The Derring-Do Club and the Year of the Chrononauts (19 page)

“I thought the Derring–Do Club,” Mrs Frasier said.

Earnestine’s hands fluttered as she became the focus of attention.

“A young lady!?” General Saunders exclaimed.

“And what is wrong with the fairer sex?” said Mrs Frasier. “She is eminently qualified: born of your time and not of the Committee’s, too young and innocent to have been swayed by the Conspiracy and yet someone who has proved herself a staunch supporter and able warrior for the Empire.”

There were shakes of the head and nods, glances for support and persuasion, until finally the ‘aye’s had it.

“A capital choice,” said Lord Farthing.

Captain Caruthers caught Earnestine’s eye, but when she took a step towards him, he signalled her away and slipped out of a side door.

The various dignitaries came to shake her hand: Lord Farthing, General Saunders, Sir Neptune Atkinson, the Judge, a man smelling of formaldehyde, and finally, with an embrace, Mrs Frasier.

“We have a saying in the future,” said Mrs Frasier, playing to the throng. “No time like the present.”

They all agreed with that polite chortle given to a clever phrase.

Mrs Frasier indicated Earnestine, and then the door and together they left the room.

Earnestine wasn’t aware she’d said ‘yes’. Perhaps, she thought, she could rescue Uncle Jeremiah and Mister Boothroyd.

Captain Caruthers caught up with them in the corridor.

“May I just have a quick word,” he said.

“By all means,” said Mrs Frasier. She moved on, pretending to examine the paintings and the elegant chairs that lined the panelled walls. The one she chose showed St George, the English flag behind him fluttering in the breeze and a wounded dragon sprawled at his feet.

“I just want to wish you the best of British,” Caruthers said. He shuffled in order to put Earnestine between Mrs Frasier and himself. He fiddled with his jacket and then plonked a heavy object into Earnestine’s bag. It was about the size and shape of a house brick and made of metal.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“Latest thing,” Caruthers replied quietly. “It’s a miniature camera.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Just click the button on the top and wind the dial anti–clockwise.”

“Anti–clockwise.”

“Against the clock, yes.”

“I know what it means,” Earnestine said, so sharply that Captain Caruthers felt it necessary to look to Mrs Frasier to exchange a smile. “I was just startled that it was so small, but what’s it for?”

“Evidence. For Queen and Country.”

“Saint George.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“No, tell Georgina… no, tell Charlotte, she was right: find Saint George.”

“I have to see Major Dan.”

“Then please send a telegram: Charlotte was right, find Saint George.”

“Will do. Good luck.”

He stepped away and Earnestine, feeling somewhat further put upon, joined Mrs Frasier.

Outside there was a carriage waiting. Mrs Frasier held the door open.

“Where are we going?” Earnestine asked.

“Not where… when,” Mrs Frasier announced. “The future, Earnestine, the future.”

The carriage took them to the place south of the river, under the wrought iron archway and into the yard.

This time, Earnestine went up the steps and in via the front door, rather than sneaking around the side of the building. She noticed the substantial but discreet security: hired heavies outside and Temporal Peelers within.

They went along a bright and shiny corridor that reeked of new paint. At the end was a raised platform with a strange mat consisting of lines of copper wire woven into the material. The platform was edged with thick brass rails.

Earnestine stepped up nervously.

One of the Temporal Peelers grabbed her arm and pulled her across so that she was properly positioned in the formation. There was a window along the corridor (she half–expected to see someone staring in as she had done) and she could see the sky. She wondered if this was the last time she’d see her era.

They moved a protective glass screen across, partly obscuring the technician, who stood at a lectern covered in dials and controls. He pulled a lever and made adjustments before he took a rod or baton from his pocket and screwed it into the centre. The light caught a jewel fitted in the end as it turned.

“Fourteen fifty nine,” he said.

That was the continental system, Earnestine realised, and she managed to glance at her fob watch as she subtracted twelve: nearly three, post meridiem. Everyone else, including Mrs Frasier, checked their watches with a flourish of clicking covers.

The technician slammed a lever home: “Fifteen hundred.”

The lights began to flicker and the smell of galvanic charge filled the air. She felt the hairs on her head start to stand on end and her skin prickled.

“Close your eyes,” said the Peeler, tapping his white glasses.

She saw the corridor begin to fade and distort, disappearing from sight as it changed. Even if she hadn’t been instructed to do so, the bright light forced her to close her eyes

A note rose in tone ringing in her ears and then–

And then–

The world fell away.

Mrs Arthur Merryweather

Georgina made herself another pickle sandwich. Cook wasn’t around, presumably shopping, and the maids were busy with the laundry. Earnestine was away with Captain Caruthers, and without a chaperone – shocking really – but then good old Earnestine: it really was about time. She hoped Colonel Fitzwilliam was fixing her front door back at Magdalene Chase.

All this business with the Chronological – she checked the paper – Committee was quite perplexing, but it was good to have something to worry over. She was concerned about Uncle Jeremiah – arrested. Surely it would turn out to be a mistake. Hopefully, the Surrey branch of the Deering–Dolittle family had a Jeremiah or Jeremy or a Jemima even, and the resulting scandal would go some way to redressing the balance between the Surreys and the Kents. It all took her mind off her grief over Arthur and–

She shouldn’t have thought that.

She choked on the pickle, tears streaming down her face.

This was terrible, just awful – and she coughed a bit of bread across the kitchen table. She swallowed, drank some water and cleaned up, wiping mess away. Thank goodness Earnestine hadn’t seen her carrying on like that.

Distraction, that’s what she needed.

There was a telegram on the table in the hall.

Georgina found Charlotte reading the Strand magazine in her bedroom.

“Where did you get that?” she asked.

“Earnestine let me.”

“You have a telegram.”

“For me?”

Charlotte swivelled off her bed and took the proffered message.

“It’s from Captain Caruthers,” Charlotte said.

“Why is he sending you a message?”

“Maybe he wants to propose.”

“Charlotte!”

“Oh, it’s from Earnestine: CHARLOTTE STOP… isn’t it funny the way they write these.”

“Charlotte!!”

“CHARLOTTE STOP NESS SAYS… Ness, it’s to save money on letters.”

“Charlotte!!!”

“CHARLOTTE STOP NESS SAYS YOU… Why didn’t he shorten Charlotte?”

“Lottie!”

“Sorry… CHARLOTTE STOP NESS SAYS YOU WERE RIGHT STOP FIND ST GEORGE STOP CARUTHERS STOP.”

“Saint George?”

Charlotte flourished the telegram: “Ness says I was right.”

“Oh, do concentrate.”

“I was right.”

“You were right, jolly good,” Georgina conceded. “Now, what were you right about?”

“Uncle Jeremiah said ‘Saint George’ and ‘Booth’.”

“Saint George and the Dragon, where he was staying, yes… and?”

“No, I said ‘and the Dragon’, he just said ‘Saint George’. Find Saint George, Earnestine says, and if ‘Booth’ is ‘Boothroyd’, it’ll be at the Patent Pending Office.”

“Well that’s the end of that, because it’s secret and we’re not allowed.”

“I’ve been there and I know where the key is hidden. Ness doesn’t think I saw, but I did. Come on, it’ll be an adventure.”

“No.”

“But–”

“Don’t whine.”

“But–”

“Oh very well,” said Georgina. “We’ll go directly, but we don’t tell Earnestine that we thought it was an adventure. Agreed?”

The hansom took Georgina and Charlotte to Queensbury Road. They found the actual door with some difficulty even though Charlotte had been there before. Charlotte insisted that Georgina turn around while she found the key.

Inside, it was a dark passageway and then the… storage warehouse for paperwork. It certainly wasn’t the study or library that Earnestine had described. Atop the piles of papers were large weights: vases, pieces of rock, a brick, iron objects and tat.

“There’s no Saint George here,” Georgina said.

“Don’t whine.”

“Don’t be cheeky.”

But Charlotte ignored her and rushed about bent double looking at the floor: “Waste paper basket… no, fireplace… here…”

“We’ve no time to play consulting detectives.”

“Ah ha!” Charlotte had found a slip of paper. “Telegram: B STOP AT G AND D NEAR TENNING HALT STOP WELLS.”

“That could be anything.”

“Boothroyd, I’m at the George and Dragon near Tenning Halt signed ‘Wells’. Who’s Wells?”

“Uncle Jeremiah used that name to check–in.”

“That settles it then.”

“I’ll admit it is suggestive.”

“It must be.”

“So?”

“It means that Uncle Jeremiah told Mister Boothroyd where he was, and Mister Boothroyd told him about Saint George.”

“Really?”

“Most likely, so indubitably one of the papers refers to some invention that’s codenamed Saint George.”

“Oh, Charlotte, there are thousands of pieces of paper here.”

“We look, but don’t touch anything.”

“How can I look at the paper if I can’t touch it?”

They looked and didn’t touch.

There was a line across the room, diagonally, that divided a region of chaos from an area of organisation. In the latter, the documents were piled neatly with paperweights to keep them from floating away. It struck Georgina suddenly that this was like a chessboard; the paperweights were pieces being moved from square to square as each pile gave up some of its confusion to other stacks.

The important one was a knight.

Georgina found it: “Saint George.”

It was a pewter statue, about six inches high, depicting a knight on a horse with his lance stabbing into a dragon that writhed along the base. Underneath was a thankfully small stack of paper.

Charlotte helped her move it to the empty desk.

In here, then, was something from Uncle Jeremiah, a patent that had been transferred to this office when its importance to the Empire had been realised.

They sat opposite each other and began sifting through.

“Let’s have tea?” said Charlotte sometime later.

Georgina checked Arthur’s watch: “We’ve only been at this for fifteen minutes.”

They carried on.

There was so much of it and– “ow!”

Charlotte’s fidgeting had grown to the point where her swinging feet had caught Georgina on the shin.

“Sorry.”

“Just… concentrate.”

But Charlotte couldn’t and the girl was distracting. Eventually, and against her better judgement, Georgina realised that she’d make better progress on her own, which she supposed was Charlotte’s strategy all along.

“Charlotte, is there something else you could be doing?”

“There’s this machine in the other room.”

“All right, you may.”

Charlotte bounced out of her chair and rushed across to the shelves on one wall. Something happened and Charlotte disappeared into a dark opening. Georgina just caught sight of the secret door closing.

Wonders never cease, she thought.

All of this material – gosh, there was a lot – was about camouflage and espionage. None of it was about clocks or temporal mechanisms.

She found it: Jeremiah Deering.

It was old, dated a decade or so back.

Oh, and it was in Uncle Jeremiah’s excuse for handwriting. His esses looked like effs.

Georgina did make herself a cup of tea, although she used lemon as the milk was lumpy and smelt.

She found an armchair with better light and settled down, her cup and saucer on the nearest stack nestled against a flat iron. Georgina wondered what Earnestine’s system was regarding the choice of paperweight or whether it was random. There must be a notebook, she realised, with the explanation: object to subject.

Uncle Jeremiah’s treatise wasn’t in order. His conclusions, according to the header at the top of the page, were first.

‘
These mechanics might work in civilised countries with a proper accountable governing system, a judiciary and a civil service. In other nations, they would require adaptation
.’

It didn’t seem to Georgina much of an introduction and the following pages were just diagrams, boxes connected to other boxes with letters in them. They probably stood for something, but there was no key. Ah, she saw the squiggle at the top and realised that these pages were the appendix. She had the last page of the document and some notes, so the rest…

After a long sigh, and a final sip of her tea, she set about working through the rest of the stack for the other pages. At least she knew that it was on white foolscap with blue ink handwriting.

But there wasn’t anything else.

Perhaps they were hidden in another stack of papers?

The room was overwhelming, as if she were being asked to do an Easter egg hunt in a garden that was the Amazon rainforest.

She’d never be able to sort out what Earnestine meant without the other pages.

She glanced at Arthur’s pocket watch.

She had to try.

One half of the room was organised, clearly the area that Earnestine had worked on, so it wouldn’t be there. She’d have seen it.

The other half was topsy–turvydom… and Boothroyd had told Uncle Jeremiah that it was under St George, therefore Boothroyd had found it, so it couldn’t be in the chaotic area either.

It was a dead end.

Maybe… she turned the heavy pewter over in her hands, but, try as she might, the St George and the Dragon sculpture did not reveal any hidden compartments or secret codes other than a maker’s stamp. Perhaps it was symbolic, the dragon representing Mrs Frasier and St George standing for Captain Caruthers or someone?