A Different Day, A Different Destiny (The Snipesville Chronicles)

by Laing, Annette

  Glass… potted palms…indoor trees… It was all incredibly familiar. This has got to be, Hannah decided, the very first shopping mall! But what was she supposed to be doing here? The Professor had never said. So maybe the best thing was just to do what came naturally, and go shop. Clutching her purse tightly, she headed westward down the nave.

  On her left, a large section was helpfully labeled INDIA by a small sign hanging from the balcony above it. An Indian man in traditional dress, with a sash and turban, was chatting animatedly in Hindi with another Indian man, who was in Western clothing. Visitors stared even more at them than they did at the huge stuffed elephant wearing a golden dress and a canopied passenger seat on its back.

  A mother and daughter, their backs to Hannah, were admiring the elephant. “I wonder how it died, Mama?” said the girl, who was wearing a frilly white dress with white, equally frilly bloomers, and a huge beribboned sun-hat.

  “Never mind that, Sarah,” said her mother, who wore a bonnet and a dress in bright blue satin. “Let us hear what Veeriswamy and his new acquaintance can tell us about this method of conveyance.”

  Having no interest in mother, daughter, or elephant, Hannah continued on her wandering tour. Her next stop was a court labeled BIRMINGHAM, where a young exhibitor mistook her entrance for enthusiasm. “Good morning, Miss,” he said. “I trust you are enjoying your day?”

  “I just got here,” said Hannah without returning his smile.

  He was baffled by her rudeness, but tried again. “Perhaps, if I may, I might interest you in the manufactures of my home city, Birmingham?”

  Hannah looked coldly at him. But he was persistent, and shepherded her through the exhibit area. “Kindly allow me to show you some of the objects that might be of interest to a young lady such as yourself.”

  She followed him to a glass counter, which she hoped would be full of jewelry. But he pulled out a display case of buttons and needles.

  “I don’t sew,” said Hannah bluntly. “Don’t you have earrings or anything?”

  He looked at her uncertainly, and she could swear he was staring at the stains on her dress as he tried to figure out what class she belonged to.

  “No, alas, I regret that I do not,” he said hurriedly, reaching for another item. “Aha! Here is the latest in writing implements, the modern replacement for the trusty quill.” He brought out a metal ink pen. “This, for example, is manufactured in Birmingham, using Sheffield steel…” He handed it to Hannah, who examined it closely.

  “Where’s the ink go?” she asked.

  “The ink?” The man blinked. “I regret that this is not a fountain pen, for those clever new inventions are still not quite designed to my company’s standards, and so it may be some time before we manufacture them…”

  “So you kind of have to dip this in ink?” Hannah asked skeptically.

  The man looked awkward. “Well, yes…”

  Hannah put it down again. “Big whoop. Look, I gotta go.”

  As she swept away, the young man thought to himself that it was going to be a very long day.

  ****

  Brandon was stuck with Henry, but he was determined, all the same, to have a good time at the Great Exhibition. “Hey, Birmingham,” he said eagerly, pointing to the city’s exhibit sign. “I used to live near there, in the Black Country!”

  “How appropriate,” said Henry sarcastically. “Come along, I want to see the Medieval Court, don’t you?”

  Brandon was baffled. Medieval? The Middle Ages? Like knights and castles? What does that have to do with an exhibition about modern industry? And why did they put it between Birmingham and Australia? How did anyone put all those together?

  But Henry was already admiring a collection of silver chalices, cups used for church communions. Brandon surveyed the Medieval Court: There was a statue of the Virgin Mary, and various bits of furniture that reminded him of church spires. In fact, wasn’t that an actual church spire over there?

  A young exhibitor approached them. “These objects are all made in Birmingham, young sirs. As I was just explaining to a young lady of about your age a few minutes ago, the variety of manufactures in Birmingham is truly astonishing.”

  Brandon couldn’t see the point. “But why do you use all this new technology to make stuff that looks old?”

  The man wondered why there were so many difficult children among the visitors that morning, but he explained patiently, “It is the fashion, you see, the Gothic style. Manufacturing merely allows more people to own these objects of fashion and beauty.”

  Brandon didn’t know what to say to that, so he thanked the exhibitor, who seemed relieved to see the back of him, and who went off to chat with some nice adult customers.

  Brandon was just about to follow Henry to the next exhibit when someone caught him by the arm. “’Ere, it’s Brandon, in’t it? Brandon, don’t you recognize me? It’s me, Ben, from the mine in Hitherton.”

  Brandon was amazed and delighted, and he greeted Ben warmly.

  Ben, meanwhile, admired Brandon’s smart clothing. “Look at you! Looks like you went to London and made something of yourself, after all.”

  “Well, you too,” Brandon said. “I mean, it costs a fortune to get into the Great Exhibition.”

  “Nah, I only paid a shilling,” Ben said. “I’m here with a group of us who are emigrating to Australia tomorrow, and some kind gentleman persuaded the organizers to allow us in for only a shilling, since we won’t have another chance to come to the Exhibition.”

  “You’re going to Australia?” Brandon said, astonished. “But why?”

  Ben smiled. “I reckon I’ll have a chance for a better life out there. No more mines for me, Brandon. I’ll be a sheep farmer, I reckon. It can’t be worse than my life in Hitherton. Mind you, I’ll miss the Black Country. But I have to take my chances while I get them, ‘aven’t I? Just like you.”

  “Yeah,” Brandon said. “Just like me.”

  ****

  Alex had given Jupe money to pay for an omnibus, but after Jupe watched a horse-drawn bus careen down the street, he had decided to walk. It was a windy day, but there were very few clouds in the sky, and while he was nervous about walking through London by himself, he wanted to see something of the city. He had been suffering from cabin fever in Carhart’s Hotel, so when Alex had proposed to him that he visit the Exhibition, he had jumped at the chance. And, anyway, the walk wasn’t too far.

  Mr. Thornhill had forbidden him to leave the hotel, but Alex had assured him that he wouldn’t get in trouble. “Mr. Thornhill never leaves the American section, even for lunch. He’s always busy. So long as you stay well away from there, it’s guaranteed you won’t be spotted.”

  Now, as Jupe approached the Crystal Palace on his walk through Hyde Park, he was amazed at the sight. The Palace was the most magnificent thing he had ever seen, greater than any building in Savannah, even greater than the buildings he had seen on his carriage ride through London. Hesitantly, he paid his money at the south entrance, as Alex had instructed, and walked inside. At that moment, a toddler dashed in front of him, and Jupe almost tripped over the kid. The little boy’s mother scolded him, and then apologized to Jupe.

  No white person had ever apologized to Jupe. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said with a smile.

  The woman’s older son looked at him wonderingly. “Are you an American?”

  Jupe had never been asked that question before. “Yes, I guess I am. Yes, sir.”

  The boy turned excitedly to his mother, and said, “Mama, this is a real American slave!”

  But Jupe was quick to disagree. “No, I ain’t a slave no more,” he rushed to assure them. “I’m free.”

  The mother looked at him curiously. “But, if I may be so bold to ask, were you a slave when you lived in America?”

  Jupe nodded. “Yes, ma’am. In Georgia.”

  “How dreadful for you,” she said, a hand to her chest. “You must be so pleased to be here in the land of the free.”
/>
  “I reckon so, ma’am,” said Jupe with an obliging smile. It was nice to be the center of attention, and even nicer to have white people speak to him like he was a real human being.

  “I wish you well,” said the woman admiringly, as she gathered up her sons and went to look for her husband. Jupe, a new spring in his step, walked into the magical world laid out before him.

  ****

  “But I don’t understand,” said the elderly clergyman to Alex as they stood before the McCormick Reaper, a state-of-the-art American farming machine. “This reaping machine looks thoroughly flimsy to me, and I cannot believe that it is any sort of improvement on British manufactures.”

  Alex, for the umpteenth time, repeated the pitch he had learned from Mr. Meredith. “No sir, it’s stronger than it looks, and its light weight helps farmers to reap more efficiently. In fact, with this, you can clear up to twenty acres of land a day.”

  “I’m not sure I believe it,” sniffed the old man, tugging at his clerical collar. “There are plans for a demonstration in England soon, sir,” Alex said wearily. “This McCormick reaper will compete in a trial with another American machine.”

  The old man raised an eyebrow. “Well, I shall look forward to reading about it in the newspapers. I’ve come all the way from Hastings, you see, so I doubt I shall return for a demonstration. And you are from America, are you, young man?”

  Alex nodded. “Yes, sir. I live in Georgia.”

  “I see,” said the old vicar. “You are aware, I suppose, that slavery was ended in the British colonies in 1833? When do you think that the wicked practice of slavery will be ended in the United States of America?”

  “Eighteen sixty-five,” Alex said bluntly. He was fed up with having to defend slavery. It was all the Brits wanted to talk about.

  “Good Lord,” said the vicar, brightening. “Have proposals been made to that effect? I had no idea. How splendid.”

  And with that, he wandered off before Alex had a chance to tell him that it was not political debate but the Civil War that would end slavery. Probably just as well, he thought. It was best not to confuse the man any more than he already had.

  Now Mr. Meredith approached. “Look, Day, Mr. Thornhill and I were just thinking, why don’t you take a couple of hours to inspect the other exhibits? There are some mighty impressive sights. Now, don’t be late back, because we need you here.”

  Alex was delighted by the offer, and not only because he wanted a break from discussing agricultural equipment. Perhaps he might find Jupe, and then they could enjoy the Exhibition together.

  He did not get far. In the American section, beneath the sign for New York, his attention was caught by a man with unruly hair, a full beard, and a New England accent, who was standing in front of a glass case full of handguns, brandishing a revolver before an impressed crowd of onlookers

  “Now, ladies and gentlemen, you will see here how smoothly this revolving barrel operates. I, Colonel Samuel Colt, guarantee to you that this is the finest New World craftsmanship, the inferior of none that you will find, even here in London. See how my revolver’s barrel does not interfere with the line of sight, for it falls below it at full-cock. You just cock the hammer as with any pistol, and then fire up to six shots without reloading, in rapid succession if you wish. Let me show you the ease of loading. Why, even a child could do it. You there, young man, step up, if you would…”

  Alex suddenly realized that Colt was pointing to him. Hesitantly, he stepped forward, and Colt carefully handed him the revolver. “Now, young sir, this revolver is not yet loaded, but you are wise to handle every firearm with care. Note its exquisite appearance. Yet it is affordable to purchase and repair, should repair ever be needed, for it is mass-produced by my patented system of manufacture of interchangeable parts.”

  Actually, the first thing Alex noted about the gun was how heavy it was. He had never held a gun before, not even a BB gun. This revolver was a foot long, and his hand shook as he struggled to keep it upright. He could see a drawing of sailing ships engraved on the revolving chamber. Colt stood to one side of Alex, and carefully loaded the gun for him. He took almost a minute to finish, and when he was done, Alex found himself holding a loaded pistol. He didn’t like it.

  Colt, meanwhile, was once again extolling the virtues of his amazing invention. Alex coughed, desperately wanting him to take away the loaded gun. Finally, Colt reached over and reclaimed his invention from Alex. “Thank you for your assistance…”

  “Um, sure, but don’t you think these are dangerous?” Alex said, shaking his hand to ease the cramp.

  Colonel Colt laughed, along with some in the crowd. “Why, of course it’s dangerous! That’s the general idea.”

  “Little chap has a point, mind you,” boomed a tall man in a moustache. “I can hardly see the sense of owning one of your guns in England. It’s not as though I have to defend my gold mine from Indian attack, or whatnot.”

  The crowd laughed again: It was very fashionable to laugh at Americans and their wild country.

  If Colonel Colt was put out, he didn’t show it. He smiled and said, “I do believe that my weapons are of value to the British gentleman who seeks to defend his home. I know for certain that these weapons are important to the British Army, for I have this very day demonstrated this same revolver to senior officers, who are most interested in purchasing my wares. You, sir, what is your name, may I ask?”

  “Standford,” said the loud man. “Sir Henry Standford.”

  “In that case,” said Colt, hurriedly emptying the chamber of bullets, “allow me, sir, to make a present of my revolver to you, Sir Henry, with my compliments.”

  Sir Henry was astonished and flattered, and he accepted the gun from Colt, as an excited buzz passed through the crowd. Wow, Alex thought, this guy is quite a salesman.

  Alex’s next stop was to gawp at several gigantic statues of naked angels carrying swords. What caught his attention after that was an exhibit in the India section: A stuffed elephant in magnificent costume.

  But Alex grew puzzled as he approached the elephant. For an Asian elephant, it was very large. Standing close to the creature’s head, he peered under its head covering. If he could just see its ears, he could confirm his hunch that this was actually an African elephant masquerading as an Asian elephant…

  He suddenly became aware that someone was watching him, and turned to see an Indian man with an amused smile.

  “So you have discovered that this Indian is an imposter?” he said to Alex. “I noticed it also. I have learned that it belongs to a museum in Essex. The Indian exhibitor told me that this howdah, the covering, arrived without an elephant on which to display it. Fortunately, he was able to arrange to borrow this animal. Then, to his horror, he finds it is an African elephant. This is why he hastily added material to the headdress to disguise the ears. So this is a British elephant, pretending to be an African elephant, pretending to be an Indian elephant!”

  Alex laughed, but the man now looked thoughtful. “I suppose that we all, at some time or other, pretend to be something we are not. We are all imposters. Do you not agree?”

  Alex was about to say “Not really,” but Mr. Veeriswamy was walking away, for Lady Chatsfield had called him over.

  ****

  Soon after Hannah left the Birmingham exhibit, she was excited to spot a small booth displaying handbags from Morocco, and she picked out one she liked. But the exhibitor, a Moroccan man in a turban, told her that the exhibits were not for sale.

  Now that she knew the Great Exhibition was not a mall after all, she was in a lousy mood. It wasn’t helped by her growing fear that her visit to the Exhibition was one of the Professor’s wild goose chases, and that she would return to the steamer that night no closer to finding a way home. She was bored, antsy, and, most of all, hungry. She followed a sign that said REFRESHMENTS, illustrated by a drawing of a human hand, its index finger pointing to the Palace’s transept.

  The refreshment area
was crowded. The large dresses of the women customers practically filled the room, and the best anyone could do was to sit within reaching distance of a table, while balancing a teacup and saucer in their lap. Hannah found a seat by a family composed of a husband with mutton-chop whiskers, his wife, and their two sons. A harried-looking young waitress in a dirty dress appeared to take their orders.

  The young mother ordered sandwiches, cakes, coffee, and for the children, soda water. “May I have an ice, please, Mama?” asked the older boy, pointing to a freezer full of ice-creams, which was powered by a noisy steam-engine.

  “Not for a shilling you won’t,” declared his father. “It’s sheer robbery. We’ll have ices after we leave, Edward.”

  “And for you, madam?” The grim-faced waitress didn’t even look at Hannah as she asked, but stared at her notebook instead, pencil poised.

  Hannah hesitated. “I guess I’ll have a tea and… How much are the pork pies?”

  “Sixpence.”

  “Wow, that is expensive,” said Hannah. “But okay, I guess.”

  The young mother turned to Hannah. “I’m afraid the prices are very high. We considered taking the children elsewhere to eat, but once one has left the Crystal Palace, I understand, one cannot return, except upon payment of another admission fee.”

  “That’s a total rip-off,” exclaimed Hannah.

  The lady nodded. “Yes, my husband rather thinks so, too… Still, we are enjoying the most wonderful time here, and it is so instructive for the boys. They have learned so much that is edifying.”

  “I can’t say I’m enjoying it,” Hannah said gloomily. “It’s so random. And what’s the point, when we can’t even buy any of the stuff on show?”