“How do you know?”
Elizabeth’s father helped out, “When the post arrived this morning I asked if he could describe Midhurst for me. I am afraid by his expression he thought me dodderier than I looked but he humoured me. However, he did wonder for my health when I asked if there were any electric trams.”
“And what about your wife, Wells?”
“She is in the kitchen.”
“So, she has stayed.”
I wondered what happened to the other Wells but decided best not to ask. For all I knew after the last couple of weeks I was talking to the other one.
Jill said, “What about the Martian invasion? Do you think it might still happen?”
I looked at Wells who said as though it was of no consequence. “I have heard nothing.”
It seems we were back in our world again or at least Elizabeth’s.
Then I remembered Peters.
“We had this chap, Peters he called himself, who claimed he’d been hired by Tesla to look after us on the ship. He was the one who opened the door on the ship that led us here. Do you know him?”
Wells said, “Do you remember the magic shop you visited in London about a year before you began to time travel?”
“You mean that old shop full of amazing steampunk-like curious devices.”
“Yes.” He turned to Elizabeth’s father, “And do you remember, Mr Bicester, your father’s visit to a similar shop on the Pulteney Bridge in Bath?”
He nodded. Elizabeth’s grandfather, being a little worse for wear and broke, had gone in to the shop on the bridge and by the time he left had found himself the owner of the lodge at Hamgreen and also all the time problems that went with it.
Wells continued, “Peters is the proprietor of the magic shop, or as he likes to call it ‘The Genuine Magic Shop’. It is a wondrous place though it has no place.”
“What do you mean, it has no place?” said Elizabeth.
“It materialises when someone is thought to have the abilities to alter time.”
“And where is this Magic Shop now?” she said.
“Where or whenever he detects someone who might be interested in his trade. Once he has someone the shop vanishes.”
“That’s why I never found that shop again,” I said, “Who is he then?”
“He is like us but can travel outside time and space. It allows him to move from one place or time to another.”
“Like the Martians?”
“I believe he is a descendant of the original Martians who came to Earth.”
“You mean we’ve interbred with the Martians?” said Jill.
“It is possible.”
“That must have been an interesting coupling.” She replied. “Mind you, Jim, it could explain some of the blokes I’ve known. Come out of nowhere and disappear without trace.”
“Do you think there are more like him in the world?” said Elizabeth.
I suddenly imagined thousands of them all over the world living incognito, waiting for God knows what. Then I thought I’d been watching too many Sci-fi TV shows.
“I do not know,” said Wells, “He has never mentioned family. Perhaps he is a one-off so to speak, an experiment. Perhaps there are many.”
I was just managing to eat the last piece of black pudding, having wiped it in the egg yolk, when I remembered my car. I grabbed Elizabeth and pulling her from her seat, spilling her tea in the process onto her dress, rushed to the front door. I opened it and there it was. Relief!
When Elizabeth saw it she grabbed me. “Oh James! We can go home. But I must....”
“Say goodbye to your father?”
“Yes. Thank you.” And off she went.
I shouted out, “And don’t forget my sister!”
I looked at my car. Just five paces and we would be on our way home.
-----------------------
E.
I was literally pushed by James and Jill into the car. Before I had attached the safety-straps James had ignited the engine and raced the car up the drive scattering gravel in all directions. He did not slow down until we arrived at the highway at Cocking and joined a convoy of cars who, despite his language, refused to increase their speed to accommodate him.
It was a relief to find ourselves in our own time however I noticed, even though we were on a familiar road, that James was continually regarding the rear-view mirror in expectation, as he later told me, of seeing a horde of Martian tripods following us.
It was only when we had passed through Lavant and reached the outskirts of Chichester and I began to think of our home that I realised with some shock that on going through that cabin door I had foregone over a dozen of the most expensive and beautiful dresses I could never afford to wear. I could only presume that once the chamber maid discovered them she would be able to retire on the proceeds of their sale. Such are the trials of time travel.
When we finally arrived home, after suffering two traffic jams, and a road works controlled by two men who did not know their red sign from their green, we rushed down the path to the front door only to find that James had left his keys on the ship. Luckily, before he volunteered to shin up a rather rusty drain pipe to try to attempt to squeeze through the bedroom fanlight. Jill remembered she might have a spare key. It was eventually found by emptying the contents of her handbag on the ground. On looking at the large collection of objects, tissues, sweet wrappers, etc., I made a mental note to clear out mine at the earliest opportunity before James found an excuse to rummage in it. For I am sure he would use it as a defence against my comments on the contents of his garage and shed.
The key fitted, the door opened and we piled in. Letters spilled on to the floor but we ignored them and went straight into the living room, where, neatly parcelled on the coffee table like a Boxing Day treat, were a pile of large brown paper parcels. We looked at each other and then James went over and opened one. A yellow evening gown spilled out. I recognised it immediately.
“It is the clothes from our voyage, James! How did they get here?”
“Don’t ask me. But it looks like we are going to have to buy another cupboard.”
We then proceeded to open all the parcels like children at a Christmas party.
Jill held up a red silk dress and pressed it to her body. “Oh, these are so beautiful. If we find ourselves back in your time again you must let me borrow one.”
I agreed. Then James who was examining his newly acquired wardrobe noticed a small card on the table.
“What’s this? Oh, it looks like one of your Victorian calling cards.”
He handed it to me. On the front was a neat, coloured drawing of the Campania. I turned it over. There was what seemed to be a small advertisement in flowery print. I held it closer and nearly fainted. It read:
‘The Genuine Magic Shop,
South Street,
Chichester.’
And underneath in a green copperplate pen.
‘Please visit.
If you have the time.
Peters’
They both noticed my concern and came over to me.
“Are you OK? What does it say?”
When James read it, his visage was as mine.
“I’m going get some matches and carefully burn it.” he said, “and pretend we never saw it.”
I was just about to agree when Jill stopped us.
“Don’t! It’s come from a magic shop! Maybe destroying it will invoke some trick on us or make us disappear in a puff of smoke!”
For a moment, James held it in his hand, turning it over and over slowly.
“You could be right.”
Then he walked over to the sideboard and placed it out of sight in a drawer.
“I think we’ll just leave it alone in there and go and have a cup of tea.”
--------------------
Epilogue
E.
We have returned to our quiet and peaceful life again. For over a month we have not been visited by time traveller
s nor Mr Wells nor transported to who knows where or when.
But then, we do not open that sideboard drawer nor enquire of the box of those beautiful garments packed away in the attic.
-------------
The End
Other Books by Bruce Macfarlane
from the
Time Travel Diaries of James Urquhart and Elizabeth Bicester
Book 1 Out of Time
The first diaries of the humorous and sometimes romantic time travel adventures of James Urquhart, minor science lecturer living in 2015, and Elizabeth Bicester, lady of leisure, whom he stumbles upon at a cricket match at Hamgreen in 1873. Despite their banter regarding each other’s manners they manage through incredible feats of illogical deduction and with not a little help from James Maxwell, H. G. Wells, the Martians and some strange time devices, to save the world.
Book 2 A Drift Out of Time
In this volume, they have returned home to find they are not only in an alternative future but a different aspect of themselves. To get back to their world they must travel between Mars and Earth, drifting across time and space, until eventually they reach home and discover who the Martians really are.
Book 3 A House Out of Time
Once again, the intrepid couple have “retired’ to a quiet life of ease in an alternative world after helping the Martians save the Earth and their own planet. Unfortunately, Elizabeth thought it would be a good idea to visit her ancestral home at Hamgreen to see what had become of it.
….Such is the curiosity of women.
Three Tales Out of Time
If you ever find yourself going out with a Victorian lady and you feel the need to impress her with your romantic skills, I would suggest taking her night clubbing in Hartlepool, camping in Cornwall or touring in the remote parts of France should be immediately crossed off your list.
Three short and almost "true" stories from the Time Travel Diaries of James Urquhart and Elizabeth Bicester
About the Author
Bruce lives with his wife on the south coast of England, just a few minutes’ walk from the sea.
When he’s not digging up stuff on King Arthur, he’s out with his wife and his friends walking on the South Downs trying to remember all the names of flowers and mushrooms his wife has identified.
When it’s raining, he can be found sometimes in his “attic” as his wife calls it, trying to master new jazz chords.
A life of writing scientific reports and reading early science fiction, especially the genre of time travel such as the works of Anderson, Simak and Wells eventually led him to start writing his own novels about the adventures of a modern man and Victorian lady whom he met at a cricket match in 1873.
His daughter describes his stories as “Tom Holt meets P.G. Wodehouse meets Philip K. Dick meets Fortean Times with a lot of raised-eyebrow sniggering.”
You can get more information on this and his other books and hobbies at: his blog at:
https://beajaye.wordpress.com
Or you can visit his website at:
http://www.arthurianliterature.co.uk/
The Space Between Time Page 20