The Derring-Do Club and the Year of the Chrononauts

by David Wake

  “They all claimed the bullet was meant for them: Caruthers, Merry, McKendry, Williams, even the coolie. It might have been Merry. I was at the front. I’ve no idea who was behind me, except that they all were.”

  Georgina blinked away her tears before they arrived. It sounded exciting and wonderful. They had a real brotherhood, which was far more than a mere Derring–Do Club with all its pretend camaraderie. The Colonel referred to a proper regiment. The Deering–Dolittle sisters only played at adventure and that was firmly in her past now.

  “We all took turns in saving the others,” the Colonel continued. “It was a competition, each of us going out to bat as it were. Marvellous days. They make a man of you. Whereas now you don’t know who to trust and the cold seeps into your bones. I’m sorry, my dear, old soldiers make the worst company.”

  Georgina put her hand on his arm: “I don’t think so.”

  Distantly a bell rang.

  “You must let him go,” the Colonel said.

  “I can’t, it’s–”

  The bell rang again.

  “Arthur would not want you to pine.”

  The bell rang a third time.

  “Fellowes!” Georgina shouted.

  “Ma’am.”

  Georgina couldn’t help smiling as the butler – her butler – made his way to the door.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam grinned too: “Well done, my dear, well done.”

  Miss Charlotte

  For a journey that started in Second Class, it ended somewhere below Third, when Earnestine and Charlotte persuaded a farmer to deliver them in a cart full of damp hay to Magdalene Chase with the help of a full shilling. There was money still hidden in the baggage, but all Earnestine had left in her purse was a shiny gold sovereign that Earnestine let Charlotte hold. It wouldn’t become legal tender for another twelve years. The glittering coin held such promise, but it was also a portent of death for it meant that Queen Victoria’s days were numbered, or so Earnestine said.

  But they made it.

  An old butler opened the door and looked at them with one eye as if he were taking aim.

  “We’re here to see the mistress of the house,” Earnestine announced.

  “Who shall I say?”

  “Miss Deering–Dolittle and Miss Charlotte.”

  “Very well, Miss and Miss.”

  The man let them in, noted the state of them and then showed them into a huge room filled with books.

  “Please wait in the library,” he said, rather obviously.

  “Lots of books,” said Charlotte.

  “You could study,” Earnestine suggested.

  “What?”

  “Latin or Greek.”

  “Latin is so useless, and Greek–”

  A flurry of quick footsteps on the marble outside announced the arrival of Georgina.

  “Ness! Lottie! It is you!”

  “Gina!”

  “Gina.”

  Chapter IX

  Miss Deering-Dolittle

  “Where’s Uncle Jeremiah?” Earnestine asked, getting straight to the point.

  “He’s not here,” Georgina said. “What made you think he was here?”

  “He’s on the run from the Temporal Peelers.”

  “The… pardon?”

  “Temporal Peelers,” Earnestine said. “Surely you’ve heard the news?”

  “This is the country.”

  “So it is.”

  The old butler took their coats and bags, and Georgina led them into a fine drawing room complete with a welcome roaring fire. An old man with military bearing stood as they entered. Seeing their dishevelled appearance, he went over to a sideboard and poured two brandies. Earnestine was grateful for the medicinal warmth.

  Georgina examined her sisters carefully: “Is this some sort of adven–”

  “It most certainly is not,” said Earnestine.

  Charlotte nodded to Georgina.

  “This would be your elder sister?” said the man.

  “I’m sorry,” Georgina said. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, may I present my sisters, Miss Deering–Dolittle and Miss Charlotte.”

  “Charmed, charmed, three peas in a pod,” said the Colonel.

  Earnestine thought this a most bizarre choice of expression as she and her sisters weren’t alike at all.

  “I beg your pardon for interrupting introductions,” Earnestine said. “But it really is important that we locate Uncle Jeremiah.”

  “What made you think he was here?” Georgina asked.

  “We deduced that he followed you after he’d read your letter to us,” Earnestine explained.

  “He used boiled water to open your letter and candy as glue to reseal it,” Charlotte said.

  “Thank you, Charlotte, and he set off with a present for you.”

  Georgina was surprised: “For me?”

  “I got macaroons and Ness got perfume,” Charlotte said.

  “Oh, but I’ve too many ribbons as it is,” said Georgina.

  Earnestine ignored the interruption: “We assumed that he came here to hide from the Temporal Peelers. He has something they want.”

  “Perhaps, my dear,” the Colonel said, “the man lost his way coming here.”

  “Uncle Jeremiah is an explorer,” Charlotte said, “he wouldn’t get lost.”

  “Ah, of course,” said the Colonel beaming. “Deering–Dolittle… explorers. Such a famous family.”

  Earnestine smiled: “Yes, we are.” What a nice man, she thought.

  “The Zambezi and Karnak in ‘85, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s the Surrey branch of the family, we’re from Kent.”

  “But that’s the family that… oh. I’m most dreadfully sorry. ”

  “That’s all right,” said Earnestine sharply. “We’ve more important matters that require our attention. Where is Uncle Jeremiah Deering?”

  Charlotte stood and paced the room: “He left ours for Paddington. If he caught the train then he’d have arrived at Tenning Halt. Then there’s the carriage trip along the lanes and finally here. He must have been intercepted somewhere along the way.”

  “But you took the same route, surely?” Georgina said.

  “Yes,” said Charlotte. “Indubitably.”

  “Ness?”

  “She’s read The Strand,” Earnestine said.

  Georgina’s face fell: “Oh no.”

  “The point is that if he came here, then you’d know about it,” Charlotte concluded.

  “Not necessarily,” Georgina said. “You see, I had some issues with guests and the staff.”

  “Then if he reached here and failed to find you, where would he go?” said Charlotte. “Late at night… lost on the moors, sucked beneath the mire and eaten by a terrible hound or–”

  Earnestine felt cross: “Charlotte, please.”

  “The Dragon,” said the Colonel.

  “A dragon!?” This was the very limit, Earnestine thought, it was as if they’d stepped back to the Middle Ages. Honestly, the superstition of the countryside.

  “The George and Dragon,” the Colonel insisted. “It’s the pub. It’s the only possible accommodation for miles around.”

  “We’ll go in the morning,” Georgina said.

  “We’ll go directly,” said Earnestine.

  Georgina marched into the hallway: “Fellowes, have the trap made ready at once.”

  “This is such an adventure,” said Charlotte.

  “No, it’s not,” Earnestine said, swiping her brandy off her. “No brandy, you’re too young.”

  “But–”

  “Don’t whine.”

  The trap, when it arrived outside, sat four, so Colonel Fitzwilliam would drive accompanied by Earnestine and Georgina, with the fourth place reserved for Uncle Jeremiah in the hope that he’d be with them on the return journey.

  “But–”

  “Don’t whine.”

  “Gid’up,” said the Colonel and the trap skittered off to plunge down the driveway.

  The s
un was setting, the sky a Shepherd’s Delight, as they wended their way along the narrow lane to the village. They passed a small, forlorn group trekking through the gathering dusk. Georgina explained that they were Mrs Falcone, Miss Millicent, the Reverend Mr. Milton, Mrs Jago and the maid.

  “My recent guests and staff,” she said.

  The village itself consisted of a few cottages made of local stone and arranged loosely around a green with a church, St Jude’s, some way off on higher ground. The large clock tower loomed against the blood red background of light and clouds. It had been a race to reach this destination, and it was as if there was a huge stopwatch looming over them to count off the final minutes.

  The public hostelry was at the furthest corner from the church.

  As they entered, Colonel Fitzwilliam ducked under the beams, revealing that he was a regular patron. Earnestine stumbled on the uneven floor confused for a moment by the tilt of the walls.

  “Frank, my good man,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said to the landlord.

  “Colonel?”

  “Is there a gentleman staying here by the name of Jeremiah Deering?”

  “No–one of that name here.”

  “He’ll be using a false name,” Earnestine whispered.

  “May we check,” said the Colonel, leaning on the counter and putting his foot up on the brass rail.

  The landlord’s eyes flickered to the right. There was a visitors’ book with a fountain pen on top at the end of the bar.

  “These matters are confidential,” said the landlord.

  “Of course, of course, maybe a… bottle of India Pale Ale, then, my good man.”

  “Those bottles are kept in the cellar.”

  “Are they?” said the Colonel, oozing unctuousness.

  The landlord knew, but had little choice: “I won’t be a moment.”

  “Take your time, Frank.”

  Earnestine was at the visitors’ book in an instant, flicking to the current page. The last entry jumped to her attention.

  “Uncle’s handwriting, unmistakable… Let’s see, Wells, Room Three.”

  She shut the book and the small party was all smiles when the landlord returned with a bottle of IPA. He pulled the cork and poured the liquid.

  “And the ladies?”

  The Colonel turned.

  “Perhaps a sherry,” Earnestine said.

  Georgina nodded.

  “Two sherries.”

  The landlord looked at his visitors’ book and the pen now clearly to one side: “You won’t be needing that from the cellar I notice.”

  “Not at all.”

  The landlord poured two sherries.

  “And, perhaps, whatever Mr Wells in Room Three would like,” the Colonel added.

  “Stout,” Georgina said, helpfully, but the Landlord had already put his hand on that pump. Once the pint had settled, the landlord very deliberately moved to the far end and placed the pint there.

  “From the Gentleman at the end,” the Landlord said.

  Earnestine saw him first: “Uncle!”

  She led the rush towards their elderly Uncle who was sitting at a table in the window alcove, his hair sticking out and his eyes sparkling above his half–moon glasses.

  “Earnestine and, oh my, Gina,” Uncle Jeremiah said, flustered. “I went to the house and this woman turned me away.”

  Georgina was incensed: “That would be Mrs Jago or Mrs Falcone. They had no right.”

  Earnestine sat opposite him: “Uncle, we know that you are on the run from the Temporal Peelers.”

  “You know!” Uncle Jeremiah clutched his chest. “Whatever they said about me, it’s a lie.”

  “We know, Uncle, you’d never destroy the world.”

  “So she’s issued the arrest warrant. I knew she would. It was only a matter of time. I had thought here, and with a false name, I would not be discovered…”

  Uncle Jeremiah froze in position, staring out of the window.

  A carriage clattered across the road, its lanterns spreading an eerie glow across the green. Men disembarked, adjusted their sword belts and put top hats upon their heads. Their eyes looked white and ghostly in the darkness.

  “She’s found me…” Uncle Jeremiah’s voice was full of dread. “Earnestine, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault.”

  “To the carriage,” said the Colonel, suddenly sprightly despite his age and size, “tactical withdrawal.”

  “Come on,” said Earnestine to her Uncle. He protested, but he was no match for the tugging of his two nieces. They made it out of the door, and crossed to their trap as three top hats marched across the green.

  The Colonel plucked the reins as Earnestine and Georgina helped their Uncle up, and then they were off.

  The Temporal Peelers saw them, turned and sprinted back to their carriage, one of them losing his hat in the process.

  The Colonel’s driving was more erratic and swift than it had been on the outward leg. Branches lashed out at them from the darkness threatening to pluck them away. They nearly mowed down Mrs Falcone, Miss Millicent, the Reverend Mr. Milton, Mrs Jago and the maid. This time Mrs Falcone was ready for them.

  “A curse upon you, upon you all,” the woman cried out, shouting above the noise of the horses and shaking her fist. “I’ll have my revenge.”

  As they turned into the driveway, they saw another carriage coming up towards them.

  Uncle Jeremiah gasped: “She’s here.”

  “Who’s here?” Earnestine asked.

  “You,” Uncle Jeremiah’s intense gaze mesmerised Earnestine. “You led her here.”

  “Who?”

  “She’s not going to be happy.”

  Mrs Arthur Merryweather

  When they pulled up outside Magdalene Chase’s main door, Georgina struggled out of the trap. The other carriage turned towards them, its lights shining down the driveway.

  Charlotte appeared: “Uncle!”

  “They’re here,” said Earnestine.

  “Man the battlements,” the Colonel shouted.

  They rushed inside, knowing that the Peelers were due any second, and everyone set about defending the Chase. It seemed that each person knew their role: Georgina rallied the remaining staff – a butler, a cook and the boy – the Colonel postured and huffed, Earnestine locked the front door and Charlotte ran off to close the windows and check the other exits.

  “It’s all my fault,” Uncle Jeremiah fretted.

  “What’s your fault?” Earnestine asked.

  “The chronological mechanisms.”

  “You invented their time apparatus?”

  “Yes, yes, that’s it, but I never thought for a moment that it would all come back to haunt me. It was theoretical, all theoretical, but that woman… that dreadful woman.”

  There were shouts, and the clatter of horses and carriages on the driveway.

  “A better world, we all want that, surely?” Uncle Jeremiah was pleading, almost going cap in hand to each of them in turn. “A new age: an enlightened age, where reason and merit and common sense hold sway, a best of times. The Law of Time was to free the masses from poverty and overcrowding, gift women with suffrage and education, protect the countryside from the blot of dark, satanic mills and grant the colonies a say in their administration. England would become a Utopia, where a man could walk down the street and be appreciated for his ideas and not for his background.”

  “He’s rambling,” said the Colonel.

  “It’s the means that I don’t agree with: the means, not the end. It’s the end I want.”

  A loud percussive hammering signalled that the intruders had reached the main door.

  “So I ran away… oh dear, she’s so cruel when she’s not happy.”

  Miss Charlotte

  Charlotte had finished checking the windows and doors downstairs. Everyone had gathered in the hallway, stepping back involuntarily with each heavy crunch on the oak.

  “All secure,” she said and she saluted the Colonel.

>   He blinked in surprise and saluted in return.

  “We led them here,” Earnestine said, berating herself. “I’m to blame.”

  Charlotte realised that at every place they’d stopped, the tea shop, the station – oh, the station, where they’d done nothing to disguise themselves and it was such an obvious place to watch – and the streets in–between had been full of men in top hats. All they had to do was remove their white glasses and they look like any upper class Gentleman. Swap the hat for a bowler and they could mix with anyone of the middle ranks too. Their uniform was the same uniform that everyone in the Empire wore: black. Only their strange glasses made them look alien and those would fit in a pocket.

  But this was no time for recriminations.

  “Fellowes,” said Georgina, but she meant the butler and not all of them as soldiers. “Are there any weapons?”

  “We have a gun room, Ma’am.”

  “Excellent,” said Charlotte, positively rubbing her hands together with glee.

  “But no guns, Miss.”

  “A shotgun, surely?”

  “In the outhouse.”

  Fellowes pointed out of the window: it was pitch black outside and the outhouse was unlit, but the steep angle of his arm betrayed its distance. It was the other side of the courtyard at least and the Top Hats were at the walls already. It was bare hands. Charlotte realised that she had adopted a fencing position despite having nothing at the end of her sword arm.

  “Escape tunnel,” Georgina cried suddenly. “Fellowes?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “The escape tunnel that takes the hiding priest from the priest hole to the outside. The building’s of the right age, early Elizabethan at least.”

  “The Merryweathers, and the Fitzwilliams before them, were good staunch Protestants.”

  “I finally belong to a reputable family and it’s just at the wrong time.”

  “The Captain had some golf clubs, Ma’am.”

  Georgina led the party up the stairs and along the landing to the master bedroom. Sure enough, tucked at the back of the wardrobe was a filthy set of clubs. When she’d pulled it out and bumped it down on the floor, a ring of dried dirt cascaded down onto the carpet. Georgina handed out clubs. Earnestine armed herself with the knobkerrie from her Adventure Kit. Charlotte swapped hers, a wood for a five iron, but it was still an axe or club rather than a sword.