back to him. She walked back up the steps and looked up into his face for just a moment before moving forward to give him a hug and kiss he took eagerly.
”I'm sorry,” Andrea said coming close to tears; tears of joy for her return home and the confirmation that she had made the right choice. “This is for the better. I have a husband and should be getting back to him. And you have things coming to you soon that will be far better for you than I.”
She then turned and followed the older Fogg into the time machine. Moments after the door closed, the machine quickly blinked out of sight.
Phileas just stood at the back door for a long time before quietly closing it as he heard Rebecca's voice calling to him from inside. Rebecca met him at the entrance to the kitchen in her dressing gown.
“What's going on?” She asked sleepily. “I thought I heard voices.”
”You did,” he explained stiffly. “A future time machine came to take Mrs. Westland home.”
”I see,” Rebecca said in acceptance.
She considered his downcast look and was sorry for him, but thankful at the same time. Her cousin's sense of honor would have forced him to do something rash before too much longer, and Rebecca knew that Andrea Westland would refuse the offer he would make.
Andrea and Rebecca had become close quickly. The woman had been animate about making a place for herself somewhere where her presence could do the least damage. That had very pointedly included decreasing her proximity to Phileas for some reason.
Privately, Rebecca wondered again what had gone on during the weeks they had been out of sight. Mrs. Westland, only yesterday, had asked Rebecca's help her in finding a teaching position. “A small boarding school somewhere would be the ideal place to disappear to,” the lady had said.
“Come have a glass with me,” Rebecca offered her cousin as she shook off her recollections. “We can toast her happiness and wish some for ourselves too.”
”You know something I don't?” her cousin asked.
”Nothing for sure,” Rebecca said smiling, “just being hopeful.”
”I'll drink to that,” Phileas then said, bringing out a glass of sherry for both of them when they reached the study again. Count Gregory had been defeated and the League would likely be in disarray with no direct leader. Verne had returned to France to his studies, safe for now from evil plots and Rebecca had no missions in the offing, which meant they could enjoy each other’s company in peace. Under those circumstances, the immediate future did seem uncharacteristically bright.
“To a hopeful future,” he said and then drained the glass to its last drop.
The End
Chapter 10 | Chapter 11