The Derring-Do Club and the Year of the Chrononauts

by David Wake

  “There are plenty of witnesses to the late Earl’s rather unsporting behaviour. Fighting young ladies, not exactly on, is it?”

  “She proved herself quite capable.”

  “I’m sure the Earl wouldn’t want it known that he fought a young lady and lost.”

  Schofield considered the dead body and Earnestine, and then he nodded.

  “Best inform the Duty Porter,” McKendry said.

  “Who’s the Duty Porter?” Schofield asked.

  “Ted. There will be something in the rule book to cover this.”

  Schofield nodded and left.

  Georgina returned the handkerchiefs to Caruthers and McKendry, glaring at them to express her disapproval.

  “We’re going to have to keep you all away from the public,” said Caruthers, folding his handkerchief back into his pocket. “What with tempers already inflamed, when this gets out…”

  “If?” said McKendry.

  “If, yes. We must keep our heads about us,” said Caruthers. “But things are getting out all the time.”

  “Almost as if it’s orchestrated,” said McKendry.

  “Where shall we take you?” said Captain Caruthers. “Will Kensington still be safe?”

  Miss Charlotte

  It was jolly tedious and unfair of Earnestine and Georgina – why should they have all the fun? She’d been sent out like a naughty schoolgirl. And she hadn’t done anything wrong this time. It would be lines next. She waited in the corridor as she’d been told for an absolute age and then she went to have a little look around.

  The first room she came across was full of old men sitting around in comfortable armchairs reading boring papers and drinking port. When one of them, and then all of them, realised she was there, their faces became jolly comical as they tried to reconcile their outrage at the feminine incursion and the rule of absolute silence.

  She went up to the bar.

  “Excuse me,” she said. Her voice carried like a tornado, wrenching items from gentlemen’s hands and dashing them to the floor. “Could I have a lemonade, please?”

  The barman opened his mouth, paused and then closed it again.

  “Please.”

  He pointed at a sign: ‘All Men Must Maintain Absolute Silence At All Times’.

  Charlotte smiled sweetly: “But I’m a girl.”

  “I can see…” The barman closed his eyes and swallowed, before, like a condemned man, he mixed a lemonade. It arrived with a clink of ice, wonderfully cool and enticing. Charlotte picked it up.

  “Do you have any of those sherbet–”

  In a flurry of taffeta, skirts, bustles and clicking heels, Earnestine and Georgina swept in, picked her up and she flew between them out into the corridor. Her feet touched the ground briefly and then she was floating down the staircase.

  “Weeeeee…”

  “Hush,” said Georgina.

  “Quiet!” said Earnestine. “We’re in enough trouble with… an unfortunate incident as it is.”

  On the pavement outside, Charlotte sipped her lemonade. She hadn’t wanted to be in the stuffy place anyway.

  Captain Caruthers joined them, waving a hand aloft to attract the attention of a cab driver.

  “Perhaps, they won’t believe what just happened,” said Caruthers.

  “Perhaps,” said Earnestine.

  “Did you win?” Charlotte asked.

  “Yes.”

  “On points?”

  “No, on… never you mind.”

  A hansom cab arrived and a young toff descended: Lord Farthing.

  “Caruthers,” he said, touching the brim of his top hat with his cane.

  “My Lord.”

  “Miss Deering–Dolittle,” said Lord Farthing.

  “My Lord,” said Earnestine.

  He paused: “The python and the egg.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “Mrs Frasier, like the pythoness, the Sibyl of Greek legend, foretelling the future and you are her in the egg, as it were.”

  “I see.”

  “Caruthers,” said Lord Farthing, and they moved to one side: “We’ve a meeting here tonight.”

  “Sir.”

  “Very good,” Lord Farthing said, and he doffed his hat slightly and then strode up the steps to the Club.

  “Captain,” said Georgina, once his Lordship had disappeared inside. “We would like to find out what happened to our Uncle Jeremiah.”

  “Doctor Deering?”

  “The very same.”

  “I think it would be best if you all didn’t get into any more trouble.”

  “We can help,” said Earnestine.

  “We won’t be any trouble,” said Georgina.

  “I’ve finished my lemonade,” said Charlotte, handing Caruthers the empty glass.

  Caruthers smiled, genuinely amused: “I shall be fined by the Club.”

  “That death was not my fault,” Earnestine insisted.

  “Ooh, well done Ness!” Charlotte squealed.

  “Lottie!”

  Caruthers looked confused for a moment: “Not that… clearly self–defence. However, I let women in and they’ll say that was the cause. I can probably argue a reduction on account of your being children.”

  Earnestine’s lips narrowed and she glared at him: “I am not a–”

  “We should find out what’s going on!” Georgina implored.

  “Absolutely not, it’s no task for young ladies,” said Captain Caruthers. “I’ll contact Major Dan to make a more permanent arrangement for your protection.”

  Earnestine found her voice: “I think–”

  “Leave it to the grown–ups.”

  “I’m twenty,” Earnestine said. “Nearly twen–”

  “Driver, Driver, take them to Kensington, Zebediah Row.”

  The driver lifted his cap slightly: “Right ho, Squire.”

  The sisters all squeezed in.

  The reins flicked and the horse set off. It took a route out of Whitehall and along Pall Mall towards Buckingham Palace. The Royal Standard fluttered from the flagpole, so they knew Queen Victoria was in residence.

  “The men aren’t going to do anything,” said Georgina.

  “It’s unlikely,” said Earnestine.

  “But what could we do?”

  “Precisely.”

  “But we’re the Derring–Do Club,” Charlotte said.

  “Exactly.”

  Earnestine rapped on the trap door above with her umbrella and redirected them to Battersea.

  “This is it,” said Earnestine, when they arrived.

  There were guards, but they were clustered by the door of the large factory, so Earnestine was able to sneak them around the cobbled courtyard. At the side, the barrel was still conveniently placed against the wall, and Earnestine clambered up to look through the dirty window.

  “Can I see, can I see,” said Charlotte.

  Earnestine came down and Charlotte jumped up.

  “There’s a Technician on duty,” Earnestine said.

  Charlotte could see a man standing by a lectern covered in galvanic switches and levers. There was a stage area cordoned off with brass railings further on. Whereas the outside looked dilapidated, the interior appeared brand new.

  “Just two matters,” Georgina said. “How are we going to get past the Technician and how are we going to operate this temporal conveyor?”

  “We don’t need the Technician for one and we do for the other,” Charlotte added, wanting to be a part of the planning.

  Earnestine took a deep breath: “We’ll brazen it out.”

  “I beg–” Georgina began, but Earnestine was already marching around to the front of the building. The others rushed to fall into step, as they dropped all attempt at subterfuge and instead strode up the stairs, nodding to the guards as they past, and went along to the Technician.

  “We’ll be sent to the future now, if you please,” Earnestine announced.

  Georgina and Charlotte came to a halt behind her.<
br />
  The Technician appeared flummoxed: “I have no orders.” He reached into his pocket, his hand gathering about an object within.

  “I’m giving you your orders now in person!” said Earnestine.

  The man blinked in confusion, consulted his paperwork and then looked back.

  “I am Mrs Frasier,” said Earnestine.

  “Ah… yes… I know… that is… I take orders from Mrs Frasier, not Miss Deering–Dolittle.”

  “If you don’t do as I say, then Mrs Frasier – when I am Mrs Frasier – won’t be happy.”

  Another man appeared from further inside the complex: “What’s happening here?”

  It was Scrutiniser Jones, his top hat and white glasses in his hand, his black frock coat stretched across his broad chest. He was completely bald.

  The Technician explained: “This is… Mrs Frasier and she wants… to go to the future.”

  Scrutiniser Jones smiled: “Then we had best do as she says.”

  The nervous Technician busied himself at the controls. Only now did he remove his hand from his pocket and screw a jewelled control rod into the device.

  “Unscheduled Chronological Conveyance, time… fifteen thirty eight and nineteen… twenty.”

  “You stand on the dais,” said the Scrutiniser, holding out his hand.

  Earnestine led the way around the protective glass screen. The others joined her as did the Scrutiniser. Georgina held onto the brass rail, but the Scrutiniser shook his head and repositioned everyone into a formation in the centre.

  A hum grew in pitch and intensity.

  “Forty seconds… forty five… stand by.”

  “Close your eyes,” said Scrutiniser Jones.

  “Do we make a wish?” Charlotte asked.

  “This is the part that’s unpleasant,” Earnestine said.

  “Unpleasant? How?” Georgina asked, worried.

  The hairs on the back of Charlotte’s neck prickled and she was scared. This wasn’t an heroic charge, the Light Brigade hurtling towards glory, but a trap.

  The Scrutiniser put on his white glasses as the Technician in front of them began to fade to nothing. The gas lights, flicking in the taps on the walls, started to become fixed and galvanic.

  The growing radiance suddenly dazzled and the pit of Charlotte’s stomach lurched as if she were on a fairground ride.

  The past disappeared.

  Chapter XV

  Mrs Frasier

  Earnestine, Georgina and Charlotte appeared in front of her, simply materialising out of thin air. It always took her breath away.

  Georgina crumpled to her knees. The others kept their feet. Charlotte leaned down to help her sister up. Earnestine stood as regally as she could, blinking desperately against the effect.

  “There I am,” said Mrs Frasier. She stood calmly with her velvet bag over her arm and her hands held together in front of her just like Earnestine did herself. She wore a burgundy pill box hat, a fine, simple jacket and trousers flared at the thighs and tucked into her calf length boots.

  “Oh Ness!” Charlotte cried. She jumped forward down from the dais, came around the brass rails and then threw her arms around Mrs Frasier. “I’ve missed you so.”

  “And I’ve missed you too, Lottie,” said Mrs Frasier, disentangling herself from Charlotte’s embrace. “There now.”

  “It’s an amazing trick.”

  “It’s not a trick, it’s engineering.”

  “And you just stand on that stage thing and appear in the future.”

  “All the world’s a stage.”

  “Can I have cake?”

  “Later perhaps.”

  “How did you know?” Earnestine asked.

  “How did I know?” Mrs Frasier answered. “Rather obvious isn’t it.”

  “This was an unscheduled conveyance.”

  Mrs Frasier smiled: “Yes, I remember.”

  “Why didn’t you stop us then?”

  “I thought it best to teach you a lesson of sorts.”

  “Did you?”

  “I remember it as a lesson,” said Mrs Frasier and she took Earnestine’s umbrella off her: “Oh… this! Zeppelins.” She laughed.

  “Do you remember what I’m going to say next?”

  “No,” Mrs Frasier admitted, “I don’t remember that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because… I came to realise that I had been very childish, so I tried to put these events in my past and go forward with my life.”

  “But–”

  “Scrutiniser Jones!”

  The big man stood to attention: “Ma’am.”

  “Please fine appropriate quarters for my sisters and take them there.”

  “What about Uncle Jeremiah?” Georgina demanded.

  “He’s a prisoner. He’ll be tried soon enough.”

  “And Mister Boothroyd?” Earnestine asked.

  “He has been returned to the past.”

  “But Uncle Jeremiah is your Uncle too,” Georgina insisted.

  “He would destroy our world.”

  “This is wrong,” Georgina insisted.

  “I am bound by the rules,” said Mrs Frasier. “We have our duty. I understand that, Mister Boothroyd understands that and I’m sure that Uncle Jeremiah will too, soon enough.”

  “But he would never–”

  Mrs Frasier interrupted: “Scrutiniser Jones.”

  “Ma’am.”

  “Make sure they are settled safely.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Mrs Frasier held up a finger to silence anything the newly arrived young ladies might have to say, took her silver fob watch from her trouser pocked and checked the time.

  “I have an appointment seventy five years ago,” she said, and then with a smile added: “And I don’t want to be late.”

  “Mrs Frasier, what about Uncle–”

  “Gina! That is enough.”

  Georgina looked her right in the eye: “Ness, please!”

  Mrs Frasier softened: “Gina, once you see what we are building here, you’ll understand, I’m sure. Jones, if you would be so kind.”

  Scrutiniser Jones and Checker Rogers, who had been with her, escorted the sisters away. She watched them go and stand further down the dingy corridor.

  This unscheduled conveyance had changed her plans. By this stage, it should all be going like clockwork, but as the Committee moved, so too did the Conspiracy. Wheels within wheels, gears moving gears, it all interlocked like a mechanism, but unfortunately with the occasional lurch when a particular cog proved awkward.

  She gave Earnestine back her umbrella.

  “Technician,” she said.

  “Ma’am,” said the operator. “Fourteen sixteen… now!”

  These changes rippled outwards, but then that was the whole commission of the Chronological Committee and the Temporal Peelers.

  The Derring–Do Club, for example, was one such belligerent component, but then what did she expect them to do, sit down and quietly crochet? She smiled at the spirit, such vitality, such tempestuousness: oh wonder! How many godly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! Oh brave new world that has such people in’t. The fire would inherit the Earth.

  The technician moved the controls, adjusting a number of sliders one way or the other. The lights flashed and the machine howled, and Mrs Frasier’s view of the Deering–Dolittle sisters vanished to be replaced by images of another time.

  Miss Deering-Dolittle

  Earnestine saw her future self stand on the Chronological Conveyor’s dais and fade from view: gone.

  She felt herself fading too: going.

  Scrutiniser Jones took them down a corridor that Earnestine recognized well.

  It was months until she was twenty–one… or years ago. She’d been a child and treated like a child, but held out knowing that she would be an adult eventually. Now, that future had been stolen by that woman.

  “Can I wear trousers?” Charlotte asked, brightly.

  “No,�
�� said Earnestine. “It’s rampant bloomerism.”

  “But you wear trousers.”

  “I do not… Oh!”

  “Don’t be unkind, Lottie,” said Georgina.

  They reached the Rotunda and came suddenly upon a small gathering. The crowd burst into applause.

  Earnestine heard cries of “The Derring–Do Club” and “Look! It’s Mrs Frasier, doesn’t she look young”.

  Mrs Arthur Merryweather

  Georgina found their reception strange. It was heart–warming to be appreciated, of course, but utterly peculiar. Scrutiniser Jones took them further into the building along a corridor marked for Accommodation.

  There were posters on the wall: ‘History in the Re–making’, ‘Correcting Mistakes’ and ‘Bringing the Past to Book’. They depicted heroic men like Captain Caruthers, Lieutenant McKendry, Major Dan and even her own dear departed Captain Merryweather. Each was a stylised rendering showing their square jaws, determined expressions and smart uniforms.

  They passed a canteen and a smoking room before reaching their destination.

  Scrutiniser Jones opened the first of a long line of plain doors.

  Earnestine went in, saying nothing. As Earnestine propped her umbrella against the wall, the big man closed the door and locked it just as if he were a gaoler.

  The next door revealed a room for Georgina. It was small, positively Spartan and more like a cell than anything else.

  “Your room, Miss,” said Scrutiniser Jones.

  “Ma’am,” said Georgina. It looked worse than the Eden College for Young Ladies.

  She stepped in, turned and the door was closed in her face.

  “Why are we locked in?” she asked through the door.

  “Safety.”

  “Yours or mine?”

  “Both.”

  A key turned.

  She heard Scrutiniser Jones and Charlotte’s footsteps move along, presumably to the next door.

  She was a prisoner now.

  They had been waiting for them.

  Why had they rushed headlong into the future? It had been so stupid. Going up the river was the family curse: charging in where those angels of the Surrey Deering–Dolittles feared to tread.

  There was a washbowl, a small table, a chair and a bed. No cupboard or wardrobe or press, and underneath the iron bedstead, there was only a chamber pot.

  Dreading they’d be searched, Georgina pushed her bag under the mattress and sat down on it, leaning slightly due to the resulting bulge. She was in the future, she knew, and it was hard to fathom. Seventy five years. It meant that everyone she knew, everyone, was long dead and buried. Captain Caruthers, so handsome and virile, dead; McKendry, dead; Major Dan… Cook, their two maids, even Mrs Jago and Mrs Falcone, and her daughter Miss Millicent, all dead.