by Lauren James
This work could lead to commercial applications for the fertilizer, as the environmental side effects had previously limited its viability for a large range of crops.
It definitely wasn’t an article about her lab partner. Kate was about to click out of the link when the photo finished downloading, and she paused in shock. She enlarged it and peered closer at the scientists, trying very hard not to overreact.
The photo was of a man and a woman wearing lab coats dotted with stains, goggles around their necks. They were holding up beakers of fluorescent liquids and smiling cheerily at the camera.
They were standing close together, shoulders pressed against each other.
They looked exactly like her and Matt.
That was a picture of her, and her new lab partner. From more than twenty years ago.
There wasn’t just a passing similarity – they were identical. Katherine Galloway even had the same freckle on her cheek as Kate. How could that be possible? How could she be in a photo taken over twenty years ago? Her parents had both been only children, and Kate didn’t look much like either of them. As far as she knew, the woman in the photo wasn’t anyone in her family at all. Kate would have known if she had a relative who looked identical to her. Or at least, she thought she would.
Wouldn’t she?
Carlisle, England, 1745
Katherine shivered, rubbing her arms to try and warm them. Aunt Elizabeth had wasted no time in taking control of her niece’s love life, pushing her straight into conversation at a dinner party with the first in what was sure to be a long line of eligible bachelors. Katherine had made her escape as soon as possible with the excuse that she wanted to explore the host’s garden while it was still light. There was an icy nip to the air, but it was infinitely preferable to what was inside.
The party was at a house on the outskirts of Carlisle, and the city wall was just visible behind the guests’ carriages. The ancient stone blocked the view of the countryside beyond. She walked down a grove of lime trees alongside the drive and came to a pond, green with algae. There, she leant against one of the trees and watched a pair of ducks, tails wiggling, as they dived into the muddy water. She could hear the quiet conversation of the coachmen at the carriages where they waited for their employers, and she felt herself slowly calming. It had been a long day – talking to strangers took so much energy. The ducks startled suddenly and swam into a clump of reeds; Katherine heard the sound of footsteps on the gravel, and she turned to watch the approaching figure.
It was her aunt’s coachman. He came to a stop a foot away and looked at her hesitantly, holding something out.
“It’s a blanket, Miss,” he explained. “You look cold.”
She was caught off guard. “Th–thank you.” She took it, unfolding the material. It smelt musty, but she wrapped it around her shoulders regardless. She hadn’t realized how cold she was.
“Would you like me to take you home, Miss Finchley?”
“This isn’t my home,” she found herself saying, too severely.
His eyes widened momentarily.
“I should apologize. That was…” She faltered. “I miss my grandmother. I miss my home, my real home. My aunt and uncle are pleasant enough, but I never even knew I had an aunt, until after my grandmother had passed away. They never spoke to one another. I have no idea why.”
The coachman shifted, seeming uncertain, and ran a hand through his hair. Eventually he replied, looking like he knew he shouldn’t. “Your aunt and uncle are good people. I think you will like it here.”
“I hope I do.” She shouldn’t be speaking to him like this – he was just a servant. It was inappropriate. She met his gaze then, already aware that her expression was showing too much of her desperation. She was scared. She wanted to feel happy again, just a little, but it felt like she never would. The excitement she’d felt at the dressmaker’s on the day she arrived hadn’t lasted long.
She hadn’t paid much attention to a mere coachman before, but now she saw he was quite handsome. He was a little older than her – about nineteen or twenty – tall, but not intimidatingly so, and more gangly than well built. She swept her eyes up and down his body. When she looked back at his face, she found him watching her.
“I’ll be by the carriage if there’s anything else you require, Miss,” he said, blushing and turning away quickly with a bow.
“What is your name?” she asked, desperate for him not to leave.
He paused, and turned back to face her. “Galloway. Matthew Galloway.”
She held out a hand to him. He hesitated and then took it, shaking it formally, lip quirking upward as she said teasingly, “Good evening, Mr Galloway.” She knew it was wrong to interact like this with a servant, but she felt strangely relaxed around him.
“Please call me Matthew,” he said, then blushed again, which she couldn’t help finding endearing. “You should probably avoid doing so if anyone else is present, however.”
“Very well. Then you may call me Katherine, but again only in private.”
He smiled at her, and she found herself smiling back. She remembered the stories her grandmother’s housekeeper had told her about the Scottish savages. Even if he was Scottish, Matthew didn’t seem like a savage. The Highlanders were supposed to eat human flesh and drink blood from wounds. They were ferocious, murderous barbarians. Matthew Galloway didn’t look like that at all.
> Time-landscape 1745 progressing as planned
Folios/v3/Time-landscape-1854/MS-3
Off the coast of France, Atlantic Ocean, 1854
“So, Christopher, I’m glad you could make it in time!” the journalist Matthew Galloway said to Katy, as they joined the queue for dinner. The ship had left the harbour hours before and was steadily making its way out into the Atlantic Ocean on its journey to the Mediterranean, where the British Army was gathering for war. The sun was setting, streaks of orange and red reflecting off the quiet waves. “I wasn’t sure if it would be possible to get an assistant at such short notice. But you applied very promptly.”
“Please, call me Kit,” Katy insisted, stepping forward to avoid being trodden on by a boisterous soldier who was keen to jump the queue in front of her. The soldiers had calmed somewhat since the departure, which had involved a lot of cheering and singing, but the deck was still filled with noise and laughter. “And it sounded like a wonderful opportunity. My previous employer was only too happy to let me join you.”
In fact, the whole adventure had been Lord Somerset’s idea.
Three days ago, she had been in the library of Lord Somerset’s house. She had wanted to finish the book she was reading before she went to collect a delivery from the greengrocer’s. Strictly speaking, she wasn’t allowed to read the library’s books, but she had found herself alone in there when waxing the floorboards the previous summer and had started reading one of the novels. Ever since then she’d been obsessed with them. The day passed so much more quickly when she could occupy herself during dull chores by trying to guess what would happen next in the story she was currently reading. Usually the lord and lady were in town and the country house operated with only a small staff, so there was plenty of time to read without being caught.
She was on the last chapter of her book when the door opened. She jumped and then froze, too scared even to turn and see who it was. If it was her employer, Lord Somerset, then she would be in trouble – she may even be let go.
The floorboards creaked as whomever it was walked towards her. She held her breath, hoping it was the maid come to light the fire, or even one of the children. She could make an excuse for herself more easily then.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was in here,” a surprised voice said. She let out a relieved breath. It was not Lord Somerset or his wife, but their guest, a general in the British Army. “Should you not be working?” he added, looking her over.
She gave a short bow. “I’m sorry, Sir. I’ll get back to my duties.”
“Very good,�
�� he said, inspecting the bookcase.
She tried not to run out of the library, although she was keen to escape as fast as she could.
Later that afternoon, she was summoned to meet Lord Somerset. She’d knocked self-consciously on the half-open door to his office. She was going to get dismissed for avoiding her work. She shouldn’t have risked reading books while the lord and lady were in residence – however good she was at sneaking around, it was only ever destined to end in disaster.
Somerset was writing a letter. To her surprise, instead of firing her on the spot, he indicated that she should sit down, which she reluctantly did. It was a few minutes before he looked up from his letter. He stared at her for a long moment and then nodded.
“Now, then – Kit, is it?” he said.
“Yes, Sir.”
Katy had been living as a boy, Kit, since she’d been kicked out of the orphanage at the age of twelve. For a while she’d had to live on the streets, looking after herself, until a girl she was friends with had managed to secure her a position as a kitchen boy in the house of a lord. He was an army general, which meant he was almost never at home and so the work was lighter than it otherwise might have been. Katy had been lucky, especially as the girl could have dressed as a boy herself and taken the job, instead of kindly giving Katy the idea.
“You can read, can’t you, Kit?” Lord Somerset enquired.
She swallowed nervously, and decided her best tactic was to lie outright. “I asked Lady Somerset’s permission, Sir.”
He blinked, looking taken aback. “For what?”
“To read the library books.”
They eyed each other. Katy crossed her arms and then uncrossed them, flustered.
Somerset waved his hand, and ink from his pen splashed onto the table. “Oh, that. I’m not concerned about the books. I’m grateful to George for bringing it to my attention, though. I’ll need to talk to the butler about assigning the staff more duties if you have so much free time during the day.” He gave her a knowing glance, and she looked down, embarrassed. “I called you here for a different reason, however. I’ve been looking for someone like you. I assume you can read well?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good. And how old are you?”
“Sixteen, Sir.” She was confused and nervous.
“Perfect,” he said. “I have a special task for you, Kit. Something that might put your abilities to good use. You are a loyal servant. You’ve been here for several years now. Well, it is time to prove your loyalty. The Times newspaper is sending a journalist to the front in this damn war with the Russians. The decision’s causing an awful fuss, as you can imagine. What a ridiculous idea! A civilian! At the front, poking into the army’s business!” he scoffed, looking scandalized. Katy was impressed by the sheer number of exclamation marks she could hear in his voice. She had never heard him so angry.
“We can’t stop it,” he went on. “The government has got involved, and so we’ve got to let this journalist report on what’s happening. Freedom of information and all that. We’ve even got to provide the man with rations! Like he’s fighting for our country, instead of spying on us!”
Katy frowned in disapproval, which seemed to be what he was expecting from her.
“Anyway, the man has placed a classified advertisement, requesting an assistant – a young manservant who can read and write. I want you to apply. Then you can make sure he doesn’t get into any bother, or send home any military secrets to be printed in the goddamn national newspaper.”
Katy considered the proposal carefully. He wanted her to go to the front in the Crimea and spy on a journalist? Was this some kind of creative punishment for reading his library books? It seemed a little bit of an overreaction.
“I don’t understand, Sir,” she said.
“I spoke to Cook. She told me that you are trustworthy. You clearly have intelligence. I think you would be very well suited to the position. I think I can trust you to report back to me frequently with information.”
Katy had always wanted to travel, but she wasn’t sure she felt comfortable spying on someone – even a journalist.
“It would mean a great deal to me, Kit,” Lord Somerset said. “Otherwise … well, I could certainly find another kitchen boy. One who didn’t steal my books.” He raised an eyebrow.
She repressed a sigh. “Very well, Sir.”
Lord Somerset had given her a reference then, which she’d taken silently. Her head had been full of questions, but she decided her best option was to ask none. Considering that the meeting had changed her life, it had been surprisingly short. She hadn’t felt she’d been adequately briefed for such a covert mission. Nevertheless, she’d applied for the job in The Times that evening and received a reply the next afternoon, which had quelled all her hopes that her application would be too late and she could get out of it.
> Time-landscape 1854 progressing as planned
Katy had done some research on the war against Russia and had read some of the journalist’s articles, and she felt ready for the job. Hopefully she’d have a nice little trip and be back in a few weeks. Hopefully the journalist would be easy to manipulate and wouldn’t be interested in sending back too much information about the war.
It had struck Katy that having a reference from Lord Somerset probably hadn’t been a good idea. It was hardly subtle for her to have been employed by an army general before serving the journalist. She couldn’t believe Somerset hadn’t thought of that himself. Luckily, Matthew didn’t seem to know that her employer was part of the British Army – yet.
They sat down to eat with a cluster of soldiers and a few of their wives, who were accompanying the regiment. The group was debating the origins of the meat. One man, who claimed to be a butcher, was adamant that it was horsemeat.
“So, why are we going to Bulgaria?” Katy asked Matthew, to distract herself from thoughts of what they were eating.
“It’s where the army are based, while they prepare to march on the Russian forces in the Crimea. We’ll be sailing around France and Spain to the Mediterranean Sea and then landing in Varna in Bulgaria. See.” He pulled a map of their route from his pocket. “It’s going to take several weeks to gather the British and French troops in Varna, and then we will journey to the front.”
Weeks, she mentally repeated in disappointment. They were going to be gone far longer than she’d anticipated. “Are we just going to follow the army around, then? Making notes on what they do?” she asked.
“Yes. I’m the first journalist ever to go to the front,” he said proudly.
“But how did news get home from wars before?”
“Well, we usually just … take the news from foreign newspapers.” He coughed. “We tried to hire soldiers to report for us, but they weren’t very particular about when they wrote. So I agreed to go out and report back properly – to get an accurate report, for once.”
“What do you mean by an ‘accurate report’?”
He took a bite of food, thinking, and then said, “When the soldiers reported to us from other wars, we later found out that they had been quite selective about what information they chose to share. They made everything seem as if it was going perfectly, out of loyalty to their regiment. Which is fair enough, but it meant that by the time the news got home of what the situation at the front really was, it was far too late for anything to be done about it.”
Katy frowned. It didn’t sound like Matthew was intent on spilling secrets to the enemy, but rather that he wanted to protect the British troops. “What kind of thing could be done about it?” she asked.
“Well, donations of warm clothing can be sent to soldiers in cold conditions, for example. A little thing like that can make a big difference, but if the public doesn’t know it’s needed, it won’t happen.”
Katy nodded. This wasn’t what Lord Somerset had told her at all. What Matthew was doing sounded like a good thing.
Folios/v3/Time-landscape-1854/MS-4
File note
:
Initial voyage of the British Army to Varna, Bulgaria, during the 1854 Crimean War, when Britain allied with France against Russia, to try to control the expansion of the Russian Empire into the south around the Black Sea, and to stop Russia getting control of British trade routes to India
CHAPTER 3
Folios/v7/Time-landscape-2019/MS-114
Carlisle, England, 1745
Katherine was growing tired of her new place in Carlisle society. The parties were interesting enough, but Elizabeth kept introducing her to prospective marital matches, which she found tedious. Most were pleasant, but she couldn’t bring herself to talk to any of them for longer than ten minutes before wanting to escape. Her usual tactic was to sneak out into the gardens, where Matthew would be waiting with the carriage to take them home. It was peaceful outside, with the light and noise from the house filtering out across the driveway. He would hand her a shawl that he’d started leaving under the seats instead of the musty old horse blanket, and she would give him a glass of whisky punch. Then they would explore the gardens together, breathing in the refreshing cold night air.
She knew she shouldn’t be spending so much time with a servant, but he was so engaging. He understood her. He let her talk about her grandmother, or just be silent as she recovered from the close scrutiny of society. He spoke to her as if she were a person instead of an object at an auction. They were only talking, anyway. There couldn’t possibly be anything wrong in that.
“Matthew,” Katherine said one evening as they wandered down the long slope of the rectory’s lawn, admiring the stars which blinked occasionally before disappearing behind dark clouds. “You are Scottish—”