Another Time, Another Place

by Jodi Taylor

  Kalinda was leaning against the door to her office. She straightened as I walked past and inserted herself between Hyssop and me. ‘You OK, kiddo?’

  Treadwell stepped forwards. ‘Please do not interfere, Dr Black.’

  ‘I don’t work for you, Treadwell. Although given your rate of attrition, very soon, no one will.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you will . . .’

  ‘Nevertheless I will be making a full report to Thirsk. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if your people’s dismal part in this assignment and your subsequent handling of these unfortunate events forms essential reading in all future How Not to Manage Change seminars.’

  She turned to me. ‘All right for money?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘Stay in touch.’

  ‘I will.’

  She walked off, shouldering Treadwell aside because she was tall enough to do it.

  ‘Well,’ I said to Treadwell, and was proud of my voice. ‘It’s only a very pale copy of the last time I was sacked but that’s so typical of you, isn’t it? Oh, and as I said to Hyssop: don’t bother ransacking my room – our savings are hidden in the blue cushion on the sofa. Quite a large sum of money actually, for Hyssop and her team to divide between them.’

  She flushed but said nothing.

  Treadwell stared down at me. ‘Why on earth would you keep a large sum of money in a cushion?’

  ‘For emergencies.’

  He smiled tightly. ‘Doesn’t this constitute an emergency?’

  I’m the first to admit I’m short, but if you do it properly it’s perfectly possible to arch your eyebrows and look down your nose at someone taller. ‘You flatter yourself.’

  His face was back to expressionless.

  I rattled on regardless. ‘My husband will return; I’ve no idea when. It’s up to you, of course, but if the contents of our rooms are not in place and intact there will be a very nasty incident in which you, in your current role, will probably not survive.’

  ‘And what role is that?’

  ‘Scapegoat. Stooge. Fall guy. You don’t know about the Time Wars. Or the Time Police. They haven’t even bothered to brief you properly. I’d say your role here is not only that of scapegoat but short-lived scapegoat. Along with your people. Did they allow you to choose your own team or did they use this as an excuse to put together all the riff-raff they don’t want any longer and foist them on to you?’

  Great. Now I’d annoyed both him and Hyssop. There was a very good chance I wasn’t going to get out of this undamaged.

  Peterson saved me. As he always does. ‘Max . . .’

  I knew what he was going to say. I took him to one side.

  ‘Listen, Tim, I’m gone, the Boss is gone, Markham’s gone. You have to stand firm. You’re all we have left.’

  He leaned forwards and whispered in my ear. ‘Don’t forget my wedding.’

  I nodded. He stepped back and cleared his throat. ‘Dr Maxwell, St Mary’s thanks you for your service.’

  I shook his hand. ‘Dr Peterson, sir – it’s been an honour and a privilege.’

  They applauded as I walked down the Hall. Mrs Mack and her team stood in the kitchen doorway, banging saucepans together. I waved to them. Professor Rapson had acquired some of those old-fashioned wooden football rattles and he, Lingoss and Mr Swanson were hanging over the banisters and plying them with enthusiasm. The cheering and whistling increased. Wardrobe waved strips of brightly coloured materials. None of it would do any good. Treadwell had got what he wanted. I turned for one last wave and then swung my way out of the front doors.

  And that was it. I was out of St Mary’s. Half my heart was breaking – the other half knew I’d done the right thing. Even now, I’d do it all over again if I had to. But I was leaving them. Leaving them to manage on their own. Thus considerably enhancing their chances of survival, said the sensible part of my brain, and I had to admit it had a point. Peterson would see them through. And Sands. They’d be all right. Or so I told myself.

  It was twilight outside. And cold, because it was later than I thought.

  I walked slowly down the drive, partly because I didn’t want to give the impression I was running away and partly because, now that everything was over, I realised how completely knackered I was. When had I last slept? When had I last eaten?

  The gates swung open as I approached and I walked through. To a new life, I told myself. Just like Clerk and Prentiss. We were all at it these days but at least I was in my own time and my own country.

  I walked slowly down to the village. The street lights were coming on. No one else was about. The sky was clear and the stars were coming out. It would be chilly tonight.

  I’m an ex-historian and it’s always good to have a plan. I formulated as I went.

  First Blag a room at the Falconburg Arms.

  Second Something – anything – to drink.

  ThirdA long, hot bath.

  FourthA good night’s sleep.

  FifthA good morning’s sleep.

  SixthThe biggest breakfast in the northern hemisphere.

  SeventhTake myself off somewhere quiet and retrieve Leon’s pod.

  EighthGive said pod a thorough seeing-to before Leon saw it.

  NinthLunch. With dessert. Or possibly dessert then lunch.

  TenthOff to find Leon and spend a very long time not doing anything at all. Apart from a little Leon at regular intervals.

  I reviewed my proposed programme of events. Yep – all good.

  Someone must have telephoned ahead. As I drew level with the Falconburg Arms, Ian Guthrie stepped out of the door, backlit by the light behind him. He’d been waiting for me. We looked at each other. I said, ‘Good evening,’ because Markham does like standards to be maintained.

  He gestured inside. ‘Come on in. We’ve got a room ready for you.’

  ‘Did someone ring down?’

  ‘No, it’s been ready for you for over a week now.’

  I assumed he’d known that Treadwell and I would bump heads sooner or later.

  He led me into the reception area. This was the original part of the building with stone flags, a big fireplace and a small reception area. They had a new sign up on the wall.

  House Rules

  No singing.

  No dancing.

  No politicians.

  No phones.

  No laptops.

  No wi-fi.

  No TV.

  No football.

  No loud music.

  No poncey beers.

  No politicians.

  Underneath, someone had scribbled, ‘Sad gits only.’

  ‘And one just for you,’ he said sternly. ‘Because you’re in the real world now – no breakages.’

  I sighed and let my bag drop to the floor. Which might have been a mistake because I was never going to have the strength to bend down and pick it up.

  He picked it up for me. ‘Come and talk to me.’

  I waved to Elspeth, serving behind the bar, and followed him into his office. ‘Shouldn’t you be out there in the bar?’

  ‘No, Tuesdays are always quiet. Everyone’s at home glued to Combat Crocheting.’

  I sank into the familiar seat. He plonked a log on the fire. There was a tonic water waiting for me and I realised just how thirsty I was. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d drunk anything.

  He said nothing while I sipped slowly, following the same advice I’d given Clerk. When I’d finished, he refilled the glass and said, ‘Sacked, eh?’

  I nodded. ‘Had to happen sooner or later.’

  ‘What are your plans?’

  ‘Hot bath.’

  ‘No, after that.’

  ‘Good night’s sleep. And possibly a good morning’s sleep as well.’

  ‘And
after that?’

  ‘Join Leon. Am I OK to stay here tonight? I’m just too tired to do anything safely.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I can pay for the room,’ I said, just in case he thought I couldn’t.

  ‘Good, because I shall charge you for it.’

  ‘Mate’s rates,’ I said.

  ‘Depends whether you break anything.’

  I smiled. I knew he wouldn’t charge me for the room. Somehow, I’d have to find a way to give the money to Elspeth.

  ‘You look really bad, Max.’

  I nodded. ‘I feel really bad.’

  He shifted in his seat. ‘I have to say, I’ve had this Treadwell bloke in here once or twice and he seemed quite reasonable.’

  ‘He probably is,’ I said gloomily. ‘If I could work around him wanting to replace historians with a combination of drones and Security guards, and the way he costs everything down to the last penny, I’d probably quite like him.’

  Ian shook his head. ‘St Mary’s couldn’t go on as it was. Dr Bairstow shielded you all from the unpleasant realities of the world, but there have been murmurings from our overlords for quite some time now.’

  I nodded. He wasn’t wrong.

  ‘It was an unfortunate beginning for everyone, Max. Dr Bairstow’s unexpected death meant Treadwell didn’t get the lead-in time planned. There would have been discussions as to ways to go in the future in which you would have been involved. He’s a clever man – I wouldn’t mind betting you’d all have come away thinking most of the new ideas originated from yourselves. Instead, everything was rushed . . . and with Markham leaving as well . . . that didn’t help, either.’

  ‘Not one little bit,’ I said.

  ‘No. Everything that could go wrong has gone wrong.’

  ‘And now there’s only Peterson left.’

  ‘I have complete confidence in Peterson,’ he said. ‘Of all of you he’s the one most in touch with the outside world. He’ll get them through. And best of all, he’ll get them through intact.’

  I nodded. I had complete confidence in Major Guthrie. If he said a thing would be so then it usually was. And let’s face it, without me there, locking horns with Treadwell and Hyssop every five minutes, there was every possibility things would settle down. ‘The most important thing is that Clerk and Prentiss are safe.’

  ‘Tell me what happened.’

  I gave him all the details. Except about my wedding ring. I saw him cast a look at my left hand but I didn’t wear the ring all the time so no clues there. I’d only worn it to Babylon to impress the silk merchant. I hoped Leon would understand.

  My eyes began to close. All by themselves.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get you to bed.’

  For some reason I thought that was hilarious. I giggled all the way upstairs.

  We paused on the landing. There were three rooms available here. Two at the front overlooking the street and one at the back.

  ‘You’re at the back,’ he said. ‘We thought you’d appreciate the peace and quiet.’

  ‘Very thoughtful,’ I said.

  He unlocked the door and threw it open.

  I stepped inside. A very nice room with a pale yellow and green colour scheme that made me think of spring. The bed looked high and comfortable and there was a bathroom through the open door to my left. I could hear the bath calling out to me.

  Ian handed me the key, wished me goodnight and left.

  I closed the door and locked it, threw my bag on the bed and a voice I hadn’t heard for some time said, ‘Good evening.’

  He was sitting by the empty fireplace, his chair turned slightly away from the door which was probably why I hadn’t noticed him immediately. A glass of whisky stood on a small table at his elbow.

  ‘Well,’ I said, finding my voice. ‘I think I should run back downstairs and ask Ian just what sort of establishment he’s running here.’

  He raised his glass. ‘Cheers.’

  I stayed still and quiet. I wasn’t going to do anything until I knew exactly what was going on.

  He stood up and crossed to the table under the window. ‘I made you some tea.’ He poured a perfect cup of tea and handed it to me and I was so gobsmacked that I took it.

  He gestured to the chair. ‘Do sit down.’

  ‘Not until you tell me exactly what this is all about.’

  ‘I shall be delighted to do so as soon as you sit down and drink your tea.’

  He gestured again to the chair and I demonstrated my perpetual disinclination to do as I was told and sat on the bed. The tea was good though. I sipped and waited for him to tell me what this was all about.

  He finished his whisky and set down his glass. The silence rolled on.

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘if you’re not going to talk, then I’m off to have a much-needed bath.’

  ‘Allow me to run it for you.’

  ‘Don’t you dare.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  We slumped into silence again.

  I finished my tea. He took the cup from me. ‘Another?’

  ‘Not after two tonic waters, thank you.’

  More silence. The only light in the room came from a shaded lamp over by the bed. I couldn’t see his face very clearly. ‘Why are you in my room?’

  ‘I’ve come to speak to you.’

  ‘For the purpose of?’

  ‘For the purpose of offering you a job.’

  ‘Me? A job?’

  ‘I understand you are in need of employment, Dr Maxwell. Urgent need of employment.’

  ‘And you’re offering me a job?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘What sort of a job?’

  ‘Not unadjacent to my own occupation.’

  ‘Let me get this straight, Pennyroyal. You’re offering me a job as a bounty hunter?’

  ‘Recovery agent,’ he said reproachfully.

  I was bewildered. ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know why you’re so surprised,’ he said. ‘I told you the last time we met that you would need a new job soon. I even left you my card.’

  All perfectly true. We’d once encountered Lady Amelia Smallhope and her thug/butler Pennyroyal during an exciting visit to Scotland. They’d been pursuing a bunch of would-be assassins, we’d encountered said assassins, together with a bunch of deserting Scottish soldiers, and the whole thing had got rather out of hand. Lady Amelia looks and sounds much as you’d expect a member of the aristocracy to present themself. Pennyroyal is her butler – allegedly – and looks exactly what he is – a semi-trained thug who wrote the book on how to prepare the perfect cocktail with one hand while garrotting a troublesome guest with the other. The brutal haircut and icy eyes didn’t help. His only redeeming feature was his complete devotion to Lady Amelia.

  And now, here he was, in my bedroom, offering me gainful employment. At least, I assumed it would be gainful. It was always possible that after labouring for ten years my only reward would be my freedom. Or my life.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I should have thanked you for your kind offer. My only excuse is that I’m very tired, but I don’t think I can accept.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well . . .’

  He cocked an eyebrow.

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘for one thing, I have a family. Commitments. How long would I be contracted into this employment?’

  ‘No contract,’ he said. ‘No paper trail of any kind. Payment in cash on completion of each job. Equal shares with me and Lady Amelia after expenses are deducted.’ He paused. ‘It’s good money and you’re gonna need some soon. That tutor friend of yours isn’t cheap.’

  ‘Stay away from Matthew,’ I said. That was it. No threats. No bluster. Just a friendly warning.

  ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘Hours are flexible –
you can nip off and visit hubby any time you want. And you don’t have to accept any job you don’t like the look of. Board and lodgings provided. It’s a good offer. What do you say?’

  So help me, I was tempted. I’d been playing by the rules – mostly – and look where it had got me. Unemployed. And probably unemployable. I would be greatly surprised if Treadwell hadn’t put the word out about me. Clive Ronan had once told me I danced on the edge of darkness and it wouldn’t take very much for me to dance his way and his words had struck a chord at the time. Trust me, adhering to everyone else’s rules is unrewarding, emotionally exhausting and not a lot of fun.

  I could take a job or two, get a little cash behind me and then go back and make another life for myself somewhere. A proper family life with Leon and Matthew. With a nice indoor job where no one would try to kill me ten times a day. Something desperately dull and tedious, requiring no intelligence of any kind and very little understanding of the world around me. Local government, perhaps.

  And Pennyroyal had said I wouldn’t have to take any job I didn’t like the look of. In a kind of twisted way, I trusted him. He’d murder me without turning a hair if it suited him but I didn’t think he’d lie to me. It struck me – possibly slightly too late – that I knew some very strange people.

  ‘How long do I have to think about it?’

  ‘No time at all,’ he said, collecting my cup and saucer and placing them tidily back on the table.

  I gestured downstairs. ‘What about Ian? What’s he going to say when I’m not here tomorrow?’

  He laughed. A throaty wheezy laugh to go with his throaty wheezy voice. ‘Who do you think let me into your room and brought up the whisky?’

  I gave in. I was tired to the bone. My thoughts, never coherent at the best of times, were beginning to disintegrate.

  ‘OK,’ I said, not having put up any sort of resistance at all. Nor asked any sensible questions. Like where this employment was. Or more importantly – when this employment was. Or where tomorrow would find me. ‘I’ll take it.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, getting up. ‘I forgot to mention, you’ll need your own transport. I’m assuming you’ve got a pod.’