Telegram Home

by Kirsten McKenzie

  He’d been well away from the conflagration, entertaining himself at a pleasure house on the outskirts of town, where they were oblivious until the dawn skies turned dusty with ash, and sooty patrons turned up at the door asking for a place to sleep instead of looking for something to fuck.

  With the cash burning a hole in his pocket, Grey was on his way to the sale at the rooms of auctioneers Mabin and Graham, who were also agents for the Royal Fire and Life Insurance Company. Grey had his eye on a block of land on Queen Street, a fire damaged hotel. Damaged but repairable. After living what he would describe as a pecuniary lifestyle, with his funds cut off by his older brother Edward, revenge was a motivating factor. He’d show that bastard of a brother, and his shrew of a mother, how successful he could be without them. He hadn’t been drunk since his last night in England, preferring to nourish his quest for revenge instead of drinking his bodyweight in whiskey every week.

  Grey strode up the busy hill, the harbour behind him disgorging more soldiers, and adventurers and settlers, with all of them needing accommodation and food and the entertainment his unique experiences could provide.

  As he took his seat, Grey spied several acquaintances made over the preceding weeks. They either greeted him with a hat tip or a turned back, depending on how much they’d lost to him at cards.

  ‘What piques your interest today?’ asked a portly man falling into the seat next to Grey.

  ‘Oh, this and that,’ Grey replied, his poker face in place.

  ‘Typical, you playing your cards close to your chest,’ the man chortled, his neck wobbling dangerously in response.

  The auction started with the bidding brisk from the first lot — the fire sale bringing out the sharks and scavengers. Dour faced men stood along the walls, men without insurance selling off their ruined lives before the bankers stripped even the shirts from their backs.

  Grey only needed to raise his hand twice to bid, despite the Sheehan’s Hotel being prime real estate. Although the constabulary had declared the Jowls dead, the charred corpses found in the stables presumed to be theirs, a virulent rumour persisted that the Jowls were alive meaning few bidders wanted to risk of the Jowls returning and demanding their property back. The gossip didn’t deter Ben Grey, and with the drop of the auctioneers hammer, he was the proud owner of the smouldering remains of the Sheehan’s Hotel.

  ‘You canny bastard. That was a good buy,’ Grey’s neighbour said, spraying his words over Grey’s face.

  Grey smiled. If only the fat prick knew his plans. Ben Grey and Jimmy Jowl had very similar tastes in their after hours entertainment. And once Ben had his own place up and running, he’d be able to indulge as much as he liked. Fresh fodder stepped off the immigrant ships berthed at Waitematā Harbour every week, so there was no chance he’d run out of stock in the foreseeable future, until he deigned to return to England a wealthy man, when he’d ruin his brother’s life, just as Edward had tried to destroy his.

  And in the back of the room, Neumegen sat watching, making the occasional note in his pocketbook with a tiny silver pencil. He knew how this ended, which was why he held back, refusing to get involved in Ben Grey’s wicked web. That would come later, in a different time, in a different place.

  ENGLAND

  The Doll

  When Edward Grey married the American heiress Mary Bellamy, it was with the tiniest of regrets that it wasn’t the enigmatic Grace Williams walking down the aisle towards him. But the birth of a daughter eclipsed everything. Elizabeth Mary Grey, the apple of his Edward’s eye. Adored by her grandmother, and lavished with gifts, the child wanted for nothing. Save for a sibling, which was not to be.

  ‘Happy birthday, dear Elizabeth, happy birthday to you. Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray! Happy birthday, my love,’ Edward Grey leaned in to kissing his daughter’s forehead, his eyes crinkling in pleasure.

  Young Elizabeth gazed up at her parents — Edward and Mary, their proud faces reflected in hers. She removed the cream ribbon and placed it behind her before moving on to the crisp tissue paper. The unbalanced weight of the package confused her. Slowly, the luxuriant hair of a child’s doll emerged. The matt bisque face exquisitely hand painted, her feathered brows frozen in arched surprise.

  Elizabeth’s heart sang. A gift from her father, from one of his forays overseas — a Kammer & Reinhardt doll, from the workshops of Germany. Manipulating the doll’s composition ball-jointed body showed a fluidity of movement none of her other penny dolls had. The closest thing to a little sister she’d ever have.

  ‘Her name is Gretchen, and I’m assured she is of a limited run. There’ll only be a handful of girls sprinkled throughout Europe with this very doll. Think of that! You could be playing with her at the same time as those children are playing with theirs. It’s magic.’

  Elizabeth smiled at her father, still marvelling at Gretchen’s glass eyes and real human hair tied in adorable braids. And twinkling in the doll’s ears were a tiny pair of diamond and pearl earrings. As Elizabeth touched the petite jewels, her mother passed her a small velveteen box. After laying Gretchen on the tissue paper, Elizabeth opened the package—a child-sized pair of matching earrings.

  ‘We thought this a fitting gift for your tenth birthday, so I had the jeweller in Germany match them to Gretchen’s. Do you like them?’

  ‘Oh, Father, yes, I love them. They’re divine, thank you!’ Elizabeth flung her arms around him, sinking her face into his strong shoulder. Her mother joined them, none of them realising this would be their last moment of true happiness.

  The Accident

  Edward Grey pulled at the heavy rudder, laughing at his wife, her long hair in a frenzy behind her as the wind whipped at them both. Mary Grey yanked hard on her hat, its maroon ribbons slippery under her cold fingers.

  ‘I’ve no idea why you’re grinning, Edward, it’s not fun. It was when you were thirty, but you’re in your sixties, and this is a young man’s sport. And I’m cold. Can we please go in?’

  ‘Come now, Mary, let’s live, before we’re too old for living. I need the practice before the regatta this weekend.’

  Mary gave up on her hat, clamping it between her knees, concentrating instead on holding onto the sides of the dinghy, her fingers white.

  ‘Why on earth you want to take up racing at your age is a mystery. Isn’t being a race official sufficient excitement? All this damnable practice. Don’t blame me if you catch a chill in this air.’

  A gust of wind rose, pummelling the boat with sprays of icy water. Mary Grey gasped in shock, the frigid Atlantic trickling down her neck. Her teeth chattering, she glared at Edward, oblivious to her discomfort. For too long he’d played the City game. He missed the outdoors, the camaraderie of war. He had his family, but he missed his men, his command. Being a leader was a drug, at once both intoxicating and terrifying. The reliance you had on your men and their absolute obedience to your commands was like depending on drugs to transport you to nirvana.

  The wind picked up further, rattling the sails on the small skiff, the fabric roiling like the sea beneath them. Mary ceased to be cross with her husband, worry replacing anger. She noted a tightening across Edwards’s features as he struggled with the tiller. Mary lurched to her husband’s side, placing her tiny white hands next to his. Together they wrestled the tiller against the angry waves who tried snatching their wooden rudder away.

  The tiller loosened, becoming docile in their hands, lifting from its supports, until one strong wave sucked it away from beneath their hands, leaving Edward staring after it in utter miscomprehension.

  The horizon, a strip of dark blue water against the pastel-blue sky when they’d set out, was now a filthy stain, indistinguishable from the sea. Alone on the sea, there was no one to help them. Mary fancied she could see the rocky shore, although she was so disorientated she couldn’t in all honesty identify what was north, or south, or the shoreline they’d left.

  They dropped the sails, with Edward gathering up the
waterlogged fabric before the wind stole it. A rogue wave hit them broadside, tipping the vessel almost ninety degrees on its side. Laden with the heavy sails, Edward stood no chance.

  The wave washed Edward Grey from the yacht, dragging him into the brutal ocean. Tangled in the sails, he struggled to surface, gasping for air that never came.

  Mary screamed, her voice lost to the wind. Relentless waves obliterated all signs of her husband. Shock overcame her, and she stilled, resting on the sodden seat, all her former urgency hidden beneath the ocean with her husband. Some suspected she let the sea take her, a noble decision to be with Edward in his last moments. But for whatever reason, when the next wave came, Mary’s fingers let go, allowing her to welcome the quick death the water delivered.

  Unseen on the far shore stood Benjamin Grey, newly returned from colonies. Dressed resplendently in fine woollen trousers with a thick gold watch chain hanging from the waistcoat hidden beneath his winter coat, his hand tightened around the objects in his hand as a smile danced across his face.

  Opening his hand he admired the two fat screws which lay in his palm. Screws formerly from the tiller mount of his older brother’s yacht. What a glorious day it was, despite the inclement weather.

  Benjamin Grey turned on his polished heel and sauntered to a waiting motor car, the driver wrapped up against the conditions.

  ‘To London,’ Benjamin said. ’To home.’ Wouldn’t his mother be surprised to see him on the doorstep, ready to console her on the loss of her favourite son. He hadn’t decided whether to come clean about his role, but that would add a delicious flavour to their reunion. Yes, it was a glorious day despite the English weather.

  LONDON

  The Return

  Sarah sniffed the air. The atmosphere stuffy enough to tell her she wasn’t in Auckland any more, the smell a secondary indicator. She was home. Sarah left her eyes closed a fraction longer, hoping that this last slip through time had returned her to the real present, to Warren Brooke.

  Beyond the patch of carpet she’d landed on, she could hear movement. Someone was nearby.

  Sarah wrenched the monstrosity from her neck, certain now that the magic only worked once. It wasn’t the same as buying a return ticket to Honolulu. The precious jewels weren’t a fair swap for her mother, not by any stretch of the imagination. Despite its obvious value, there was no way to sell it or keep it. To do so would invite a thousand questions she didn’t know the answers.

  At least she’d answered the question which had haunted her. Her mother hadn’t abandoned her, running off with a mysterious stranger for a better life, as so many people had inferred. If she could have, Sarah was positive her mother would have returned.

  A part of Sarah mourned that she’d never see Annabel again. After everything she’d experienced — the love she’d found and the loss she had caused — Isaac, Seth, Christopher and Patricia, she wanted no further part of this crazy travelling through time. She needed her life back. And if that meant living it without her mother or her father, then that’s what she’d do. And Sarah’s heart broke once again.

  Hemmed in between the wall and a Queen Anne style mahogany cabinet filled with cheap imitations of Royal Doulton Toby Jugs, their ghoulish faces mocking her from behind the glass, Sarah stood up, stretching the kinks from her neck. She dumped the hateful necklace into a set of bamboo bowls stacked on top of the cabinet. She did not care if the next customer stole the priceless jewels. Good luck to them. She wanted nothing to do with the past. She thought she’d struggle more with leaving her mother behind but what bothered her the most was Neumegen’s role. He’d knowingly sent her back. She assumed he’d figured out how to travel backwards and forwards in time, and if he had, why hadn’t he just told her instead of tricking her into returning to the present day? Would he now send her mother home too?

  ‘I wasn’t expecting you to be here,’ came a voice from behind.

  Sarah spun around to find a complete stranger.

  ‘Is that the key?’ he asked.

  ‘The key?’ Sarah said, frowning. Who was this man?

  ‘The key to you disappearing? Is that how you do it?’ he asked, pointing to the jewelled crucifix filling the bamboo bowl.

  ‘I’m not following…’ Sarah stuttered, searching the shop for any sign of Brooke or Nicole.

  ‘It’s funny that I don’t recall Grandmama ever mentioning that piece, but I presume it must have once belonged to my family, like everything else you’ve brought back from the past,’ Richard Grey surmised.

  ‘I don’t…’

  ‘Come now, Miss Lester. There is no reason to play dumb with me. Answer the question. Is that necklace the key to travelling back in time? For that’s what you’ve been doing isn’t it, stealing valuable artefacts from the past and selling them in here? And your father did it before you, yes? Quite the racket. A real family affair. Well, Miss Lester?’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Yes, sorry. We haven’t met. Grey, Richard Grey.’

  Sarah instantly recognised his name — the man from the katar’s auction, the killer of the clerk.

  ‘How are you here?’

  ‘What? Where in this shop? Simple, you left the door unlocked, and I walked in. Very remiss of you leaving doors open. Any miscreant could have robbed you blind. It’s lucky I only want the one thing from you. The key, Miss Lester, hand it over.’

  Trying to collect her thoughts, Sarah hesitated before edging her way towards the counter and the phone.

  ‘It won’t work,’ she said, hugging the bowl to her chest.

  ‘But it worked for you,’ Grey said, shadowing her movements, blocking her entrance to the counter.

  ‘It only works once.’

  ‘Is that so? Then it won’t matter if you pass it to me.’

  Sarah swerved behind a table laden with chinaware, using it as a barrier between her and Grey. Anything in the shop could be the key to the past, as she’d found to her detriment, but she wasn’t going to hand him the precious jewels.

  ‘I’ll ask another way. Did you steal that necklace from my family the way you stole the katar? Because if you did, I want my stolen property returned.’

  It made sense now. A distant relation to Edward and Benjamin Grey. He had their look, although he leaned more towards the sly cunning of Benjamin.

  ‘You’re related to Benjamin Grey?’ Sarah asked, regretting the question the instant she asked.

  Richard Grey clapped his hands, laughing.

  ‘See, that proves it. There is only one way you could know the connection between the katar and my great-grandfather, you must have met him. I never had the privilege, but Grandmama used to tell me about him and how his family disowned him, sending him away to the colonies for mere youthful transgressions. I’ve spent my life trying to return my family name to its former glory, replacing all the treasures my great-aunt sold off despite me begging her to sell them to me — at a family discount. It’s incredible to believe that the stupid old bat lived as long as she did. Great Auntie Elizabeth, who wanted nothing to do with me even though I was her only remaining family. And then I hear that you bought her entire estate. My inheritance. See, all you’ve done is steal what is mine. It’s time now for you to pay. And you can start by handing me that necklace.’

  ‘Elizabeth Williams?’

  ‘Crazy old bat. War widow. Hoarder. Thief. Appropriate words to describe her. But yes, otherwise Elizabeth Williams was her name. Now, pass me the necklace, and we can continue our civilised conversation, otherwise things will get… how should I say this? Messy?’

  ‘The necklace won’t work for you,’ Albert Lester said, materialising from the stairwell, his old-fashioned clothes not one whit out of place amongst the homage to Victoria’s reign which abounded in the shop.

  ‘Dad!’

  ‘Ah, the mysterious father. How wonderful to meet you,’ Richard Grey enunciated, every syllable slipping from his lips.

  ‘I don’t know who you are, but if you touch my da
ughter, I will shoot you.’ Albert raised a small percussion muff pistol and pointed it at Grey.

  ‘Now that is a lovely piece. Only shot though.’

  ‘I only need one shot,’ Albert replied, moving closer to Grey.

  ‘The necklace.’

  ‘I’m telling you, it won’t work,’ Albert said, taking another step towards Grey. ‘It’s not a return journey thing.’

  Grey cocked his head to the side. ‘Then how do you explain the travel you and your offspring have done? Hmm?’

  ‘I can’t, and even if I could, I’d hardly share that with a man threatening my daughter. Now get out of my shop.’

  Grey raised his hands in mock defiance and laughed. ‘Even if that thing could fire, I doubt you’d hit me. They’re terribly unreliable.’

  Albert took another step forward, joining Sarah behind the table. ‘You okay?’ he asked her.

  Sarah nodded. She was more than okay now that her father was home.

  ‘If the necklace isn’t the key to time travel, there’s no harm in handing it over, is there? We could call it a down payment on the real key.’

  ‘Give him the necklace, Sarah,’ Albert ordered.

  As Sarah passed the bowl holding the necklace to Grey the rough cut gems flashed under the florescent lights.

  Albert’s eyes bored into Grey’s avaricious face. Giving away a priceless, museum quality piece tore at Albert, and although he was the one with the gun, he’d always told his daughter to do whatever an armed intruder told her to do, that her life was worth more than what was in the jewellery cabinets or safe.