”Now what?”
The tourists had lined up along a garden path and were filing slowly into the house.
”Time Tours will have made arrangements for cabriolet carriages to take us to various good hotels for the evening.”
”I thought carriages were called hansoms.”
Malcolm smiled. “Hansom cabs are very popular just now, but they’re small, two-wheeled affairs. Hansoms cannot carry any significant amount of luggage. Hence the need for something a bit sturdier.”
They joined the line and moved steadily toward the house. Margo wanted to rush forward and explore. She found it increasingly difficult to stand still.
”Patience,” Malcolm laughed. “We’ve an entire week ahead of us.”
”When will our cab be here?”
”Our hosts,” Malcolm said, glancing a little coldly at the liveried Time Tours guides, “will serve refreshments while carriages are summoned. We’ll be departing in small groups at least fifteen minutes apart, to help reduce the chance that anyone will notice the number of people coming and going from this house.”
”How did Time Tours get hold of this place?”
Malcolm said quietly, “I’m told the spinster lady who owned it had a fit of the vapors the first time the Britannia Gate opened in her garden. When it happened several weeks in a row, she sold the place cheaply to a scout and retired permanently to Scotland. Time Tours bought it from the scout.”
Margo hadn’t considered what people down time must think when a gate opened right in front of them.
”Who was the scout?”
Malcolm shrugged. “Your grandfather.”