by R L Wagner
I knew he was asking for my opinion, but I was lost in thought. Just four hours earlier, we stood in the green light beaming from behind the bookcase at the Clayton house. Maybe I’m still shaken up, or maybe I didn’t want to put any ideas into Benny’s head that might frighten him now. Back then, when we first saw Uncle Scott’s stairs, they kind of reminded me of a haunted house movie. They really gave me the creeps, and this hall did too.
“Usually yer uncle uses the entrance there at the end of the hall. It leads to the outside alley stairs. There are six upstairs apartments in all. I share one with me sisters, Kat and Jamie. So, should you need me, I’m in that apartment there, number two, on the left.”
I wasn’t nervous with Molly here. I couldn’t be nervous with her smiles and nonstop chattering. She gave us her opinions on family, on the other tenants, current fashion (our ‘abroad’ clothes in particular), and of course, the inn’s apartment rules.
“Meals can be ordered at the bar and billed weekly to your credit tab. Of course, the house rules strictly forbid overnight guests. But clearly, you’s two sweeties are our exceptions.”
We walked to the end of the hall and stopped in front of the last door on the right, the door next to the alley entrance. A brass number five marked Uncle Scott’s apartment. To the left, a spring-bell hung over the ally door.
“Shhh, listen! Remarkable ain’t it?” We all got quiet for a moment. Molly closed her eyes and smiled. “Remarkable! We can hardly hear the piano below at all, can we?” Molly said as if she just got a birthday present.
“Oh yeah, hardly at all,” Benny agreed, and then said it trying to sound British, “I mean, yes indeed, quite remarkable, really that.”
That was the first time I saw Benny shoot his British cutesy smile. Molly produced a ring of keys out of her skirt pocket and removed one key.
“So, here now, Sally. You put this key in that cute little cowboy holster pocket on your hip there. Your uncle has two keys, I have one, and now you have me spare.”
I put the key into the coin pocket on my pants and was surprised to find the key Mrs. Krebs gave me to open Uncle’s Clayton house.
Molly slipped in her key into the lock. “Freshenin’ up comes with the price of the weekly rent, but your uncle shushes me away every time I come near here with a mop and broom. He says, ‘Be gone intruder. I’m very particular about my special belongings. Hear this Molly’. And he says it just like that too, in a deep, spooky voice probably soundin’ like one of those scary blokes in his crime and mystery newspaper articles,” Molly said trying hard to make it fun for us.
Benny and I stood on either side of Molly in front of the apartment door. I guess we were so anxious about the moment, we didn’t really laugh when we heard Molly’s silly story. It was sweet and all, but I guess we weren’t so good at hiding how nervous we were.
“Ya know sweet angels, Scotty is probably somewhere close by. An’ he’s very lucky to have you’s two!"
I’ll never forget when Molly turned the key and opened the door. It took my breath away and does now to remember it.
10 Uncle Scott’s Apartment
Molly put the key in the lock and turned it slowly. I swallowed hard.
“Imagine now, will you’s, this is the way he fancies the place!" Molly said flatly.
My jaw dropped as the door opened. Benny and I looked at each other. I saw that he felt it too. It was startling and hard to believe. We had traveled back nearly 120 years, halfway across the planet, and found our uncle’s place. It would definitely be easier to accept it all as just a dream, that this wasn’t, couldn’t be happening. Nevertheless, it was, and we were here.
We walked slowly in front of Molly into the dark apartment. A loud squeak squealed out from under our feet and traveled across the groaning, loose floorboard as far as the alley’s entry door. The hallway light spilled in from behind us, casting our shadows low as we moved cautiously across the carpet in front of us. The air smelled like Uncle Scott’s downstairs living room with the scent of leather books, dust, and again, with a surprising hint of vanilla. Across the dark room, a tall, draped, bay window framed the light of the full moon. A silver beam shot across the sky through the enormous gray clouds, reflected brightly across the harbor’s dark water, and bounced upward shimmering on the apartment’s tall ceiling.
“Be careful, you two. Don’t you’s trip now. I’ll put on the lamps.”
Molly turned a wall key next to the front door. There was a click followed by a soft hum. The apartment gradually glowed, bathed in amber light. The living room was strangely familiar. I figured my fatigue had finally caught up with me, but then Benny reminded me.
“Uncle Scott remade Clayton right here.”
Benny was spot on. Certainly, this was a different location, but the similarities were definitely here. Even the architecture echoed Clayton; the front door, the bay window, and a fireplace were all in the same places as in the Clayton living room. A large table positioned in the center of the room had four similar chairs placed around it; including one very similar oversized, leather chair with big arms. By the looks on our faces, the match surprised us both.
“I’ll just be a moment,” Molly giggled. “I can’t resist the opportunity. Just make
yourselves at home. I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into the next dark room.
“We’re here, Benny!” I said in whispered excitement.
“Yeah, it’s way, way unbelievable. Being here in Uncle Scott’s place,” Benny said in a hushed voice.
“It’s flat-out amazing that we’ve gotten this far. Look around and see if we can find something that will lead us to where Uncle Scott is,” I said.
On the table were nearly all the same items as the Clayton table: maps of England and Scotland, books on dinosaurs, aquatic animals, a book of alchemy, a notebook about Leonardo da Vinci, and an autographed H.G. Wells lecture program.
“Last May, Uncle Scott must have met the author H.G. Wells, the guy who wrote The Time Machine.
“That’s sort of weird. You think that Wells might have something to do with Uncle Scott’s traveling?” Benny said, looking into the archway that Molly went through.
“I don’t know. Look around for more stuff.”
Handwritten on a stack of Inverness Inn stationary was the same word as on the yellow pad in Clayton – ‘Harpooner’. However, there were two new items: ‘Camera Obscura’ and ‘Philosopher’s Stone’. Addresses of
international businesses and local venders filled a second page. On a third sheet, Uncle Scott had written notes on foundry techniques and instruction on lost wax sculpting.
“This is like Clayton, too!” Benny said.
He stood at the far wall in front of a large, somewhat oddly placed bookcase displaying over a hundred or so books and items similar to the ones found in Uncle Scott's hidden office. Sets of lenses and three cameras caught my eye. I walked over and examined one. All three cameras looked like the traveling camera in my pack.
“They look the same as ours but these look brand new,” Benny said.
“And look here, there’s a hole where the key should be,” I pointed out.
I placed the camera back and moved across to the fireplace. A deep green, wingback chair and brass rocker sat atop a large rust and sage woven carpet. A dark painting hung over the fireplace, depicting a castle in ruins, beside a shimmering, black water bay lit by the light a full moon. Under it, on the mantel, sat a carved, wooden frame with single black and white photograph of Mom, Benny, Uncle Scott, and me. We were all hugging and laughing in the picture. A photograph from the future, of all of us, was here!
A small, wooden box with a painted orange lid was next to our photo. Six gold keys, all shaped like our camera’s k eys, were inside. Each key had a small, empty cup-shape at the top. I was sure the cups were getting ready to accept small red and green stones. A receipt for old gold coins, purchased from an Italian coin dealer, was on the bottom of the box.
A large
silver, blue, and black, “Miss Clair’s” biscuit tin sat on the floor next to the fireplace. The snug lid came off with a pop. Inside was a black, scorched clay mold with a key-shaped indentation and a small scorched metal bowel with a fluted pouring spout. Large, foundry tongs made to grasp hot objects and heavy leather gloves hung next to the fireplace poker and broom set. The puzzle was coming together. I was positive that this was the mold used in making the keys in the box. Uncle Scott probably smelted the gold coins in the bowl right here in the fireplace. I glanced back to the bookcase. There they sat. Uncle Scott was trying to make a camera with keys capable of bringing him back home.
“Look at this, Sally,” Benny said, sitting in the brown, leather chair. He was holding a small box addressed to Uncle Scott. “The return postmark is from Ta Chow, Tibet. Inside are some small red and green stones. They look like the colored stones on the camera’s keys.” Next to Benny were three more postal boxes, and all of them contained small red and green stones.
“This one is from Bash Tar, India. This one is from Antigua, Guatemala. This one is from Colonna, Italy,” Benny said, sounding like a detective holding clues.
That gave me an idea!
“You sees it right off, eh?” Molly walked briskly out of the next-door room, drying her hands on her apron. “The place is way too cluttered with too many nick knacks, if you ask me. In there is your tub and commode, a bedroom, and a tiny kitchen. Silly me, I couldn’t resist puttin’ a way the dishes around the drain board and tidyin’ up a bit.”
“Molly, how long has our uncle been renting the apartment? Twelve months, eighteen months?” I asked.
“A bit more, I think, though he’s away much of the time doing research for ‘is
newsprint mystery articles.”
“But that’s almost the same length of time that Uncle Scott has been missing. That doesn’t work with his time formula,” Benny whispered.
“Yeah it does,” I said, surprised that I understood it. “We just arrived on this day, not how many actual days have passed since Uncle Scott came up missing,” I whispered back.
Molly stayed busy talking, folding the kitchen towel, and fluffing up Uncle Scott’s chairs pillows. “On top of that, he’s opened his photographic portrait studio four doors down the harbor, a few moths after he got here. Scotty says I ‘ave a real gift with cameras; says I was born to be a top-rung photographer, but I dun know.” Molly blushed again. “I think I told you that, didn’t I? Well honestly, it’s something I’m quite proud of, and lately Scotty’s been encouraging me to run the shop on me own,” Molly said and blushed even deeper.
“That’s really something, Molly,” Benny said.
“Yeah, Uncle Scott’s really a great judge of character,” I added, truly impressed.
“Well thank you’s both! Now children, if it’s all to your liking, I best get back to earning me night’s pub work. And if yer still awake, I can check on you’s later or in the morning.”
We walked Molly to the door, rushing through our “good nights” and sincere thanks. But, the hugs were strong and genuine. Molly truly has a heart of gold!
“Now off to bed with you’s. It’s time for sweet dreams. I’m downstairs should you need me.” Molly blew us a kiss and shut the door.
“Thanks again!” we both shouted from the other side of the door.
Benny slunk back to the brown, leather armchair and fell onto the seat, slouching deeply into it. His shoes were off. I took the chair across from him. We looked over the books and notes between us.
“I know, the hour’s up, Sis,” Benny yawned, “and I know this sounds both strange and normal, but it seems Uncle Scott is alive and doing fine in 1883 London. As of now, we know that he has returned a tooth to Dr. O’Malley, who seems to be a big fan of his. And Uncle Scott knows Molly, and she works for him in his own camera store that he set up within months of getting here. And to top it all off, he’s writing for newspapers and is becoming known for investigating British mysteries.” Benny
shrugged his shoulders and closed his eyes. “Just saying!”
“Uncle Scott is still the Mystery Buster a hundred years before his time,” I said through a sigh. The longer we sat there, the sleepier we became. Benny had said it all. We had
discovered a lot, but we still hadn’t truly found Uncle Scott. A plan was coming together in my brain. In my uncertainty, I talked it out.
“So, we’re here because Uncle Scott wrote us directly and requested that we follow him with the camera and bring him home,” I said, thinking out loud. “Even if he has made a life for himself here, he still wants to come home.”
“We’re close, Sis, but we need to get home first,” Benny said through a yawn with his eyes still closed.
I picked up the H.G. Wells lecture program and looked over the da Vinci notebook and dinosaur books. “What are you up to, Uncle Scott?” I asked aloud. “Benny, if you could do what Uncle Scott does, have the ability to travel to any place at any time, what would you do?”
Benny opened his eyes with a big excited smile. “That’s like asking what I would do if I had three wishes!” Benny laughed. He cleared his throat, “Okay, first, I’d get really, really, rich. I mean think about it. If I could go forward maybe just a month or a year, and come back with all the winning lottery numbers, or the winning results of horse races or other sporting events, I could, we could, make a fat bundle. We could take care of Mom. And then yeah, we could go anywhere, do almost anything, and solve stuff. And with all of our money, we could help a lot of people who need it, and have fun doing it all.”
“Sounds good. So, you would solve mysteries like Uncle Scott does?”
“Yeah. Well maybe… yeah sure, but it just wasn’t my first idea. Different people wish for different things, I suppose,” Benny shrugged.
“Exactly!” I answered and looked around.
“Everything here points to Uncle Scott trying to manufacture another camera to take him home. The receipts for old gold coins and the keys he made on the fireplace mantel…” I said, looking around.
“This package just arrived from Tibet with red and green stones, and there are other boxes with stones from other places. Maybe he doesn’t know which stones will work,” Benny added.
“So, right now, I’m proud to say, we are figuring out stuff like Uncle Scott does. WE’RE being detectives, Benny! We’re taking it all in, checking this place out, and we’re finding real clues.” I was getting excited in a way I hadn’t really felt before.
“So, what’s next, Sherlock? Or h as that even been written yet?” Benny smiled.
“Elementary, Dr. Marshall; before we leave, we have to find more clues to help us figure out what Uncle Scott is up to. Maybe that will help us figure out where he is. Take this piece of paper and write down a list of
everything you see that seems like a clue; anything that might help us figure out what mystery Uncle Scott is working on.” I handed Benny a piece of the Inverness Inn stationary. “We have to do this before we go home. Everything may depend on our observations,” I said confidently.
“Shouldn’t we do it together?” Benny produced a couple of pencils from his backpack.
“I’ll write down a list too. We’ll put them together when we’re back home. Jot down anything you’ve noticed since we first traveled, or anything that you have a question about, and anything you’ve seen that might help us figure this out,” I said, determined to solve this mystery.
It got quiet. I could barely make out the piano playing in the pub below. I started my list: The curator’s third tooth, the creepy cameraman in black, the bookshelf lenses and cameras, these books, Wells, the English and Scottish maps, melted old gold coins, the tools and keys, stones, da Vinci notebook, the philosopher’s stone, The Harpooner.
“I bet ‘The Harpooner’ is the story here,” I muttered.
We wouldn’t see Molly in the morning. I wrote out a quick note to tell her we were getting up early, we hoped to rendezvous with another rela
tive in Manchester, we were out making some of our own luck, and not to worry, we would see her again. I put it on the table on top of a stack of books.
“I wonder if Uncle Scott ever went into the future,” Benny said, still writing.
“How would he do that? I mean, how could he get there? He would have to find an artifact from the future. And that would mean it would have to have been left behind by another traveler, from the future.” That all seemed about right, probably unlikely. I looked over to our photo on the mantel, a relic out of time.
“Or maybe travelers themselves could be artifacts,” Benny said and stopped writing. “I’ve been wondering about what you said. Maybe that guy at the museum…” Benny looked worried.“He sure seemed interested in us.”
“He took our picture,” I added.
“Do you think he’s is a traveler from the past and . . .” Benny suddenly became quiet. We looked at each other and said it at the same time.
“And he needs us as artifacts to travel
further into the future!”
It was definitely plausible. It was shocking! But it made sense. I bet he was following us to get to the future, to get to our time!
“Sis, look, LOOK!” Benny stammered out a frightened whisper and pointed. We jumped up and faced the front door. The spring-bell in the alley entry began ringing. The floorboard gave out another loud squeal, just like when we entered. The keyhole and space under the door glowed green with streams of bright light.
“Quick, Benny, your back pack and shoes!”
I grabbed the satchel, jammed our lists and pencils in, and groped wildly, searching the satchel for the camera.
Benny struggled to step into his shoes.
“Benny, get the backpack!” I yelled. “Hold up the backpack!”
Furiously, the doorknob twisted and rattled. He was trying to get in!
“Hurry, Benny! Hurry!” I dove onto him clutching him around his neck with my left arm and lifting the camera high in front of us with my right. The door was opening. How did he find us?
Benny froze, holding the backpack firmly in front of us. Frantically, I stretched my arm out with the camera, aiming it blindly in our direction. I squeezed the button, taking our picture.