Julius and the Watchmaker (33 page)

The professor handed the key to Mr Flynn. ‘Would you do the honours, Danny?'

‘It would be a pleasure, Professor,' said Mr Flynn.

‘Oh, and Julius, would you mind accompanying Mr Flynn. We Watchmakers have a private matter to discuss before we depart.'

Julius looked at the Watchmakers. They were all distinguished gentlemen, beautifully attired, with top hats and silk handkerchiefs but, at this precise moment, they were all grinning like mischievous boys.

‘Very well, Professor,' said Julius, rising to follow Mr Flynn towards the Grand Organ. The carved cherubs smiled down at the choir boys as they filed out of the choir stalls, chattering and jostling one another. When the last of them was gone, Mr Flynn glanced around to check that no one was looking.

‘This way,' he whispered, and he led Julius up the narrow stairway at the back of the organ, counting the steps as he climbed.

Mr Flynn sat on step number fourteen and ran his hand along the grain of the wood panelling at the back of the organ. Julius watched. Mr Flynn winked at him. ‘It's here somewhere.'

Julius was just about to ask him what he was doing when Mr Flynn's fingers stopped and retraced their path across the wooden surface.

‘Found it,' he whispered.

He took the gold key from his waistcoat pocket, inserted it in a narrow gap in the wood and turned the key. Julius heard a click, then another. A tiny drawer shot out as if on a spring. Mr Flynn smiled at Julius and beckoned him to look closer.

The inside of the drawer was lined with red velvet and had a circular indentation in its base to hold the watch.

‘This will be the timepiece's home until a new Watchmaker is appointed, Julius,' said Mr Flynn. ‘Would you do the honours?'

Julius took the pocketwatch from his jacket. It fitted perfectly in the palm of his hand. It felt warm and he could sense its ticking in the tips of his fingers. He did not want to let it go—he did not want to be without it. There was still a strand of his hair in one of the tiny drawers. Mr Flynn's hand touched his shoulder as if to reassure him.

Julius placed the pocketwatch in the drawer, letting his fingertips linger on its face. Then, taking a deep breath, he pulled his hand away—it was like relinquishing a part of himself.

Mr Flynn pushed the drawer closed and locked it. The gold key went back into his waistcoat pocket and he and Julius sat for a time in the stillness.

When Julius and Mr Flynn rejoined the Watchmakers they found that the professor had fallen asleep. One of the Watchmakers gently shook his shoulder and whispered into his ear. The professor jolted awake and let out a weary sigh, but he smiled when he noticed that Julius had returned and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

‘Julius, my boy,' said the professor. ‘We, the Guild of Watchmakers, have decided that you will inherit Shelley's timepiece.'

‘Me?'

‘Yes…In short, we invite you to become one of us—to join the Guild.'

Julius stared at the professor. He mouth opened but no sound came out.

One of the Watchmakers chuckled.

‘When is it time to begin your apprenticeship we will come and knock on your door, Julius,' said the professor. ‘And Mr Flynn, I ask you to be custodian of the gold key in our absence. Keep it safe until we return.'

‘I certainly will, professor,' said Mr Flynn, and he patted Julius on the back. ‘Well done, Julius.'

The professor's tired grey eyes looked into Julius's. ‘So, my boy. This is goodbye. I will be taking a long rest while a new timepiece is made for me. It will take many years, but, then again, it will be many years before I am my old self again.'

Julius felt his nose begin to tingle—a sure sign that tears were on their way.

‘It has been a pleasure to know you, Julius. I owe you my life,' said the professor. He sniffed and dabbed his nose with his handkerchief and then turned and nodded to the Watchmaker beside him, who helped him to his feet. Then all the Watchmakers stood up.

‘We, the Guild of Watchmakers, salute you,' said the professor, and in one graceful movement they all lifted their top hats and bowed their heads.

As Mr Flynn walked him home, Julius skipped along as if he was six years old again. ‘When will I be ready to begin my training, do you think, Mr Flynn?'

‘The Guild will decide that. They'll come tapping on your back parlour window, just like the professor did all that time ago.'

Suddenly, the bells of St Paul's rang out across the forecourt and the whole of London. Their interweaving peals were like a cheer, rousing the pigeons to flight and lifting Julius's heart as if it too had wings.

Nothing will ever be as perfect as this moment right now, Higgins. Absolutely nothing.

Julius could feel Harrison's diary under his jacket, tucked into his trousers and wedged under his left elbow. He had managed to get it back from Harry without anyone noticing, and now he needed to return it to his grandfather. But first, the time had come to say what he had been rehearsing in his head over and over again—to tell Mr Flynn that he knew that he was his father.

But the courage would not come. He had battled Grackacks and clockmen; he had travelled through time and space, let alone across the ocean, but this, somehow, was more difficult.

Two more steps and then say it, Higgins.

Julius walked two steps.

When you've passed that doorway say it, Higgins.

He passed the doorway.

Say something, Higgins!

‘I found out why you and grandfather fell out, Mr Flynn.'

Mr Flynn stopped in mid-step.

‘I pieced it together and…and in the possible future you as good as told me.'

‘I see.'

‘But it doesn't change anything. You came back, that's what matters.'

‘I'm sorry you had to find out. I'm that ashamed of myself.'

‘I'm glad I did. There shouldn't be secrets between us, Mr Flynn. Not after what we've been through.'

‘You're right, of course,' said Mr Flynn.

‘Tell me about it,' said Julius, clutching the diary under his jacket. As soon as Mr Flynn admitted that he was his father, Julius could produce the diary and admit that he had given it to Clements and Springheel.

Mr Flynn began to walk again. Slower this time. ‘I betrayed your grandfather. He never really got over it. I can't blame him.'

Julius's heart raced in anticipation.

‘Before you were born, your grandfather, Gussy Higgins, was a swell in the bare-knuckle boxing world. He welcomed me when I arrived here from Dublin. Welcomed me into his family, introduced me to his wife and his daughter.'

‘My mother?' said Julius.

‘Yes.'

‘What was she like?'

‘Oh, you know…a very good hearted sort of girl. Her shoulders would shake when she laughed—which was most of the time. Anyway, it was over a fight, against the then champion, Douglas Dyson.'

‘A fight?' said Julius.

‘Yes. It was my first big fight against a real opponent. All the smart money was going on Dyson to win. That was until your grandfather began to place bets all over London for
me
to win. He had a lot of confidence in me, you see. So the odds changed.'

Julius clutched the diary, waiting to hear more about his mother.

‘I wasn't confident that I could win, so…I got our old friend Clements to bet secretly against me with my own money. The odds were 60–1 for Dyson to win. Well, to cut a long story short, I…er, I threw the fight.'

Mr Flynn paused. The memory seemed to be causing him physical pain. ‘I made a packet, but your grandfather lost all the money he wagered—which was pretty much all he had. When I realised what I'd done I tried to give him my winnings but he wouldn't accept. He couldn't get over my betrayal—never spoke to me again after that. He left the bare-knuckle-boxing world and never came back.'

Julius looked down the street. There was the bookshop sign. The diary was hard against his ribs, he clutched it tighter.

‘I'm sorry, Julius,' said Mr Flynn.

‘That's all right…I mean…I…I already knew.'

Julius stood in the busy street, numb and motionless, like a rock in a fast moving stream. The bells had stopped.

‘What did you do then?' said Julius, to break the agonising silence.

‘I was going to go back to Dublin. But I met the professor.'

‘He was fighting some rough 'uns. You helped him.'

‘Yes, that's right. I've been assisting the professor in one way or another ever since, trying to lead a life I could be proud of.'

Mr Flynn looked at Julius's down-turned head and coughed uncomfortably.

‘So, there you have it…All of it,' he said.

Julius looked at the dark cobblestones in Mr Flynn's shadow. He was trying not to cry. His knuckles were white as he gripped the diary. He had been so ready to be Mr Flynn's son.

The silence between them grew. Julius stared along the street, trying to look as if his heart was not being wrenched from his body. He felt Mr Flynn's hand on his shoulder for a moment. The touch resounded through his body although it was as gentle as a falling leaf.

‘I wanted you to have an adventure…to make up for what I did. Stupid idea.' Mr Flynn hesitated. ‘I'm sorry, Julius.' He stood as if he wanted to say more, but turned and walked away.

Julius felt grief flood over him.

He watched Mr Flynn walking away. There it was, the dented top hat at a tilt on his head; those shoulders so broad and kind.
How can shoulders be kind, Higgins?
Julius watched him moving further away, soon to be subsumed into the crowd. His movements were graceful but slow, reluctant and sad. Julius felt a blow, like a punch to his stomach. It was the thought of never seeing Mr Flynn ever again.

‘Mr Flynn, Mr Flynn,' he called out as he ran.

Mr Flynn stopped and his shoulders rounded slightly as he turned with a questioning glance.

‘Come to tea on Sunday.'

Julius could not wait for Mr Flynn to reply.

‘Three o'clock.'

‘Is that a good idea, Julius?' said Mr Flynn sadly.

‘Yes. We'll have crumpets.'

‘Crumpets, is it?'

‘And warm cheese scones with butter melting on top. Nothing's better than that, is it, Mr Flynn?'

‘What do you think your grandfather will say?'

‘He'll be delighted to see you, honestly. And he'll be delighted with me for inviting you.'

He'll skin you alive, Higgins.

Mr Flynn hesitated. ‘Cheese scones?'

‘Please come.'

Mr Flynn's face relaxed. He lifted his top hat and bowed to Julius. ‘I'd be honoured, Julius Higgins. Three o'clock, it is.' Then he turned and bounded away with enough spring in his step to power a steamship.

Julius wiped the moisture away from his eyes and watched until Mr Flynn had disappeared into the crowd. He felt equal portions of happiness and sadness wrapping their arms around him, reminding him of Emily's soft kiss.

He fumbled in his pockets for his door key, then marched to the door of Higgins' Booksellers. He hesitated, spat on his hand and ran it through his fringe
. Remember, Higgins, a Watchmaker makes the best of every circumference.

He turned the key in the lock, took a deep breath and opened the door.

Epilogue

What happened when Mr Flynn came to tea?

Lots of crumpets and cheese scones were eaten and also, I suspect, some brandy was drunk because, later that night, Mr Flynn and Mr Higgins broke into St Paul's Cathedral.

They were later arrested by a police constable for ringing the bells at midnight without the permission of the Guild of Bell Ringers.

Glossary of Victorian Slang

beak
magistrate

blue-bottle
police constable

chavy
child

cove
man

to do down
to beat