Lost In Time

by W M Wiltshire

  A gaselier hung above the operating table in the center of the room. A few other lanterns were scattered about, providing light where needed. The doctor stood on one side of the operating table; an assistant on the other. An attendant was at the foot of the table, pulling on ropes fastened around the patient’s ankles. This contraption was to keep the patient as immobile as possible during the operation. Another attendant stood at the head of the table, administering ether, but only when the patient stirred, an occurrence Dani had the misfortune to witness. As for sterilization, it was minimal. Staff wore black aprons and armbands over their everyday street clothes to protect them from any blood splatter. No one wore a face mask. Perhaps, fortunately, the rest of the operating room was blocked from Dani’s view.

  “I’ll let Inspector Abberline know, Doctor.” Mary closed the door, but not before Dani heard someone saying, “Machine accidents. You can’t reason with them. We’re going to see a lot more of them.” Boy has medicine ever come a long way, Dani thought, as she and Mary headed back to let the inspector know the doctor would be with him shortly.

  * * *

  As the day progressed, Dani met quite a few nurses. She quickly realized she was one of the youngest if not the youngest. She asked Mary whether there was any particular reason why so many of the nurses were older. Mary’s response was simple. “Older women have had many of the common diseases and have built up an immunity to them. As a result, they’re less vulnerable than younger women would be.”

  Dani spent the last few hours of the day sitting beside a man, about thirty-eight-years-old, who was lying motionless on an iron bed. An elderly nurse informed her early on that the man was dying and that nothing could be done to prevent his death. In spite of—or maybe because of—this sad prediction, Dani did her best to provide the man with comfort and a little small talk. It wasn’t clear, however, that her efforts were yielding any real benefits. She wondered whether there was anything else she could do for the dying man. Her wonderings were interrupted when Dr. Treves, whom Dani had met earlier, stopped by to check on his patient.

  Dr. Sir Frederick Treves was a surgeon at the London Hospital. A specialist in abdominal surgery, he performed his first appendectomy on June 29, 1888; soon after he was appointed a Surgeon Extraordinary to Queen Victoria. He was ruggedly handsome, at five-foot-eleven, of average weight, and in his thity-fifth year. His reddish-brown hair was perfectly coiffed and his handlebar mustache professionally trimmed. He had warm, friendly, sea-green eyes and a gentle, caring, bedside manner.

  “How is he?” Dr. Treves whispered, not wanting to disturb his sleeping patient.

  “He’s been sleeping quite a bit,” Dani explained. “When he does wake up, he seems a bit disoriented.”

  Dr. Treves checked the patient’s pupils and, then, his pulse and temperature. Dani hated to see such a young man die for no obvious reason. If only he were in my time period, Dani thought, A nurse practitioner could easily deal with this patient and he’d walk away completely healed. The senselessness frustrated Dani beyond reason.

  “Isn’t there anything you can do for him?” Dani asked.

  “Dani, the only thing people who are dying require is to be left alone. They need to be allowed to die in peace. As a physician, my role isn’t to torment my patient with futile attempts to extend his deteriorating condition; that I could perchance prolong the flutter of his heart for a few more beats. If I, as the physician, cannot improve his condition, then it is my duty to protect my patient from any pain or suffering associated with his illness.” With that, Dr. Treves excused himself and continued with his rounds.

  Dani was feeling decidedly dejected and discouraged when she heard Mary’s cheerful voice calling her. “It’s time to go home. You ready?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  As Dani and Mary made their way through the hospital to meet their cab and head back to the Cases’s comfortable home, Dani continued to think about the dying man and about everything else she had experienced during the day. She’d learned a lot today; much of it was pretty depressing.

  126

  Daric waited patiently for the women to finish their conversation. Finally, he thought. The older woman finished her drink, got up from the table and left the pub. The younger woman returned to writing in her notebook. Now was his opportunity.

  Daric walked over, took a deep breath and said, “Hi.” That was brilliant.

  The young woman looked up from her notes, checked Daric over and said, “Hi.” She then returned to her task.

  “Aren’t you Clara?” Daric tried again.

  “And aren’t you that opinionated barkeep?” she asked, her tone glacial.

  Daric was taken aback by her cold demeanour, but not discouraged. “Look, I’m sorry about the other day. I didn’t mean to make you angry. I was, after all, agreeing with you.” He flashed her one of his charming smiles, hoping to soften that frigid exterior.

  Clara had to admit, he was a handsome young man. And when he smiled, those deep-blue eyes could pierce any hardened soul. She’d been a little cruel to him during their first encounter. It was probably because she had been pushing herself too hard. Clara smiled shyly in return and extended her hand. “I think we both got off to a bad start. My name’s Clara Collet. And you are?”

  “Daric Delaney,” he replied warmly, while gently shaking the proffered hand.

  “Can you join me?”

  “Sure, thank you.” Daric took the recently vacated seat opposite Clara. He knew Mr. Farrow could give him a hard time, but he deserved a break and he decided now was as good a time as any to take it.

  “You’re not from around here, are you?” both of them said in unison and immediately broke out laughing at their uncanny timing. “You first,” Clara said, after catching her breath.

  “No, I’m not from around here. My sister and I arrived here three months ago. We’re staying with friends until we can get settled.”

  “It’s your accent that gave you away,” Clara said cordially.

  “And you?”

  “I’m here on an assignment.”

  “What kind of assignment?”

  “I’m gathering information for Charles Booth for his book on the Life and Labour of People. Specifically, I’m investigating women’s work in the East End, looking at the types of jobs, working conditions and wages.”

  “That sounds very impressive. How long have you been at it?” Daric asked. He was genuinely interested in developing the conversation. He was equally interested in the intelligent woman sitting across from him.

  “About three weeks.”

  “And what have you found so far?”

  “You know Ruth, the lady I was talking to the other day?” Daric nodded. “Well, her story is like so many others’ that I’ve heard so far. Because of the seasonal nature of the work these women do and the poor wages they receive, many have had to turn to prostitution in order to survive,” Clara said, with a touch of hopelessness in her voice. “And I’ve only begun to gather my statistics.”

  “What do you hope to accomplish with your research?”

  “Well, there has to be some way that women can work and survive on their wages without having to resort to prostitution. There should be a fixed minimum wage,” Clara declared.

  Daric could see how passionate she was about her work. He sensed she was the type of person who could make a difference.

  “Do you remember the London Matchgirls strike in Bow, two months ago?” Clara asked.

  “No, not really,” Daric hedged, having not been in London at the time. “Tell me.”

  “On July 2nd, Bryant & May’s management fired a worker on some lame excuse that resulted in a strike of approximately fourteen-hundred women and girls. Management quickly offered to rehire the dismissed worker, but the strikers wanted more. They wanted better wages and the elimination of unfair fines that w
ere being deducted directly from their pay. There was also the health issue related to working with white phosphorous. It took a little doing, but working conditions improved, the health concern was addressed and the fines were abolished. In addition, the workers were also given direct access to management for lodging their complaints, which had previously been blocked by the foreman.”

  “That’s great, right?” Daric asked.

  “Yes, it is. But it’s only one company, and it addresses only fourteen-hundred women. More needs to be done,” Clara stated firmly.

  The door of the pub swung open and Rich entered, scanning the busy interior in search of Daric. A smile crept across his face as he made his way over to the table. He bent down and placed a chaste kiss on Clara’s cheek. “What are you doing in this neck of the woods?”

  “You two know each other?” Daric asked, astounded.

  “You remember, Daric, I mentioned Clara at dinner the other night.”

  “You two know each other?” It was Clara’s turn to be dumbfounded.

  “I told you we were staying with a friend. Meet my friend.” Daric laughed.

  After sharing a drink and some lively conversation, Daric and Rich dropped Clara off at her home and proceeded to Old Ford Road, where dinner awaited.

  127

  “Dr. Llewellyn’s report said he didn’t believe the woman has been seized from behind and then had her throat cut. He thinks a hand was placed across her mouth, then the knife was used to cut her throat. He also thinks the killer was left-handed, since the bruising on the victim’s face appears to have been caused by a right hand,” Rich mumbled around a mouthful of roast beef.

  “How logical are those deductions?” Daric questioned.

  “What do you mean?” Rich was curious to know Daric’s thinking.

  “If I were the murderer and executed the crime as Dr. Llewellyn suggests, wouldn’t I be covered in blood splatter? After all, it was her carotid artery that was severed,” Daric answered.

  “I suppose.”

  “And, don’t you think, as a murderer, I’d be concerned with having blood splatter on my face, especially the blood of someone who might have a communicable disease? And wouldn’t someone with blood all over the front of him draw attention to himself as he left the scene?”

  “Not necessarily,” Rich countered. “As the murderer, I could have committed the crime, ducked behind the Board School, got onto Winthorpe Street, and then darted down a few passageways to Whitechapel Road. I could easily have been swallowed up by the crowds, even that early in the morning. And with so many slaughterhouses in the area, nobody would have questioned blood-stained clothes,” Rich theorized.

  Mary and Dani had been trying to enjoy their dinner, despite the graphic conversation at the table. As the conversation progressed, Mary noticed the increasingly ashen color of Dani’s face and grew concerned. Maybe she had pushed her too hard during the day. But that wasn’t the reason, Mary realized. Dani was staring directly at Rich, her eyes as wide as saucers.

  “Rich, I think you’d better change the topic of conversation,” Mary said firmly, tossing her head in Dani’s general direction.

  “I’m sorry. That was very inappropriate of me,” Rich apologized. But his apology had no settling effect on Dani, who had suddenly lost her appetite.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Dani said quietly. She stood up, placed her napkin beside her plate and left the room.

  “Now look what you’ve done,” Mary scolded.

  “I said I was sorry,” Rich pleaded.

  128

  Mary wanted to jump up from the table and follow Dani, but Daric suggested they give her some space. Besides, he didn’t want to spoil Mary’s dinner. He assured her that he’d check on Dani after dinner and that he’d report back.

  When dinner had concluded, Daric went to see how Dani was doing. He was worried that she might be having a relapse, especially since it wasn’t like Dani to be upset by a little blood, real or otherwise. He’d never seen her look as pale as she had at the table and it frightened him.

  Daric found Dani in her bedroom. “Hey, are you okay? You didn’t look so good at dinner. And you don’t look so hot right now.”

  “Close the door,” Dani ordered. She was sitting on the bed, her legs drawn up to her chest, with her arms wrapped around them. She used to sit like that when she was a child. It provided her with comfort and made her feel safe, somehow.

  “What is it?” Daric asked anxiously, sitting on the chair beside the bed.

  “Did you hear what Rich said?” Dani’s voice shook.

  “Which part?”

  “Come on, Daric, think about it. Where are we?” Dani’s frustration was linked to her paranoia.

  “London,” Daric played along. When his sister got angry, it was best just to go with the flow.

  “The East End, to be precise,” Dani clarified. “And when are we?”

  “Let’s see. It’s now September 2, 1888,” Daric said flatly.

  “And there was just a murder, with a knife.” Dani was hoping Daric would put two plus two together, but, by the look on his face, she didn’t think he was getting it.

  “Just tell me, okay?” It was Daric’s turn to be frustrated.

  “The Autumn of Terror. Does that ring a bell?” Dani tried one last time.

  “Should it?”

  “The East End of London. Whitechapel to be more specific. The autumn of 1888. There’s a murder. There will be several murders.” Dani was trying to lead Daric to the answer.

  “What are you getting at?” Daric snapped, even more frustrated than before. “Remember, I don’t have your exceptionally precise memory.”

  “Jack the Ripper!” Dani supplied finally.

  Daric had that dumbstruck look on his face. “That’s why Whitechapel sounded so familiar.”

  “Was the victim’s name, Mary Ann Nichols?”

  “No it was Polly.”

  “Polly was Mary Ann Nichols nickname.”

  “What?” Daric was taken aback.

  “She was believed to be Jack the Ripper’s first victim,” Dani recalled. “Even though he wouldn’t receive that moniker for a few weeks yet.”

  “What’s the name of his next victim? Maybe we can stop him,” Daric blurted out.

  “Daric, you know we can’t interfere,” Dani reminded her brother. “We’ve already talked about this. If we interfere, we don’t know what impact our interference could have on history or on what unfolds.”

  “We don’t know how just our even being here may have altered history already. So why not take the chance? If we don’t do something, these women will die!” Daric exclaimed.

  “Daric, in our time, they’re already dead, all of them,” Dani said sadly, thinking of Mary and Rich. “We need to let time play out as it did.”

  129: Present Day

  “I’ve been trying to complete a project I’ve been working on for several years now, and I’ve finally made a significant breakthrough,” Quinn replied, conceding to Richard’s persistence to know what had been occupying his time since he went on leave.

  “The only problem is my children, somehow, got involved. I have to get them back,” Quinn muttered despondently.

  “Back?” Richard could see Quinn wasn’t himself. He was a mess. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.

  “Never mind. You wouldn’t understand. No one would.” Quinn shook his head in despair.

  “Try me,” Richard pressed. “Come on, Quinn. We’ve worked together for years. You can tell me anything. You know that.”

  “This may be a little difficult to swallow,” Quinn started slowly. Then he added, “You may want to sit down for this.”

  Richard casually pulled out a chair and got comfortable. “Okay.”

  “Remember your basic physics classes and Einstein
’s theories?” Quinn began. Without waiting for Richard to answer, he went on. “Back in 1905, Einstein’s special theory of relativity proved that time travel to the future was possible.”

  “Time travel?” Richard repeated.

  “Hear me out, Richard, please?” Quinn pleaded.

  “Continue.”

  “Einstein’s special theory of relativity is no longer debated among theoretical physicists today because it has already been proven. But it wasn’t until 1949 that Einstein’s general theory of relativity proved time travel to the past was possible, too.”

  “I’m listening,” Richard muttered, feigning boredom.

  “Within Einstein’s general relativity theory, his gravitational field equations showed that space-time can be flat or curved. Simply put, curved space-time tells matter how to move, and matter tells space-time how to curve,” Quinn elaborated.

  “Go on.” Richard was slowly losing patience. He hadn’t come here to be lectured by Quinn.

  “Curved space-time leads to time travel to the past,” Quinn explained.

  “But those were just theories, Quinn, nothing more,” Richard pointed out.

  “Since 1949, Einstein’s general relativity theory has passed every experimental test they’ve subjected it to,” Quinn asserted.

  “Then, ask yourself this: if it’s truly possible to do so, why hasn’t someone already built a time machine?”

  “The problem with Einstein’s theory was it was incomplete,” Quinn revealed. “Einstein’s general relativity theory wasn’t compatible with quantum mechanics—dealing with the behavior of matter and light on the atomic and subatomic scale.”

  “Are you trying to tell me you’ve solved this problem?” Richard sat up straight in his chair, now totally intrigued.

  “Not only have I solved it.” Quinn paused and stared at Richard before delivering the final punch. “I’ve actually created a time travel device.”

  “That’s not possible!” Richard blurted, looking at him, thunderstruck.