I took the toasting fork away from her. “Known all about what?”

“Never even guessed,” the cook said from the stove. “All those fine airs and giving orders. It just goes to show you.”

This wasn’t getting anywhere, and I was running out of time. I decided to try the direct approach. “What time is it?” I asked.

Jane looked frightened all over again.

“Nine o’clock,” the cook said, consulting a watch pinned to her bosom.

“Nine o’clock, and I’ve got to be taking it up to them,” Jane said and burst into tears. “He said not to be taking it up till the morning post’d come, so as to give them enough time, and it’s always here by nine o’clock.” She wiped her eyes on the tail of her apron and straightened, steeling herself. “I’d best be going up and see if it’s been.”

I was going to ask, “Take what up?” but was afraid it would bring on a fresh round of tears and incoherencies. And there was no telling what the response might be if I asked them what day it was. “Tell Baine to bring me a copy of the Times. I’ll be in the library,” I said, and went outside.

At least it was still summer, and, on closer inspection, June. The roses were still in bloom, and the peonies, destined to serve as prototypes for countless penwipers, were still just coming out. As was Colonel Mering, carrying a burlap sack toward the fishpond. As oblivious and absorbed with his goldfish as he very likely was, I still didn’t want to have an encounter with him until I knew how much time had elapsed.

Accordingly, I ducked around the side of the house. I’d go round to the groom’s door, through the stable, and from there to the French doors and the parlor. I slipped in the groom’s door. And nearly tripped over Cyril. He was lying on a burlap sack with his chin on his paws.

“You wouldn’t happen to know the time, would you?” I said. “And the date?”

And here was another sign that something was wrong. Cyril didn’t get up. He simply raised his head, looked at me with an expression like the Prisoner of Zenda, and lay it back down again.

“What is it, Cyril? What’s wrong?” I said, and reached to tug on his collar. “Are you ill?” And saw the chain.

“Good Lord,” I said to him. “Terence hasn’t married her, has he?”

Cyril continued to gaze hopelessly at me. I unhooked the chain. “Come along, Cyril,” I said. “We’ll go straighten this out.”

He staggered to his feet and trotted after me resignedly. I went out of the stables and around to the front of the house to find Terence. He was down at the Merings’ dock, sitting in the boat and staring at the river, his head sunk nearly as low as Cyril’s had been when he’d been left to guard the boat.

“What are you doing out here?” I said.

He looked up dully. “ ‘The mirror crack’d from side to side,’ ” he said. “ ‘Out flew the web and floated wide,’ ” which didn’t exactly clarify things.

“Cyril was chained up in the stable,” I said to him.

“I know,” Terence said without moving his gaze. “Mrs. Mering caught me sneaking him upstairs last night.”

So at least a full day and night had passed since our departure, and I’d better think of an explanation for my absence quickly before Terence asked me where I’d been.

But he simply went on gazing out at the river. “He was right, you know. About how it happens.”

“How what happens?”

“Fate,” he said bitterly.

“Cyril was chained up,” I said.

“He’s got to become accustomed to being in the stable,” he said dully. “Tossie doesn’t approve of animals in the house.”

“Animals?” I said. “This is Cyril we’re talking about. And what about Princess Arjumand? She sleeps on the pillows.”

“I wonder if she woke up that morning, happy as a lark, no idea her doom was going to come upon her.”

“Who?” I said. “Princess Arjumand?”

“I hadn’t a clue, you know, even when we were pulling into the station. Professor Peddick was talking about Alexander the Great and the battle of Issus, something about the decisive moment and everything depending on it, and I’d no idea.”

“You got Professor Peddick safely back to Oxford, didn’t you?” I said, suddenly worried. “He didn’t get off the train to go look for gravel bottoms?”

“No,” he said. “I delivered him into the arms of his loved ones. Into the arms of his loved ones,” he repeated anguishedly. “And just in time. Professor Overforce was about to deliver his funeral oration.”

“What did he say?”

“He fainted dead away,” Terence said, “and when he came to, he flung himself at Professor Peddick’s knees, babbling about how he’d never have forgiven himself if he’d drowned and how he’d seen the error of his ways, how Professor Peddick was right, a single thoughtless action could change the course of history and he intended to go straight home and tell Darwin not to jump out of trees anymore. And yesterday he announced he was withdrawing his candidacy for the Haviland Chair in favor of Professor Peddick.”

“Yesterday?” I said. “When did you take Professor Peddick to Oxford? The day before yesterday?”

“Yesterday?” Terence said vaguely. “Or was it an eon ago? Or a single moment? ‘We shall all be changed in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye.’ There one is on one’s island, weaving away, and the next thing one knows… I didn’t properly understand poetry, you know. I thought it was all just a way of speaking.”

“What was?”

“Poetry. All that about dying for love. And mirrors cracking from side to side. It did, you know. Clean across.” He shook his head sadly. “I never understood why she didn’t just row down to Camelot and tell Lancelot she loved him.” He stared gloomily out at the water. “Well, I know now. He was already engaged to Guinevere.”

Well, not exactly engaged, since Guinevere was already married to King Arthur, and at any rate, there were more important things to be addressed.

“Cyril’s too sensitive to be chained up,” I said.

“We are all, all in chains. Bound, helpless and raging, in the adamantine chains of fate. Fate!” he said bitterly. “Oh, wretched Fate that let us meet too late. I thought she’d be one of those dreadful modern girls, all bloomers and bluestocking ideas. He told me I’d like her, you know. Like her!”

“Maud,” I said, the light finally dawning. “You’ve met Professor Peddick’s niece Maud.”

“There she was, standing on the railway platform at Oxford. ‘Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.’ ”

“The railway platform,” I said wonderingly. “You met her on the railway platform at Oxford. But that’s wonderful!”

“Wonderful?” he said bitterly. “ ‘Too late I loved you, O Beauty ever ancient and ever new! Too late I loved you!’ I am engaged to Miss Mering.”

“But can’t you break the engagement? Miss Mering surely wouldn’t want you to marry her knowing you loved Miss Peddick.”

“I am not free to love anyone. I bound that love to Miss Mering when I pledged my troth to her, and Miss Peddick would not want a love without honor, a love I had already promised to another. Oh, if I had only met Miss Peddick that day in Oxford, how different things—”

“Mr. Henry, sorr,” Jane interrupted, running up to us, her cap askew and her red hair coming down. “Have you seen Colonel Mering?”

Oh, no, I thought. Mrs. Mering caught Verity on her way up the stairs. “What’s wrong?” I said.

“I must find the Colonel first,” she said, which was no answer. “He said I was to be giving it to him at breakfast but he isn’t there, and the mail’s come and all.”

“I saw the Colonel going out to the fishpond,” I said. “Give him what? What’s happened?”

“Oh, sorr, you gentlemen had best both go inside,” she said, in an agony. “They’re in the parlor.”

“Who? Is Verity there? What’s happened?” I said, but she had already taken off at a run for the fishpond, her skirts flying.