The Mystery of the Cupboard (15 page)

The figure inside it sat up slowly, shaking its head between its bent knees. It was a man and he had white hair. Omri took time to notice no more than this. He was already unrolling the second, and the third.

The fourth roll had nobody in it.

He felt that as soon as he picked it up. When he unrolled it he found it empty, except for some items of uniform. He knew what that meant. It had been the same with Tommy. The wearer had been a soldier who, since the last time he was brought, had died in action in his own time. Omri noticed the uniform was not khaki but red and blue — some older army era. Anyway, there was no point wasting time on that now.

He didn't bother, either, with the last little package. Unlike the others, it was carelessly wrapped in a twist of brown paper and must hold the earrings. Time for that later. He turned back to the others.

The first thing he noticed was that two of them were men, and one was a woman.

The man Omri had unrolled first was just getting stiffly to his feet in the midst of the crumpled, lace-edged handkerchief. He was wearing rather heavy looking dark blue trousers, a shirt without a collar, a wide leather belt, and braces over his shoulders. He wore slippers on his feet and his snowy hair was tousled as if he'd been woken from a nap. He was holding a tiny newspaper.

The other man was already on his feet and kicking the folds of linen impatiently aside. He was shorter than the other one, very thin and wiry and looked quite a bit younger. His bristly hair was only just going grey. He wore a high-necked black sweater, dark checked trousers, and a cloth cap, and he had what appeared to be a sack
full of heavy, lumpy objects clutched in his hand. Where the other, older man seemed dazed, this one was looking all around him warily with quick, bird-like movements of the head.

The woman looked older than either of them. She was plump, with white hair done up in curling papers and an old-fashioned patchwork dressing-gown over what looked like a long white nightie. She seemed neither dazed nor wary, but outraged.

“For 'eaven's sake!” she exclaimed irritably. “This is too much, it is reely. Just as I thought my bad knee was in for an early night, ‘ere we go again, without a word of warning or so much as a by-your-leave! I'm too old for all this comin' and goin'!”

She looked around and caught sight of the older man, who was rubbing his hand over his chin with a just-about-audible rasping noise.

“My Gawd! It's you, Ted!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands to her fat cheeks. “After all these years! Now I know I'm not dreaming — I'm back!”

“Hello, Elsie,” said the older man slowly. “Yes, back again, it's like old times. Good to see you. Where's the others, then?”

She turned on the spot, looking all around her, and suddenly she saw Omri. She let out a shriek.

“Eeeek! Who are you!” she yelled, pointing at him. “You ain't her!”

“Of course it's not ‘her', Else,” said the older man
patiently. “How could it be ‘her'? She was on her last legs thirty years ago, don't you remember?”

“Oh… Oh, yes. Of course. I remember now. Poor old duck. I didn't half cry after she sent us back that last time, knowing we'd never see her again…” She gave a sentimental sniff. “Well, but who's this one, then?” she asked sharply, pointing again at Omri. “And where's Jenny and the sergeant? And that thievin' little tyke, what was his name—”

“Could it have been — Bert Martin?”

She spun around and saw the smaller man, who had just spoken for the first time.

“Bert. Yes, that was it. How could I forget you, eh, you little villain? You've hardly changed a bit, I'd'a known you on any dark night! Still on the job, I see! No rest for the wicked, eh?”

“Seems like it. My luck hasn't run out neither! I don't go in for climbing drainpipes and that, nowadays. Nice open ground-floor window — nobody at home — no dog — grand haul, easy as falling off a log. Like to see what I got?” With a cocky swagger, he opened the sack he was carrying and invited her to peer inside.

The older man seemed to pull himself together.

“Not so much of your sauce, Bert Martin. I'm here, don't forget that!”

The little man seemed to recognize the older one for the first time, though Omri knew he'd already seen him. He gave a theatrical start.

“Cor, if it ain't PC Plod, our friendly local copper! The terror of the night streets, the scourge of the criminal classes! Here - you have a look an' all, why not? There's not a lot you can do about it here, is there?” And he rattled his sack, which gave out a chinking sound.

“I could arrest you, you little weasel!”

“Don't make me laugh! And what would you do with me when you had? You're not even in uniform!”

“I'm retired. But that don't mean scallywags like you can break the law under my very nose and get away with
it!”

“Is that so? Look here then,
Constable,”
said Bert. He reached into the sack and brought out a minute silver tea pot. He rubbed it on his sleeve and held it up for inspection. “Georgian, this is — solid. Bit of all right, eh? I got the whole set here, sugar tongs and all! And a lot more besides. Jewels — carriage clock — silver-handled walking stick — got a sword in it, see?” He whipped it out, took up a fencing stance, and made a few passes. “Very nice! Lot of demand among the moneyed gentry! Fancy it for your shop window, Elsie, me old china? Do you still have your little antique business in the East End Road?”

“You be quiet, Bert. I don't do business with the likes of you. I'm no fence! Strictly above-board, ask anybody.”

“That's not what I heard,” said Bert slyly.

Elsie bridled, her hand on her bosom. “What you hinting at? That Elsie Jackson ever received stolen goods?”

“Word is, it has been known.”

“I've nothing to say to you. It's beneath my dignity to hold conversation with a petty criminal like you, Bert Martin!” she exclaimed indignantly, turning her back on him.

The little man, whom Omri realized was a burglar, laughed mockingly. “Not so much of the ‘petty' — not after tonight! Well. If you're all too law-abidin' to look, I'll keep my whistle-and-flute to meself!” he said, and closed his sack again.

There was a silence. Then the policeman glanced uneasily in Omri's direction.

“Manners,” he said vaguely.

Elsie caught his glance, and turned towards Omri.

“Quite right, Ted,” she said warmly. “We're forgetting. Whoever he is, we wouldn't be here without him.” She stepped towards Omri with one tiny hand extended genteelly, the other one nervously patting her hair.

“I'm Elsie Jackson,” she said. “Ever so sorry you caught me in dishabil, as the French say.”

He touched her hand with one finger.

“How do you do, Mrs Jackson?”

“Just call me Else,” she said with a girlish giggle. “Allow me to introduce Constable Terryberry.”

“Ex-constable. I retired in ‘twenty-eight.”

“'Twenty-eight?” repeated Elsie. “Oh! Of course, aren't I silly. I'm before you! Goodness, what year is it for you now, Ted?”

“1931,” said Ted.

“Twelve years on from us, eh, Bert? And how's the world going then? Go on, Ted, give us a preview!”

“Oh, things is nice and quiet, at least in Britain. Bit of bother in other countries. Well, you'd expect it, wouldn't you,
foreigners.
But nothing for us to fret about.”

“So, it really was the war to end wars that we're just finished with,” said Elsie. “Thank Gawd for that!” She turned to Omri. “It's still only 1919 where I live,” she explained kindly.

“So you all come from different times?”

“No, mores the pity, Bert and me's contemporay-nee-us,” she said carefully. “That means, we're from the same time. Miss Jessie taught us that. Not that him and me move in the same social circles, of course,” she added, tossing her head.

“Don't you ever meet — in your own time — you and - er—”

The burglar leaped forward, lithe as a cat. “Not if I sees her first, we don't!” he said. “Seein' she's too high and mighty to perform the introductions, I'm Albert Martin. Bert to my friends.” They ‘shook hands' as well as they could.

“And who might you be when you're at home?” asked Elsie coyly.

“My name's Omri,” Omri said.

“What kind of foreign name is that then?” asked the ex-constable suspiciously.

“It's a Bible name,” said Omri.

“That's nice. Isn't that nice, Ted?” said Elsie, giving the policeman a sharp nudge.

“Yeah, very nice,” he muttered. “Course, Methuselah's a bible name too, and there's not many of them about.”

“Nor Nebuchadnezzar,” said Elsie vaguely. “Still. Hamry's a very nice name, almost as good as Henry.”

“Omri.”

“What I said, dear. Now then. Let's be sensible. There's things we want to ask. I mean it's been thirty years and… Well! You can't help being curious! Where's little Jenny?”

“I'm afraid she died,” said Omri.

There was a murmur of distress in which even Bert joined.

“OH! Never!” exclaimed Elsie. “I am sorry! Poor little mite!”

“She had a good life. She stayed here, you know.”

There was a sudden silence. The other three stared at each other in amazement.

“Stayed here? For how long?”

“The rest of her life. Thirty years.”

“Thirty
years
!
You
mean — small — like we are? Tiny in a giants' world?” whispered Elsie.

“Yes. She was well looked after.”

Bert sat down rather suddenly on the edge of the cashbox. “Strike a light. Thirty years!”

Elsie shuddered.

“Like a doll! I mean, I know she had a rotten life in
her own time, but… I mean you'd be just — just like a
doll
!”

“Wouldn't do for me,” said Ted. “I like my independence.”

“I was always dead scared she wouldn't send us back,” muttered Bert.

“Go on! She wasn't like that, not Miss Jessie! She'd never have kept us against our will!”

“No…
She
wouldn't,” said Bert. He gave a meaning look at Omri.

They all exchanged glances and then looked at Omri. Their little faces were suddenly pale and strained.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“You — you ain't going to keep us here?” Bert asked anxiously, all his bravado gone. “I mean — with her — she'd bring us every now and again, but it was only to pass the time like, to keep her company. I didn't mind, once I got the hang of it, but there was never no question of us not going back!”

“I dunno so much,” put in Ted, the policeman, with anxiety in his tone. “You remember Sergeant Ellis — Charlie? He was always restless, going on about his duty, how he had to get back to his regiment and fight Boney, and Miss Jessie used to get him to tell her about the war and that.” He turned to Omri. “He was from Boney's time - Napoleon Bonaparte, y'know. And when he'd describe the battles, she'd say, ‘I'm not sending you back to that, Charlie Ellis, you're staying here!'”

“That's right! I remember now! There was big
quarrels, him wanting to get back to do his duty, her wanting to keep him safe!”

“She was right,” said Omri soberly.

They all looked at him again.

“Right? What do you mean?”

He unrolled the fourth hanky and showed them the pitiful remains of Sergeant Charlie Ellis.

Bert blew out his breath in a low whistle. “You mean—”

“She sent him back all right. And he got killed.”

There was a shocked silence. Then Ted picked up the red uniform jacket. He lifted it to his nose.

“Damp,” he said. “Well, not now. But it's been damp. Look - it's got patches of green mould on it.” He touched the tip of his tongue to the stained cloth. “Salt… I wonder… Remember, Else, Miss Jessie used to tell him. ‘There's a big sea battle coming up and it'll be terrible, you don't want to be in that!' It was Trafalgar she meant. You and I knew that. But Charlie used to say, ‘If Nelson needs me…'”

“That was a victory for us, though, wasn't it?” asked Omri. “Trafalgar? When Nelson was killed.”

Ted nodded. “We won, all right, but many good men died to give us the victory, and Charlie — he must've been one of 'em.”

“Was he in the Navy?” asked Omri.

“No, no. Army. But they always had to have soldiers on the ships. The sailors — I'm not saying they weren't
brave, but they was pressed. Not volunteers. They grabbed 'em off the streets and forced 'em to serve, and there had to be soldiers on board the ships to make sure they did their duty.” He shook his head.

Elsie was straightening out the uniform trousers. “Poor Charlie. He was a good lad. Always cheerful, one for a joke, though not always the kind ladies ought to hear… Lucky I'm no prude!” She shed a tear over the helmet and laid it down tenderly amid the handkerchief lace.

Ted was very subdued. “He was Irish. He believed in leprechauns and I don't know what. It was him led us to understand we was part of a bit of magic, not drunk nor dreaming nor dead—”

“That was what I thought at first when she brung us,” Bert interjected. “I thought I'd been topped!”

“You will be, an' all, one of these fine days!” said Ted.

“This is the twentieth century, they don't hang a man for burglary nowadays,” said Elsie.

“In Charlie's day, they did,” said Bert. “He was always on at me to reform, said I'd come to a sticky end… Well. He did and I didn't, which only goes to show.”

“It shows the good die young,” said Elsie tartly.

“And he didn't come to no bad end,” said Ted. “He died for his country. Better love hath no man than this.” He took a large handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose loudly.