The Time Baroness (The Time Mistress Series)

by Georgina Young-Ellis

  “Aaaahhh!” she screamed. “Make it stop! Make it stop!” She threw it on the ground and James dove for it, but Lady Holcomb stepped on it to prevent him from taking it back. The pressure of her foot turned the music off. She gave James an imperious look, and he moved away from the player. She extracted a handkerchief from her pocket, and delicately used it to pick up the object, then held it out to Lady Charles, who regarded it with horror.

  “I will not be responsible for this thing,” Lady Holcomb said to Lady Charles. “If you want to take it to the police, that is your business. I will not be a part of persecuting my friends.” She turned to Cassandra. “Or those whom I thought to be my friends.”

  “Very well,” replied Lady Charles. She shakily held out the small, satin handbag that was attached with a ribbon to her dress, and Lady Holcomb dropped it in.

  “What are you doing?” demanded James, “give it back to me!”

  “Do not speak to me like that, young man,” declared Lady Charles, holding the bag warily, yet firmly. “As much as I do not want to touch this thing, I am keeping it safe in case you try to do away with it, and deny ever having it. I want proof.”

  “Proof of what, Lady Charles?” said Ben, having recovered somewhat. “You do not know what this object is or if it is connected to alchemy.”

  “Maybe not, but I do know that is not of God. Maybe the farmers are right to believe in fairies and superstitions. I am taking this dangerous object to the authorities, and we shall let them judge. Now get away from me!”

  Cassandra, Ben, James, and even Edward made attempts to reason with her. But she re-gathered her young ladies, ordered her servants to pack up her things, and departed with them regally in her carriage with Elizabeth trembling at her side and Eunice following behind.

  Lady Holcomb grabbed Jane by the hand, and made her way to Cassandra’s carriage, casting her a final look of disappointment. “Come, Edward,” she ordered, “you may ride with us.”

  Edward gave James an apologetic look, but obediently followed.

  A cold drizzle began to fall and the remaining three looked at each other in confusion.

  “Well,” Ben said to James. “I do not know what that thing is, but if she takes it to the authorities, there will be trouble. We are long past the days of witch hunts, but if you do not have a rational explanation for the thing, you may very well be questioned by the police. I will use all the power of my family’s attorneys to assist you, but this situation may be serious. Now let us go back to town. I expect to have a thorough explanation there.”

  The attendants were asked to pack up the remaining picnic, and the three rode back to Bath silently in the Johnston family carriage, followed by the servants’ wagon.

  Cassandra sat with tears rolling down her cheeks, and Ben seemed angry. She couldn’t imagine what would happen. She was furious with James, who sat, pale, staring out the window. Cassandra was astounded that he had brought the thing, much less shown it to the girl. Of course she knew what it was. Everyone she knew had a PAL, a Personalized Audio Link, including herself, but couldn’t think how to explain the device to Ben.

  When they arrived, Cassandra told Ben that she needed to be alone with James, that she would see him in the morning, and that she would try to explain things after she talked to James. He reluctantly agreed.

  ******

  The moment she closed the door to her suite, she whirled around to face her son. “What on earth possessed you? You know the most sacred rule is to bring nothing, nothing that cannot be exactly replicated to match the objects of the time!”

  “But Mom, I can’t live without my music!”

  “That is the deal when you travel, and you know it! You should not have come if you could not keep it!”

  He looked down, then spoke calmly. “You should understand. You have your piano; you can play the music you love anytime. I can’t.”

  “But why show it to Elizabeth?”

  “I do not know,” he said slowly. “I like her. I wanted to show her something wonderful, something that would open her eyes. I wanted her to hear a song that I wrote, so that she would...remember me.”

  “Oh, James, the girl is silly. How did you think she would react, with intellectual curiosity? Or did you think she would fawn over you like you were a rock star? That device is something that these people cannot, in their wildest dreams, conceive of. They can only call it evil or sorcery, or perhaps see it as some kind of hoax. It cannot exist for them any other way. What are we going to say? How are we going to explain it? And most importantly, how are we going to get it back? We cannot leave that thing here.”

  “Mom, maybe I should just get out of here.” There was fear in his eyes. “I could go and get the first coach I can find to London. Then I can easily get to the portal exit and just disappear. They’ll think I hopped a boat to America.”

  “Yes, that’s it!” she said pacing. “You must go now. Pack a small case with just a few things. You may have to find an inn for the night. I will come with you and help you make arrangements, and then we will get you on the next coach to London.”

  “No, wait! That’s no good! I cannot just leave you hear to deal with it. They will tie you to it. You won’t be able to convince them that you do not know what it is.”

  “I can convince them,” she insisted. “I will just say that you must have been practicing some strange alchemy in America, that I knew nothing about it.”

  “You will be the mother of a—I don’t know, heretic or sorcerer or something. That’s not a good position to be in. I cannot leave you like that; they’ll burn you at the stake!”

  “No, they will not. They have not burned witches in England for a couple of centuries at least. You are thinking of the Salem witch trials.”

  “Yeah, but they might make an exception in your case and decide to do it anyway. And they’ll still have the player! No, I cannot leave; we have to get it back.”

  After hours of conversation, they grew exhausted and determined to decide on a solution in the morning. There was a knock on the front door of the suite. James and Cassandra went hesitantly to open it. Three constables stood there with the hotel manager. One of the constables held a small leather pouch. They all looked shaken.

  “James Franklin?” the sergeant inquired.

  “I am he,” said James with a tremble in his voice.

  “You are under arrest. Come with us.”

  “What are you arresting him for?” Cassandra demanded.

  The sergeant put on a righteous look. “For possession of a dangerous and subversive object.”

  Mother and son exchanged a look.

  “May I go with him?”

  “No, ma’am,” said the sergeant, “but you may come and visit him in the morning.”

  “Where are you taking him?”

  “To the jailhouse. Do not worry; he shall be treated civilly. But the day after tomorrow, he will be sent to London for trial. Things may not be so comfortable there.”

  “Oh, dear God,” gasped Cassandra.

  “It’s all right, Mother,” said James faintly, turning pale. “It will be all right.”

  “Oh, James!” she sobbed into her hands. “How could this be happening?”

  “It will be all right, Mother,” he whispered again.

  “I’m going to get Ben,” she called through her tears as they took her son down the stairs. “He will know what to do.” She grabbed her coat, and ran out into the rain.

  Chapter 13

  Oct. 19, 1820—The jailhouse wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. However, as soon as I arrived this morning, I “dusted” for bugs, surreptitiously leaning through the bars to blow the powder which I’d smuggled in my glove. My poor darling had already received his fair share of insect bites from the mattress, but the constables seem to be treating him well enough—they did not object to the food that I brought him. They all seem skittish around him and did not hesitate to inform me that the device was locked away in the jailhouse safe. I presume
d from their pale faces and nervous expressions that they’d pressed the button in their curiosity and received the shock of their lives. I am trying to imagine what exactly Lady Charles said about it, and if she prompted them to try it for themselves. If anyone is a witch, it is that dreadful woman. I rue the day that we got ourselves mixed up with her and her family.

  I’m about to return to the jailhouse now to meet Ben again and see what news he has from his lawyers.

  ******

  On the jailhouse steps, Ben detained Cassandra there so they could talk in private. “I have sent notice to my attorneys in London to await instructions there about a delicate case I am bringing them.”

  “Thank you, my darl—”

  He held up his hand. “I am willing to do everything in my power to help you and your son, but—” He turned away from her and looked up the street, folding his arms in front of his chest. His face was strained, his lips tightly set.

  “Ben.” She touched his elbow and he half turned back to her. “Listen to me.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I do not know how the thing works, only that in America, there had been rumors of scientists or alchemists, I do not know what you would call them, experimenting with strange ideas.”

  He regarded her uneasily, and she wondered if she was making matters worse.

  “Enough,” he said. “Best not to speak more of it now.”

  They went inside and he told James about getting legal counsel, but cautioned him to say nothing, to him or anyone else in the presence of the police, about the object.

  That evening in her suite, Cassandra sent a note off to Lady Holcomb, by way of the maid, not having the courage to go upstairs and look her friend in the face. In it, she apologized as best she could for whatever discomfort she had put the lady and her daughter through, and asked her to pass those sentiments on to Edward Clarke. She told her that James was being taken to London, but that she was sure they’d have the whole “misunderstanding” straightened out soon, and that she hoped to see her back in Hampshire before too long.

  A quarter of an hour later, the maid returned with a reply.

  Mrs. Franklin,

  Lady Charles is still extremely upset about the incident and Elizabeth so hysterical that a doctor was finally called in. I just want to warn you that Lady Charles is planning to write to Sir Robert at Parliament to see if he can influence the proceedings against your son. I received the impression that the family may abandon their lengthy stay in Bath so that they can go to London and be present at the trial as witnesses.

  Jane, Edward, and I are removing to Hampshire very shortly and are in a great rush to organize our things so you will forgive me for not stopping by to bid you farewell.

  I wish you and your son good luck,

  Lady Charlotte Holcomb

  Cassandra sat, holding the letter in her hand, tears running down her cheeks. Her friends were abandoning them. Her fear for James rose up through her throat and spilled out in sobs. She felt utterly alone and could only think of one thing, to get to London, to the portal exit.

  Early the following morning, James was transported to London. The chief constable allowed the Franklins to ride together in their own coach, a privilege befitting their class, yet accompanied by four guards on horseback. Ben rode behind in his phaeton.

  The trip to London was a full day. When they arrived, the coach was directed to the police station where James would stay one night. In the morning, he would be taken to Millbank prison. Cassandra tearfully said goodbye to him, promising to be there in the morning for his transport, and slipped him a tiny packet of bug powder for the night, which he pocketed.

  Ben led Cassandra to one of the finest hotels in London, and saw to it that she was ensconced with all her luggage and a hired personal maid. He then went to the townhouse he kept in the city.

  Was this the time, she wondered, staring blankly out the hotel window, to try to use the portal exit? No. There was nothing they could do tonight. She knew that when she went back through the portal, several hours of planning would be required to find a solution to the dilemma they were in, and she had to be there for James tomorrow when he was taken to Millbank. She would have to plan her trip to the portal exit for when she could get there unseen and not be missed, possibly for a full day.

  In the morning, Cassandra arrived at the central London police station where James was held, ready to accompany him on his move to the prison, but they would not allow her to go along, instructing her instead to arrive three hours hence, after he had been properly processed. Cassandra did as instructed and discovered upon her approach to the prison, driving down the same road she’d taken when she left London the January before, that the long expanse of brick wall that had made her feel so uneasy then was the exterior wall of the massive complex. The intimidating fortress of brick and iron, practically new with parts still under construction, was situated in the southern part of London, along the Thames near Vauxhall Bridge. Cassandra knew from her research that according to the progressive nineteenth-century British penal philosophy, prisoners were separated into sections of the facility according to their class, and each prisoner had to have their own cell to avoid negatively influencing each other.

  Her carriage deposited her at the entrance, where she was met by a guard and taken inside, through a series of anterooms, and asked to sign her name. She had her purse briefly checked, as well as the satchel she had brought containing James’ clothes and personal effects. She was then led across an eerily empty courtyard, through another building, across another courtyard, and into yet another building and through various hallways and up and down stairs until finally arriving at James’ cell. She knew she would never be able to find her way in or out again without an escort.

  She was relieved to find that James had been taken to the highest stratum of the prison class level and provided with a relatively comfortable, clean cell. In it, there was a narrow bed, a small desk and chair, a small round table with two chairs to accommodate visitors, and a narrow dresser for clothing, above which hung a mirror. There was also a cabinet for the chamber pot. He’d been informed that once a week the gentlemen prisoners were allowed a bath. The rest of the time they washed with a pitcher and basin on a stand. Cassandra appreciated how irksome this would be for James, given his penchant for bathing. Once a day the prison barber came in to shave the gentlemen prisoners, and once every two weeks they received a haircut.

  Cassandra had brought some of the bug powder to James, stored in a pocket of her dress, and she promised to bring back with her the next day several books and a supply of appetizing foods. James informed her that the food they had given him that morning wasn’t too bad, and there was an abundance of it. He had no fear of starving, but welcomed whatever she might bring. Cassandra had proof of what he told her when they served her and her son a midday meal of roast beef, potatoes, bread, butter, ale, apples and cheese that was surprisingly palatable.

  An hour later, Ben and his team of barristers arrived for a conference. The three lawyers had been allowed to examine the evidence and now huddled together on the edge of the bed, wearing white wigs and black robes—looking like nervous vultures. First they asked James to explain to them, as plainly as he could, what the device was and how it worked. During lunch, Cassandra and James had tried to nail down some conceivable explanation. The best they could come up with was that James worked with an American inventor at Harvard, a fellow student. He was a genius, almost mad. He had figured out how to make an alloy of metals found in the American soil that actually magnetized music. It drew music into the tiny box, and the heat of your finger touching it released the music, but only into the head of the person who pressed the button. It was not witchcraft, but science. The strange instrument they heard (James’ aether-guitar), he explained, was a Native American instrument, given to him by an Indian he had once met. (The PAL was currently programmed by James to play only the one song over and over, a love song he’d once written to a girlfriend and recorded. H
e could easily command it by voice to play any of the hundreds of thousands of songs, simms, virtual reality movies, and games. The central button, a manual feature, wasn’t even necessary, but James hadn’t showed the voice feature to Elizabeth, figuring it would be too incomprehensible for her.)

  Once James had finished with his explanation, the barristers stared at him blankly. They promptly excused themselves, saying they were going to begin working on the case. Cassandra kissed James goodbye and left with Ben. He had ridden to Millbank with the barristers and so accompanied Cassandra back in her carriage. The ride into the center of the city took about a half an hour. They rode together silently. Cassandra didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t tell if Ben had believed the story or not.

  When they were nearing her hotel, Ben turned to her and quietly asked if she would agree to have dinner with him. She timidly assented. He directed the driver to take them to a small pub he knew of. They found a table toward the back of the room near the fire. The place was clean, the wooden tables freshly scrubbed, and the plank floor recently swept. The ceiling was low, plastered, and whitewashed. A plump, middle-aged woman with a friendly smile, a neat bun, and a spotless, sky-blue apron took their order of meat pies, roasted squash, and two pints of stout ale. After a few moments of strained silence, concentrating on their drink, Ben reached out and grasped Cassandra’s hand. Cassandra looked up at him and her eyes filled with tears.

  “My darling,” he said to her, leaning close. “Do not cry; I am so sorry for my abominable behavior.”

  “You have every right,” replied Cassandra. “You should not have to be involved in this awful situation.”

  “Just tell me,” he said, “that you did not know about the device and I shall be satisfied.”

  “All I knew,” she said as sincerely as possible, “is that James had begun working on something with this friend he speaks of. Though James is a history major, he has always been interested in the scientific world. Before I left America, he confided in me that they were working on this miraculous device. I told him to be careful—that people would associate such a thing with alchemy or worse, but he said they would not show it to anyone. That is all I know. I do not know if the thing really works as he says it does. I have no idea. I am truly baffled by it myself—”