by K. Velk
“I want you to have this. It may prove useful in your search and if not then, soon enough.”
It was a check drawn on Drummonds Bank and made out to Miles for 200 pounds. If Miles had stayed at Quarter Sessions, it would have taken him nearly four years to earn this much money.
“It’s too much.”
“Oh, not really. Money is only good for the work it can do. This will help you and it won’t hurt me. Please take it. Ready money is sword and shield in London, you will find.”
Miles took the check.
“I can’t thank you enough.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “It’s not really so much. I am glad that I might be able to help you. It is my privilege, really.”
No wonder everyone here was so devoted to her.
“One more thing.” She rose and took a book off one of the shelves. It was the copy of Shakespeare that he had brought through the Gate. “Please, return this to Morgan if you can. She wrote a note on the flyleaf and handed the book to Miles. He slipped it into his haversack.
“I will. I promise.”
“I do hope so. I know it’s a big country but you two have been good friends, haven’t you?”
Miles nodded. “I hope to be back there soon. I will look him up first thing. If you don’t hear from him or me, though, please don’t think it’s because we’ve forgotten you. There may be … obstacles.”
She gave him a cockeyed look. “Well, that’s rather cryptic, isn’t it? But I won’t ask for explanations. When I was a young bride, my mother-in-law advised me, ‘never apologize and never explain.’ Very difficult advice to follow for anyone below the rank of Countess, but I have learned at least not to request apologies or explanations.”
Miles stood. “I hate to rush off, but I need to get to London tonight. I suppose it will be too late to see Miss Everett – but I will look her up in the morning.”
“Of course. I shall telephone her for you. Here’s the address of St. Hild’s.” She jotted on a note card. “I’ll have Brown give you a ride to the station. You should be able to make the 9:30. Do you need cash for the journey?” She pulled the bell that would summon Mr. Scott.
“No, I have plenty. But could you ask Mr. Brown to bring the farm truck? I am going to need to take my bike along with me.”
“Certainly.”
“And Lady Fisher…”
“Yes?”
“Forgive me if I am speaking out of turn, or whatever, but you really shouldn’t smoke. It’s terrible for you.”
She smiled. “Is it? I thought it had a certain fumigating property – that’s what the adverts say anyway.”
“You shouldn’t believe those. They’re all lies. It’s awful for your health. It causes cancer and lung diseases. Take my word for it.”
She laughed a little at him. “Well, with such earnestness, how could I doubt you? I will see what I can do. It is a rather dirty habit, isn’t it? But I have few props and stays these days Miles, so I won’t make you any promises. We can only do our best.”
He couldn’t argue that point. He hoped his best was going to be good enough to see him through what lay ahead of him now.
Part IV
56. London Calling…
Miles managed to get the Professor’s bike stowed in the baggage room of Tipton Station and to buy a ticket just in time to catch the last London train of the day. He leapt aboard as the wheels were beginning to turn, with the conductor giving him a helpful pull.
As devastating as it had been to learn that Ada had left Quarter Sessions, Miles now felt oddly exhilarated. He supposed it was because he had worked his way through the hardest parts of his mission – or at least what he hoped would be the hardest parts. All that remained was to find Ada, bring her back to Quarter Sessions, and pedal with her on the Royal Sunbeam back through the Oak Gate.
Right, he thought to himself as he flopped with his heavy haversack into a seat, that’s all I have to do: find one girl in the largest city in the world, a city I have never seen, persuade her that she is meant to leave all she knows to come with me to my world in the future, and then do a little time traveling. Should be a snap.
He sat for few minutes and considered it all, poised between exultation and despair. It was as if equal weights of each had been placed on a scale and the balance arm was wavering. The despair side was beginning to dip when he felt a light tap on his shoulder.
“I thought that was you!” The beautiful face of Daphne Lightfoot loomed. “I saw you making a mad leap from the platform. Very daring. Won’t you join us in our compartment? We have it all to ourselves.”
“Oh, Miss Lightfoot,” he stuttered. “Hi. Uh. I only have a third-class ticket. I don’t think I’m allowed up there.”
“Oh, never mind about that. If the conductor bothers about it we’ll top up your fare or pay the fine. I was so regretting that we didn’t have a chance to speak more last week, and now here you are! What a lucky chance.”
It seemed disloyal to Susannah to be friendly to Daphne, but Miles suddenly yearned for company. And, truth be told, he was flattered by Daphne’s interest in him, and by the manner of her approach, which was as one adult to another. Besides, he reasoned, the Lightfoots could give him some pointers about London and he could ask Professor Lightfoot more about the Oak Gate.
“OK. Sure. Thanks a lot.” He followed Daphne through the rocking car up to first class. The Professor also looked genuinely pleased to see him. “I must say, Miles, it is heartening for an old professor to find that today’s youth does not altogether despise one’s rather out-of-the-way field of study. When Daphne said she thought she had seen you at the station I remarked how impressed I was by your attendance at our last outing.”
Miles smiled sheepishly. “Well, as you know, I had run right into the surviving oak tree when I first got to Tipton. If it had magic powers I thought I had better find out about them.” They laughed at this little joke and Miles took a seat next to Daphne and across from the Professor.
“I have been wondering about that story Miss Green told,” he began.
“Yes?”
“Well, if that happened more than 400 years ago, could the same trees have been there then? I mean, do any trees live that long?”
Daphne rolled her eyes and picked up a magazine. “Oh, here we go,” she said in a stage whisper.
The Professor gave his daughter a disapproving sidelong glance. “The Quercus robur, commonly known as the English oak, generally may live for several centuries. It is, therefore, not impossible that the Quarter Sessions oaks were growing - perhaps even mature by 1527. In fact, the Bowthorpe Oak in Lancashire is estimated to be nearly a thousand years old. It’s hollow and has hosted a dinner party for twenty, if you can imagine. It has a remarkable appearance, uncanny, positively otherworldly.”
“The oaks at Quarter Sessions are pretty spooky too – well, at least the one that’s still there,” Miles said. “I was wondering, since all the stories seem to be about the pair of oaks, now that there’s only one still standing, well, if whatever powers they were supposed to have might not be, like, not working anymore?”
The Professor smiled at the clumsy question. “I expect most people would tell you that they never had any supernatural powers. Still, haven’t you found that every wood has something enchanted about it? Sometimes for good, sometimes rather evil?”
Miles considered. “I never really thought about it, but now that you mention it…”
“It might interest you to know that deliberately planted trees are among the earliest man-made sacred sites. And the ancient Greeks, who were no fools, believed that tree nymphs called ‘Dryads’ were associated with oak trees. In my view it would be absurdly reductionist to regard trees and forests with only scientific interest, or as mere things. They have always had, or at least stirred, living spirits.”
“What did you think about the fact that the people in Miss Green’s story all had to hold different things when they ran between the trees – w
hat was it? A willow branch, a feather and a stone?”
“Yes…” The Professor nodded thoughtfully. “That was an interesting feature. Of course, charms and talismans are a familiar motif in folklore around the world. It was particularly interesting to me that the objects in Miss Green’s tale had such different physical attributes, and that they functioned only when they were in the hands of those to whom they had been given. It suggested to me that it was the giving of the object that was the key to unlocking whatever power the oaks possessed, or marked, rather than the object itself.”
“What do you mean ‘marked’?”
“Mr. Muybridge, the geologist who accompanied us on our outing, told me that there are a pair of enormous and very odd rock formations just a few feet below the forest floor there. Do you recall those odd bits of stone that jut up from the ground?”
“I think I ran into one on the day I hit my head. It bent my wheel.”
“Well, some of them are apparently protuberances on these huge underground boulders, like tips of an iceberg. When I learned that, I surmised that the oaks might well have been planted to mark these curious formations. It’s possible that there have been trees of different sorts planted there over the centuries and the surviving oak is only the remnant of a series of markers.”
Miles considered the implications for a moment. “If that’s true, maybe it was the boulders, and not the trees, that matter? I mean, for whatever cosmic power the place is supposed to have?”
The Professor was gratified by this leap, which he had obviously already made himself. “Exactly so. It’s a shame we can’t go back in time and learn the truth.”
Miles fell back against the red upholstery, with a sigh of relief. “Yes. It’s a shame about that.”
Daphne looked at him with astonishment. “Miles, you really must be one in a million. I have never met a boy your age who could get as worked up about sacred trees or rocks or what have you as my father is. Now, not to change the subject – but let’s change the subject – what takes you to London?
“I’m going to find a girl.” Miles felt as though a heavy pack had slipped from his shoulders after a long trudge – light as a feather.
Daphne pointed at her father. “Now that’s interesting. Will any London girl do, or is there one in particular?”
“Oh, just one. Ada Ardilaun. She was a housemaid at Quarter Sessions, but she’s run back to London to try and be a singer.”
“My, how romantic,” Daphne said. “Are you meant to bring her back to Sessions? That sounds an unsatisfying ending.”
“I don’t think wild horses could drag her back there. And you’ll probably think I’m being a stupid kid, but really I believe she’s going to make it big. She’s got an incredible voice and she plays piano like a pro. I tried to convince her that she ought to come to the States with me – she sings like an American, if you know what I mean – but she was determined to run back to London.”
“No offense intended, but aren’t you a bit young for this kind of thing, Miles?” The Professor asked.
Miles winced. So much for being treated like an adult.
“Everyone says that. I keep explaining that I’m not trying to, you know, romance her. It’s just I know some people in the music business back home who could help her.”
“I see. Well, in that case, is there any assistance we can offer?” Professor Lightfoot asked. He recognized that he had wounded Miles’ pride with his earlier question.
“Thanks. To be honest, I think there probably is. For one thing, I don’t know my way around London at all. Are there a lot of music halls?”
“Hmm. I should say so.” Daphne answered. “I think the cinema has cut into their business lately but still there are lots of them, although I can’t pretend to any deep knowledge there.”
“We’re staying with some friends in Westminster until the fifteenth,” the Professor said. “We’ll give you the address and if there’s anything we can do, just call on us. Where are you staying?
“That’s another thing I haven’t figured out yet.”
Daphne advised that there were two decent hotels right at Euston Station where they would soon arrive. “From either one you can use the Underground to get anywhere in London,” she said. “The Tube is very simple. I’ll explain about it when we arrive. Oh and Euston Station is marvelous! It’s absolutely my favorite station, and a fine place from which to launch a romantic adventure.”
The Lightfoots didn’t leave Miles until after they had seen him safely checked into the Victoria Hotel, which was, as promised, just next to Euston Station. Miles didn’t tell his new friends that he dreaded being alone in the big hotel in the big city, but they must have sensed his nervousness. Professor Lightfoot, as promised, gave Miles their London address and telephone number and invited him to lunch the next day at the café in the British Museum.
“The Museum is just round the corner. Meet us at the café at one o’clock if you can,” the Professor said. “I know you’re not here for sightseeing, but as you find yourself at the heart of Empire and since the music halls won’t open until evening, you might as well make the most of your stay.”
They wished him goodnight and Miles lay down on the springy bed still in his clothes and with his thoughts racing. I’ll never be able to sleep tonight, not after a day like this, he thought. I wish they had a TV in here. He closed his eyes for a moment and told himself to breathe slowly.
The next moment, it seemed, he opened them again, and it was a new day in old London town.
57. A London Detective
St. Hild’s was, mercifully, not difficult to find. It occupied a three-story red brick building on New Kent Road, just a stone’s throw from the Elephant and Castle Underground Station.
The school building was not the Dickensian horror Miles had imagined, though it was set close to the busy road and tight against its neighbors. No, it wasn’t bad, he thought, though it hardly compared to the beauty of Quarter Sessions.
The school term had not yet begun and the front door was locked. Miles rang the bell and a girl of about twelve, wearing a kerchief over her hair and a long apron, quickly appeared. She dropped a curtsey. “Yes Sir?” No one had ever called Miles “Sir” before. It was disconcerting. “I, I’m Miles McTavish. I’ve come to see Miss Everett. I think she’s expecting me?”
The girl swung the door wide open. “Up the stairs and down the hall. First door on your right.”
Miss Everett had always been pleasant to him during her stay at Sessions but Miles had only interacted with her as a servant. Meeting her here, as a kind of equal, felt strange and he struggled to quiet his nerves as he climbed the pale stone stairs. Big half-moons had been worn into the middle of each tread and he considered that Ada had done her bit in this erosion. This made him feel a little closer to her and lifted his spirits a little.
He knocked at the door with “Miss Everett” painted on it in worn gold lettering and an energetic looking woman, unfamiliar to Miles, pulled it open.
“Lovely to see you again, Miles. Come in,” Miss Everett called from the back of the room. The office was spacious and lined with books except for two big windows overlooking teeming New Kent Road.
“This is Miss Fotheringham, my assistant,” she began. “She has charge of the senior girls dormitory and she has hearing that a bat would envy. She is sometimes able to gather intelligence…”
“Hello Miles,” Miss Fotheringham said, seizing his hand. She had a rabbity look and a rabbit’s nervous energy. “We were so upset to hear that Ada had run away from Quarter Sessions. Not surprised, I suppose, but it was such a disappointment and of course we’re all terribly worried about her. We do hope you can find her.” She led him to a pair of chairs positioned in front of Miss Everett’s substantial desk.
“I was hoping you would have some idea where she might have gone,” Miles began.
“I’m afraid she might be anywhere,” Miss Everett said, looking out of the window with a troubled expres
sion. “I know that she has gotten mixed up with some kind impresario. She wouldn’t even tell me his name after I expressed my alarm. That was why, of course, we arranged for a post for her out in Tipton.” She paused, “I seem to have taken completely the wrong track with Ada.”
“Oh Miss Everett, you mustn’t blame yourself! Any responsible person would have done the same!” Miss Fortheringham said.
Miss Everett gave her assistant a pale smile but made no other response. “Did you notice the theatre at the top of the street, Miles?”
“The one with the sculpture of an elephant carrying a tower on its back?” It had been impossible to miss.
“Yes, that’s the Elephant Theatre. Four years ago, Ada went there to see a musical matinee. She never was a diligent student, but she is very quick and bright. I had been hoping for a scholarship for her, and if she had buckled down, she could have won one easily. Unfortunately, however, after that fatal matinee, nothing more complex than Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay could maintain any hold on her attention.”
Miles was puzzled. “If you don’t mind my asking, why did you send her out to be a housemaid – if she’s so bright, I mean?”
“Apparently I went wrong there too. All the St. Hild’s girls are missing at least one parent. Most have lost both and about eighty percent of our girls are from very poor backgrounds. Though we do encourage university for those who show promise, like Ada, we’re primarily a vocational institution. Our goal is to ensure that all St. Hilds girls will be able to support themselves in some honest way. I’d hoped that by giving her a dose of reality, by showing her what kind of life she was letting herself in for by abandoning her books, that she’d want to come back and prepare for entrance exams – or at least that she would be out of harm’s way til this show business fever passed. I was obviously wretchedly mistaken.”
“But she has a will of her own!” Miss Fotheringham said. “And she’s not a child any more.”