‘What did you do with the parts?’ Angharad asked.
Margaret unlocked the bottom drawer in her desk – the drawer where she kept everything she didn’t want to think about. She took out a jewellery box and placed it in Angharad’s hands. Angharad looked Margaret in the eye, as though asking permission. Margaret nodded. The lid flipped up, revealing the mosaic pieces that had once been the Candybox.
‘Let me take these,’ Angharad said. ‘I can destroy them properly. Obliterate them – in the Conclave lab. Then no one can say they ever existed.’
‘Very well,’ Margaret agreed. ‘And I’ll return to the scene of the crime.’
There was nothing to worry about, Margaret reasoned. Julie was no match for her. Even Julie’s own mother wouldn’t take her side.
58
DECEMBER 2017
Ruby
So Ruby rang the Conclave in the hope of speaking to Grace. She was told no Graces were there at present. In the weeks that followed Ruby continued to see clients and pretend nothing was wrong while quietly being eaten by guilt for firing the bullets that would kill Margaret. When the guilt got too much Ruby went to the nearest police station and confessed. She told them she’d played a shooting game with Margaret Norton and in a matter of weeks Margaret would die because of it. The duty officer brought her tea and arranged a psych consult. They contacted Dinah, as Ruby’s next of kin. After that, Dinah telephoned daily to make sure Ruby was looking after herself. They argued about Ruby’s laundry pile and the mouse infestation behind the skirting boards. On Christmas Eve they also argued about Ruby’s refusal to go to Great-Aunt Jane’s for Christmas dinner, because Ruby was determined to spend the day alone, drinking herself into a stupor while slumped in front of Top of the Pops and Doctor Who. Ruby had just hung up when the doorbell rang.
It was Grace, on the step with a round leather suitcase.
‘What are you doing here?’ Ruby asked.
Grace looked at her as if she were mad. ‘I’ve come for Christmas. Like we arranged. You didn’t forget?’
‘I assumed it was off. Because of what happened in Liberty’s.’
‘Oh. That? Really? I suppose that’s recent to you. Do you want me to leave?’
‘No, actually.’
Inside, Grace was nearly as aghast at Ruby’s Christmas preparations as Dinah.
‘Not even a tree, Ruby! We must go out and buy one at once.’
‘There won’t be any left by now. I suppose everything does look drab,’ said Ruby, and she promptly burst into tears.
‘Dear heart!’ Grace said. ‘You needn’t take on. I misspoke. It will be fun for the two of us to dress up the flat – much more fun than you doing it alone. And apart from the decorations everything’s dandy. It smells divine in here – like time machines!’
‘That’s Bee’s Candybox. It’s still going. God knows how she got so much juice from one briquette.’ Ruby sniffed. ‘I’m not really upset about Christmas decorations.’
‘Then why are you crying, lovely?’
‘I killed Margaret Norton.’
‘Is that all? I thought you might be sad from missing me.’
‘It’s not funny, Grace.’
‘I know.’
‘What do I do?’
‘Do? There’s nothing to do. Margaret invented a game that she knew could be fatal. What difference does it make? Every time I travel back in time she’ll be still at work and on my back. I won’t mourn her.’
‘But I should repent—’
‘There is no repenting. You just have live with yourself. And to live with me, too, when I’m in town.’
Ruby cried harder.
‘What now?’ Grace exclaimed.
‘I thought I’d scared you away. I was so stupid. There’s this woman I know. Her name’s Ginger. And straight after we fought I—’
‘Don’t.’ Grace put her finger to Ruby’s lips. ‘You need to keep some secrets. It will be better for us, if you know some things that I don’t. Now. Do you have a saw?’
‘In the toolkit, above the washing machine. Why?’
‘There’s a fir tree in the street that I could fit through the door. It’ll look charming with some fairy lights.’
*
They woke, on Christmas morning, to a low beeping sound.
‘Surely you didn’t set an alarm?’ Grace said.
‘I think that’s the Candybox,’ Ruby mumbled. She pulled the pillow over her head.
‘I’m going to investigate.’ Grace tugged the pillow from Ruby’s fingers. ‘Who knows what’s arrived from the past?’
‘It could be dangerous,’ Ruby said, suddenly alert. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘Oh-ho, now you’re interested. Bags I if it’s anything good.’
The Candybox was humming in the living room. Ruby and Grace approached hand in hand.
‘I can’t look,’ Ruby said.
Grace craned her neck over the hole in the Candybox.
‘It’s a ring,’ she said.
Lucille’s ring. Ruby had dispatched it, months ago. And now it was here.
Grace retrieved it. The setting had contorted en route. Before it had been a conventional, if pretty, solitaire; now the stone sat in a curling, organic web of gold. The circumference had shrunk and the numbers engraved inside had gone. In their place were the words A Ring of a Very Strange Shape.
‘I’m glad I staked first dibs.’ Grace tried it on the middle finger of her right hand. ‘Dash it. Too small.’
Ruby took it, and slid it onto Grace’s left ring finger easily.
‘It’s an engagement ring,’ Ruby said.
‘Look at that. So it is.’ Grace admired the diamond. ‘It won’t be an easy marriage. I might as well be on an oil rig, for all you’ll see me.’
‘That means we won’t take each other for granted.’
‘We’ll have to spend so much time apart. For most of your life I’ll be officially dead.’
‘You’re the most alive person I know. Oh! The ring should have our dates in it.’
‘I like these words more.’ Grace kissed Ruby. ‘Not all time travel customs are good ones.’
59
OCTOBER 2018
Odette
As Ruby’s crime involved time travel technology, she was to be tried by the Conclave rather than an English court. The accused was allowed legal representation – in this case, Fay Hayes. The Fay who turned up in Odette’s office was relatively young, possibly because the case appeared to be straightforward and manageable for a less experienced lawyer. Odette assumed that their disagreement over the Angel of Death ritual was still fresh in Fay’s memory, as her tone was slightly clipped.
‘I’m heading up to the court now. Have you attended any other trials yet?’ Fay asked.
Odette shook her head.
‘Once you enter the courtroom you can’t leave till the end of the trial. I want to take Ruby up there now so she has some time to adjust to the room and I can walk her through the process. At the moment it’s empty and we will need privacy to discuss the case.’
‘Good luck. We attempted to question her on arrival and she didn’t respond. She wouldn’t stop crying.’
‘Yes – because you’re not on her side. I am.’
But Odette’s loyalties were not clear-cut. Ruby had helped Odette cope with a trauma. A trauma that was ultimately the fault of Margaret Norton. While Odette thought Ruby should account for her actions, Margaret was almost certainly the bigger villain and everyone at the Conclave was complicit. Perhaps – if she could communicate that to Ruby – Odette might still get the answers she desperately needed.
‘Take a message from me.’ Odette thought back to their therapy sessions, and their careful reconstruction of her memories into a narrative she could live with. ‘Tell her – the story almost makes sense to me now. But I haven’t decided what the ending is.’
Fay departed. Ten minutes later, Odette received a telephone call from the courtroom.
�
�Dr Rebello says she’d like you to be here while we prepare,’ Fay said. ‘Just you, mind, not anybody else on the case. I counselled her that it was not in her interests for you to attend, but she was quite clear in her instructions.’
‘I’ll be there right away,’ Odette said.
*
The Conclave courtroom was in the legal department. It resembled a theatre, with a proscenium arch dividing a raised platform from the gallery. On the platform was a great stone table, behind which was the room’s sole window, a large pane of modernist stained glass. At the front of the platform was a stone bench, where Ruby and Fay were seated.
Odette took a seat in the dim gallery, so as not to disturb them unduly.
‘As you’re not a Conclave employee,’ Fay was telling Ruby, ‘I want to spend some time explaining the way we dispense justice. Fate will decide whether you’re guilty or not in a trial of ordeal. Do you know what this phrase means?’
‘Isn’t that like ducking stools?’ Ruby asked weakly.
‘A similar kind of thing, yes.’
‘What ordeal will they put me through?’
‘The judge will receive a genie from her silver self, normally in the form of a scroll, which describes how you will be tested. Do you know what genies and silver selves are?’
‘Yes. Won’t anyone present any evidence?’
‘No. If you fail the trial of ordeal, the judge will need to pass a sentence. That’s when I come in. I need to present any mitigating factors you can give me. I know you pulled the trigger, but did you mean to murder Margaret Norton? Did you take part in the game freely?’
‘N-no one forced me,’ Ruby stuttered. ‘I don’t know whether I wanted to kill Margaret, not that exactly. I just wanted her to suffer.’
‘Why?’
‘She was responsible for the death of my grandmother, Barbara Hereford.’
Odette gasped. That was the link she had missed: Barbara Hereford had died before November, so Odette ruled her out as a suspect, but hadn’t considered that Margaret’s murderer might be motivated by Barbara’s death.
‘Blood revenge is a good mitigating factor,’ Fay said. ‘Just as long as we get a twenty-fourth century judge. Otherwise you’re looking at a potential capital punishment.’
Ruby didn’t react to this statement at all; maybe she believed she deserved what was coming to her. Odette tried to catch Ruby’s eye, to get a sense of her feelings – and for the first time since Odette’s entrance, Ruby seemed to register she was there.
‘I let you down, Odette,’ Ruby said, her face crumpling. ‘I went back to the crime scene, the day you found the body, because I couldn’t bear the guilt. Then I spoke to you because I was panicking. I wanted to find out exactly how much you knew, and what you’d relayed to the police. It was despicable to get that information by offering you therapy. I regret it every day.’
Fay’s eyes widened in surprise at the mention of therapy. She looked from Odette, to Ruby, and back again. To change the subject, Odette said, ‘It’s nearly time for the trial to start. The judge is due any minute.’
Fay was still watching Odette, but said, ‘Are you ready, Ruby?’
‘Not quite. This trial by ordeal,’ Ruby checked. ‘Are the verdicts always accurate?’
‘No,’ Fay said bluntly. ‘They are always fated. That might not seem very fair to you. But no system of justice is perfect.’
*
At the allotted hour, Elspeth arrived, then the court notary, then Judge Astrid Insch – who positioned herself at the stone table. The law permitted Ruby one additional moral supporter, who would be bound by the same secrecy as the rest of the court. Ruby had chosen Grace Taylor, who took a seat on the front row. Naturally the trial was otherwise closed to the public.
Odette watched the judge’s silver self approach the table holding a scroll tied with magenta ribbon, then leave the court again.
Lifting a monocle to her eye, the judge read the unfurled scroll.
‘Could the accused please stand,’ she announced.
Ruby did as she was instructed.
‘Your trial of ordeal is a test of memory. You will be asked three questions relating to The Box of Delights by John Masefield.’
‘Yes!’ Grace cried out. The judge stared at her with disapproval. Ruby hadn’t moved. A hanky was balled in her right hand, and her hair was in disarray.
The judge continued.
‘When I ask the three questions, you must respond to all of them correctly to survive the trial. Do you understand?’
Ruby half shrugged, half nodded.
‘The trial by ordeal will now commence,’ Judge Insch said.
‘Ruby Rebello is ready,’ Fay confirmed.
‘The first question you must answer is this,’ Judge Insch began. ‘How does the law act?’
Ruby murmured under her breath.
‘I must beg you to raise your voice,’ Judge Insch said. ‘I don’t have the ears I once did.’
‘By the shutting of eyes; by putting its foot down.’
‘That is correct. Next. What does the lady of the castle advise Kay about travelling to the past?’
‘That it is not wise to do so – that others have been lost to it.’
‘Very good. This will be your final test.’ Judge Insch cleared her throat. ‘Kay is instructed to meet a woman in the cold. What is she wearing?’
‘She’s wearing a… wearing a…’
Two creases appeared above Ruby’s nose.
‘Wearing a…’
Odette wanted to help her. But she didn’t know the book. The stories of her own childhood were folk tales; the escapades of Soungoula and other tricksters. In her teens she’d read English novels but she’d never heard of The Box of Delights, much less memorised its lines.
At that moment Grace Taylor stood up. She brought her hand down, sharp, on the steel barrier before her. The sound of a ring striking metal chimed through the gallery.
Judge Insch glared at Grace.
‘Silence,’ she intoned. To Ruby, she said, ‘I must ask you to complete the line, Dr Rebello. The trial requires one hundred per cent accuracy for an innocent verdict.’
But Ruby was smiling; she was looking at Grace, and her cheeks were flushed.
‘The line is: “You will see a woman plaided from the cold, wearing a ring of a very strange shape”,’ she said.
‘That is correct,’ Judge Insch said. ‘I’m satisfied to rule that you are innocent of murder.’
Odette cried then. The case was done. She walked to the exit. Security guards from the future were waiting, on Fay’s information. They marched Odette from the Conclave, for ever.
60
JANUARY 2018
Margaret
When Margaret planned her last journey to the Toy Museum, she was prepared to be ruthless. The stakes were high. Any evidence that Julie could take to the Conclave court placed Margaret at risk of a blood tithe. To avoid that, Margaret would dispatch whatever threats stood in her way with a clear head. She only needed her gun and a few handtools. To make room for them, she emptied her handbag. Then she dismissed the chauffeur for the day. There was no need to create unnecessary witnesses.
She drove the car herself, late that night, from her Georgian house. Once she reached the outskirts of London the scenery grew dispiriting. The streets were still festooned with limp Christmas lights. Trees had been abandoned in pathways. Despite the hour, traffic was heavy and her progress was slow. But she would have all night, she reasoned, to clean up the basement on arrival. Eventually the cars cleared and the last half mile was quiet. As was her habit, she parked three streets away. It was half past midnight when she locked her car. The lighting was poor but so much the better for reaching the museum unnoticed. And if, as a woman in her eighties, she was taken for easy prey by some attacker in the shadows, her gun would give him a nasty shock.
The museum was deeply familiar to her. It had been built at the instruction of her grandfather, who was a philanthro
pist with an interest in toy theatres. As a small child, she had donated several theatres from her own nursery to the museum’s displays. In the years since, their exhibits had diversified. Margaret remained a patron, which lent legitimacy to her sporadic presence.
At the museum door she was just turning the key when she heard a woman calling.
‘Margaret! Stop! Margaret!’
Who was that? Might it be Parris? Or one of the other Candybox players, in cahoots with Parris to press charges?
She hastened inside, locking the door again behind her. When she reached the cellar she drew that lock, too, as quietly as she could. To be prepared she took the gun from her handbag. The seconds lengthened.
Her breathing began to slow: no one was coming. She would remove the bullets from the wall undisturbed.
Briefly, she allowed herself to be reassured by the cool air of the basement and the clean, strong smell of the Candybox. That smell was home.
The smell of the Candybox.
Her hand leapt to the bolt again. The Candybox shouldn’t be there. She didn’t know what had happened – she had broken the pieces herself – but some ghost or memory of the Candybox lurked in the dark.
Something punched her in the stomach. It couldn’t be a bullet. She expected – more pain. Shock anaesthetised her.
She staggered into the room, but her eyes didn’t adjust to the darkness. The Candybox had come back from the dead. How? How? What had Angharad done when she took it to the lab?
Margaret dropped to her knees. The end unfolded so slowly. Strange how time shrank and expanded that way. There was time enough to realise: Angharad had remade the Candybox. Put the pieces in that machine, run by the silly boy with hair like a troll – Teddy something. Angharad had betrayed her. People said mothers always put their children first. It was Margaret’s fatal error, to believe Angharad was any different.
Margaret’s blouse was sodden. Oozy. She hated being a mess. More bullets tore her hand. Her nerves screamed. Imagine it! This was Margaret’s dirty secret – the secret kept by the coroner, when he omitted her cause of death – she could be rent apart like any human. But she hadn’t fallen yet. She hadn’t—
The Psychology of Time Travel Page 24