by Gill Jepson
“Tom!”
“Aye ‘tis me!” Tom grinned, “And what perils art thou in now? I thought we had vanquished the evil one – surely nought can be amiss?”
James was as stiff as an ironing board, he had not moved since they had landed so abruptly on top of Tom. His face was immobile and his eyes were as round as dishes.
“Er… this is James… erm Sir James actually, Sir James Ramsden, mayor of Barrow, James – this is Tom… er…” Rob was at a loss to tell him Tom’s surname.
“Tom RALLISON, Customs Officer for Rampside, at your service your Lordship!” he emphasised the Rallison and bowed with a flourish to James.
James merely blinked.
Rob felt pity. He understood how strange it was when you first slipped out of time. He patted him on the shoulder.
“It’s alright James, you’ll get used to this… we are in another time,” he glanced around him, “and place by the look of it.”
“Another time… how will we return to…” the words stuck in his throat.
Rob shrugged and this was echoed by Tom.
“Worry not Sir, things will right themselves. ’Tis mightily disturbing but thou shall become accustomed to it. So why art thou here?” he addressed Rob again.
“We have lost a great treasure and the power it holds is changing time and we have to find it to put it right. Nate and my sister are ill and they will not be safe until it’s found. But I don’t know why we’re here… your treasure – the sword – is still safe.”
Tom looked thoughtful and he took off his hat. He was suddenly taking charge and bade them follow him.
*
It was only now that they were able to take in their surroundings properly. They were on the roadside, which really resembled a dirt track more than a road. Tom led them onward past fields and hedgerows, the wind blowing from the sea. Behind them was the coast and from this the distance they could see Piel and the other isles. Ahead was countryside, with few buildings. They marched on past the squat church of St Michael and on down the road towards Barrow.
“Thou said yon man is Mayor of Barrow?” Tom hissed quietly to Rob.
“Yeah he is!”
“Barrow? ’Tis a meagre village with no more than 150 souls – he must be the local madman if he thinks he be mayor!” he shot a wary glance at poor James, who did not look his usual commanding self in this situation.
“He is from Victorian times,” explained Rob.
Tom looked blankly.
“I mean… he lives in… 1880 something… you know the 19th century.”
Tom looked askance and then nodded.
A small group of cottages appeared on the brow of the hill. Moorhead. The cottages were simple and smoke meandered from the chimneys. Small strips of cultivated land surrounded them and chickens ran free in the dusty yard. Washing blew, billowing in the wind like sails and children played in the yard. A small grubby boy, dressed in breeches and shirt and with no shoes on his dirty feet ran up to Tom excitedly.
Tom lifted the child and threw him above his head, making him giggle. He held him and gave him a rough hug.
“Ha my lad, hast tha been good for thy mother?” Tom said.
The child giggled and snuggled into his father’s shoulder. Rob looked on surprised. Tom seemed young to have a child, but he remembered Nate had told him that Dolly was expecting a child when they had last seen him.
“This is my boy… Nathaniel,” Tom informed them. “He will be four in the summer.”
Rob smiled and pointed at the boy.
“Aye we named him for thy brother,” Tom confirmed what Rob was silently thinking.
On cue a young woman appeared at the doorway. She was a striking young lady with hair like burnished gold, unruly wisps of hair escaping from her white cap. She was short and slight, but with a formidable attitude, which showed in her determined heart shaped face.
“So Tom, thou hast fetched visitors with thee?”
“Aye and they have travelled some way,” he replied wryly.
James nodded politely and Rob smiled. He had never met Dolly, but had heard all about her from Nate.
The all trooped into the cottage behind her. It was simple, clean and tidy, with even less in the way of comforts than George’s house and distinctly less than Abbot’s Wood.
*
They were waved towards the roughly hewn bench on one side of the table. It was well worn, old and polished with a high back and carved sides. They sat down as they had been bidden and rested against the large wooden table. A large fire burned in a wide grate with various cooking pots suspended above it. Dolly poured a golden liquid from an earthenware jug into large glass tumblers. The glass was opaque and crude but very similar to those, which Rob drank from at home. Both strangers sipped the liquid cautiously. It was thick and cloyingly sweet with a distinct taste of apples.
“Splendid cider Madame,” acknowledged James politely.
Rob raised his eyebrows; it tasted much stronger than any cider he had ever tasted.
“So Tom, who do we have visiting us on this fine day?” asked Dolly.
“Dolly, thou will not believe it… but this,” indicating Rob, “is young Nate’s brother… dost thou remember… the one with the great roaring horseless carriage?”
The memory of the day they travelled in Rob’s car rushed back and the dawn of recognition spread across her face.
“Ah that I do… and where is Nate? Has he not come with thee?”
She said this as though it was the most natural thing in the world to travel back and forth through time.
“No, not this time, I’m afraid he is… not well,” said Rob.
They sat around the simple table and talked about the difficulties facing Rob and Sir James. Dolly was slightly star struck at having a mayor in her kitchen; people of his stature were held in great esteem in her day.
*
The hours drew on and there was no sign of them being whisked back to their timelines. Dusk fell as the dying sun sank into the west and very soon the farm was covered with darkness. Tom lit the candles, but most of the light came from the fire. Dolly busied herself making them supper and putting the child to bed. He was placed in a box bed in the loft above the main room and Rob wondered if, like when he was a child, he was afraid of the dark because it certainly seemed a lot darker here than at home. Supper over, they returned to the discussion about what they could do to retrieve the treasure.
*
“There must be a reason you are both sent here to us – it cannot be chance. When we met with you before, our paths crossed to allow us to save the sword did they not?” remarked Tom.
“He may well have something Rob. I’ll wager there is a way to find the chalice by being here,” agreed James.
“But what? What clues can there be here? After all… it will be another hundred or more years from now that we find the chalice with Miss Sheriff… so how can it help… ?”
Suddenly, like a light bulb going on Rob realised just how useful it would be to be thrown into a much earlier time.
“Oh my God! That’s the point!” he cried, “The chalice is still hidden – they don’t know we are here and they don’t know where we found it! We can find it again… but sooner… much sooner!” His face broke into a big grin.
James slapped his knee and laughed heartily.
“By God! I think you’re right! We have the chance to rescue it again and keep it from those devils. We can yet save your sister and brother… and fulfil our promise to the old monk.” The years dropped away from him and the old James beamed through.
“We must repair to where you found this chalice… on the morrow,” Tom declared.
“Where was the place?” enquired Dolly.
“It was at Parkhouse farm, in the well Madame,” James said politely.
Tom and Dolly exchanged a glance, which suggested this would be a problem.
“Er… what’s up?” Rob said.
“Up? What dost thou mean?”
“Er… I mean… is that a problem?”
“’Tis not the best place to visit, I’ll warrant!” confirmed Tom.
James groaned.
“Why?”
“Rob, thou knowest I am the revenue man for this place?”
Rob nodded.
“So this means I come into contact with many rogues and vagabonds… and I have to tell thee that he who dwells at that farm is one such scoundrel. ’Twill be no easy matter to get thee into the dairy without attracting his attention. They do say he is a necromancer and evil doer and has much cunning.”
They all fell silent.
“Well let’s to bed, it may look better in the light of day,” said Dolly. “We have but one bed above, but we can find thee a straw mattress from the barn…” she caught sight of James’ look of horror and added, “Your Lordship can sleep upon the settle, I can give thee some blankets and a pillow to make thee comfortable.”
Neither of them was comfortable, both were unsettled and worried about the task that lay ahead. It seemed to Rob that it would never be over. Each time they thought they had won the day something went wrong.
*
The temperature dropped as the night drew on and Rob wondered how people survived during this era. He concluded that they were very hardy! His eyelids began to close and although he was cold he was tired. Just as he was about to drift off into sleep a loud scratching noise came from beside the dying embers of the fire. He heard it again and his eyes opened slowly-dreading what he would see. The scratching turned into a scurrying and within seconds there was screaming. A small mouse ran speedily across the room and over the rough blanket covering Rob. He leapt up and woke the household with his yelling. James nearly fell off the settle and the little boy cried. Tom rushed down the wooden ladder in his nightshirt expecting intruders. When he discovered what the problem was he howled with laughter. Mice were part of everyday life in the eighteenth century and certainly nothing to shout about.
*
Morning came sooner than Rob had hoped. The disturbed night met an early dawn start and he was drained of all energy. He had a wash with cold water from the outside pump using a piece of foul smelling soap which he wouldn’t have washed his dog with. The only benefit was that the cold water woke him up. James was less shocked at the arrangements for personal hygiene, having only benefitted from the luxury of a bathroom and running water in his later years. Once they had breakfasted upon some very gritty bread and cheese they turned to organising their plan to retrieve the treasure once again.
*
“We must be careful not to alert yon farmer that he holds something precious, or ’twill be God’s own task to prevent him from keeping it,” he said.
“Is there no other way we can get into the well, other than through the dairy?” enquired James.
“There may well be – but I know of none… though there be tales that the secret passages which lead to Piel do connect with the farm.”
“There is a way,” announced Dolly who was listening to the discussion.
The three men looked at her in expectation.
“My father… he knows of many of the tunnels… from his time with Swarbrick and his gang – the smugglers knew all the places to hide and stow away booty,” she blushed at the shameful remembrance.
Tom nodded and grinned.
“I had not thought on’t! This will be our best course – he can guide us to the best place and wouldst not dare speak on’t now he is father-in-law to the Preventive man for the district.”
“Of course any help would be useful, it is a great pity I have no access to my maps and plans in this time,” added James.
“Art thou coming with us your Lordship?” asked Tom, a little amazed.
“Tom… desist from calling me your Lordship… here in your time I am just as you, an ordinary man. My name is James. Plus… where else would I go? I would be foolish to leave Rob as we travelled here together and our fates are locked. Where he goes I must go too.”
Tom nodded, but did not look convinced.
*
They gathered up provisions to take with them, which Tom stuffed into a leather bag. They moved towards the door to leave when suddenly Dolly blocked their way.
“I will be with thee too. My father will not easily help thee without my persuasion. The child will be well looked after by Susannah, one more bairn will not harm.”
*
“Thou can come to see thy father but no more,” warned Tom.
Dolly set her face into a defiant stare, raising an eyebrow.
“I think Thomas that thou knowest, I will be with thee for the whole journey. I have seen greater dangers than these and survived.”
Tom opened his mouth to protest, but something about his wife’s demeanour stopped him from saying more.
Rob chuckled to himself. Dolly was a feisty one; no wonder his female family members had determined characters if this was their ancestress. He looked at her closely, recognising some startling similarities to his mum and sister. You wouldn’t want to cross her that was for sure. Maybe feminism wasn’t that new after all?
CHAPTER 20
A NEW QUEST AND OLD ADVERSARIES
They trekked across muddy fields for about a mile to the small village of Rampside. Rob was completely lost; he could not see any landmarks that he recognised. James spoke little and worried furrows crossed his brow as they walked. He was deep in thought and Rob could appreciate how he felt. He was becoming more used to the rapid transition from one time to another but he remembered clearly, his panic when it first happened. So much had passed and yet they were no nearer to rescuing the chalice than they had been. They approached the coast and both newcomers suddenly recognised where they were. The medieval fortress rose ahead of them at Piel and they could see the embracing arms of Walney Island across the narrow channel which would become so important in the development of Barrow in the future. James stopped to mop his brow with a large pocket-handkerchief. He gazed across the glimmering water to the headland at Barrow Village. The scene was rural and green, with only random houses dotted here and there. Roa Island to the south was a small isolated island between the mainland and Piel, unconnected by the causeway, which both James and Rob knew. Of course James had known this place well. It had been where the Furness Railway Company had first landed their locomotive.
*
They walked on until they reached a small and tumbledown inn. John Jackson, Dolly’s father was the innkeeper of this dilapidated establishment. His trade had diminished since he had turned his back on petty thievery and smuggling and he was no better tempered for it. He had been ashamed of his weakness and regretted placing his young daughter in danger, but he could not help but blame Tom. If he had not taken a fancy to Dolly, the business would be continuing. Instead he scraped a poor living running the alehouse, brewing beer to sell locally and making deliveries of goods and produce with his horse and cart. He was a bitter and disappointed man, alone since his wife had perished at Dolly’s birth. Some men thrive on adversity while others give into their weak character, blaming all but themselves for their fate. John Jackson was of the latter persuasion.
*
There was no warm welcome for Dolly as she entered her old home. Jackson was alone in the inn, lamenting his poor luck and smoking a clay pipe. Grey smoke wove a crooked halo around his head. He was unkempt and had a grey pallor, with dark circles beneath his eyes. He was seated in a wooden chair beside the fire and made no move to greet them as they came in. He perked up a little when he saw they were not alone and stood to serve the prospective customers.
*
“Nay we need no ale John, we have come to talk with thee,” Tom said.
“Aye well, thou hast killed my trade so I would not think thou would bring me custom!” he grumbled.
“Father… let it be… ’tis nigh on five years, be glad thou art still alive to tell the tale!” answered Dolly shortly.
He sighed heavily.
; *
James read the situation perfectly and took charge.
“My good man, we have some questions to ask. You will be well paid… if you answer them properly.”
The others glanced in astonishment.
Jackson straightened his posture and a small avaricious smile curled across his face.
“Aye… we need thy help… but ’tis a secret undertaking, thou can say nought of this,” added Tom, joining in.
*
Tom told him the briefest details because he did not altogether trust him. The old man, for he was above fifty, ran his hand through his greasy hair. He considered for a moment and retreated to another room. Within moments he returned with a roll of maps. These charts were as old, worn and grubby as he was himself. He rolled them onto the table, holding them down with a candleholder and an iron pot. He stroked the parchment flat and pored over it, as though it was a precious treasure. The maps were all ages and sizes, some were sea charts and others maps showing mine workings and villages. Jackson pointed with a gnarled and dirty finger tracing his way around the places shown on the map. He hesitated and then stabbed one hard, jabbing it with his fingernail.
*
They looked closely and could see some places they recognised. The abbey was prominent and the farm they were interested in was clearly drawn. Track ways and lanes meandered across the paper like a spider’s web and they tried hard to make sense of what they were seeing. Then, Rob recognised the name Boulton’s Common. He gasped with surprise. This was where he lived – he remembered being told that the house was built on common land and the name rang a bell immediately. The whole of the area was fields and agricultural land. Some way below the common was a Blacksmith’s and another farm but not the one they sought, further towards the abbey was Parkhouse Grange… this was the farm. Jackson pointed to the fields and a dotted line meandered from just above the common to the farm itself, another led away from the farm to the abbey and joined with a third from abbey to the coast and onto Piel.