“OK then. Would you like me to play some music?”
“Pardon?”
“You know - what type, jazz, pop, classical?”
“Why, er, I think I prefer a romantic music. Why do you ask?” For I could not see any musical instruments in the cabin.
“How about Chopin?”
“Oh yes, I can play a little Chopin”.
“Can you? Then you’re the girl for me. You can come around any night and play Chopin. Mind, you will have to bring your own piano.”
“Mr Urquhart, I am sure you mean well in your own fashion, but I think sometimes you speak a little too plainly for your own good.”
Jill nudged him in the ribs. “That’s telling you, Jim.”
“Point taken, Miss Bicester. Anyway, let’s have look at what we’ve got.”
And he pressed some buttons on a little window.
“Ah! Here’s some Chopin piano.”
And suddenly I was immersed in the sound of a pianist playing a Chopin nocturne. The aural sensation was so strong my eyes closed instantly and I felt myself fall through space and transported to a wood-panelled music room with tall French windows where Chopin himself was sitting at a grand piano playing just for me. As I fell deeper in my revelry, dappled sun beams pierced the garden windows and began to dance on the timbered floor. And as I watched them mesmerised, I sensed a fragrance of honeysuckle drifting in from a garden whose leaves caressed the window panes, beckoning me. Oh what joy! I could have stayed there for ever.
Then all too soon we were at Hamgreen!
The music instantly stopped, and I woke from my revelry. “Mr Urquhart that is the most beautiful music I have ever heard.”
“Oh thanks,” he said, in a tone as though it was commonplace to provide such magical effects. “I’ve plenty more. Anyway, now you need to guide me along to the Lodge. We need to make sure we get it right this time.”
I showed him the way until we turned into the Lodge drive.
“Is this the lodge, Elizabeth?”
“Yes it is, though it seems for some reason a little untidy. It must be the afternoon light.”
“Well, we’d better go in.”
---~---
J.
I parked the car at some distance from the Lodge and once we’d disentangled the ladies from the safety belts, which you would have thought they’d never seen before, we began to walk up the drive.
Jill said to me, “Your music selection certainly has improved. There may be hope for you yet. They seem to be quite affected. Much better than the time we took our cousin Annabelle to that party when you ‘inadvertently’ played the Bloodhound Gang’s Discovery Channel.”
“Oh god! I remember. It was her 18th birthday. Put the wrong CD in. Couldn’t turn it off. Did she not end up in a Nunnery?”
“No she did not, Jim, but no thanks to you.”
Suddenly the front door opened and the man I had seen the previous night appeared.
“Hello again, what do you want this time?”
I turned to Elizabeth expectantly, but to my consternation she seemed rather frightened.
“Excuse me, Sir,” she said, “but I live here.”
“Excuse me but I don’t think you do and I would appreciate it if you got off my land before I call the police!”
“OK mate,” I said, “Looks like we’ve made a mistake but this lady says she left my phone here.”
“I very much doubt it, I’ve been here all week.”
We looked at each other and Jill whispered, “I don’t know about you, Jim, but I think we’ve got a couple of nutters here. I think we’d better get back to the car.”
I turned to Elizabeth and Flory.
“But this is our house, Mr Urquhart. We have lived here all our lives!”
“Well, I think we should leave and go and think what to do. He’s beginning to look a bit angry.”
“Are you not going to defend us, Mr Urquhart?”
“What, start a fight?”
“Yes, and show him the door.”
“I’m afraid I’m not into fisticuffs without a good reason. I prefer to use my running legs.”
“Do you not believe us?”
“Yes, but maybe we should go and find out why he is here and not letting you in his house. Now please get in the car.”
“Well really! Miss Urquhart, you must be ashamed of him!”
“Only when he’s trying it on with my girlfriends.”
I took Elizabeth’s arm. Her eyes were vacant and a look of shock was on her face. There was something plainly wrong here that needed explanation.
“Come on, Elizabeth, let’s go and work out a plan of action. There's nothing we can do here.”
---~---
E.
He gently guided me back to the carriage. I didn’t resist. Flory was crying. We drove more slowly back to Chichester and in silence. The road was surprisingly empty of traffic, which allowed me to gaze out of the window and contemplate the extraordinary events at our home. There was something wrong with my world. Everything was out of joint. Even the countryside had changed. Enormous fields with uniform regimented crops stretched over the Downs as far as the eye could see, which despite our speed seemed to appear and drift past in slow motion, yet I saw no one working in them. Where were the little fields and flowering mists of poppies and cornflowers? The absence of traffic and people accompanied by the smoothness of the road and the emptiness of the landscape made me begin to suspect I was trapped in some phantasmagorical dream and that when I awoke I would find myself in my own bed at Hamgreen. Except I was not want to wake up. Then as we came into Chichester the spell was broken by a lady crossing the road which made James break and speak quite violently for which he quickly apologised.
We arrived at his house, which was actually one of a row of small cottages. I expected a larger house for such an unusual carriage. The rooms were rather small, though cosy and lined with books. He apologised for the untidiness which I had not noticed and asked us to make ourselves comfortable. It reminded me of Uncle William’s study in Bicester, except here and there were miniatures of Pre-Raphaelite paintings which I could only presume were expensive reproductions, and the wallpaper was very avant-garde, consisting of intertwined leaves and trellis work which I had seen in London, and demonstrated that despite their unusual manners they were well versed in the latest fashion. His sister, who had shown much concern for our plight on the way back, was good enough to ask us if would like to change out of our clothes and perhaps wash.
“You must be boiled in all that gear,” she said.
They both seemed to have quite an unhealthy interest in our clothing. Nevertheless, I felt that we needed to change into something more suitable for the late afternoon.
“I agree we are quite warm from these exertions but we only have these clothes since we cannot get into our house. We do not even have garments to receive let alone any clothes for the evening!”
“Don’t worry”, said his sister, “you can borrow some of mine. Looking at you they should easily fit.”
We thanked her doubtfully, not at all sure that the clothes she might possess would be at all suitable for us
“Oh, but excuse me, Miss Urquhart,” I said, “but where are your maids? Do you not have a maid to help you dress?”
Mr Urquhart apologised and said with a smile that he had been trying to get a maid in for some time but his sister refused to have one in the cottage.
I looked hesitantly at his sister. “You mean we must dress ourselves?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll help.”
I looked at him. Her sister saw my look.
“Oh, don’t worry about Jim. He’s well trained. If he knows my girlfriends are running about in a state of undress he will stay downstairs out of the way like a pet dog. Isn’t that right, Jim?”
“Absolutely! Never a peek except when Jill’s not looking”.
I was beginning to understand that much of their conversation was, although a
t times rather burlesque, only meant in humour. Wherever they originated from, it seemed that ladies and gentlemen talked to each other as though they were talking to their own kind. In some ways this seemed to make it much easier to talk between the sexes. Though I reminded myself that I must be careful if I joined in such a conversation for I should not want to compromise my honour in public.
We went upstairs with Jill and started to try to undress, which was quite difficult without a maid.
“Here”, said Jill, “Let me help. My god, is that a real bustle? And how many petticoats are you wearing? And is that a real laced bodice?”
“Yes, Miss Urquhart, and that is why we need a maid to undo it.”
“Don’t worry, let me have a go. There you go. Gosh! You don’t believe in shaving, do you?”
“Pardon?”
“And what is that perfume? It smells of lavender and carbolic soap!”
We were very much taken aback as we had spent some time preparing ourselves for the day’s outing and I had been assured by the Ladies Magazine that my friend Clara had brought from London that sandalwood and lavender was the fashion in eau de cologne.
“I hope you don’t mind but I think what both of you need is a good shower. Come on into the bathroom. Jim!”
“Yes Jill, want some help?”
“No. Nudie girl alert. Keep your wandering eyes averted!”
“You can trust me,” I heard him shout back.
We had never seen so many bottles of lotions, perfumes and soaps.
“Those two bottles in the corner are Jim’s’. I replenish them each birthday and Christmas. All the rest are for us. Just help yourselves.”
“I am sorry, Ms Urquhart, but where do we start? There is so much from which to choose!”
“Well first have a shower.”
At one end of the room was a glass partition. Ms Urquhart slid a door to its side to reveal a tiled cubicle with what I quickly recognised was a canopy shower similar to those recently introduced into the better suites of hotels in the West End. I was a little nervous at first as my brief experience of one had been blessed with only two flows, deluge or off. The deluge option, I swear, had a malevolent mind of its own, imparting at irregular intervals scalding hot or freezing water which if one was not prepared necessitated a quick exit accompanied by exclamations which until then I had not thought I was capable of speaking. I can only presume the inventor had got the idea from observing the washing of sheep at a country market. However, when Jill showed me its operation I indulged in it with pleasure, I could see why such a thing if designed properly could become popular.
I was a little concerned by how much hot water I should use but Ms Urquhart generously said that we could use as much as we liked until the water in the Sussex Downs was exhausted. I must admit by the time we had finished I began to believe her. It must have been powered by a very large gas boiler and reservoir but where it was kept I could not ascertain.
With regards to the oils and lotions I think she almost gave us a look of despair but quickly checked herself and proceeded to describe what things were and in which order they should be used. It quickly became a game for Flory and I and we were soon enjoying refreshing ourselves. We could not believe the number of oils, solutions and aromas were available, though throughout our ablutions I must admit I kept a nervous eye on the door.
---~---
J.
They must have been up there for almost two hours. Eventually Jill came down.
“God, what a pair! I genuinely think they’ve never dressed themselves in their lives, let alone washed properly. I am certain that their clothes smelt of mothballs. It reminded me of old gran’s wardrobe. And you don’t want to know the problems I had with the bras.”
“You should have asked for help. I’m an expert in that area.”
“Mmh not what I’ve heard, but I’m talking about putting them on. They looked like they’d never seen one before.”
“Shh! I think they have finished at last.”
“Keep a straight face, Jim. I think they are genuinely having a hard time.”
Just then the door opened on the landing and Elizabeth called if it was alright to come down.
They both came down slowly together, rather nervously I thought. They had managed to put on a couple of Jill’s long-sleeved blouses which they had done up to the neck, and the longest skirts they could find which just managed to cover their knees, under which they were wearing a thick pair of Jill’s winter stockings.
“They don’t believe in revealing themselves, do they?”
“Shut up. They wouldn’t wear anything shorter.”
---~---
E.
Miss Urquhart’s clothes were very comfortable and mysteriously stretched and contracted as we moved, though more material would have been welcome. The absence of over gowns was especially disconcerting, though Ms Urquhart eventually persuaded us that what we described as ‘under clothing’ was in fact normal wear for public display. I must admit like all ladies we like to emphasise our feminine attributes, but we felt that this fashion would leave too little for the imagination. Flory had tried some make up and failed and I told her to wash it off as, the painted face that Jill wore, was not for the likes of us. Ms Urquhart agreed, saying that gentleman preferred ladies to look natural, though it often took over an hour of preparation to achieve such an effect. We went down the stairs. I noticed he had stationed himself at what I thought was too advantageous a position in the hall, and I held my skirt as close as possible to my knees. I think he gave me a sympathetic look and was good enough to concentrate on my face.
“Mr Urquhart, I apologise for our appearance. Your sister was very kind and did the best she could with what she was admits is her meagre wardrobe.”
“Meagre! What? Jill’? Promise me you won’t show her your wardrobe.”
“So Mr Urquhart ...”
“Please call me James or Jim. You’re making me sound like an old school master.”
“Well, if you insist. James, what are we to do? We are locked out of our house and our father will be distraught.”
“And yet,” he said, “we have been there and there was no Squire.”
“It is beyond comprehension!”
“Not quite.”
“What do you mean, James?”
“Do you notice it is getting dark?”
I looked around me. The sun was setting and an evening mist was rising.
“Yes, we should light the candles.” I said, “I presume with no maid we must light them ourselves. But where are they?”
“There aren’t any, Elizabeth.”
“But ...”
“Watch.”
And then he walked over to the door and pressed a button and lamps immediately lit around the room – “Oh, they are wonderful. How are they lit so quickly?”
“They are electric lights”
When he saw that I looked puzzled again he said softly, “Elizabeth, what year is it?”
“Why, 1873.”
He held my gaze. He looked so sad.
“No, Elizabeth. Here it is the year 2015.”
---~---
Chapter Three
E.
I looked around me. The horseless carriages, their clothes, their manner, the invisible music. I suddenly thought of that ghost of Dickens who transported Mr Scrooge to the future. Were these people phantoms come to take us out of our time?
I panicked and looked at Flory in the hope it was just me. But she was in the same shocked state.
“You have kidnapped us, Mr Urquhart! You have stolen us from our time, our world. Who are you all? Are you wraiths?”
He grabbed my hand.
“What, you think we are ghosts? What is to say you are not fairies or phantoms – and anyway, who stole me when I met you at the cricket?”
“We did not!” I protested. “We saw you. You were asking for us and you came straight to us. Oh, I wish Henry was here, Flory.”
I tr
ied to pull my hand away but he would not let go.
“Please believe me, Elizabeth,” he said, in what I could see was some earnest. “I wouldn’t kidnap you and would willingly take you back if I could.”
I looked into his eyes. He looked almost as scared as I was.
“Elizabeth, may I call you Liz?”
“You most certainly cannot, Mr Urquhart! And please let go of my hand. Your familiarity is becoming exceedingly trying again.”
“OK, sorry. Look, I promise I will do all I can to get you back.”
I looked at his sister. She was as shocked as we and was staring at her brother with her mouth open.
“What did you just say, Jim?”
“I said,” with a pause, “they are from different times, Jill. Somehow our times have overlapped.”
His sister sat down. “I need a drink, Jim.”
“Don’t we all!”
He went to a cupboard and produced a bottle of wine and one of brandy.
“Both?” He said to his sister.
“Yes please Jim, and in a large glass.”
An hour later the bottle of wine was empty and there was not much left in the brandy. Flory and I had taken a glass of wine each, but James and his sister looked like they could match my cousin Henry and his friends at one of their silly parlour drinking games.
“So,” said James after much agitated discussion and holding his half-empty glass at a dangerous angle, “I have an exceedingly good idea.”
“And what can that be, Mr Urquhart? Another abduction perhaps?”
He ignored my jibe.
“Where are you supposed to be tomorrow, ladies?”
“We were supposed to be meeting our cousin Henry for lunch after the shoot at Fittleworth.”
“Then we will go there and meet them.”
“But how? If what you say is true, we are in a different time by over a hundred years! Remember, when we went to the lodge it was not my time. Why do you think we will have success at Fittleworth?”
“Because I think we need to be at a place you would be expected to be before we met. And also, maybe it will also need to have some of the people who were at the cricket club. Were any of them with you at the picnic in Chichester, Elizabeth?”
Out of Time Page 4