A Trail Through Time (The Chronicles of St Mary's)

by Jodi Taylor

  Her voice brought me back. ‘Can I have your name, please?’

  ‘Maxwell.’

  I didn’t raise my voice. People listen harder if you talk quietly.

  Her hand jolted. I heard her swallow.

  ‘And your first name?’

  ‘Doctor.’

  I was back at school again. Defying authority and digging myself a deeper hole with every word uttered. My own worst enemy and about to enjoy every minute.

  ‘Indeed?’ she said in polite disbelief. She looked me up and down, taking in my still very bedraggled appearance. I’m sure they all thought I was just some scruffy, ginger bint Leon had picked up from somewhere – which wasn’t that far from the truth when you think about it.

  Somewhere, someone laughed. I grew very cold.

  ‘Well,’ she said, politely disbelieving. She was still smiling so everyone could see how nice she was, but her eyes were telling me a different story. ‘Let’s see if you are able to verify that statement, shall we? Perhaps you can give me some personal details. What about qualifications? Do you actually have any? At all?’

  I took a deep breath and said in Latin, ‘Graduated from Thirsk University. L’Espec College – Northallerton campus. Doctorate in Ancient Civilisations. Post-graduate qualifications in Archaeology and Anthropology. Fluent in German, French, and Latin. Passable in Middle English and Greek. A smattering of Spanish, Italian, and Turkish. Fully qualified Field Medic with hospital experience. Reasonable with a quarterstaff, good with a bow, and bloody good with a handgun. Current in self-defence and side-saddle.’ I put down my cup. ‘I can make a weapon out of anything you care to put in front of me and should any proof be required, I’ll happily kill you with this teaspoon.’

  My words rang around the room. I could hear whispers as people translated for those without Latin. I’d done everything except come right out and say I had been Chief Operations Officer. I knew Barclay didn’t speak Latin, but I was willing to bet she had a very good idea of what I’d just said. She kept her head, however, and rather than be seen to sit there, at a loss, she gathered up her paperwork and left the room.

  I was shaking with rage. And fear. I sat quietly, staring out of the window, holding my tea with a trembling hand, wondering if I’d made things better or worse.

  Gradually, the room emptied as everyone went back to work and I was alone.

  What about me? Where should I go? Even my guard had left me. I pushed my chair back and slowly walked from the room.

  I had no idea where I was going or what I was going to do when I got there.

  Nothing new there then.

  I made my way through the Hall. It was a familiar scene; groups of historians clustered around data tables or whiteboards, arguing, discussing, waving their arms. I caught snatches of conversation. Van Owen, who was probably in charge now, was saying, ‘My compliments to Professor Rapson. War budgies – yes. War goldfish – yes. War elephants? Not in a million years.’

  Some things never change.

  Something caught my eye and I came to a sudden halt, taking two steps backwards to stare at a whiteboard headed Battle of Shrewsbury – 1403.

  I studied the bullet points listing the aims and objectives and tapped the board. ‘There’s a legend that the road nearby is named Featherbed Lane because that’s where the women dragged out their featherbeds for the wounded to rest on. You might want to check that out,’ and passed on before anyone could comment.

  I made for the shelter of the library. I needed some peace and quiet before I fell apart altogether.

  The high-ceilinged, sunny room was exactly as I remembered it. Apart from the strong chemical cleaning smell that was possibly not unrelated to the recent invasion by a dozen or so angry but loose-bowelled swans leaving ankle-deep calling cards with malicious intent.

  Ignoring the siren call of Leick on Mesopotamia, I thought I would catch up on some old favourites. Since there weren’t any out there, I needed the comfort of familiar friends in here.

  I pulled down Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, a book of Sherlock Holmes short stories, the first Harry Potter, and finished off with Tom Holland’s Persian Fire. That should keep me quiet until teatime. I avoided Thomas Hardy because everyone should, and anyway, I was depressed enough. And Dickens. I’ve never liked Dickens. I laughed like mad when Little Nell died.

  I found a comfortable chair, dropped the books on the floor around me, and curled up with the Bennett sisters.

  It was a measure, I think, of how seriously my mind was disturbed. I’d read this story so many times but now, for some reason, I saw so much wrong with it.

  There was Mr Bennett, quietly comical, along with his wife, the extremely silly Mrs Bennett – except that she wasn’t, was she?

  We’re supposed to laugh at Mr Bennett’s dry wit and gently humorous comments, but this is the man who has so mismanaged his family’s affairs that, on his death, his wife and daughters will be homeless and almost penniless. In an age when there was no mechanism for gently born women to earn their own living, how would they survive?

  The answer to that almost certainly kept Mrs Bennett awake at night and, knowing this, who could criticise her frantic efforts to get all her daughters safely married, their future well-being taken care of, while Mr Bennett amusingly uncaring, reads in his library? Poor Mrs Bennett. Laughed at by generations of readers. I wondered about Jane Austen’s contemporaries who would, like Mrs Bennett, have been only to aware of the likely fate of the Bennett girls – had they laughed too?

  Bloody hell, I was a right little ray of sunshine today.

  I let Elizabeth Bennett slide to the floor and picked up Jane Eyre.

  The library was very quiet. I could hear Dr Dowson moving around the shelves, but otherwise, the place was empty. There was no sign of my guard. Obviously, I didn’t need one any longer because I’m an idiot and I’d told them everything they needed to know.

  I sighed, turned another page, and someone coughed at my elbow. Looking up, I saw Dr Dowson. He took off his spectacles and polished them.

  ‘I was wondering … we usually have some tea around about this time. Would you care to join us?’

  This unexpected gesture of kindness brought a lump to my throat.

  I swallowed. ‘Yes, I would. Thank you.’

  ‘Please, come this way.’

  I picked up my books and followed him to his office, a small room between the library and the archive.

  Professor Rapson was already there. Just as I remembered him, with his shock of Einstein hair and his beaky nose. His eyebrows hadn’t yet grown back after the fireship trauma. Today he wore a white coat with a huge scorch-mark just over his heart. Heaven knows what had been going on there.

  Dr Dowson ushered me into their cosy room. ‘Andrew, break out the crumpets! We have a guest.’

  ‘Excellent. Excellent. Welcome, my dear. Come and sit down.’

  ‘You’d better have the chair by the fire,’ said Dr Dowson. ‘Try to make sure the old fool doesn’t ignite the furniture, again.’

  ‘You can’t count that time, Octavius. The chair merely smouldered. It doesn’t count unless there is an actual flame, you know.’

  He impaled a crumpet on a long fork and held it in front of the hissing gas fire. ‘I’ll toast. You butter.’

  I nodded.

  Dr Dowson made the tea.

  At some point, the sun had disappeared and now rain splattered the windows. It was extremely pleasant to be in here, snug and warm, toasting crumpets with two old friends. Of course, any minute now, the professor could explode the sugar bowl.

  I watched them moving around in this small space. Cups, saucers, and plates were all handed around. I buttered enough crumpets for a small country. It was all very peaceful. The sound of them bickering amiably was oddly soothing and familiar. This, at least, had not changed.

  Eventually, we each had a small table, a plate of crumpets, and a napkin.

  Professor Rapson handed me my tea and said, withou
t looking at me, ‘Should they ever find him, Leon Farrell will be charged with removing a contemporary from his own time, the sentence for which is death. Dr Peterson and Major Guthrie will be charged as accomplices. Dr Bairstow, as the person ultimately responsible for everything has, only temporarily we hope, been removed from his position as Director of St Mary’s.

  ‘As mission controller, Dr Maxwell would have been charged as well, but she died. At this stage, we’re not sure if the colonel believes that or not. If he thinks you are Max, you’ll be shot. If he thinks you’re not Max, they might shoot you anyway. A no-win situation for you, I’m afraid. One lump or two?’

  ‘Three, please,’ I said, calmly, hoping my face showed nothing.

  Old sins have long shadows. We’d taken Helios back and we still weren’t safe. Would we ever escape the consequences of that day?

  I looked up from dark memories, to find the pair of them watching me. Gone were the familiar bickering academics. That was just the face they chose to present to the world. Neither of them was the bumbling buffoon they appeared. I suspected the charade gave them a great deal of quiet amusement.

  Professor Rapson continued. ‘You are in a difficult position, but your ringing declaration in the dining-room may not be the catastrophe you think it is. You are Maxwell. Of that I have no doubt.’

  He twinkled at me, and suddenly the world was not such an unfriendly place. ‘Of course, which Maxwell is another matter completely. If you will accept a friendly word of advice, stick with that. News of your possible identity has caused a considerable amount of consternation in the right quarters, which I am certain you will know how to exploit. Our Miss Barclay, for example, was most taken aback, don’t you think? One would have thought that the return of someone for whom she always professed great affection would be a cause for joy. One would have thought. And yet …’

  He petered out, peering thoughtfully into his cup.

  ‘I am certain Dr Bairstow will be busy weaving this revelation into his plans even as we speak.’

  ‘Plans?’

  Dr Dowson helped himself to another crumpet. ‘Oh yes. I’ve never known Edward not to have a plan of some kind.’

  Without any change in his voice, he continued, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Andrew, look what you’re doing, will you? You’ll have that chair up in flames if you’re not careful.’

  He lunged forwards, upsetting the teapot. The table went over and they launched themselves into an ocean of recrimination and abuse, and Officer Ellis, who had been standing unseen in the doorway, informed me that the colonel wished to see me.

  Chapter Ten

  Whatever I’d been expecting, it hadn’t been this. I’d never given it a thought … It had never occurred to me … The shock nearly knocked me over. The world blurred again and I would have gone down with a terrible crash if Ellis hadn’t seized my good arm and pushed me into a nearby chair. Things whirled sickeningly, and for one moment I hung helplessly over an abyss. I gulped for air, desperately struggling against the overwhelming panic. I’d never thought … Why would I …?

  There was no Mrs Partridge.

  I stared in disbelief. I’d fretted over just about everything else, but the one thing I’d never, ever considered, not even for a moment, was that there would be no Mrs Partridge in this world. To guide me. To give me some sort of clue. To give me her familiar exasperated stare.

  Her desk was occupied by Rosie Lee and, trust me, an unexpected encounter with Miss Lee should not be on any invalid’s list of Things To Do Today.

  She stared curiously. She wasn’t tall and her hair waved around her head like Medusa’s snakes. The tailored suit was unfamiliar but the intimidating attitude was spot on.

  ‘Dr Bairstow is not available at the moment.’

  ‘Got a message to see Colonel Albay,’ said Ellis, trying to step past her. I could have told him he was wasting his time.

  ‘Why?’

  He seemed confused. I was guessing this was their first encounter. ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why does the colonel want to see you?’

  ‘How should I know? I’d like to find out, though.’

  Silence.

  He shifted impatiently. ‘Should we go in?’

  ‘How should I know? I work for Dr Bairstow.’

  ‘For the time being.’

  She snorted. He was going to have to do better than that.

  I don’t know whether she’d done it intentionally, but their brief interchange had given me the time I needed. I sat up and stared around.

  The battered furniture was the same. Everything was the same except for the sign on the wall behind her.

  Lack of planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part.

  That figured.

  A light flashed on her phone.

  She made no move.

  I watched, cutting my eyes from one to the other, waiting to see what would happen next.

  The silence dragged on. Miss Lee had once been my assistant. I’d actually found our daily battle of wills quite stimulating, but it was fun to see someone else on the receiving end for once.

  Ellis caved first. ‘Should we go in?’

  She smirked with satisfaction. ‘Obviously.’

  I heaved myself to my feet and followed him in.

  Dr Bairstow’s room was as I always remembered it. There was the scuffed parquet floor and the square of faded carpet. The colours had once been red and gold, but now the pattern was only discernible around the very edges.

  The only difference was that his desk was now occupied by that sensitive and sympathetic people person, Colonel Albay, while the Boss himself sat at his briefing table, a little way off. Under arrest he might be, but the colonel was wisely keeping him under observation.

  Ellis took my arm as we marched in. It was a little late for the tough-guy treatment but I could appreciate he would want to give the right impression, so I staggered a little and did my best to look brutalised.

  Albay was busy flipping through a file, doing the ‘I’m too busy to deal with you at the moment even though I’ve just sent for you’ routine so beloved of senior managers everywhere. He was wasting his time. I was flouting authority before he was born.

  I peeled off and walked over to Dr Bairstow, who stood up, as he always did, because even in a crisis, he was never less than courteous.

  He leaned on his cane and extended a hand. ‘How do you do.’

  Which told me everything I wanted to know. I returned the greeting. ‘How do you do.’

  He was not going to commit himself over my identity and neither should I.

  He indicated a chair opposite. ‘Please sit down.’

  Colonel Albay realised, too late, that control of the interview had just passed out of his hands.

  ‘I am Edward Bairstow. I trust my people have made you comfortable.’

  ‘Very, thank you.’

  ‘Have you completely recovered from your injuries?’

  ‘Just about. I –’

  We were interrupted. Albay had realised that unless he wanted to shout from all the way over there, he would have to join us. Some people think it’s the big desk that confers the power, but there are people like Dr Bairstow who could sit on an orange box and still be the most powerful person in the room.

  Albay pressed his intercom.

  A voice squawked, ‘What?’

  I caught Dr Bairstow’s eye, just for a very brief moment, and then he looked away.

  ‘Tea.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Tea.’

  ‘Tea what?’

  He gritted his teeth. ‘I would like a cup of tea.’

  ‘I would like a cup of tea what?’

  ‘I would like a cup of tea now,’ and wisely closed the connection before she could reply.

  I hid a smile and then gave Colonel Albay my full attention because although he was a pillock, he was a dangerous pillock.

  ‘So, you can speak?’

  I said nothing, just to
annoy him.

  ‘What is your name?’

  I said nothing.

  He turned to Dr Bairstow. ‘Who is this woman?’

  He shrugged his shoulders and said clearly, ‘I have no idea. We have only just met.’

  ‘She claims she is Dr Maxwell.’

  ‘So I heard.’

  ‘Dr Maxwell is dead.’

  ‘Quite so.’

  ‘So who is this woman?’

  ‘Asked and answered.’

  He turned to me.

  ‘Last chance. Are you Maxwell?’

  ‘You just said she was dead.’

  He stared for a moment and then shrugged.

  ‘I summoned you to tell you a hearing to determine your true identity and to advise you of possible charges against you will be held tomorrow at 4 p.m. You will prepare yourself to jump to a destination of my choosing.’

  Dr Bairstow stirred. ‘No. That will not happen. The Charter clearly states that all investigations should be carried out in their own time. You yourself said this is only a preliminary hearing to ascertain this person’s identity and decide whether or not to press charges. No useful purpose can be served by removing her from her own time.’ He smiled nastily. ‘After all, isn’t that what this is all about?’

  For a second, it all hung in the balance. The silence lengthened as they stared each other out. I sat as still as a mouse and then …

  The door crashed open and Miss Lee entered, complete with tea tray. If I required any more proof that this was not my world, this was it. She’d never brought me tea in my life. If anything, it had been the other way around.

  She dumped the tray on the desk and began to pour. Dr Bairstow received a cup and saucer. I recognised the best china. A mug reflected my social standing. Colonel Albay’s tea remained in the pot.

  She handed Dr Bairstow a folded note and turned to go.

  He unfolded it and glanced at the colonel who was pouring his own tea.