by Craig McNish
John was more of a worry to her, though. Now seventeen years, his actions were often those of a mischievous child less than half that. He tended to play tricks on Mills at every opportunity, knowing his actions would go unpunished. There had been times when Mills had mentioned this to her father, and each time he would say the boy would be spoken to, but he never was, not even once. Jane recalled in her mind his latest such act, from two days earlier. It had been a busy morning's work with the harvest and Mills had gone to fetch a pail of water so that each man might quench his thirst. John had taken it upon himself to release the ducks and chickens into Mills' path at the latest possible moment and so he stood no chance of avoiding the unexpected obstacle, which had sent him crashing to the ground heavily. It was also unfortunate that one of the chickens had taken the full weight of Mills upon it and so met with its demise, an action for which he had been chastised as she watched and was told it would cost him a day's wages. Jane had silently raged when her father had ushered John away with a hand around his shoulder, and she could have sworn he had praised the boy's actions and even laughed about it.
Mills, of course, would be angry and confused as to why nothing was ever done to make amends, but Jane knew. It hadn't occurred to her at first, and when finally it did she could scarcely believe it had not been noticed earlier. Mills had been busying himself in the courtyard one day maybe a month earlier, and Elizabeth had been talking to him all the while about any number of things, with Mills acting in such a way that would make her giggle endlessly, or open her eyes wide in wonder. It was a fine friendship that they had, and that was when Jane had noticed her brother sat some distance away, watching the pair and with the worst look of loathing and resentment on his face. At that precise moment, John had reminded her of William Cutter – who it was widely assumed would be her husband at a future time – whenever she mentioned to him that she had spoken to George Bancks, recalled some anecdote he had told her that she found amusing. He would take a similar look, and Jane would know that Cutter was jealous of Bancks, maybe worried she would be stolen away from under his nose.
So, my brother is jealous of Mills because he is more likeable to others, no doubt even more so because he is a lowly servant and not the son of a wealthy landowner, Jane Brass told herself. Well if John were to act more of an adult and treat others with respect then maybe he would be better liked too! It would do no good to carry this to her father, for even if he believed her it was far more likely that Mills would be simply replaced and any other hired hand the same until John found one more to his taste. But there was the fear that Mills might be taken to the limit of his patience one day and seek vengeance, and in the same way he had used his fists earlier. John was not accustomed to such doings and would surely succumb quickly to any beating that was handed out. So while there would be denials and derision if Jane were to make her thoughts known, as the eldest child she also felt it her responsibility to at least try and change her brother's ways. But not tonight. Jane Brass drifted off into a troubled sleep.
Mills was feeling more tired now, too. He often found his mind to be loaded with questions just as he was about to sleep and it helped for him to speak his thoughts as he took in the night air. It could easily have been believed he had heard every silent thought that Jane Brass just had, for he had been wondering what could be done to bring about a stop to the wrongdoings of Master Brass. There was no chance he could challenge the lad to fight him like he had done with Roe, but no idea would come to him that might be seen as suitable for the lad to change his ways. It was on this night that Mills had planted a seed of his own, one that would cause Master Brass to reap the consequence of what Mills had sown. He returned to his bed, sleeping more easily now as he looked out at the light of the full moon.
*
SIX
Thirsk, North Yorkshire, 2016
Parkes and Mills hadn't stopped in the town, just bypassed it in Mills' desire to reach London more quickly. His mind was in overdrive; so much happening that he simply had to know about. It was difficult to know where to start.
“How many miles has this carriage travelled thus far, Miss Jane?” Parkes had a quick look at the odometer.
“Just over forty. And please stop calling me 'Miss Jane' all the time – it sounds...sleazy...”
“Forty miles? But we have been moving for barely a moment!”
“Not far short of an hour.” Mills rested back in his seat and took a deep breath.
“Over forty miles in not more than a single hour. Quite breathtaking! You do not wish for me to address you by your proper title?”
“It's common practice just to call friends by their first names. No need for anything else. We don't have servants now for the most part, and especially not me.”
“All right, then I shall call you Jane. You may call me Andrew, but of course when we are married there might be a time or two when you will have to refer to me as Mister Mills, or possibly even as Sir depending on the company we keep. But that is something we can discuss more fully at the time, I think. I would first of all like to view the City of London with my own eyes and see if what has been told about it is true.” Another mention of marriage. Parkes gripped the steering wheel a bit harder.
“Tell me more about these roads of yours. The one on which we now travel is wide enough for several carriages to ride side by side, and yet I have counted only ten since our journey began and not a single carriage for some minutes now.”
“Probably because it's the early hours of the morning. Not many people up and about at this time of day. You've really been counting the cars since we left Ferryhill?”
“You find that strange?”
“Well, yes, I do. There's so many cars on the road now it would be impossible to keep count, especially when you're trying to concentrate on driving.”
“But this carriage has no horses, therefore it is easier to drive, is it not?”
“Look, this is way too complex to get into now” Parkes sighed. “But let's just say you need to be well trained and pretty skilled to drive one.”
“Well I shall have to learn so you will teach me when we return to Ferryhill” Mills said with great enthusiasm. “Do you know where the nearest well would be from our location?”
“The nearest well?”
“So I might draw up some water. I have a thirst.”
“Oh, right. We don't have wells any more...”
“Preposterous!” Mills declared in a booming voice. “Then how would you get your water?” Parkes saw a sign at the side of the road.
“I'll show you in a few minutes” she told him.
*
The BP filling station wasn't too far off route, and Parkes was glad to be making contact with people from her own era again. Mills hadn't shown any signs of becoming violent since their trip began, but he was too easily antagonised and in a society he knew almost nothing about that could certainly be problematic. It was possible that might work in her favour but he'd been all too quick to whisk her away from Ferryhill and she had a sense that she was now a hostage. Parkes might not have been an expert but knew it was surely better to go along with any demands, especially those that were less hostile. She had considered passing a message to the attendant in the filling station but Mills' appearance and curiosity about everything in sight changed her mind. All she wanted to do was get out, drive and take the time to think up a more risk-free approach.
Mills drained the last of the water from the plastic bottle he was holding and then, for some reason known only to him, decided to push one of his fingers into the opening. Parkes couldn't stop the smile from spreading across her face as she watched him out the corner of her eye as he struggled to remove it, grunting and looking slightly embarrassed as he did so.
“You think this is amusing? Do not just sit there and laugh at me, woman – make yourself useful and remove this infernal object from my hand at once!” It was certainly a good idea to avoid direct confrontation with her potentially dangerous
passenger, but Parkes had no intention of being spoken to in such a manner.
“Well why did you shove your finger in there in the first place? You must have known it would get jammed! So you know what? No, I'm not going to help you! And don't you dare speak to me like that, ever! You can keep that bottle on your hand for the rest of your life, as far as I'm concerned!” And then she shut up, stared ahead with her eyes fixed firmly on the road. Nobody said anything for a few minutes.
“My sincere apologies, Jane – I should not have spoken to you like that...”
“No, you shouldn't have...” More silence.
“I need to urinate” Mills said eventually. “If you would be so good as to stop the carriage awhile and help me remove this bottle from my finger I would be forever grateful.” Parkes looked across at him, nodded a few times but said nothing. She indicated left and pulled onto the hard shoulder. Taking a small tin of lip balm out of her pocket, she applied a liberal amount around the neck of the bottle and Mills' finger, which had turned white. A little twisting and pulling and it came free. He breathed an audible sigh of relief.
“Thank you. I realise now it was quite ridiculous to do such a thing. Now, I really must go.” Mills directed for him to walk up to the top of the grass bank and conceal himself behind a tree, just in case any other cars should pass by. Mills was confused as to why he had to do this, but nodded his head. It occurred to Parkes that she could quite easily drive away and lose Mills, hopefully never have to see him again, but found herself being held back by a sense of guilt. Not just at leaving him behind, but also aware of the fact she was a major part of the reason he was now here and didn't want to dump the problem onto someone else to solve. She had an idea and after checking to see that Mills was still out of sight, she got out her mobile phone.
On my way to London with Mills. Get help. Google maps, get directions Ferryhill to London – that's the route we're on. Left about 12.40am. Please read this soon and get help! Jane xx
It was probably fortunate that Mills had no concept of tact or moving with stealth; Parkes heard him approaching the car long before he arrived and so slipped the phone back into her pocket, remembering at the last second to change the setting to silent so as not to alert Mills in any way should her message be answered by text or, even worse, a phone call. She allowed him to fumble about with the door handle for a minute or so while she brought her breathing back under control before opening the door so he could get inside.
“Ah, that is much better, I think! Now, we go to London!” Parkes made sure his seatbelt was fastened before pulling back out onto the empty carriageway.
*
Neither Harper or Ford felt much like sleeping after leaving the Police Station. It was close on one in the morning by the time every last detail had been elicited that could possibly prove useful and although emotionally drained and exhausted, the knowledge of what had happened to two of their friends and no news about a third left them uneasy. They'd visited an all-night McDonald's restaurant and were now contemplating whether to drive to Newcastle so they could visit Hunter in hospital when Ford's phone emitted a beep. She checked it quickly, hoping it would be a message from Parkes and relieved when it was, but let go a loud gasp as she read the message.
“Anna? I'm guessing that's from Jane, right? So what's up?” She didn't say anything, just passed him the phone so he could read the message for himself.
On my way to London with Mills. Get help. Google maps, get directions Ferryhill to London – that's the route we're on. Left about 12.40am. Please read this soon and get help! Jane xx
“Why the hell would she be going to London?” Harper wondered out loud.
“How the hell would I know? Sorry, it's been a long night. But we have to go back to the police and give them this information.”
“We need to speak to Detective Hawkins now!” The same desk sergeant who had watched Harper and Ford leave about an hour earlier raised his eyebrows when they came crashing back through the door, though he couldn't say that he was entirely surprised. Hawkins was summoned by way of a telephone call and arrived in the reception area a few seconds later.
“What's going on?”
“I got this text, about fifteen minutes ago” said Ford, holding out her phone. Hawkins took it and read the message.
“Okay, come with me” he told the distraught pair.
“I'll give her this, she's damn clever under pressure” Hawkins commended Parkes as her proposed route was displayed on the screen of his laptop for them all to see. “So why she ended up agreeing to do something so bloody stupid as this in the first place is beyond me.” He threw Harper and Ford an accusing glance and immediately felt guilty for doing so. “With the exact route, time of departure and estimated speed we can narrow down the area she's likely to be in. Should make it much easier for us to track her down. So she left at twelve-forty – how's her driving?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well is she a boy racer or a Sunday morning kind of driver? Don't worry, she's not going to get a ticket if she drives like Lewis Hamilton” he smiled.
“Very careful” said Harper. “I've never known her do more than about sixty-five on the motorway, maybe seventy if the road is clear.”
“Okay, so let's say she's doing seventy. Now this message came in at...one fifty-three. That means she has a seventy-three minute head start on us. She must have stopped to send this message if she's such a careful driver so let's say five minutes. I'm guessing Mills must have went for a piss or something because I doubt she would have done this right under his nose. That means she's around sixty-eight minutes from here, which would put her...” he tapped at his computer keyboard, made a few quick calculations. “Seventy-nine point three three miles away. Minus five minutes while she sent the text reckoning the same speed, that's...five point eight three miles to subtract, leaving a total of...seventy three and a half miles. If she's constantly on the move then she's gaining over a mile a minute on us so I'll put a call out to the West Yorkshire squad – she should be round about the Pontefract area by now, so that'll be our starting point. If she's sent this message we can only assume by its wording that she feels under threat and is going to comply with whatever Mills tells her to do, so that's no bad thing. At least we know she's still alive. I'll give them these details and they can forward the message on to the next force and so on until we find her car. So what does she drive and what's the registration number?” Ford looked horror-struck, but Harper was expecting the question and found a photo of her car stored on his phone.
“Black Volkswagen Golf, registration November Lima five five, Sierra Romeo Juliet.” Hawkins muttered, writing down the information before he went to go and make the call that would hopefully find Parkes and get her home alive and safe.
“Don't worry, we'll find them” he assured the two terrified students.
*
“How far might we be from London now?” asked Mills, sounding like an excited child. Parkes could just imagine him saying 'are we there yet?' over and over until they finally arrived.
“We're getting close to Doncaster – that's ninety-one and a half miles from Ferryhill, give or take.”
“And in such a short amount of time! If I were able to tell my father all of what has happened to me he would never believe a single word of it, that is for certain. But he will be pleased that I am finally to be wed to the woman that I love.” It had been impossible to shake Mills' strong belief that he and Parkes would actually get married, and her be more than willing to do so. He'd barely seen a fraction of what the twenty-first century had to offer, and yet his mind was mapping out for them a seventeenth-century lifestyle. There had always been that conflict in whatever Mills said or did. He understood he existed in a different time, but also seemed to be of the belief that little had changed because he wanted it to be that way. He had to live somewhere, somehow – how would he survive? As she thought about this, Parkes glanced in her rear-view mirror and thought she was about to s
tart crying.
“This is officer eighteen sixty-one to dispatch. Come in, please...” A quick burst of static came from PC Eric Crawford's radio, and then a reply.
“Officer eighteen sixty-one, this is dispatch...”
“I've just spotted a black Volkswagen Golf, registration number November Lima five five, Sierra Romeo Juliet, heading south on the A one close to junction thirty-five. There are two occupants, one male, one female, with the female driving the vehicle. I'm approximately one hundred yards behind the Volkswagen, which is driving at a consistent speed of sixty-eight miles per hour. Please advise on how to proceed. Over.” More static. Although he had most likely been sighted by now, Crawford did nothing to make himself more conspicuous or give the driver any reason to try and flee the scene.
“Officer eighteen sixty-one, County Durham Police have given the following information. The female is one Jane Parkes, twenty years of age, height five feet four inches, slim build with green eyes and brown hair. The male is named as Andrew Mills; described as five feet eight inches with black hair, brown eyes and well-built. Be advised that Mills should be approached with extreme caution; he appears to have taken Parkes hostage and is prone to violent outbursts – Durham Police are connecting him to one murder and one attempted murder at this time. Maintain current distance, units are en route to assist.”