The Derring-Do Club and the Year of the Chrononauts (28 page)

“Oh, am I supposed to be in there?” Charlotte replied in her sweetest voice. Earnestine winced when she remembered all those times she’d heard that particular tone of innocence.

Scrutiniser Jones fished out his keys, loud and clattering.

“I’d rather not be locked in,” Charlotte said.

“It’s for your own protection.”

“Protection,” said Earnestine, rubbing her neck obviously, “that’s jolly thoughtful of you. What would I have done just now, if it hadn’t been for the locked door?”

Scrutiniser Jones didn’t reply. What could he have said?

“Could I have another room please?” Earnestine asked.

“This is the one allocated.”

“It has a corpse in it.”

“That is… unfortunate.”

“Excellent, that’s settled then,” said Earnestine. “Something with a view perhaps.”

The three of them moved into the corridor, went past one closed door.

“Charlotte,” said Earnestine. “You’ve broken your brooch.”

“I used it–”

“You must take more care of your belongings. That brooch was expensive,” Earnestine chided, and she snatched back her umbrella. “And don’t take things that don’t belong to you.”

“But–”

“Don’t whine.”

Scrutiniser Jones let Charlotte back to her room and locked it. He checked the handle twice.

Earnestine was given the next room along.

She went in, propped her umbrella up in the corner and then thought better of that. She took it up, intending to put it by the bed just in case, but she saw a mark of blood left on the floor by the point.

She was frightened by this.

The evidence, far more than her sore neck, made it suddenly real and frightening, but she couldn’t admit that to herself, so she felt angry instead.

“Oh, Charlotte, honestly.”

Mrs Arthur Merryweather

The next day, Georgina was surprised by all the extra security. There were six Temporal Peelers in their long frock coats, top hats and sinister white glasses. She recognised the bulk of Scrutiniser Jones and the lofty stature of Chief Examiner Lombard.

“You’re going to court,” said Chief Examiner Lombard.

“I’ve not done anything,” Georgina protested.

“Public Gallery, Miss,” he replied. “Justice must be seen to be done.”

Charlotte appeared from the next door along.

“Yes, of course, and it’s ‘Ma’am’. I’m widowed.”

“As you wish, Ma’am.”

“Where are we going?” Charlotte asked.

“Public Gallery of the court, Miss.”

“That sounds exciting,” said Charlotte.

“Mrs Frasier wanted you to know what we do here,” the Chief Examiner replied. “This visit is to be part of your education.”

“Oh no,” Charlotte whined.

“Why all the guards?” Georgina asked.

Chief Examiner answered her: “Mrs Frasier… sorry, Miss Deering–Dolittle was attacked.”

Georgina jerked her head round to look at the first door on the corridor. It was closed; there was no sign of Earnestine.

“Oh, please no.”

“It’s fine, Gina,” said Charlotte.

“Don’t be silly, Charlotte. Earnestine’s been attacked.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Yes, I saved her.”

The Chief Examiner had reached the fourth door and unlocked it to reveal Earnestine.

“Ness!”

“Gina?”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“But–”

“Stiff upper lip, Gina.”

Georgina saw the bruising around Earnestine’s neck and the tightness with which she held her umbrella. Georgina felt a flutter in her chest, a cross between worry and panic.

“Why do you fight people?” she demanded.

“He attacked me,” Earnestine replied.

“Yes, but why do they keep attacking you?”

The two sisters glared at each other.

“Shall we go?” said Chief Examiner Lombard.

Earnestine nodded sharply.

They fell into an easier formation, Charlotte skipping to fall into step with the surrounding Peelers. Their swords clattered and their boots stamped in time.

When they reached the Rotunda, an excited man in overalls stepped in front of them, causing Earnestine to flinch noticeably.

“Hello, hello,” he said.

“Please make way,” said Chief Examiner Lombard.

“I just want to… that is…”

“Oh, Albert, yes, of course.”

The Peelers stepped away, leaving the Deering–Dolittle sisters exposed.

“Mrs Frasier,” said this Albert as he stuck out his hand towards Earnestine eagerly. “We are so grateful for what you are doing. My family, my family… the recent arrests, I learn that because of the great endeavour, they are back, returned to us. We are so grateful. The world is grateful.”

“I’m not Mrs Frasier.”

“Not yet,” he smiled. “I know, I know, of course, still Miss Deering–Dolittle. Marcus is going to be a lucky man. And these must be your sisters – the Derring–Do Club. I’ve read about you in the History Books, of course, so brave, so sad, so mysterious, and to meet you in person. I’m honoured, honoured.”

He shook Georgina’s hand and then Charlotte’s.

“So brave, so sad,” he said. “We’re so grateful.”

“Move along now,” said Scrutiniser Jones, but good–heartedly.

The man went on his way, smiling, talking to passers–by and pointing back.

“We’re famous,” Charlotte beamed.

Earnestine tightened her lips.

Miss Charlotte

The Rotunda had four corridors, each labelled: Judiciary, Temporal Engineering, Accommodation and Prison. They moved straight on, entering a wood panelled corridor. Charlotte craned her neck round to look into the Prison area as they went past, but she didn’t see much with the tall Peelers in the way.

It had been jolly bad luck that she happened to be passing Earnestine’s door during her escape and so seen that man attack Earnestine. Well, maybe not bad luck, but her rescue of Uncle Jeremiah had had to be put aside.

Uncle Jeremiah was down there somewhere in the Prison section, she thought, and if she could just–

“Charlotte, stand up straight,” Earnestine snapped.

“I am.”

It was foolish to have all these extra guards, when they could just as easily have given her a sword and then she could protect them all.

Hadn’t she proved herself saving their precious, and ungrateful, Mrs Frasier the Younger?

Or a revolver, that would be better.

They arrived in a waiting area with long wooden seats like pews. They sat. Charlotte fidgeted.

“Can I go for a walk?” she asked Earnestine.

“No.”

“Just to stretch my legs.”

“No.”

“I won’t be long.”

“Charlotte, honestly.”

“Lottie,” said Georgina, “be a good girl now.”

Charlotte made a face.

They never took her seriously, even though – she sniggered – she had discovered what all this was about. But she wasn’t going to tell them, the bossy older sisters; at least not until she’d figured out what it meant.

Chapter XVII

Mrs Frasier

A new day, Mrs Frasier thought, a great day. Now she had returned to the future, she decided she’d see the next trial in person. It would be a distraction, something to take her mind off Lord Farthing and the debate.

She checked her watches, touched the lettering within the golden cover: ‘
For Our Future, J. J. D
.’ in a fine italic script. She felt confident. A penny for your thoughts: a shilling perhaps, but this mighty one was a gold sovereign of an idea.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

Chief Examiner Lombard came in, stiffly, and closed the door behind him. He took a pace inside and stopped well short of Mrs Frasier’s desk.

“Ma’am.”

“Lombard, why are you standing to attention?”

“I’ve some news.”

“News?”

“Bad news, Ma’am.”

“Divvy it out.”

“You won’t be happy.”

Mrs Frasier waved her hand to prompt him to continue.

“Last night, one of the new workmen attacked one of the Deering–Dolittle–”

“What!?”

“She’s fine.”

“Which one?”

“Miss Deering–Dolittle, Earnestine.”

Mrs Frasier felt a cold chill: “Me?”

“Yes.”

“Who did this?”

“We don’t know.”

“Don’t know? How is that possible?”

“He was one of the latest batch brought in, but I asked and none of the other workmen knew him. He was counterfeit, didn’t know one end of a pipe from the other.”

“Then beat him until he tells you.”

“He’s dead, Ma’am.”

Mrs Frasier practically screeched into Chief Examiner Lombard’s face: “What the hell was he doing here?”

“He was a workman, Ma’am.”

“Why couldn’t one of ours do it?”

“It’s the old pumps, Ma’am; we brought a team here to fix them. None of us know how those old things work. And the water is seeping in.”

“Could we not have left it until after… oh hell.”

It was petrifying.

A man from the past here, without so much as a scribbled note anywhere, wandering about with murderous intent. He could have gone anywhere. He could have done anything.

And why?

“Where?” she demanded.

“In her room.”

The man had found Miss Deering–Dolittle’s room and attacked her.

“It’s just one of those things, Ma’am.”

“Lombard, what sort of gulpy do you take me for? He was some bloody bludger, no less than a political assassin.”

“He only attacked one of the girls and she’s fine, there was no harm done.”

Mrs Frasier saw the picture of Boudicca on her wall. That woman had waged war against men, Ro
men
, because her daughters were attacked, and now her successor had been assaulted. The painting showed the Iceni Warrior Queen going into battle and that was how Mrs Frasier felt too.

“He went for me!”

“Ma’am.”

“Find out who he was – everything.”

“He was one of the plumbers who–”

“No he wasn’t. He was an assassin, a spy, a bloody nose. Lombard, don’t be such a glocky cove. This goes deep. Find the trail, follow it to its source and report back.”

Lombard stiffened.

“Get on with it!”

Chief Examiner Lombard was a tall man, cadaverous and frightening in his appearance, but he saluted and turned to the door.

“Elijah!”

“Ma’am.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Ma’am?”

“It’s just… we’re so close.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Please forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Ma’am.”

“You are too kind, but I was wrong.”

“We’ll find out who he was, directly,” said Lombard, his gaunt face set and determined. “We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

Mrs Frasier nodded with a tight lipped smile.

“I know you’ll do your best.”

“We’re your Peelers, Ma’am, we wouldn’t do anything less.”

“Thank you.”

After he’d gone, Mrs Frasier gripped her desk with both hands and breathed, trying to force herself to be calm. Anger never did her any favours, she knew. She dropped her cigar case twice before she managed to retrieve one. She couldn’t get the damn thing into the cutter and nearly took the end of her finger off. Finally, she had it lit and the first inhalation calmed her, even before the smoke reached her lungs. Thank goodness for Double Claro.

When she felt in control again, she checked her watch. Always and always checking her watch, ‘
For the Future’
, willing the seconds to pass, the long dreamed for day to be over:
if you can keep your head.

Her hand was still shaking.

No good panicking about it:
if you can force your heart and nerve and sinew to serve
. Work, that’s what she needed:
‘Hold on!’

She clipped her gold fob watch shut and stubbed out her cigar, leaving half the greenish length in the ash tray.

Down the corridor towards the court rooms, she found Judge Smythe in his rooms.

“Oh! Mrs Frasier, you gave me such a turn.”

The man, his head bald and his whiskers busy and ginger, looked guilty before he went back to hanging up his formal robes in a wardrobe.

“Judge, who is in the dock next? Foxley, isn’t it?”

“Foxley… I say, yes: guilty. Do you think hard labour will be too harsh?”

“For that man?”

“I suppose, I suppose, sherry?”

His trembling hand poured two glasses to the rim without spilling a drop.

“Although he is technically innocent at the moment,” said Mrs Frasier.

“Of course, of course, Mrs Frasier, justice must be seen.”

The man dithered, hesitating as to which way around his oak desk he ought to walk to his chair. There were papers on the desk tucked away in fine covers and tied shut with thin ribbons of various colours.

Mrs Frasier sat and sipped her sherry. It was a fine vintage. She smiled, wondering what was on the bottle: 1897, which made it a few years old or nearly eighty. It depended on how it arrived, she supposed.

“It’s Earl Foxley,” said Mrs Frasier, correcting the Judge. “His brother died, so naturally the title falls to him.”

“When did his brother die?”

“Seventy five years ago.”

“Oh yes, of course, of course.”

“I mean he did. I just found out when I was there. In a duel.”

The Judge was surprised and amused: “A duel?”

Mrs Frasier made a stabbing motion as if she were skewering an invisible man: “It was very quick.”

“Swords? Was it over some woman?”

Mrs Frasier gave him a tight smile: “By a woman.”

There was a tap at the door.

“Come!”

An assistant came in: “Bert, it’s– Mrs Frasier! I beg your pardon, Ma’am.”

Mrs Frasier signalled him to continue.

“Mrs Frasier… Your Honour, the court has gathered.”

“Oh, very well,” the Judge put down his sherry glass. “I say, help me with this, won’t you?”

The assistant stepped forward to help him take his robes down again and fuss with them.

“Put on a good show,” said Mrs Frasier. “The Derring–Do Club is in.”