The Time Garden

by Edward Eager

  "Come on," she said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Let's go sit on the cliff." But there was something in her voice that made the others obey.

  "Look!" she went on, when all were established on comfortable rocks. She brought the brown envelope out and pointed.

  "Old English Thyme—Mixed," read Roger from the bold capitals at the top, and then, farther down and smaller, "Thompson and Morgan, Ipswich, Suffolk."

  "Well?" said Eliza. "If that won't take us to London, what will?"

  "It might take us to Ipswich, Suffolk," said Jack. "It might be right across England."

  "It won't if I tell it not to," said Eliza. "And if it does, we can catch a train."

  "Would seeds work?" Ann wondered.

  "Why not? They're the germ of the whole thing. There wouldn't even be any garden if it weren't for seeds in the first place! What's more magic than a seed, when you come to think of it? This ought to be the best way yet."

  Roger shook his head. "They're stolen property. Cheaters never prosper. It'd be breaking the rules."

  "There comes a time," said Eliza firmly, "when you have to. Anyway, look at that little girl Martha! She broke her rules, didn't they say, when she ended up on that cannibal island? And look who she grew up to be! You'll just be following your own mother's example!"

  "Yes, and remember what happened to her!" said Ann.

  "Nothing much did, in the end," Eliza reminded her triumphantly. "We came along and saved her. Something always does, sooner or later."

  Roger shook his head again. "You can't count on that. Anyway, she was too young to know better."

  "If a mere babe could do it," said Eliza, "who are we to be behindhand?"

  "How'll we start?" said Jack. "Rub and whiff, same as usual? Only seeds wouldn't have any fragrance, would they? Maybe we ought to taste them."

  "Stop encouraging her," said Roger.

  Jack looked sheepish. "I'm kind of curious. I want to see if it'd work. Not that it matters. It's all just imagination. Probably."

  Ann got up purposefully. "I'm going to find the Natterjack."

  "Tattletale!" said Eliza.

  "I don't think so," said Roger, getting up, too. "I don't think it comes under that heading at all. We're just saving you from your baser instincts."

  "Come on. Hurry," said Ann. And she and Roger ran for the thyme garden.

  "Quick, before they get there!" cried Eliza. "How'll we do it?"

  "Wish first, and then try a little of everything," advised Jack.

  "All right," said Eliza. "I wish we were in London right now."

  Jack tore open the brown envelope. Tiny seeds rolled out into his palm. He and Eliza rubbed some between their hands (spilling quite a few that later came up and bloomed in the rock crevices and Old Henry never knew how they got there). They sniffed the fragrance, which was more like dust and old dried leaves than anything else. They tasted a few (and found them the reverse of succulent). The next moment London was all around them.

  They knew it was London from the bustle and the noise and the crowds, and from the Tower that graced the background (only not near enough for Eliza to take a good look yet) and from the street cries that resounded in Cockney accents on every hand, "Sweet lavender" and "Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe" and "Shrimps h'all alive, oh!"

  But it wasn't the London they had in mind at all. The men that thronged its streets were decked out in doublets and hose and pointed beards; the women wore long skirts and kirtles. The buildings were old and gabled and queer, and yet familiar from pictures in Master Skylark and The Prince and the Pauper.

  "What happened?" said Jack.

  "It's that seed," said Eliza. "It said old English!"

  "And it said 'mixed thyme,'" Jack remembered, "and it did! It mixed the centuries."

  "Who cares?" said Eliza, looking around her with wide eyes. "This is keen!"

  But now the lavender sellers and the cherry vendors and the shrimp merchants were looking at them, and first one and then another began to titter and point, until the whole crowd was roaring with laughter.

  Jack and Eliza looked at each other, and then down at themselves. And then they knew why.

  Up to now the four children had never had to worry about their modern clothes when thyme-traveling. The magic had arranged all that. So far no one had noticed a thing. But now Eliza had broken the rules, and the magic was not prepared to be so accommodating. And there she and Jack were, in the middle of old-time London, Jack in his best Bermuda shorts and sports jacket, and Eliza in a faded yellow cotton dress and ankle socks, and everybody was noticing.

  "See the great boobies all part naked in the street!" said one.

  "Mayhap they fell in the Thames," said another, "and their garments shrank!"

  Jack blushed and edged behind Eliza, scrooching down and trying to make his Bermudas come as low on his legs as possible, but Eliza brazened it out. "You'd think," she said, "nobody had ever seen knees before!" And she glared haughtily at the crowd. Luckily at this moment there was a distraction.

  A company of people was issuing from one of the buildings nearby. Surrounded by a crowd of gentlemen in peacock colors walked a stately lady in a wide farthingale, a jeweled stomacher, and an immense ruff. The face above the ruff was painted and its nose was sharp. Hair of the brightest red completed the picture. Neither Jack nor Eliza needed to be told who the lady was, particularly when all the onlookers took off their caps, and some knelt, and the air rang with cheers and huzzas.

  And any doubts they might yet have were stilled when the lady encountered a mud puddle in her path and stopped short, turning to the bearded gentleman on her right.

  "Well, Sir Walter?" she said, smiling grimly. "Have you forgotten your manners? You were more prompt in younger days!"

  The bearded gentleman looked rebellious. Then he covered his annoyance with a smile. "Madam, will you walk?" he said. And taking off his fine cloak (not without a glance of regret for its rich velvet and its satin lining), he spread it over the mud for the lady to tread upon, while all the people cheered louder than ever and cried, "Long live good Queen Bess! Long live Sir Walter Raleigh! Long live the ancient courtesye!"

  "You wanted to look at the Queen," muttered Jack in Eliza's ear. "Take a good look."

  And Eliza did, not at all put out by the fact that the Queen had seen her now and was taking a good look at her.

  "'Sblood!" cried good Queen Bess. "What manner of savage is this that stands before the Queen's presence with her nether limbs exposed?"

  Eliza had been thinking what to say. Now she said it. "O Queen," she said, "we are strangers come from a far land in our native dress to do you homage."

  The Queen's eyes narrowed. "What far land would that be? Not hated Spain?"

  "Nay," said Eliza. "We come from America."

  The Queen turned to the bearded gentleman, who was busy trying to clean the worst mud from his cloak. "What say you, Sir Walter? Does this wench resemble the natives of your far wilderness of the potato and the tobacco?"

  "Not one bit," said Sir Walter. He eyed Eliza shrewdly. "If you are an American, where's your beads and feathers? Where's your wampum?"

  Jack felt he had been silent too long. "Wampum," he said, stepping forward, "is a thing of the past. We come from the United States, only they haven't happened yet. We come from the future."

  A murmur of disbelief ran through the crowd.

  The Queen had not noticed Jack before, and now her eyes dwelt with approval on his youthful frame. She did not seem to mind the knees. "Interesting," she said, "if true." She turned to her companions. "The lad is well-favored, though the lass is a plain enough wench."

  Eliza sputtered with indignation, but before she could speak a scholarly-looking gentleman had appeared at the Queen's elbow. "A likely story!" he said. "They are undoubtedly Spanish spies, sent to do harm upon your majesty's person."

  "Not necessarily," said the Queen, regarding him coldly. "There are more things in heaven and earth, Master Francis Bacon, than
are dreamt of in your philosophy."

  "Francis Bacon?" said Eliza, jiggling up and down excitedly. "I've heard of you. People say you wrote Shakespeare!"

  "Who says so?" cried the gentleman angrily. "I never!"

  "Good," said Eliza. "That's settled, then."

  "Silence!" roared the Queen, glaring, at them both. "Hold your tongue, you bold-faced jig! Stand still! Speak when you're spoken to!"

  "'And don't twiddle your fingers all the time,'" said Eliza. But she didn't say it aloud.

  "Now then," said the Queen, returning to Jack and assuming friendlier tones. "How call they you in this future world you say you inhabit?"

  "My name's Jack," said Jack.

  "A good old English name," approved the Queen.

  "And she's Eliza," said Jack.

  "Oho!" said the Queen, bending a more favorable look upon that young lady. "So my fame has traveled even to your far time, has it? She was named for me, of course?"

  "Not exactly," said Jack, who was a truthful boy. "She was named for Great-aunt Eliza Tompkins."

  "But she might have been named for you, like as not," said Eliza quickly. "All kinds of modern things are."

  "Why, sure," said Jack, getting the idea. "We call this whole century the Elizabethan Age. My English teacher says it was just about the best age ever!"

  "True. True," said the Queen, looking around her with utter self-satisfaction.

  "One of the greatest ships we have is called the Queen Elizabeth," said Eliza.

  "Only fitting and proper," nodded the Queen. "Go on."

  "Well, there's Elizabeth, New Jersey," said Eliza, who was beginning to run out of Elizabeths.

  "And Elizabeth Taylor," put in Jack.

  "Two noble ladies of your century, I presume," said the Queen. "I am delighted to hear it." She raised her voice and addressed the crowd. "I am satisfied that these brats speak the truth. What they have told me of their times has convinced me. And very sensible times they seem to be, with a proper regard for their glorious ancestry! Let us give them a royal welcome. The lad looks ripe for the palace guard. Take him away and outfit him suitably."

  "Lucky you," said Eliza enviously to Jack. "We wanted to see them changing the guard at Buckingham Palace, and now you'll be in it!"

  "Our palace," Queen Elizabeth corrected her, "is called Whitehall."

  "That's OK by me," said Jack. "No skin off my neck either way." And a crowd of handsome young men (who all seemed to be splendid fellows) led him away, clapping him on the back and welcoming him to their stalwart company.

  "As for the wench," went on the Queen, "let her be carried back to Whitehall as she is, short kilts and all. With her outlandish rig and her fantastical tales of the future, she should afford us more sport than a whole gaggle of court jesters."

  Eliza was not at all sure she liked the comparison. But when spirited steeds were brought and she was helped to mount one, and when she galloped away through the streets of London behind the fabled Queen, her heart sang high. And the fact that a gentleman rode on each side of her (and kept strict watch to see that she didn't turn out to be a Spanish spy after all) only added to the excitement. And the way the people lined the streets and shouted and threw their caps in the air made Eliza feel almost as though it were she they were cheering, and not that other Elizabeth. She bowed to the right and left in what she hoped was a regal way, and blew kisses to the crowd. And then they were at Whitehall.

  As a palace it was not so dusty. The rooms, while not of Emerald City splendor, were big and impressive, and the courtiers who thronged its halls were handsome as heroes of romance and blazing with gems and satin (only none blazed so brightly as Queen Elizabeth herself).

  Eliza followed the Queen into the throne room and stood at her right hand. Hardly was Her Majesty seated when a young man even more richly dressed than the average strode into the room and knelt before her, kissing her hand.

  "Ha!" said the Queen. "You are late, Robin."

  "A thousand pardons, dear Gloriana!" said the young man. "And a pox on the cursed business that kept me from your side a single moment!"

  "Humph!" said the Queen. "You have missed prime sport by not attending us sooner. Behold, an envoy from the future has descended upon us with rare news of things to come. How say you, Milady Posterity?" She turned to Eliza. "Is the name of Milord of Essex famous in your far time also?"

  Eliza wrinkled her forehead. "I've heard something about him," she said, "but I can't remember just what."

  "Oho!" said the Queen, and Eliza thought she sounded pleased. "You have not heard, for example, that he married his sovereign and became king to reign with her?"

  "Oh no!" said Eliza. "I'm sure it wasn't anything like that. You never married anybody. They call you the Virgin Queen."

  "And so they jolly well ought to!" said the Queen, complacently.

  The face of the young man fell. If he hadn't been such a splendid young gentleman, Eliza would have said that he pouted. The Queen looked at his face and laughed.

  "Cheer up, Robin-a-bobbin!" she said. "You know you are king in my heart. Is not that sufficient?"

  The handsome young man quickly put on an adoring smile. "To be sure, it is more than enough, dear Gloriana!" he said (but Eliza did not think that he meant it).

  "That's my Robin Goodfellow!" said the Queen, putting out her hand. The handsome young man pressed it between his own hands ardently.

  It was at that moment that Eliza remembered suddenly what she had heard about Robert Earl of Essex. And as so often happened with Eliza, she spoke her thought aloud without pause for consideration.

  "If you like him as much as all that," she said, "why do you cut his head off later?" A second after she had said it she wished she hadn't.

  And well she might. The Earl of Essex turned pale and dropped the Queen's hand as though it had burnt him. The Queen turned even paler than he, and her eyes glittered. The courtiers who were near enough to hear whispered together, and some giggled.

  Then the scarlet of anger swept over the Queen's face, and she boxed Eliza's ears in a most unqueenly way.

  "'Sblood!" she cried, in an awful voice. "What treason is this? Who told you to say those words?"

  "Nobody," said Eliza, in a small voice. "It's true. I read it in a history book."

  "I don't believe you," said the Queen. "It's a plot to drive my Robin from my side. I don't believe you are a visitor from the future one bit!"

  "Probably a witch," said Sir Walter Raleigh.

  "Or a traitress in the pay of my enemies," said Milord of Essex, beginning to recover from the shock.

  "Or a spy of hated Spain, just as I said," said Master Francis Bacon.

  "Away with her to the Tower!" cried the Queen. "Let her cool her heels in a prison cell till I make up my mind what to do with her. She shall be burnt or beheaded or both, as a warning to all who would harm my Robin-a-bobbin! Guards, ho!"

  A score of guardsmen surged forward.

  "I take it back!" cried the wretched Eliza. "It probably isn't going to happen at all! I probably got it wrong! I never was very good in history! Ask my teacher!"

  "Aha!" cried the Queen. "So you have a 'teacher,' do you? I thought you were over-young for such miching mallecho without some prompting! Mayhap a taste of bread and water and solitary confinement will help you to remember your 'teacher's' name! Take her away!"

  Strong arms seized Eliza and began marching her the length of the throne room.

  "Don't worry," breathed a shaky voice in her ear. "We wanted to see the Tower of London, didn't we? Now we will."

  Eliza looked up and met the familiar gaze of Jack, as he moved along at her side with the rest of the Queen's guard. She had never been so glad to see her brother in her life.

  "Thank heavens!" she said. "I'd forgotten all about you!"

  But apparently the Queen had forgotten about him, too, and now she remembered. For at this moment her voice rang out.

  "Nay! Stay! Halt!"

  The guar
ds halted.

  "Let the lad who calls himself Jack be arrested immediately and brought to my council chamber. I

  would question him in private," commanded the Queen.

  "Too bad, old chap," said thé guardsman on Jack's left, laying a hand on his shoulder.

  "Here. Don't worry about me. Save yourself," hissed Jack to Eliza, shoving something into her hand.

  "No fraternizing with the prisoner. Sorry, old man," said the guardsman on Jack's right, taking him by the elbow and turning him around.

  And Jack was marched away in one direction and Eliza in another, out of the throne room and through the corridors of Whitehall. Her escort paused at a doorway. Flunkies sprang to open it. Outside a flight of broad stone steps led downward. At their foot lapped the waters of the River Thames. A black and sinister-looking barge stood moored and ready for any who were to make the fatal journey Towerward.

  As Eliza stepped onto the barge she unclenched her hand and looked at what Jack had thrust into it. It was the packet of thyme seed.

  But before she could do more than read the words "English Mixed," the barge swung with the tide, jolting her, and the packet fell from her fingers. A puff of wind caught it and bore it aloft for a second. Then it fluttered down to the surface of the river and sailed away out of sight, carrying its precious cargo of safety with it.

  A sob was heard. Whether it was Eliza's, I will not say. Perhaps it was the remorseful wind.

  "Cheer up, little lady. All may yet be well," said a kindly guardsman. But Eliza didn't hear. And she didn't look at the banks of the Thames slipping past, or see the grim fortalice of the Tower draw nearer, or notice the Traitors' Gate as they went through it.

  Eliza was in despair.

  7. The Last Time?

  "I hope the Natterjack's there," panted Roger to Ann, as they raced for the thyme garden. "If it's still disappeared, we'll never find it before it's too late!"

  "Where do you suppose it goes in between whiles?" panted Ann to Roger.

  "Sort of merges into things generally, I suppose," said Roger. "Like protective coloring, only more so."

  "I hope it's un-merged now," said Ann. After that they had no breath left for anything but running.