The Space Between Time (The Time Travel Diaries of James Urquhart and Elizabeth Bicester Book 4)

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The Space Between Time (The Time Travel Diaries of James Urquhart and Elizabeth Bicester Book 4) Page 4

by Bruce Macfarlane


  I turned to Elizabeth, “There you are. All you girls need if you’re getting a bit fraught and emotional is good lie down for a week.”

  “Thank you. I will look forward to a week’s holiday from cooking and housework on our return.”

  I quickly went back to the subject.

  “And you’ve been unable to get back to your world?”

  “That is correct. And now my husband in this world does not know me. I am alone!”

  Time for Wells to answer some questions.

  “What the hell is going on, Wells?”

  But before he could reply, Mrs Wells interjected, “I would prefer it if you would control your language, Mr Urquhart, if not for your wife’s sake then for mine.”

  “I would prefer it if Wells here had left me and my wife on the bank of the river this morning.”

  “What river, Mr Urquhart? We have not left Midhurst today.”

  I had now dug a deep hole. But with what seemed like no escape I decided to keep digging.

  “The River Rother where Wells here,” pointing at him with my finger, “picked us up on a steam boat with one of his promises of an exciting adventure.”

  Elizabeth was now looking at me with that ‘where are you going with this’ face. I reassured her by shrugging my shoulders and giving an expression of an idiot who doesn’t know what he is doing.

  Luckily, having come to that conclusion already, she came to my rescue, though not without first rolling her eyes up to the ceiling. “Mrs Wells, please forgive my husband, he is a little fraught and fragile and possibly needs to lie down for a week,” jabbing me in the ribs with her finger. “However, you have said enough regarding your experience to allow me to recount ours of today without, I hope, causing further trepidation. Although the conclusion, I must warn you, may be difficult to comprehend.”

  She then carefully and succinctly went through the day’s adventures. However, despite her efforts, Mrs Wells was not to be persuaded.

  “I do not believe you. He was with me all morning. Have you been with that woman again?” She glared at Wells. accusingly, who from his look hadn’t a clue what was going on, or was giving a very good impression of it.

  “Do you mean Catherine Robbins?” I asked, throwing in a small grenade and receiving another jab from Elizabeth

  “That vixen! You are well informed, Mr Urquhart.”

  “Not as well as I’d like to be.”

  Then Elizabeth said to me. “How do we know this is the Mr Wells that came with us this morning?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Remember when we entered the church he vanished. Was it the same Wells who reappeared”?

  “God, you’re right!”

  I turned to Wells. and asked him what he was doing before he came into the church.

  “Why, I was with you, Mr Urquhart, on the launch.”

  That was reassuring although as I expected, not for Mrs Wells.

  “That is a lie!” she exclaimed. “You were with me from waking until church. So how........” She caught her breath, “Wait. I think I see. Are you from my other world? Which Herbert are you?”

  “I am from another world but I am afraid it was not yours.”

  “Then were you not my husband in this other world?”

  “No. But I wanted to be. Why did you run away?”

  “I didn’t. I came to visit you. And you asked to marry me. We were married!”

  “No. We were not. You ran away to Wiltshire and ignored my letters.”

  -----------------

  E.

  While they argued, I whispered to James, “We’ve been to a world like this before.”

  “Yes! Wasn’t it the one where the clothes were made from linen and we travelled by tram?”

  “And since then,” I replied, “I have remembered to bring spare undergarments which are comfortable.”

  “And very nice they are too.”

  “Shh! They will hear you.”

  “OK. We need to distract them.”

  Both the Wells were still in argument and had become exceedingly vexed. Mrs Wells had the visage of a lady who had despaired of convincing her husband of her point of view and Mr Wells was a little red in the face from the exertion of denying her accusations of his extra-marital affairs.

  James ignored their predicament and said to Mr Wells, “So now we know which Wells you are, you can tell us why you brought us here? It obviously wasn’t to find your wife, otherwise you wouldn’t be looking so surprised.”

  Mr Wells, a little relieved by this distraction from defending his honour, replied, “I brought you both here because of the anomaly.”

  “Do you mean the effect that caused us to pass through from your world to this?” I said, “Or do you mean the fact that apart from Mrs Wells, no one could see or hear us?”

  “Neither. Though I believe they are both symptoms of the same phenomenon. I came here yesterday to see if the time cavern was still there.”

  “And why would you want to go to the time cavern?” said James, sitting forward in his chair.

  “There was a shift in time about two weeks ago. The thirteenth of March.”

  James, from habit, instantly removed his phone from his pocket.

  “Let’s check if there was any record of strange events. Damn, forgot, no internet.”

  “Mr Urquhart!” exclaimed Mrs Wells, “Control your language.”

  “Sorry.”

  “What made you think time had shifted?” I said to Mr Wells.

  “The world changed to the one you see here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There are hundreds of fractures. People everywhere have drifted across time Some are unware of...” said Wells.

  “Do you mean,” I said, interrupting him, “like those people who could not see us in the church?”

  “You were seeing across time, I think. But some like me can remember their previous time line.”

  “And no one noticed except you, I suppose?” said James.

  “And Mrs Wells?” I suggested.

  “Yes. But she’s come from a different world where she was married to another me.”

  How many worlds are there, I wondered, not for the first time.

  “Actually,” he continued, “Someone on my world did notice or thought they did.”

  “Who?” said James. But Mr Wells continued to answer in his usual oblique way.

  “Three days ago, I had an appointment in London for a meeting on my latest novel.”

  “The Time Machine?” said James.

  “Yes. I had already published a version in serial form earlier this year for the Pall Mall. However, an American company wishes me to publish it as a book.”

  “Do they and your book exist in this world?” said James, interrupting again.

  “Yes, they do, but…”

  “How did you get up to London from here?”

  “By electric tram on Stane Street.”

  “Stane Street. You mean the Roman road?” exclaimed James.

  “Yes. You should know all the roman roads still exist here. They are now major highways and fitted with tram rails. It takes only half an hour from Chichester to London.”

  “Are you saying the Romans never left Britain?” said James

  “In this world, their empire still exists with their capital in Constantinople.”

  “So, all roads don’t lead to Rome.”

  “Oh yes, they do. The capital can only be reached by ship.”

  There was no stopping James once he started an enquiry.

  “What happened to the Saxons? Everyone seems to speak English.”

  “They were defeated by the great general, Ambrosius Aurelius, who in return for peace offered them the chance to join the empire.”

  “I thought it was Arthur?”

  “Do you not mean Ursa? For Ambrosius was built like a bear.”

  I saw his puzzled look and said, gently, “Ursa is Latin for bear, James.”

  �
��Ah! Like the constellation, Ursa Major, the Great Bear?”

  “Yes.” I said.

  “Gosh, Elizabeth. I’m always surprised how much Latin I didn’t know I knew.”

  I have noticed in James’ world that impatience is often a prerequisite to the acquisition of knowledge and is gained by short and sharp questions and answers. Preambles are rare and usually met with frustration if not annoyance as I noticed with James here. However, I realised that we would only make progress by allowing Mr Wells to recount his story in his own way.

  I said, “Thank you Mr Wells. That is most enlightening but pray continue with your visit to London.”

  “While discussing my views on time travel with their representative,” continued Wells, “he drew my attention to an article of the 13th of March in the New York Herald concerning a Mr Tesla who, while experimenting with electro-magnetism, received an injurious shock from the apparatus which he claimed allowed him to move a little into the past or future.”

  “What did he see?” said James.

  “That is all that was reported but the article did recount that his laboratory was destroyed by fire on the same day.”

  “Very convenient, don’t you think? All the evidence gone up in a puff of smoke.”

  “I am of the opinion that the fire was a direct consequence of his attempt to time travel.”

  “You mean he was trying to conduct an experiment on time and in the process shifted our world?” I said.

  “Or,” said James, “he was doing one of his mad electromagnetic experiments which caused an unintentional time shift and destroyed the building at the same time.”

  “Why do you think that?” I said.

  “From what I can remember he was obsessed with telegraphy and the transmission of voice or pictures by electromagnetic fields. He thought the bigger the magnetic field he created the further he could communicate. He was so famous for this that they named the unit of magnetic field strength after him. He wasn’t happy unless he’d managed to generate at least a million volts in his lab. I’m not surprised he blew it up. Possibly created a massive air discharge and in the process managed to distort the fabric of time and space.”

  “Was he killed?” I said.

  “No.” replied Mr Wells, “According to the newspaper, he received just a few burns.”

  “And I think he carried on doing this stuff for decades.” said James, “One thing though. I remember reading some article by him on how he might use a massive electromagnetic beam to communicate with Mars.”

  “Mars! You mean the Martians?” I said incredulously. “Did he succeed?”

  “No idea. What do you think, Wells? You know them quite well.”

  ---------------------

  Chapter Five

  J.

  I’ve never quite understood Wells’ relationship with the Martians. I believe it began with the rescue of one which fell from the sky and had been shot by a clergyman. I think he wrote a story about it in this year, 1895, and called it ‘The Wonderful Visit’. The trouble with Wells is that it’s almost impossible to get a straight story out of him. A simple question like ‘When did you first meet the Martians?’ doesn’t work. He must be manoeuvred into a position so he has to give you the fact you want. Nevertheless I decided to have another go. Except Mrs Wells got in first.

  “Herbert! Or whoever you may be. Am I now to believe you are from another world like me but on that world, we were never married?”

  Ah. Progress.

  “That is correct, Isabel. And I apologise for not marrying you.”

  She ignored his apology.

  “And you have never had a relationship with Catherine Robbins?”

  “I can assure you I have not and furthermore I have never heard of her.”

  She looked at me and Elizabeth and seeing no support said almost dejectedly. “Then in the absence of any sense or evidence to the contrary I must accept what you have said.”

  Then just as I thought we had we had resolved the matrimonial issue she turned to us and said, “But what has happened to the husband I brought here?”

  I must admit what with being kicked out of time again my patience was running thin and said, “I imagine he’s absconded with that Catherine.”

  Elizabeth grabbed me quite forcibly by the upper arm. “James! How could you say such a thing to this poor woman?”

  “Where else could he be? This definitely is the year he ran off with her. So why not now?”

  “But that is only conjecture. He could have left on an errand and on return failed to find his wife and is about the town looking for her.”

  There are times when I believe women abandon all sense, despite the facts presented to them, and will defend the impossible to defeat the obvious. I remember suggesting this to Elizabeth during a small discussion over the size of her wardrobe and how she never throws things away. She verified my conjecture by immediately reminding me of a number of occasions where she thought I did the same. I should record that although our garage is a little untidy, all its contents are essential. This has been proved often enough when I have been forced to consign things to the bin, that on questioning I could not think of a use, only to find they were needed the next day!

  Anyway, Wells seemed visibly relaxed after his ‘wife’ acknowledged his version of events so I took the opportunity to get some information on what the hell was going on.

  “Did Tesla manage to build a device with enough strength to reach Mars?”

  As I hoped, Wells grasped the opportunity to change the subject and said, “The day before the anomaly, while still in my own world, I experienced one of my out-of-time phenomena in which one of the Martian creatures visited and, through a trance, described a near future where my world would be transformed and contact lost between Mars and Earth.”

  If I didn’t know him I would have guessed he was recounting an experience from a séance: an event that, in another time-world, he would attend often after the first world war in attempt to contact his dead son.

  “So, what did they want you to do?” I said.

  “A scene appeared showing you and your wife on a river bank with me, and then at the church at Midhurst.”

  “With you?” I said.

  “Yes! I did not understand at first but after the anomaly when I found myself in this world I took the vision as a sign that we should meet. I recognised the River Rother and by its meandering path, so knew the place of rendezvous must be somewhere upstream from Midhurst. I immediately hired a launch to find you.”

  “And pray tell us, Mr Wells, what do you expect us to do?” said Elizabeth.

  “I do not know. I presume to return us to our world and join with Mars.”

  “Thanks very much.” I said. “So, all we have to do is join up space and time again and return us all to our own worlds. No problem, eh, Elizabeth?”

  ---------------------

  E.

  I had now abandoned any attempt to make sense of anything as I was convinced Mr Sensibility had either packed his bags and taken a short holiday or had retired to a sanatorium for his health.

  It seems we had been brought here to solve the conundrum of a rift between Mars and Earth but in the process slid into a different world and met Mr Wells’ ‘wife’ whom he said he had never married. What were we supposed to do? I appealed to James for help, “Forgive me. But I cannot remember how or when we acquired the skills to assist Mr Wells in solving this puzzle.”

  “Nor can I.” He said, looking as confused as me. “However, I do remember that in all our so-called adventures the prerequisite was that we didn’t have a blooming clue what was going on.”

  I could not but agree and not for the first time wondered how we had survived so much together. However, his comment provoked a thought which, although I did not want to pursue, required explanation. I said, “You remember we discussed how there might be many copies of us in different worlds existing at the same time?”

  “Yeah! Quite mind blowing,” he s
aid, using a quite colourful and I thought, quite accurate vernacular phrase.

  “Then perhaps,” I continued, a little hesitantly, “Perhaps on each adventure we have taken the place of the James and Elizabeth who did know what they were doing.”

  He turned to me looking a little stunned and holding my hand which I took at first as a sign for support rather than affection. “Elizabeth! How do you do it? You know that logical deduction would explain everything. Except....”

  “Except what?”

  “Why do we keep getting chosen instead?”

  Mr Wells, whom I discovered could hold an argument and listen to us at the same time, said, “You must not worry about that. Because as you can move out of time there is only one pair of you. And before you ask, believe me, the Martians have looked.”

  I was much relieved by this and so was James although I could see, as a man, he regarded Mr Wells’ last comment as a slight on his character. He was still holding my hand and said to me, “With hindsight, do you think we could have done better?”

  “With hindsight, I should have taken up that offer you once made to hide and live under the stairs. However, we are here and as usual we must make our own luck.”

  “Then,” he sighed, “I think we need to find some information on the machine Tesla was working on when his lab caught fire. But first I’m starving and second, as we’re stuck here we need to find somewhere to stay and I think I know where.”

  He turned to Mrs Wells, “Is the Spread Eagle Hotel still here?”

  I saw immediately his plan, for if it still existed then possibly the passage to the time cavern was there as well. And from there we might find our way home.

  Mrs Wells replied, “Why yes. But it is a strange building, half-timbered and out of character with its surrounds. It is not very popular as it serves only English food. But I hear it is comfortable enough for travellers. But you can stay here for I have a spare room though the bed is a little small.”

  I immediately thanked her but said we did not want to impose and would prefer our own surrounds.

  “Very well, if you wish. It is but twenty minutes by foot or you may take a tram which stops outside.”

 

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