The assault on her senses staggered her; she felt the city closing in on her, and her stomach grew queasy. At the first opportunity she ducked into a side street and slumped onto the bottom step of a townhouse to gather her wits and regroup. You don’t live here anymore, Mina, she told herself. Just let it wash over you. After a few minutes she was able to regain her composure enough to continue on to her old neighbourhood.
Since leaving, Wilhelmina had had plenty of time to consider what she would do if she managed to return to London again. Her first inclination was to avoid Giovanni’s Bakery-too many memories, too much explaining to do-but now, as she entered more familiar streets, she changed her mind. Part of settling her affairs involved making a clean break with her old life so that there would be fewer questions left unanswered, fewer loose ends left dangling. If nothing else, she reckoned she had back pay coming, and she could use some ready cash for getting around the city.
First, however, she had to find out the present day, month, and year so she would know how much time had elapsed since that first fateful journey. She passed a W. H. Smiths and stepped inside, moving directly to the wall of magazines and newspapers. A quick examination of The Times caused her to do a double take; a glance at the dateline on the nearby Guardian confirmed it. The newspapers were dated the month and year she had left, and the day… what day had she departed? A Sunday-yes, Sunday-she and Kit had planned to go shopping on her day off. It was Monday’s edition of The Times that she held in her hands.
Flabbergasted, she stumbled back onto the street, her mind spinning with the implications. By the time she reached her old workplace, Wilhelmina was slightly dazed and not at all certain what her reception would be. She paused across the street from the little shop and watched for a moment. Nothing seemed to have changed: the green-and-white striped awning was the same, the sign on the window proclaiming Artisan Breads Our Specialty was exactly as she had last seen it. Fixing a smile to her face, she crossed the street and pushed through the door. The bell over the door tinkled, announcing her arrival, and the girl behind the counter looked up.
“Mina!” screeched Tatyana, the cashier. “You’re here!”
“I, uh-”
“What are you wearing?”
Wilhelmina glanced down at her travelling attire. “Clothing crisis,” she explained. “Don’t ask.”
“You didn’t come in this morning,” Tatyana pointed out. “What happened?” Before Mina could answer, she continued, “We tried to call you. We were worried. It’s been crazy here all morning.”
“Sorry,” said Wilhelmina.
Just then John, the bakery owner, bustled into view carrying a tray of sticky buns. “Who’s sorry?” he asked, then glanced around. “Mina! What happened? You didn’t open this morning.”
The sight of her employer, the shop, the warm yeasty smell of baked goods in the display cases brought a surge of emotion Mina had not anticipated; she had not spared a single thought for the place in all the time she had been gone. “I think I ate a bad shrimp,” she muttered. “Sorry. I couldn’t get my phone to work.”
“No kiddin’. I tried to call you.” He set down the tray and regarded her closely. “You look different. You okay?”
“Actually, I need a sick day,” she replied gamely. “If that’s okay.”
“Sure,” agreed John. “Take a couple days if you need to. I’ll cover for you tomorrow.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” She hesitated, then said, “I don’t suppose I have any pay coming?”
“Isn’t it direct deposited?”
“Right,” said Mina. “I wasn’t thinking.” Her salary would have been deposited electronically into her account; to get any money would require a visit to the bank and production of her bank card- which she no longer possessed.
“Well, I’d love to chat,” John was saying, “but I’ve got another tray of buns coming out. See ya later.” He turned and retreated to the kitchen. “Go up and see Rachel-maybe she hasn’t done the endof-month stuff yet.”
Wilhelmina called her good-bye as he disappeared around the corner. Two women customers entered the shop, followed by a mum with a pram. The place was suddenly filling up.
“Hope you feel better, Mina,” said Tatyana, turning to serve the newcomers. “Hi, can I help you?”
Wilhelmina backed toward the door. Somehow, now that she had seen them, she could not make herself say good-bye for good. A cheery, “See you later,” was all she could manage.
A quick visit to John’s wife in the office upstairs confirmed that her paycheck had been, as always, deposited directly into her account.
“Is anything wrong, Mina?” asked Rachel.
“Um, no-not really. It just that I seem to have lost my card. It’s a huge bother.” She sighed. “Oh well.”
“I can give you last week’s,” suggested Rachel, “if that’s any use. That hasn’t gone in yet.”
“You can? That would be a big help.” She waited while the middleaged woman took out a key and opened the bottom desk drawer and withdrew a metal cash box.
“I’ll need you to sign for it,” said Rachel. She withdrew a handful of bills and began counting them out onto her blotter. “You sure everything’s okay?”
“Never better,” said Mina. “Why?”
“I don’t know-you look different is all.” She handed a tidy stack of bills to Wilhelmina. “Six hundred. Here you go.”
“Thanks.” She stuffed the money into her pocket and scribbled her signature on the slip Rachel offered. “Thanks a lot. I’ll see ya.”
A minute later she was back on the street. Next stop, Kit’s flat.
The walk to his front door gave her time to think about what she might say to him-how she might explain not being able to see him for a while, if ever. There was no easy way to do that, so she decided a clean break was best. Taking a deep breath, she gave the door a few solid raps and waited, then knocked again. She tried two more times before giving up. Kit was out. Typical, she thought, and considered leaving him a note, but she had nothing to write with or on, so she let it go. She could break up with him some other time.
Back on the street again and buoyed by the thought that it had only been a day since she was last in London, she resumed her walk and her feet directed themselves to her old flat. Why not? she wondered. She could at least check on the place and see if there was anything worth taking away with her; and while she was there, she could let the landlord know she might be gone for a while.
Ten minutes later Mina turned onto the street, and a few minutes after that was bounding up the steps of the building. She paused briefly to collect her spare key from the old lady who lived in the apartment below.
“Did you lock yourself out, dear?” asked Mrs. Parker as she handed over the key.
“Silly me,” replied Wilhelmina. “I’ll put this back through your letter box when I’m finished.”
“You do that.”
“Cheerio, Mrs. Parker.” Mina moved away and climbed the stairs to her flat. She slid the key into the lock and stepped inside. One look at her cosy little nest and she was overcome by a surge of melancholy that weakened her at the knees. There was mail on the doormat, which she collected and tossed on the hall table. She stepped into the lounge and took in the sight of her couch and pillows, and the fleece blanket she used to curl up in, the book she had been reading-it was almost too much to bear. She went into the kitchen, and one glance at the flowers still fresh in the vase on the windowsill and she lost it. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she stood in the centre of the room and bawled.
If anyone had asked her why she was crying, she would not have been able to provide a reasonable answer. In fact, even as the tears flowed she told herself she was being a big baby and that she was far happier with her life now than she had ever been and that she would not trade her new life for anything. Still, the tears flowed.
When she was finally able to drag her ragged emotions together, she went into her bedroom, emptied the stale
water from the glass beside her bed, and straightened the duvet, then proceeded to look around for anything that might be useful to her in her new life. From her wardrobe she selected a lightweight black wool jumper and a pair of smart lace-up ankle boots she had worn only once; the rest she could live without. Closing the door to the wardrobe, her eye fell on the jar of pennies and obsolete coins-shillings and ha’pennies and the like-she kept on the bureau. She carried the jar to the kitchen and upended it into a plastic carrier bag, then went to check out the bathroom.
One look at the gleaming white tile, and she knew she had to have a shower. She turned on the taps, stripped quickly, and stepped into the free-flowing hot water and lathered up. Oh, such luxury! It had been so long since she had had a proper shower, she had all but forgotten just how truly delicious it could be. She washed her hair and then just stood and let the water run over her until the room filled with steam. With a sigh of regret, she turned off the water and dried herself on a fluffy towel. She brushed her teeth, keeping the toothpaste and brush to take with her. She used the toilet, flushed, and turned out the light. Okay, it wasn’t all bad, she thought as she padded back into her bedroom to dress; there was a lot to be said for the convenience of modern plumbing.
Then, having wallowed enough, she decided it was time to be about her business. She bundled the items she was taking with her into the carrier bag of coins and had a last look around. As she locked the door, she drew some comfort from the idea that she did not really have to abandon anything just now; she could keep the flat just the way it was. Now that she knew how to reach London again and arrive within a day or so of her initial leaving, her home in this particular world would always be there waiting for her. She could come back anytime she chose. What is more, it would be a bolt-hole for her, should she ever need a safe house.
Pleased with herself for having generated this consoling thought, she proceeded in a much better mood and treated herself to a wild shopping spree-which, to her practical mind, meant a visit to the big Marks amp; Spencer flagship store on Oxford Street. She took her time browsing the ladies’ section and eventually settled on a long flowered skirt, three good-quality cotton T-shirts, two of them longsleeved, a thin leather belt, an assortment of utilitarian foundation garments, a smart white overblouse, a short wool jacket in navy blue, two pair of thick tights, and a tri-pack of cotton socks. She dressed in the changing room and then continued to Selfridges a few doors down, where she indulged in the splurge purchase of a fine cashmere pashmina in radiant sky blue.
At a smart boutique called Sweaty Betty she found a lightweight, multi-pocketed suede bag with strap handles that could be worn as a day sack, into which she bundled her purchases and the plastic carrier bag. Satisfied with her new gear, she popped into the nearest Pret A Manger and bought a chicken-Caesar-and-bacon baguette, a three-bean and couscous salad pot, grapes, a packet of sweet potato crisps, and a bottle of Pure Pret Pomegranate drink. As the day was still fair, she crossed the street to Hanover Square Park and found a shady bench on which to enjoy a leisurely lunch and watch the world go by while waiting for the Stane Way ley to become active.
This simple lunch was followed by a long, lingering coffee at Cafe Nero with a slice of millionaire shortbread for desert. She dawdled over the coffee-partly to kill time, but also out of professional interest- observing the operation of the coffee shop closely, critiquing the service and savouring the hot, black brew-analysing the entire experience in a way that never would have occurred to her before. On the street once more, she passed a Waterstones Bookshop and, on a whim, worked her way up to the fourth floor, where in a little-visited side room she pulled science books off the shelf, spread them on the floor, and chose three for Brother Lazarus: The New Physics: A Guide to Life, the Universe, and Everything; Quantum Physics for Dummies; and Advanced Cosmology-Comprehending the Cosmos.
She resumed her promenade along Oxford Street, window-shopping. When at last the sun began to lower in the west, Wilhelmina bade farewell to the city and turned her steps towards Stane Way in preparation for phase two of her plan: a rendezvous with Dr. Thomas Young. While she did not entertain any notions that it would be easy to locate a man who had, in the present world, been deceased for almost two hundred years, she could not have predicted just how crooked that particular path would prove.
CHAPTER 16
In Which a Long-Promised Tea Is Taken
The blue light on the new-model ley lamp indicated the presence of an active line. It was time to go. Wilhelmina tightened the laces on her new boots and, tucking the lamp into a pocket of her new blue jacket, started down the narrow service alley. The wind kicked up suddenly, and a few errant raindrops spattered around her. The world grew dim-as if she had passed into deep shadow. A few steps more and she emerged from the darkness and into a passage in every way similar to the old Stane Way… yet different. This alleyway was bounded by wooden walls, not brick, and the path was paved not with tarmac but with uneven cobbles.
She moved quickly towards the end she could see ahead and emerged into the light of a sun-bright seaside village. A tall-masted schooner stood docked at the wharf a short distance away, and in the harbour another lay at anchor. A few smaller fishing boats plied the waters farther out, rocking in the gentle swell, and sea gulls filled the soft, salt-scented air with their high-pitched chatter.
Her immediate thought was that the jump had gone wrong. She had expected to connect with the Bohemian Ley, and this place was definitely not Bohemia. Pulling the ley lamp from her pocket, she detected only the faintest glint of light, a sign that the ley activity had indeed waned. The sun was high overhead, so there would be a few hours to kill before she could resume her journey; in the meantime she might at least find out when and where she had arrived, and make a note of it for future reference. Stepping out onto the street, she moved along the waterfront trying to appear inconspicuous in her new clothes, and alert to any clues that might help determine the time and place.
Along the wharf, the warehouses and stores were open and either receiving or dispatching cargo in the form of barrels, crates, and bundles bound in burlap and hemp-all of it toted one way or another by stevedores in short trousers and long, floppy shirts. Everyone she saw wore a hat. The men wore either shapeless knit caps, straw hats, or felt constructions with round crowns and wide brims. The few women she saw wore bonnets; they also had shawls or scarves tied around either their shoulders or hips, and all wore long skirts and blouses with scooped necklines and short sleeves. Wilhelmina pulled her blue pashmina from her bag. If only M amp;S carried bonnets in its new line, I’d be set, she mused and, draping the scarf over her head and shoulders, continued with her amble along the harbour and soon found herself enjoying the fresh air and the relaxed and peaceful atmosphere of the little fishing village-a welcome relief after modern London.
As she strolled along she became aware of the feeling that she knew this place. Although she was certain she had never seen or set foot in the town before, there was something vaguely familiar about it-something that eluded her ability to pin down, yet persisted in her awareness. What was it?
“Come from the Indies?”
The voice startled her out of her reverie. She spun around to see a dirty-faced girl of perhaps ten or so watching her with a keen and vaguely disapproving expression.
“Excuse me?”
“Yer from the Indies, ent ya?”
“You speak English,” said Wilhelmina.
“Aye,” agreed the girl. “Here’bouts, we does. And are ye speakin’ the King’s English in the Indies?”
“How do you know I’m from the Indies?” asked Wilhelmina.
“It’s yer rags.” The girl raised a filthy hand and extended a slender finger at Wilhelmina’s shawl and blouse. Her own clothes were bedraggled and dirty; her long brown hair was lank and clearly had not been brushed for some time. “We don’t wear aught like here’bouts.”
“No,” agreed Wilhelmina, “I suppose not.” Directing her
attention to the wharf and docklands, she made a sweep of her hand and asked, “Where am I? What is this place?”
“This be Sefton,” the youngster replied.
That’s it! she thought. Sefton! That was the name of the place Kit had told her about-the place he had been taking her to see when they had become separated on that first climactic leap. She gazed up and down the seafront, taking in the harbour and village with new eyes. So this was the little seaside town Kit had wanted to show her. It was much as he had described it-at least the little she could recall of his description. On that fateful day, Kit had promised to take her to tea at the seaside, to demonstrate the truth of his nutty claim about ley lines and alternate dimensions. “Sefton-on-Sea?”
“Aye,” confirmed the girl. “I be Maggie.”
“My name is Mina. I am pleased to meet you, Maggie.” Wilhelmina extended her hand to the girl, who, after a moment’s hesitation, took it and gave it a halfhearted shake. “Can you tell me what year it is?”
“Ye don’t ken the year?”
“No,” answered Wilhelmina. “I’ve been travelling a long time.”
The girl’s round face scrunched up in thought. The answer forced its way to her lips, and she proclaimed, “This be the year of Our Lord and King William I8 and I8!”
Wilhelmina smiled. No doubt the youngster was simply parroting back something she had heard, but it was enough. Wilhelmina thanked her and asked if she was hungry. The girl hesitated. “I was thinking of having some tea and a bun, maybe. Would you like to take tea with me?” Mina invited.
Maggie frowned. “I never, my lady,” she said, growing suddenly shy and polite. “I ent allowed.”
“Something else? A glass of milk, maybe?” Mina offered. “I have money, and no one to talk to. Maybe there is someplace you could show me where we might get something to eat and drink?”
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