Another Time, Another Place
Page 1
Copyright © 2021 Jodi Taylor
The right of Jodi Taylor to be identified as the Author of
the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in Great Britain in 2021 by
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
This Ebook edition published in 2021 by
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
1
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law,
this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted,
in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of
the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in
accordance with the terms of licences issued by the
Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication – other than the obvious
historical figures – are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons,
living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
ISBN 978 1 4722 7319 2
Cover design and illustration by zoedrawsthings.co.uk
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
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About the Book
‘It’s time, Max.’
And so, a whole new chapter opens up . . .
It’s long been known that if a thing can go wrong, it will. With knobs on, usually. Disasters start to pile up. A new colleague with no respect for the past and a great deal to prove. Historians lost in time. And – worst of all – Rosie Lee on her very first jump. Then there’s the small matter of Max’s dishonourable discharge.
From Tudor England to the Tower of Babel – it’s all going horribly wrong.
Jobless and homeless, Max receives an offer she can’t refuse. Another time, another place. A refuge, perhaps.
She’s got that wrong, too.
About the Author
Jodi Taylor is the internationally bestselling author of the Chronicles of St Mary’s series, the story of a bunch of disaster prone individuals who investigate major historical events in contemporary time. Do NOT call it time travel! She is also the author of the Time Police series – a St Mary’s spinoff and gateway into the world of an all-powerful, international organisation who are NOTHING like St Mary’s. Except, when they are.
Alongside these, Jodi is known for her gripping supernatural thrillers featuring Elizabeth Cage, together with the enchanting Frogmorton Farm series – a fairy story for adults.
Born in Bristol and now living in Gloucester (facts both cities vigorously deny), she spent many years with her head somewhere else, much to the dismay of family, teachers and employers, before finally deciding to put all that daydreaming to good use and write a novel. Nearly twenty books later, she still has no idea what she wants to do when she grows up.
By Jodi Taylor and available from Headline
time police series
doing time
hard time
The Chronicles of St Mary’s series
Just One Damned Thing After Another
A Symphony of Echoes
A Second Chance
A Trail Through Time
No Time Like the Past
What Could Possibly Go Wrong?
Lies, Damned Lies, and History
And the Rest is History
An Argumentation of Historians
Hope for the Best
plan for the worst
Another Time, Another Place
short story collections
The Long and Short of It
Long story Short
The Chronicles of St Mary’s digital shorts
When a Child is Born
Roman Holiday
Christmas Present
Ships and Stings and Wedding Rings
THE VERY FIRST DAMNED THING
The Great St Mary’s Day Out
My Name is Markham
A Perfect Storm
Christmas Past
Battersea Barricades
The Steam-Pump Jump
And Now For Something Completely Different
WHEN DID YOU LAST SEE YOUR FATHER?
Why is Nothing Ever Simple?
The Ordeal of the Haunted Room
Elizabeth Cage novels
White Silence
Dark Light
Frogmorton Farm Series
The Nothing Girl
The Something Girl
Little Donkey (digital short)
Joy to the World (digital short)
––––––––––––––
A Bachelor Establishment
Contents
Title
Copyright
About the Book
About the Author
Also By
Author’s Thank You
Dramatis Thingummy
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Acknowledgements
Discover more from Jodi Taylor
Author’s Thank You
Most of this book was written during the Covid-19 lockdown. I should make it very clear that Max’s views on the hard-heartedness of the nursing profession are hers and hers alone. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank everyone in the NHS for their selfless dedication and determination.
And I’m pretty sure that whatever Markham says, nurses don’t actually throw people out of windows in the pursuance of their duties.
Dramatis Thingummy
St Mary’s Personnel
Dr Bairstow
Director of St Mary’s.
Dr Peterson
Deputy Director. Soon-to-be matrimonialised. Fingers crossed.
Mrs Brown
Aka – Lady Blackbourne. North’s mother. High-ranking member of the Civil Service. Busy lady.
Mrs Partridge
PA to the Director.
History Department
Dr Maxwell
Head of the History Department.
Miss Van Owen
Mr Clerk
Miss Prentiss
Mr Sands
; Historians. But possibly not for much longer.
Mr Roberts
Mr Bashford
Miss Sykes
Mr Atherton
Rosie Lee
PA to the Head of the History Department. Time-travel virgin. But not for much longer.
Technical Section
Chief Technical Officer Farrell
Sensibly not very involved in this one. Too busy whisking the younger generation off to a place of greater safety.
Mr Dieter
Turning a blind eye.
Mr Lindstrom
Never says much.
Research and Development
Professor Rapson
Head of R&D. Exploring the possibility of bypassing gravity. Proud rapid chicken-firing gun owner.
Miss Lingoss
Charioteer and bride.
Others
Dr Dowson
Head Librarian. Who else would take a rapid chicken-firing gun to a church?
Mrs Enderby
Head of Wardrobe.
Mrs Midgley
Housekeeper. Both of them very helpful in relocating St Mary’s supplies to an alternative site. All right – stealing.
Matthew, Mikey and Adrian
They and their talents are being moved to a place of greater safety. Out of the way for the time being but storing up big problems for the future.
Security Section
Captain Hyssop
Off to a really bad start.
Scarfe
Half-Wit
Lucca
Another Half-Wit
Glass
Yet another Half-Wit
Harper
And another one
Jessop
Yes, him too.
The one whose name no
Un-named Half-Wit
one can ever remember
Evans
Real security guard
Keller
Another real security guard
Gallacio
Yet another real security guard
Cox
And another one
Mr Strong
Caretaker and handyman. Dr Bairstow’s first recruit to St Mary’s.
Markham
The Con part of Pros and Cons.
Hunter
His family.
Baby Flora
Commander John Treadwell
Quite likeable, actually. Unless you’re Max.
Halcombe and Sullivan
Released from captivity.
The Reverend Kevin Aguta
The Rev Kev. An impressive example of Christian tolerance and forgiveness.
Martin Gaunt
Security superintendent at the Red House. A man in love with his own authority.
Various Red House
security staff
Josiah Winterson
We never meet him but he gets a good kicking nevertheless.
Jack Feeney
We do meet him. He wishes we hadn’t.
Assorted distressed maidservants who suddenly discover what their boots are for
Sir Richard Verney
He shouldn’t be here! What is happening?
Amy Robsart
Look where you’re going – whoops – too late.
The mysterious inhabitants of a mysterious litter
Your guess is as good as mine.
People and priests of Babylon
Abilsin
Son of Sin but quite a nice boy.
A silk merchant and slave owner
A couple of overseers at the brickyard
Pennyroyal
An alleged butler.
Lady Amelia Smallhope
A member of the aristocracy. Bounty hunter. Sorry – recovery agent.
I’d forgotten how cold it can be just before dawn. And quite dark, too. On the other hand, I’ve been clandestinely creeping around St Mary’s since the moment I arrived all those years ago. I know every twist and turn. Every creaking door. Every squeaky board. As long as Professor Rapson hadn’t carelessly left any half-constructed bear traps or acid baths around the place, I didn’t even need a torch.
I ghosted around the gallery and down the stairs, carefully keeping to the edges to minimise the creaks, although the whole edifice does tend to groan like a clipper in a strong wind whether anyone is standing on it or not.
The Great Hall was no problem. I could weave my way in and out of whiteboards, trestle tables, chairs, stools, piles of files, whatever, with my eyes closed. And frequently had.
I passed silently through the vestibule. The front doors were already unbolted. Easing my way through, I paused to zip up my body warmer. The morning was cold, dank and silent. It was lighter outside, although, sensibly, even the birds weren’t up yet. Moisture beaded every surface. Tendrils of light fog drifted across from the lake. Perfect conditions for a discreet getaway.
The car stood ready and waiting – a small family hatchback of an indeterminate grey colour. There must be millions of them around. You can’t avoid CCTV cameras completely, of course, but I would bet any money Leon had stowed a couple of alternative registration plates in the boot. I love that people think he’s so respectable.
I skipped down the steps, my frosty breath billowing and making substantial contributions to the fog and general non-visibility around me. Actually, skipped is the wrong word. Skipped implies light-hearted, joyful, carefree and so on, and I wasn’t any of those. People do leave St Mary’s. Sometimes under quite happy circumstances. But not today. Today was not a happy day.
Leon loomed up out of the fog. Very visible in his orange techie jumpsuit.
I tilted my head to one side. ‘You do know this is a stealth assignment, don’t you? Short of attaching an SAR beacon, is there any way you could be more obvious?’
He put his arm around me because I was just putting on a brave face and we both knew it. I asked him if everything was ready.
He nodded. ‘It is.’
I paused.
He said, ‘It’s time, Max.’
‘I know,’ I said, staring at my feet. ‘I know. It’s just . . .’
‘I know,’ he said, rubbing my shoulder. ‘But the moment has come to say goodbye.’
I nodded. No putting it off any longer. Leon shut the boot and
I walked around the car.
Hunter was sitting in the back seat. Markham had muffled her up well but she still looked a little pale and tired. Baby Flora was sleeping soundly in her car-crib.
I crouched down to talk to Hunter. ‘All right? Got everything?’
She smiled. ‘I hope so because I don’t think we have room for anything else.’ And I laughed because, trust me, the amount of supplies and equipment needed to transport a tiny human from A to B is mind-blowingly colossal. They could probably go off and discover another continent with what they had packed in that car.
I myself had contributed a little to their burden. I’d gone into Matthew’s bedroom and taken down the little suitcase of baby clothes that was all that remained of his childhood. Most of it unworn because he hadn’t had his childhood for very long. I don’t know why I’d kept them. It wasn’t as if I’d ever need them again.
‘Here,’ I’d said to Markham. ‘Everything from six months onwards. Babies grow fast and you’ll need them more quickly than you think.’
He took the case very carefully. ‘Are you sure?’
I nodded. I’d kept back one or two small items, together with the blanket Helen Foster had knitted, but there was no point in hanging on to the rest. The sensible thing to do was to give the stuff to someone who would need it.