Another Time, Another Place

by Jodi Taylor

  Pausing only to scoop up my stockings from where they were lying across the chair with the rest of my clothes, he swept her into the bathroom. Five seconds later he shot back in again and ripped my pillows from underneath me. I fell back with a thump which did my shoulders no good at all.

  ‘What are you doing with my pillows?’

  I think I thought he was going to smother her and she hadn’t done us any harm at all.

  ‘Just making her comfortable.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘In the bath, nicely tied up. Pillows for her head and a couple of blankets to keep her warm. It’s not her fault she walked in at the wrong moment.’

  He shot off into the bathroom. I could hear him talking reassuringly.

  Reappearing again, he began to strip the bed around me. Sheets, blanket, the lot. I found myself lying on a bare mattress.

  ‘Are you insane?’

  ‘If anyone comes in, they’ll think you’ve been legitimately transferred and the bed is stripped in readiness for the next patient. Believe me, nothing is more suspicious than an empty bed, but a stripped bed tells a completely different story. Clever, eh?’

  I stared up at him from my bed of pain. ‘Promise me – just promise me – you will never rescue me again as long as you live.’

  He disappeared back into the bathroom to cosset his nurse.

  I swung my legs out of bed and, handcuff dangling, began to hobble to the wheelchair. Which was when, despite the burning pain in my shoulders and arms, it became apparent I’d had some pretty hefty painkillers. One leg went east and the other declared it had been a long day and refused to work at all.

  ‘Whoa,’ said Markham, grabbing me before I crashed to the floor. He stuck his head out of the door and withdrew it almost immediately. ‘Bugger.’

  I would have panicked but my world had gone pink. ‘What?’

  ‘Gaunt’s coming back.’

  ‘Ha,’ I said, losing all control of my outlying regions. ‘Leave him to me.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. This way. Time for Plan B.’

  ‘Wow – that was Plan A? What’s Plan B?’

  ‘I told you when we were prepping. Window.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t scream now.’

  And then the bugger threw me out of the window.

  Believe it or not, I was fairly relaxed about this. Half of me was in a kind of pink painkiller haze and the other half was convinced Pennyroyal was around somewhere and would catch me.

  Well, that didn’t happen.

  Fortunately, I landed on a nice piece of well-kept lawn although I had a nasty suspicion I’d have gone out of the window anyway, even if it had been the car park. Or a bed of spikes. Or a snake pit. Being rescued by the Security Section is not always a blessing although they get quite upset if you mention this.

  Barely had I even begun to cope with that happening than most of Markham landed on top of me.

  ‘Bloody hell, Markham.’

  ‘No, no,’ he said bravely, straightening his wig. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘What happened to do no harm?’

  ‘Doesn’t apply to nurses.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure it does.’

  He rolled off me and sat up. I stayed where I was. What with the horror of his dress rucked up around his waist and displaying incorrectly worn tights, my fiery arms, wonky legs and crushed lungs, I wouldn’t be making any substantial contributions to our getaway any time soon.

  ‘I didn’t need rescuing,’ I said into the grass.

  ‘Really? You were just going to take up your bed and walk, were you?’ he said, disentangling himself. ‘The one you were handcuffed to?’

  ‘I told you,’ I said as he hauled me to what were passing themselves off as my feet. ‘Thumb. Dislocate. Escape.’ My knees gave way.

  He heaved me over his shoulder. ‘Bloody hell, Max. Less chocolate. More exercise.’

  Muscle weighs more than fat – which has been my lifelong excuse – and finally my moment of justification had come. I made my case as he staggered across the grass and I flattered myself I was both articulate and persuasive which, considering I was upside-down and with my arse in full view, was impressive.

  ‘Where are you parked?’ I said, displaying a polite interest in his plans for the afternoon.

  ‘By that green tree.’

  I tried to squint around him. My face was dangerously near his backside – although not as close as his was to mine – so I was willing to look anywhere else. ‘They’re all green, you pillock. Your ignorance of the plant world is as great as your ignorance of the animal world.’

  ‘Look, much more criticism from you and I’m buggering off down the pub and leaving you to make your own way back to the pod.’

  ‘Bet I still get there before you.’

  ‘I could hear the pair of you a hundred yards away,’ said Pennyroyal, appearing in the pod doorway.

  I was dumped unceremoniously on to the floor.

  ‘Why aren’t you dressed as a nurse?’ I said to Pennyroyal’s feet.

  ‘For so many good reasons.’

  Markham got the door closed. ‘Can we go, please. I’ve only had her for ten minutes and that’s eleven and a half minutes too long.’

  The world might have gone all the colours of the rainbow but believe me I was far too gone to care.

  The pain in my arms and shoulders woke me up. I shifted my position slightly to try to ease things a little and managed to pry one eye open. And then the other.

  ‘What took you so long, Dr Maxwell?’

  Dr Bairstow was sitting in a chair by the window, hands crossed on his stick – not his usual stick, I noticed, with true historian talent for focusing on the trivial.

  I looked around. I was back at the farmhouse. It was night-time. The little bedside lamp threw out a gentle light. I could smell apples again. Everywhere was very quiet. It was just me and Dr Bairstow.

  He stood up. ‘I have been instructed to give you these in a glass of water.’

  He ripped open a foil strip and dropped two tablets into a glass where they fizzed and frothed.

  ‘Painkillers. Can you lift your head?’

  I could.

  ‘Please drink it all.’

  I did.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

  I would.

  He clicked the kettle on and busied himself. I lay back and looked up at the ceiling while I tried to piece together the events of the last twenty-four hours.

  He pulled two pillows off the spare bed and propped them behind me so I could sit up a little. And the handcuffs had disappeared which was good news. I’m not sure what was in that foil packet but I was beginning to feel much better and who needs to be able to see the corners of their bedroom anyway. Take it from me – corners are overrated.

  He put a mug on the bedside table beside me.

  ‘Only half a mug,’ he said, demonstrating his usual faith in me. ‘In case you spill it.’

  ‘Will I get the other half for good behaviour?’

  He smiled and went to sit back in his chair. I carefully held the mug in both hands and closed my eyes and sipped. It was good tea. I’d have happily stayed like that forever but, as usual, curiosity got the better of me.

  ‘So,’ I said, trying not to wince as I twisted to set down the mug. ‘Not dead.’

  ‘Rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated,’ he said.

  I nodded. ‘That Gaunt’s a bit of a bastard, isn’t he?’

  ‘An unpleasant personality type,’ he said.

  ‘He cut off my hair,’ I said, personal grievances rising to the fore.

  ‘Ah – I did wonder. I was reluctant to comment in case this was the latest style and you had, in fact, paid quite a lot of money to achieve that . . . unusual
. . . effect.’

  ‘Mrs Brown?’

  ‘Asleep at the moment, but very well.’

  ‘Can I have the other half?’

  He poured out the rest.

  ‘What now?’ I asked. ‘Back to St Mary’s? Or are we all criminals now?’

  ‘I think I can safely leave St Mary’s in the very capable hands of John Treadwell. For the time being, anyway.’

  ‘You organised all this, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, in conjunction with Mrs Brown and Mr Black but not, sadly, with Mr Gaunt, which might have been an error. Together with Commander Hay and a few others from Thirsk, we put together a plan to be implemented should events take a sudden turn for the worst. The main thrust of which was to scatter various elements of St Mary’s, thus ensuring, should anything happen to me, there would always be others to carry on.’

  ‘Leon,’ I said.

  ‘And the Meiklejohns and Matthew – all safely stowed away.’

  ‘Markham?’

  ‘Here, with the very excellent Lady Amelia. As intended.’

  I sat back. ‘They’re working for you, aren’t they? Smallhope and Pennyroyal, I mean.’ I sighed. ‘Everyone works for you.’

  ‘Well, not quite,’ he said modestly, ‘but for the purposes of this conversation, yes.’

  Well – devious old bugger. Hang on a minute . . .

  ‘You couldn’t know I’d be sacked,’ I said.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘I think use of the word “inevitable” might be quite appropriate here.’

  ‘Are you saying that Treadwell deliberately wound me up? What about Clerk and Prentiss? Were they a price worth paying?’

  ‘No. That was completely unexpected. I understand the commander has instituted a programme of monthly visits and medical checks. As much as could be done – he did.’

  Well, that was true, but it didn’t make me feel any better.

  ‘And bloody Hyssop?’

  ‘That was regrettable. I think, without blowing my own trumpet, that had I remained in place a little longer, I would have been able to smooth the path of your working relationship somewhat. It was unfortunate for Hyssop that she became linked with Treadwell and my reported demise.’

  ‘So,’ I said, trying to sum up. ‘St Mary’s is safe. Ish. The Archive, Leon, Matthew and the others are safe. Mrs Brown is safe. Markham’s safe. You’re safe.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, interrupting my catalogue of safeness. ‘Everyone’s safe. Even you.’

  ‘I’m a wanted criminal,’ I said.

  ‘Well, I think that’s an issue that can be discussed when we can see a little more clearly, I think.’

  ‘All this? All this is exactly what you had planned?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘So what now?’

  ‘That is to be discussed when everyone is feeling a little better.’

  ‘But why? Why this . . . ?’ I nearly said ‘over-elaborate charade’ but I was in enough pain without asking for more. ‘Why is all this happening? All these wheels within wheels. Moving people around like chess pieces. What’s going on?’

  He tweaked the curtain and looked outside. Still dark. He let the curtain fall back.

  ‘Well, we’re not sure why and we’re certainly not sure how, but to use one of your sayings – something’s gone horribly wrong somewhere. I am not alone in thinking this. Commander Hay is in complete agreement with me. Somehow, somewhere, something has happened. Or not happened. Something is accelerating events – bringing them forward and setting them on a whole new path.’

  He sighed and sat back down, his face full of shadows. ‘I’m sorry to say this, Max, but we think – in fact, we are convinced – that we are in the opening stages of the Time Wars.’

  THE END

  Acknowledgements

  2020 has been designated as the Year of Patara. It really is the most amazing place and should we ever be released from captivity, I do urge anyone who can to visit both the magnificent ancient site and the fabulous beach half a mile away.

  Thanks to Phil Dawson for his advice on what’s involved in moving a prisoner from A to B. His opinion of the military police is entirely his own and I suspect not completely unbiased.

  Thanks as always to my prosecco-knitting agent, Hazel.

  And to my excellent editor, Frankie, and all the staff at Headline who work so hard on my behalf.

  Thanks to Nicola Reynolds who came up with the name R2-Tea2 for Markham’s assistant. Of whom I feel reasonably sure we haven’t heard the last.

  I usually go on to express my apologies and thanks to all the people who had to put up with me while I was writing this book but a lot of it was written during lockdown, which, while brilliant for my productivity, didn’t do either my sanity or my waistline much good at all. The highlight of my week was thumping my saucepan for the NHS. Yay, NHS!

  Have you met the Time Police?

  A long time ago in the future, the secret of time travel became known to all and the world nearly ended. And so an all-powerful, international organisation was formed to keep the timeline straight. At all costs.

  Enter Jane, Luke and Matthew. The worst recruits in Time Police history. Their adventures kick off in . . .

  And they’re back for round three in . . .

  October 2021. Available to order now.

  Discover Jodi Taylor’s gripping supernatural thrillers

  There are some things in this world that only Elizabeth Cage can see. Important things. Dangerous things.

  But what is a curse to Elizabeth is a gift to others – a very valuable gift they want to control.

  And they’ll stop at nothing to do so . . .

  And the series continues with . . .

  August 2021. Available to order now.

  To discover more about

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  www.joditaylor.online

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  THE CHRONICLES OF ST MARY’S SERIES GUIDE

  Don’t know where to start with Jodi Taylor’s CHRONICLES OF ST MARY’S series? Never fear! We know timelines are a tricky business, so we’ve created a go-to guide to help you navigate the series and make the most of your adventure with the tea-soaked disaster magnets of St Mary’s as they hurtle their way around History.

  JUST ONE DAMNED THING AFTER ANOTHER

  So tell me, Dr Maxwell, if the whole of History lay before you . . . where would you go? What would you like to witness?

  Recruited by the St Mary’s Institute of Historical Research, Madeleine Maxwell discovers the historians there don’t just study the past – they revisit it. But one wrong move and History will fight back – to the death. And she soon discovers it’s not just History she’s fighting . . .

  Jodi Taylor says . . .

  ‘I never meant to write a bestseller. I just wanted to see if I had the mental discipline to write a book. I have to say no one was more surprised than me that the answer was yes. The only thing that surprised me more was that it did so well. I’m continually amazed that historians and physicists don’t spit on me in the streets. Although give them time.’

  Available to download

  A SYMPHONY OF ECHOES

  Wherever the historians go, chaos is sure to follow . . .

  Dispatched to Victorian London to seek out Jack the Ripper, things go badly wrong when he finds the St Mary’s historians first. Stalked through the fog-shrouded streets of Whitechapel, Max is soon running for her life. Again.

  Jodi Taylor says . . .

  ‘This is the Jack the Ripper story! I frightened myself to death over this one. And it’s got dodos as well.’

  Available to download

  WHEN A CHILD IS BORN – a short stor
y

  It’s Christmas Day 1066 and a team from St Mary’s is going to witness the coronation of William the Conqueror. Or so they think . . .

  Jodi Taylor says . . .

  ‘Christmas was coming and the decree came down from above. “It’s Christmas, Taylor – we need a short story. Don’t just sit there.” So I didn’t. I think my publishers would like me to point out I’m not usually so obedient. Not unless electrodes are involved.’

  Available to download

  A SECOND CHANCE

  I could have been a bomb-disposal expert, or a volunteer for the Mars mission, or a firefighter, something safe and sensible. But, no, I had to be an historian.

  It began well. A successful assignment to 17th-century Cambridge to meet Isaac Newton, and another to witness the historic events at The Gates of Grief. So far so good.

  But then came the long-awaited jump to the Trojan War that changed everything. And for Max, nothing will ever be the same again.

  Jodi Taylor says . . .

  ‘This one was fun. I really enjoyed writing this one. St Mary’s really goes through it. Heh heh heh.’

  Available to download

  ROMAN HOLIDAY – a short story

  Question: What sort of idiot installs his mistress in his wife’s house? Especially when that mistress is Cleopatra VII Thea Philopator, Queen of Egypt and the most notorious woman of her time?