by Adrian Speed
“They think it will avert the plague, poor fools,” Sir Reginald muttered and directed our path between the outskirts of central London. That explained the emptiness of the roads, I mused. No-one wanted to leave their homes if they could help it.
A number of houses had simply been boarded shut. Doors and windows were covered by boards and red crosses faded on the lintels. I had hoped that they were abandoned but the red crosses on the doors wilted that hope. I shuddered. Were antibiotics going to be enough with the plague all around us?
“I believe we have come at the best time,” Sir Reginald said. “The plague is still a threat, but it is in decline.”
“How on earth do you know it’s in decline?”
“We aren’t neck deep in bodies,” Sir Reginald sighed. “I took a gamble, but I believe this is the best time to have come.”
“How can you think that?”
“You shall see,” Sir Reginald said and took a quickstep towards the inner city.
I recognised the Church of St Paul as we entered the square at Covent Garden, and some of the houses with their Italian designs. Yet, so much was different. The great market in the square didn’t exist at all, and a column had been raised in the centre instead. Still, with its houses of brick and stone and well maintained square it was closer to the London I knew than anything I’d seen so far.
Sir Reginald cast his eyes around the square, chose a house seemingly at random and walked up to the door. He rapped at the front door with the end of his cane. A maid answered the door.
“Please fetch the master of the house, if you would be so kind,” Sir Reginald said before the maid could open her mouth. “Tell him Sir Reginald Derby calls on him.”
“He won’t come out sir, not for the king himself, on account of the plague.” The maid began to retreat.
“Will he consent to treat with me from the window?” Sir Reginald asked pointing to the upstairs with his cane.
“I... I shall ask him sir.” The maid disappeared and closed the door with a solid thunk.
Sir Reginald waited, drumming his fingers on his cane until with a snap the window opened above us.
“Speak then, Sir,” a man appeared in the window. He wore a modest wig, but had tied a fine silk neckerchief around himself. “What business is of such import that it must be spoken of in such a way?”
“The business of your house sir,” Sir Reginald stepped back away so he could see the window better. “I find myself of need to stay at London while owning no London property. I offer you a hundred pounds for the use of the house until Lady’s Day in the year of our lord 1667.”
“’Tis a fine sum you offer, but I have need of the house.”
“Call it a hundred and twenty pounds.”
“’Tis not a matter of money sir, ’tis a matter of earthly needs. You hold no London property, I hold no country property and anything less than a thousand pounds shall not equip me with a country estate.”
“Then go to your family abroad sir,” Sir Reginald offered. “The plague has slackened in winter’s grasp but you can rest assured it will return this summer as it did the last. Will your family be so lucky this year? I offer you two hundred pounds sir, and that is enough to carry you to any friendly port in these islands a thousand times over and furnish you well until the city is fit to inhabit again.”
The man at the window grasped the lintel tight, until his knuckles had turned white and he teetered on it until eventually he and his wig disappeared back into the darkness of the house.
“’Tis not a matter of money sir, ’tis a matter of liberty.” With that the window shut and the debate came to an end.
“Well, I–” Barely had I breathed a word before Sir Reginald was off, again almost at random to another house. He tried again, and again, at three more properties, even a tavern, before he struck his luck.
“A hundred pounds?” This speaker had the droopy look of a pudgy man who had recently lost a lot of weight. Rather than conduct his business through the window he had opened the door a crack.
“A hundred pounds,” Sir Reginald nodded.
“Why, that’d stand as a fortune in York,” the man stroked his chin. “You carry that on your person?”
“I do,” Sir Reginald said and with a flick of the wrist a gold coin appeared between his thumb and forefinger. “Should you doubt the colour of my gold.” He offered it for inspection.
“’Tis the old king,” the man inspected the gold thoroughly, weighing it in his hands and seeing how it glinted in the weak winter light. “But ’tis goodly gold. I shall take your money sir, and give you run of the house.”
“Until Lady’s Day, 1667,” Sir Reginald nodded in agreement. “Leave the furniture and take the servants, escape to the provinces. I shall give you a day to make preparations to leave and I shall return with the gold.”
That concluded their business and the two men departed, leaving me in the middle and having to chase after Sir Reginald.
“What was–”
“Why did I choose those buildings?” Sir Reginald asked before I could finish my own question.
“What? I don’t know.”
“Come come, I assure you it is related to the art of being a chrononaut,” Sir Reginald insisted, leading me back towards the time machine.
“The only thing that unites them is they’re all in Covent Garden,” I said. I racked my brain trying to remember what I could of the 1600s. “And Covent Garden... doesn’t get hit by the fire. So we have a safe base of operations for investigations in the city. It’s far enough inside to keep us close to events, but near enough the edge we don’t quite have to experience the smog, muck and slime of the city.”
“More than that,” Sir Reginald said.
“Uargh,” I grumbled, almost sliding over the cobbles as I followed Sir Reginald out of the city. Nothing about the buildings had seemed the same. One was a tavern, two were terraces, one was a large town house, and the one that had finally accepted looked like it had once been a shop. They didn’t share a single feature. “I give up.”
“They all have a place to store the time machine,” Sir Reginald said. “Safe, secure and out of sight. The first great town house had mews I could have cleared out to make room. The terraces shared a courtyard and both tavern and shop maintain a deep and sturdy cellar. It is often acceptable to leave the time machine to stand alone in public for a matter of hours, but five tons of iron is a valuable item in any era. None need suspect its power to covet it. Best to keep it hidden if it will reside in one place for any length of time.”
“That makes sense,” I grumbled for not thinking of it earlier. Usually Sir Reginald took care of the time machine.
“Now, do you think you can pilot us to the cellar floor at this time tomorrow?”
“I think I can manage that,” I nodded.
“Then by your leave, lead on.”
*****
We landed the next day in darkness. The only light in the cellar was the glow of the time machine’s firebox. I brought out my phone and cast its flash light around. Hams hung from the ceiling, casting shadows deep against barrels that lined one wall. They were stout little casks, a little bigger than kegs back in the 21st century.
“A ’43 claret!” Sir Reginald remarked while inspecting the casks. “Why, this will be vinegar before they return. It is my honour as an oenophile to ensure it does not meet that fate.”
“Let’s not get drunk until we have some idea of what we are doing,” I said and picked my way towards the stairs. They creaked as I put my weight on them.
“Oh, I was hardly suggesting to get drunk,” Sir Reginald said and lifted the cask. It came away with a squeak. “Simply that I put it to its delightful use.” Sir Reginald followed me up the stairs.
The house was almost empty, a cart outside had been laden down with the owner’s immediate belongings and family. Everything he could not bear to be without for a year. The owner himself stood in the doorway, looking out at the square as tho
ugh awaiting our coming.
“What ho, landlord,” Sir Reginald set the cask down at the top of the stairs with a clunk making the owner nearly jump out of his skin.
“By what manner did you enter? I have been watching every entry–”
“Come come, my man, simply assume I am a master of many talents,” Sir Reginald waved away the man’s protests and brought out a bag of gold. “Now as I understand it I offered you a good deal of gold for the house. Let us sit down and settle matters.”
The owner closed the door and led Sir Reginald to an empty table. It was in a room that I wanted to call a drawing room, but perhaps that was not the right word. It had a small library of fifty or so books, showing its owner had some decent wealth, and had a writing stand and lectern for reading. There were too many chairs to be a private study and the furnishings were not grand enough to be him showing off his wealth to the world. The owner scowled at me following them in, so I leant against the doorframe. This made him scowl all the more.
Sir Reginald settled himself into a chair and began to count out the coins providing a welcome distraction. It always surprised me how small gold coins were. I always expected something the size of an old fashioned penny or fifty pence piece, and yet these little round coins were not much bigger than a twenty pence piece.
“Does all this hoard bear the face of the old king?” the owner said as the coins piled up before him.
“So it would appear,” Sir Reginald said with a slight shrug. “My apologies if it causes concern sir, but I have had little reason to reach for my gold of late. As my father used to say, an unmarried man carries gold but pays in silver, a married man pays in gold and earns silver.”
The saying caused the owner to crack up in laughter and sweep the coins into his own coin purse. He tied the purse to his belt and walked towards the exit still chuckling to himself, casting glances at me and guffawing each time.
“Well, sir, I grant you the liberty of my house,” the owner said as he composed himself at the doorway.
“From now until Lady’s Day of 1667,” Sir Reginald confirmed.
“Well, sir, yes, but should your lady wife tire of the city before then, and the plague run its course,” the owner winked at me, “send word to the Pewshams of York.”
“Good day, then.” Sir Reginald nodded for the owner to leave and closed the door sharply behind him. “Sorry about that my dear,” Sir Reginald said to me when the door was closed. “The 1660s were hardly the golden age of women’s rights and I rather think he believed us engaged in matrimony.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I did manage to pick up on that.”
“Now, to important business.” Sir Reginald strode over to the cask of wine and hoisted it up. “First we make excellent use of this claret, then we discuss our options for solving this mysterious murder in the fire.”
Sir Reginald could not be dissuaded from his course of action so I followed him to the kitchen and watched him tap the cask and pour out two pint mugs of wine. He pushed one towards me.
“Pints of wine? Like beer?”
“It seems unusual at first to those used to glassware, but I assure you, it is a very acceptable way.” Sir Reginald had cast a roving eye over the kitchen and struggled to find a single piece of glass or silver plate. Perhaps the family had packed them away to take north.
“A pint’s most of a bottle of wine, Sir Reginald. If I drink this I won’t be able to think in a straight line for the rest of the day.”
Sir Reginald reached for a half-pint mug, filled it half full from my mug and pushed the half-pint towards me. I picked it up and sipped. It was a fine claret, but feeling it roll over clay rather than glass gave it an unpleasant feeling.
“Now then.” Sir Reginald reached inside his pocket and withdrew the tablet full of research. He set it down on the table. “How do you plan to solve this murder?”
“Well,” I put down my mug and leant over the table. “I’ve been thinking about where his body was discovered. I should scout out that area, and find what sort of characters are there.”
“Potentially that could stand as thousands of individuals.”
“Or it could be only a few dozen, I won’t know until I look.”
“Granted, continue.”
“Following from that, I intend to travel forwards until after the fire and see who is missing.”
“Whoever our ragged soul is, they were missed on the official death count.”
“But I think that after the fire there would be so many people running for the countryside that they were missed. Assumed to have moved away, or died elsewhere.”
“Not unreasonable,” Sir Reginald nodded and took a deep draught of wine. “There must have been hundreds or thousands of homeless who died that winter. It will hardly narrow down your list.”
“Ah, but by then I should have a short enough list to investigate them while they’re still alive!” I grinned, revealing my trump card. “Find out which of them has an enemy who would strike in the chaos of the fire.”
Sir Reginald paused with his mug to his mouth. Eventually he took another swig and set it down with a sharp clunk that made us both flinch.
“That sounds rather close to a paradox, don’t you think?” Sir Reginald scowled at the mug, as if it was the mug’s fault for how hard he put it down.
“I’ll be careful,” I assured him. “I won’t get involved. I’ll just be observing, a fly on the wall. It’s just going to be another way to narrow down my list. Once I know who has enemies and who doesn’t I can go back after the fire again to investigate those missing.”
“This is rather riskier than I would countenance,” Sir Reginald sighed and sat back in his chair. “But I trust you Hannah. You have always shown history and the dangers of time travel the respect deserved. And your plan does sound like it would enable you to discover who our charred skeleton is, even if it is not the plan I would engage.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I slumped a little.
“I did not wish for it to sound like admonition.”
“But you’re good at it all the same.”
A few moments passed in awkward silence and a chill began to curl around me. It had been lingering cold when we arrived but I had thought that was the cellar. Now we had sat down the cold had begun to seep into my bones.
“Maybe we should light the fire.” I motioned to the empty fireplace. The firewood was all stacked and ready and there was a full coal scuttle next to it.
“Oh no, my dear, for that way lies madness,” Sir Reginald explained. “Fire constantly needs to be set, lit, fed, cleaned, once begun it never ends.”
“We might need it to cook with.”
“Oh my dear Hannah, this is London! You can knock on one door in three and expect to get a hot meal out of the experience, no, I shall nip into the twenty-fifth century and bring back one of their... well the direct translation is heating stones.” He drank deep from his wine. When he set it back on the table it had a deeper, emptier note. “And you shall need some kind of disguise if you are to carry out your plan.”
“I shall?”
“A fly on the wall, was your claim. For that you will require a disguise. I can get you one, of course; would you prefer men’s or women’s clothing?”
“Why on earth would I want men’s clothing?” I glared and Sir Reginald looked a little embarrassed.
“Well, I should say, at the very least men’s clothing is the only way to retain some semblance of trousers,” Sir Reginald blustered. “And this century is not well known for its attitudes to unaccompanied women...”
“I’m sure women’s clothing will be fine, Sir Reginald.” I crossed my arms, flaming with embarrassment. “And it’s not like I’ve never worn a dress before.”
“Right, right, well.” Sir Reginald stood up and drained his mug. “I’ll see to the arrangements, back in a jiff.” He seemed to want to flee the uncomfortable conversation as much as I did and strode stiffly towards the time machine
.
I heard his feet tramp downstairs, I heard the click-clack of the time machine engaging, and the distant pop of it disappearing. I had just enough time to take another sip of wine before the time machine popped back into existence. Sir Reginald’s ascending footsteps came a little slower.
“Here we are then.” Sir Reginald stumbled into the room with his arms full of packing cases. He dropped one at my feet and then opened the other and made his way to the fire place. He cleared away the logs that awaited a spark and put in place a lozenge shaped stone about the size of a cushion. It looked like a single piece of onyx, black with veins of white. “It’s clap activated,” Sir Reginald announced and demonstrated. At the sound of his clap the white glowed red and a wave of heat rolled out. “One for each room should keep the house toasty. I’ll see if I can find a fire screen as well, so no-one will be the wiser.” Sir Reginald pulled himself back upright and headed towards the rest of the house. He nudged the packing case next to me with his foot. “Do dig into the clothes.”
I opened them and looked through. The main material of the dress seemed to be a thick wool, less smooth than I’d like but much better than the sort I’d seen out in the street and the blue was a much richer colour than the blacks and browns most people wore. For underneath there were petticoats of linen which was tougher than I’d like. Cotton would be too much to hope for, I supposed.
There were plenty of pockets hidden in the folds of the skirts, which made me smile. Even if it was still a little creepy having him shop for me, Sir Reginald always remembered pockets. I’d have to find out where he got these things from.
Underneath the skirts were a set of hose, a velour jacket, silk stockings, and a ridiculous hat. I was looking these over when Sir Reginald returned.
“Ah, those are for if you were to change your mind.” The spring ran out of Sir Reginald’s step as he approached. “I had thought it is better to be safe than to be sorry.”