She then turned to Mr Wells. “Do you wish to stay here? I can prepare a supper.”
“Thank you, I will take up the offer of the supper but I have already arranged lodgings at the Angel.”
We took the tram to the hotel. It had not changed although it looked out of place amongst the whitewashed Roman buildings around it. But I was glad. An island, I hoped, of tranquillity in this sea of madness. At Reception, James thought it best if he took the lead in making a reservation as we had not seen any evidence of equality between the sexes here. I agreed, as a lady in my time paying for a room on behalf of gentleman could lead to speculation on her reputation, if not her occupation.
We were much relieved to discover the White Room was available and even more so when we found the passage door was still there in the chamber.
------------------------
J.
The room was clean and, in this world, decorated in the style of a kind of oriental Art Deco. The walls were garden green and painted with trailing vines and cherry blossom. The windows, however, were still leaded glass. Against the far wall was a polished, sandy coloured, wooden double bed and I walked over to it and tried it out.
“Mmh. Nice and soft,” I said, giving it a couple of bounces. “And very quiet. Do you want to try it out?”
“I think we should get some food first for if I lay on it now I would fall asleep in seconds.”
I looked at my watch, “OK, Its four thirty. Let’s see what they’ve got to eat.”
Unfortunately, dinner wasn’t served until seven so we demolished the remainder of my pie from the picnic.
“Ah. That’s better,” I said wiping the last crumbs of suet pastry off the pie dish with my finger. “Well, we’ve got a couple of hours to kill. I’d like to go to the library and find out what they know about Tesla.”
“But it is Sunday.”
“Perhaps they have different rules here. Let’s have a look.”
We eventually found the library on a dirt track called Knockhundred Row. It wasn’t quite what I expected. It must have been about five-hundred years old, and built in the old Sussex style. A few other cottages adjacent to it was built in the same way.
We climbed up the stone steps to a dark wooden door. A small paper sign pinned to the frame disclosed that it was open from two to six thirty on Sundays for a gardening club. I lifted the latch and slowly pushed the door open. Inside it smelt of books, dust, pipe smoke and varnished floorboards. In the dim light of the lattice sash windows were several gentlemen quietly reading the newspapers. There was no evidence of a gardening club meeting.
When I commented on this, she said, “I imagine it is a bolt hole for husbands to escape from the matrimonial home for a couple of hours.”
“Really! You are such a cynic.”
“And what about you?”
“You leave my attic alone.” I said, pretending to be hurt, “I do very important work up there.”
We tiptoed quietly across the creaking floorboards like a pair of elephants shod in iron shoes accompanied by the odd loud ‘Shh!’ emanating from behind the newspapers.
I got the distinct impression, judging by the raised eyebrows directed at Elizabeth, that females were expected to be at home ‘managing’ the family on Sundays.
We eventually found the science section after Elizabeth reminded me that in the nineteenth century it was called Natural Philosophy. It contained the usual collection of long forgotten books you find in an old second-hand book shop, except most of them were almost brand new. I wondered how much I’d get for some of them on Ebay in that condition.
“What exactly are we looking for?” whispered Elizabeth as we carried a pile of encyclopaedias and a thick dog-eared book called the Wonders of Science over to a table.
“We need to get a description of Tesla’s equipment or at least some drawings or diagrams of the apparatus he was making when the lab caught fire.”
“Do you really think the experiment he was doing caused time to shift?”
“I don’t know. He was trying to do long distance telegraphy using massive EM pulses. He was using what we called in my day, a resonance oscillator.”
“And do you think he was trying to communicate with Mars?”
“If he was I reckon he needed over a hundred million volts to do it.”
“But is that not dangerous?”
“Yep. So we need to find out what he did to control it.”
We searched for about an hour with no results. Then a loud jangling bell rang making us nearly jump out of our skins. I turned around to see a thin, geriatric man in a frock coat with a hand bell. He carried on making the racket until he was convinced all the gentlemen languishing underneath their newspapers had begun to rise out of their comfy armchairs.
“Damn! Looks like they’re closing and we’ve found nothing on him.”
But just as I was giving up, Elizabeth said, “Here’s a cutting from the New York Times about Mr Tesla. When is it?.. Oh… 9th July 1891. He claims he has built a machine for making illumination. Does this help?”
I had a quick glance. It was a small faded brown article about Tesla making an illuminated light. I was about to put it down when I noticed the journalist had described Tesla’s coil in the last paragraphs.
“It’s a Tesla coil!” I shouted, catching the attention of the whole library. “Well spotted! Where did you find it?”
“It fell out of this periodical.”
I had a look at it. “Oh, it’s the Observatory Magazine! And from 1892! I’d like to sell this on Ebay.”
“Is it famous in your time?”
“Only with sad idiots like me. It’s one of the early publishers of articles from the British Astronomical Association. Let’s see, who’s the editor?” I turned to the inside cover. “Ah! Maunder. I think he was one of the opponents to Lowell’s canals of Mars. Didn’t believe they existed. How little he knew.”
“So how does it work?” she said.
“What works?” I said, scanning through the articles.
“Mr Tesla’s apparatus! James, concentrate! We are about to be thrown out!” she hissed in my ear.
“Oh yes. Sorry.”
I read through the article quickly. “It’s written by a journalist but there’s enough here.”
“Yes, yes, but how does it work?” she repeated impatiently.
“It’s quite simple, really. We need a high voltage supply connected to a transformer that’ll knock it up to a few thousand volts. Then put a thick coil across it and a few capacitors in parallel. Here’s the clever bit. Put a break in the circuit and the capacitor will charge up until the voltage is so great a spark fires across the gap, then a current flows passing through the coil generating an oscillating magnetic field.”
“And that will change the world?”
“Oh no. We need a much bigger voltage. We need a second coil with hundreds of loops near the first one which will detect the field from the primary coil. And this will build a massive charge. Tesla reckons he could generate millions of volts and produce a massive pulsating arc.”
“And will that suffice?”
“I don’t know. But I think this is what Tesla was trying to do when it blew up and the lab caught fire.”
“And you really want to repeat the experiment? I was hoping to have a reasonable number of years of married life.”
“So was I but do you have any better ideas?”
“I confess I do not.”
By now most of the gentleman were beginning to stir and some were casting eyes rather disapprovingly in our direction. No doubt we had rather spoilt their afternoon snooze.
I whispered, “The difficult bit is getting a voltage supply and capacitors. I could try and make some Leyden jars for the capacitors.”
“Leyden jars, James?” she exclaimed, attracting I think two ‘Shh’s’ and an ‘hurumph’.
“Yes. You get a.....”
“Oh, I’ve made dozens of those.”
“What
?” I said falling back in my seat accompanied by another loud ‘Shh!’ from behind.
“They are very easy to make. Just jam jars, tin foil and a few nails”
Seeing my confused expression, she whispered “You have heard of Mary Shelley and her Monster?”
Yes. Why?”
“When I was at a Girton I joined a science club.”
“I see.” Nudging her gently, “Any excuse to meet men unchaperoned, I suppose.”
“James! What a suggestion!” she whispered pretending to be shocked. “The farthest thing from my mind. I hope you are not implying I would become infatuated with scientists, are you?”
“Of course not. Dead boring lot. Always playing with electrical stuff and dead animals. Not the slightest interest in girls.”
“Precisely.”
“Unless you turned up, of course.” I said, “How old were you? Nineteen?”
“A lady does not discuss her age.”
I drifted off a little. “Mmh! Imagine you turning up in my lab when I was a student. That powder blue embroidered dress you wore when you first came to my house and that little hat with wild flowers. I would have...”
“James! Escape from your reverie and let me return to my subject.”
I gave her my interested face while I continued with my dream. See, men can multi-task.
“That’s better. Now listen, we thought we would try and emulate the creation of her monster.”
“Did you know I used to think Frankenstein was the monster?” Still only half listening.
“Actually, I must confess, so did I. Now stop distracting me! We tried to bring an animal back to life. For this purpose, the club had borrowed a Whimhurst machine from the Cavendish.”
“A what?” I said.
“A Whimhurst machine. To produce large galvanic .... Have you not heard of it?”
“Hey! I’m supposed to be the Science lecturer. You’re supposed to be a lady of leisure.”
“A lady of leisure needs to be fully occupied if she is to be a subject of interest in her society.” Then she came up close to me and quickly whispered, “Not to mention of interest to a man she might wish to marry.”
“Did it work?”
“I think he is standing here.”
“What? Eh? No. I mean did you bring something back to life?”
“Two charcoaled mice and a pigeon which exploded covering us in feathers. I must admit there was some hilarity.”
“In that case that qualifies you to be my assistant in this experiment.”
“But we failed.”
“Yes. But you qualify for finding it funny. We’ll need some humour for this job. Though don’t tell the Electrocuting Furry Animals Ethics Committee about your experiment when we get back.”
After reading through the article for a third time I realised I wasn’t going to keep it in my head. I said, “Oh, for a photocopier. I can’t remember all of this.”
“But you have your phone. You can take photographs.”
“Of course! I hate you. Smart arse.”
“Ssh!” came from the nearest old codger.
“I hope that gentleman there did not hear your comment.”
“I think he did by the way he’s looking at your rear.”
“James!” And she immediately stood up from bending over the desk and smoothed her skirt.
I quickly photographed the article including a refresher I found on electromagnetism.
“Right. I’ve got what we need, I think. Now let’s get some food. I’m really hungry.”
“And so am I. May we eat at the inn for my feet in these shoes are bruised from walking?”
“Good idea. It’s just around the corner. And I hope they don’t dress for dinner as all we’ve got are the clothes we are standing in.”
Just then the ancient with the hand-bell approached us, shook the bell, nearly deafening us and pointed at the door. With several apologies, we quietly tiptoed out in the same manner we came in.
The dinner was bangers, mash and gravy. It went down well. However, the beer was bitter and there was no tea or coffee. There was, however, an abundance of fruit juices which you could lace with gin.
After we had finished and were sipping a nice cold gin-soaked, crushed apple juice by the light of a single candle, I said, “Do you remember the first time we came here?”
“Yes. You seduced me and took me to bed.” She said with a devilish smile and running her shoeless foot slowly up and down my leg.
“Oh! That is so not true. I offered to sleep on the couch.”
“And you spied on me in my undergarments via the mirror in the bedroom.”
“Yes, it was fortuitously positioned, wasn’t it?” I said savouring its memory.
“You were calculating the angles of incidence and reflection of the light while I was out of the room.”
“And then you asked me to come to bed.”
“Only because it was cold and I needed warmth.”
Before I could respond she held my hand and looking at me with those eyes she showed me when we first met.
“And very warm you were too. Now, it is getting late. Shall we retire and perhaps you can find another distraction to take our minds off this adventure?”
I didn’t need telling twice.
--------------------------
E.
The next morning during breakfast we discussed our plans for the day. James insisted his priority was to exchange his breeches for trousers. As I had now been wearing the same clothes for two days I acquiesced and we went to town to replenish our clothes with Mr Wells’ monies.
As we returned to the inn I told James that I still had reservations with regard to his dangerous scheme to build this infernal device and suggested perhaps we should first visit the time cavern to ascertain whether we might find a way home from there.
To my surprise, he quickly agreed and on being questioned he confessed that he was not looking forward to making Mr Tesla’s device and maybe the time cavern was a safer option.
When we returned to our room and tried the old door to the passage I was gratified to find that it had not been opened for a long time, judging by the amount of dust that fell from the joints. However, we were disappointed to find inside that there was no means of illumination. We hunted around the room for a torch or candles but found none.
“I’ll pop down to the reception and see if I can get something.” James said.
And before I could protest I found myself alone in the room with the open door to the tunnel. I quickly closed it and ran over to the chamber door. After what seemed ages there was a knock on the door and I heard James’ voice call me. I quickly let him in.
“I couldn’t find any matches but I borrowed this.”
To my surprise he produced a small bicycle lamp.
“Where did you get it?”
“It was attached to an old bicycle in the pantry adjacent to the hotel kitchen.”
“You have stolen it, James?”
“Temporarily borrowed. Ill return it when we get back.”
In any other circumstance, I would have admonished him severely for stealing but I confess the yearning to return home overrode my morals.
Instead I said, “Does it work?”
“Of course.” And he flashed a weak beam at the ceiling. Its strength was not reassuring. “Shall we go?”
And so, hand in hand, we opened the passage door and descended carefully in the dim yellow light of the bicycle lamp.
After about a hundred yards we came reassuringly to the vestry door.
“Let’s go in and see if there are any candles on that altar again.”
He tried the latch and with a creak the door opened and in we went. The altar was still there though it looked more like a Roman sarcophagus. On top was a candelabra with seven candles. Luckily, I did not have to prevent James ‘borrowing’ them, as on the floor in the far corner was an open box of spare candles from which we ‘borrowed’ half a dozen each instead. I
was at a loss as to what we would light them with but I had learnt to appreciate from past adventures James’ dictum that ‘You can never have enough candles.’
We returned to the passage and continued until we came to the door of the time cavern. It was already open and there as should have been expected in hindsight, was Mr Wells.
--------------------------
Chapter Six
J.
Wells was bent over the Mars globe. He always seemed to be one jump ahead.
“Good Morning, Wells.” I said. “Fancy seeing you here. How is Mrs Wells?”
“She is as well as can be expected.” He replied, still playing with the Mars globe.
“Where is she?”
“She has gone into town looking for her husband.”
“Didn’t trust you, eh?”
“I would prefer it if you did not find our predicament a source of amusement.”
Poor old Wells. I hadn’t realised how important she was to him.
“Sorry,” I said. “If it’s any consolation we know what you feel like.”
“I don’t think you do.” He replied tersely, still examining the globe.
I ignored that and said, “So, what are you doing here?”
“I might ask the same of you.”
“That’s easy. We want to go home.”
“I’m afraid that will be a little difficult. The machine as far as I am aware does not cross into parallel timelines. It only travels to the past and future.”
“Then perhaps we can go home here. It’s worth a look. Might find the future here is better than our world. What do you think, Elizabeth?”
“I was very happy where we were. We have friends and a nice home. I do not wish to rebuild another life which might not provide the same luck that we have had.”
“Ok.” I sighed. “Then that brings us back to plan A: attempt to reconstruct Mr Tesla’s coil.”
“Before you do that you might wish to look at this globe.”
We both went over to him and the Martian globe.
“What do you see?”
The Space Between Time (The Time Travel Diaries of James Urquhart and Elizabeth Bicester Book 4) Page 5