“Good day to you, Lady Cremorne.”
“And a good day to you, Mr. Schock! And to what do we owe this urgent desire to visit us at Kew?”
Peter hesitated. “I have some news for Her Majesty … of a personal nature.”
The Viscountess was too tactful to press him further and continued: “Her Majesty is at present receiving Sir Joseph Banks in the Picnic Room upstairs. I will announce your arrival directly. The Queen was delighted to hear of your visit and although she is excessively fond of dear Sir Joseph, you can depend upon it that her appetite for all things botanical will have been sated by now.”
The Viscountess invited Peter to wait in the Print Room and she disappeared up the curved staircase. He sat down on a chair made of bamboo and admired the many fine engravings by William Hogarth on the walls. Peter recalled that when he first set eyes on Joshua Seymour, he was apprenticed to Mr. Hogarth at Covent Garden. Joshua became a fine craftsman and artist. He remembered the celebratory supper Gideon had arranged for Joshua the night before he left for America with such high hopes of starting his own engraving business. Peter felt a pang of guilt about taking on the identity of Gideon’s missing half brother but could think of no better alternative—with luck, all this would be over before Gideon needed to hear of it. Joshua had been the last remaining member of his family and Gideon had taken the news of his disappearance very hard.
“Out of all my brothers and sisters I am the only one left. Why should I have been spared?”
And then he had said to Peter, laughing because that was his way, “Yet we are brothers in all but name, are we not, my friend? Brothers and orphans at the same time.”
And Gideon did seem destined, thought Peter, to survive the ones he loved. And Joshua’s disappearance in America, was, alas, neither the last nor the worst loss which Gideon had endured. But Peter did not want to recall such sad memories now. Presently he heard voices and people descending the staircase. He stood up and hurried to the entrance hall.
First to appear was Queen Charlotte, a good-looking woman, now in her fiftieth year. She wore a dove-gray gown with a cream lace corsage. Her hair had turned a silvery gray. Peter heard the rustle of silk as she negotiated the steep wooden stairs. Queen Charlotte’s bearing was formal and graceful, but when she saw Peter her face lit up and she walked toward him with outstretched hand and a spring in her step.
“Peter!” she said. “It is good to see you again.”
Peter gave a deep bow, took hold of her hand and kissed it. They spoke in German at first, a habit they had fallen into long ago when Queen Charlotte was still teaching him her native language.
“Good afternoon, Your Majesty! I am grateful to you for receiving me at such short notice.”
“I read your letter at breakfast, Peter, and I immediately sent my own landau and a company of guards to collect your father and Miss Dyer and their machine. I have every expectation that they will arrive within the hour.”
Peter grinned at the thought of the Queen’s carriage arriving in the sleepy little village. “Thank you, Ma’am. Middle Harpenden will be buzzing with the news for a decade at least!”
The Queen laughed, then, taking pity on her other guests, who spoke little or no German, Queen Charlotte resumed the conversation in English.
“Peter, I do not believe you have met Sir Joseph Banks, distinguished scientist and President of the Royal Society, who continually adds to our growing collection of plants and trees. Sir Joseph, may I present Mr. Peter Schock, a good friend whose fortunes and affairs I have followed with keen interest these thirty years.”
The two men shook hands warmly. Sir Joseph wore a dark, curled wig and clutched a clay pot against his bottle-green velvet jacket. The pot contained a tall, purple-leafed plant with a large, spherical flower head made up of numerous tiny umbels.
“I have read accounts of your voyages around the world with great interest, Sir Joseph…. How I envy you the sights you must have seen with Captain Cooke on The Endeavour!”
“Thank you, Mr. Schock. It is true that one lifetime is not enough to appreciate Nature’s infinite bounty. I hope that those who come after me will continue my work, for there is so much to do!”
“I am certain of it,” replied Peter.
“And it is a pleasure indeed to make your acquaintance, Mr. Schock,” remarked Sir Joseph. “I have long heard tell of a certain favorite of the Queen whom few of her courtiers are permitted to meet.”
Queen Charlotte laughed. “Mr. Schock is an old family friend. I fear he would find life at court exceedingly dull. It has pleased me to teach him a little German, from selfish motives, I admit, and in return he amuses me with stories of his, let us say, unusual past. But come, Sir Joseph, we must not detain you any longer with that heavy pot!”
“Ah, yes!” said Sir Joseph, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. He held up the plant for everyone to admire. “Angelica atropurpurea—a beauty, would you not agree, Sir?”
“Indeed,” said Peter, nodding vigorously, although the straggly-looking plant aroused little emotion in him. “It is a … most splendid … er … specimen.”
“I shall plant it in boggy soil near the lake, if it pleases Your Majesty.”
“By all means, Sir Joseph, by all means. And I shall be sure to point out your latest gift to us to Mr. Schock. The rangakoos are a fine addition to His Majesty’s menagerie.”
“Forgive me, Ma’am,” said Sir Joseph, “but they are kangaroos.”
“Kangaroos,” repeated Queen Charlotte. “Kangaroos!”
Peter tried not to laugh. Kangaroos at Queen Charlotte’s cottage! How wonderful! The last time he had seen one he was at London Zoo with his mother on a birthday treat.
“I first tasted kangaroo meat in Australia in 1770,” explained Sir Joseph to Peter, “and it has been my intention ever since to introduce the kangaroo to this country. At long last I have acquired a pair for Their Majesties. I hope that they shall breed.”
“And if the beasts decide to oblige,” commented Queen Charlotte wryly, “it will certainly make family picnics all the more divertingé.”
Sir Joseph took his leave and Viscountess Cremorne withdrew. Peter inquired after King George’s health.
“The King continues to do well. With every month that passes I am more confident that his madness will not return. However, I have learned not to look beyond tomorrow.”
Queen Charlotte suggested they take a stroll in the grounds before taking afternoon tea. When they were out of sight of the cottage she rested her hand on his arm and said: “I received your message yesterday evening, Peter, and it gave me great pain to read it. To have awaited rescue for so long only to decide that it would be wrong for you to leave!”
“For a long time I have thought that Kate and her father never reached the twenty-first century. I imagined that the machine had been damaged and that they had been killed or—worse—trapped in some nightmarish place and caught forever between the past and the future. Little did I imagine that they would reappear, twenty-nine years later, wholly unaltered.”
“I lay awake in the small hours pondering your dilemma. I cannot advise you but I shall support you in any way that I can.”
They walked awhile without speaking. The call of some exotic bird from King George’s menagerie nearby echoed through the trees.
“It is true, Peter,” she continued, “that after a lifetime of exile, were you to return now you could discover that you were a foreigner in your own land. When first we met, I remember that we both longed to see our homes again. Yet now, were I to be offered the chance to live forevermore in the land of my youth, only as an adult, and with no guarantee of happiness, I doubt that I should take it. To be wrenched from the life to which I have become so accustomed would be difficult to bear.”
“My decision was not so hard in the end. My father seeks his twelve-year-old son, Ma’am. It is best for all concerned that he continues his journey through time to find him. Were I to return with him, my
parents would lose their child forever. I should be the same age as my father and older in years than my mother! Nature would be turned on its head. It is not how things should be. Nor am I sure that I could find it in my heart to leave Gideon Seymour to whom I owe such a great debt. We are family. Not by blood, but family nonetheless. Here, I have made my place in the world. I have friends. In the twenty-first century who would I be? ‘Upon my word,’ they would say, ‘isn’t that the man who is older than his mother? He was lost in time. What he cannot tell you about the eighteenth century isn’t worth knowing! A fascinating fellow!’”
“Yes,” said Queen Charlotte. “It is true that you would be sought out by the curious. You would tour the country and make speeches. Books would be written about you. As likely as not they would make a film about your adventures—and perhaps I should be portrayed too! Would it not please you to be the center of attention?”
“For a week or two, perhaps. Not for a lifetime.”
“You are wise. Most who crave notoriety live to regret it.”
“To return home has always been my heart’s desire—how ironic that now it comes to it, I find that the price is too high.”
The Queen stopped walking and turned to face Peter.
“Words are easy, Peter. Are you certain that you mean them? Will you not regret this decision for the rest of your life? Do you not desire to see your mother again in this life? For such a chance will surely not come again.”
At the mention of his mother Peter was suddenly overcome with conflicting emotions, and Queen Charlotte kindly turned her gaze instead to the skies and watched a flock of geese flying noisily overhead in the form of a V until Peter had recovered himself and the birds had disappeared from sight.
“Stay or go, Ma’am, I shall have profound regrets—but I am compelled to make a decision.”
“What would Gideon advise you to do, would you say?”
“To return with my father—which is why I shall not ask him.”
A frown grew on Queen Charlotte’s face.
“And yet, if you send your father back to find your younger self, and he succeeds in his quest, will the Peter I see before me still exist? Will he have grown into a man in this century, found a guardian and friend in Gideon Seymour, and visited his Queen? And if not, how will his existence be teased out of the interweaving webs of our lives? Forgive me, Peter, but it is beyond my understanding.”
“Hannah voiced the same fears. She said that were my father to succeed, she would have a great gaping hole in her life.”
“And what say you?”
“I say that I cannot envisage how the man that I have become, how the life that I have lived—and earned—could be swept away. I say that I cannot accept that the traces of my existence could vanish from the world like breath dispersing from a mirror. It is against all reason. I cannot believe it.”
“No, indeed, my mind cannot comprehend such a thing. How could all the marks you have made on the world be suddenly removed? To uproot a plant in such a manner that it seemed it never existed—that I can imagine. But to remove all signs, all vestiges of a man’s life—his actions, his relationships, his imprint on the world—how could that be achieved?”
“I recall that a few days before I was stranded in this century Dr. Dyer spoke of the possibility of time travel causing parallel worlds to come into existence. There is a pleasing logic to the theory, although it is curious to imagine duplicates of oneself playing out different versions of one’s life. But how am I to know? I doubt that there is a man alive who could advise me, so I must decide and accept the consequences of that decision. All I do know is that I do not wish to leave this century and those I have grown to love in order—at the age of forty-one years—to take the place of the twelve-year-old whom my parents seek. History has already been changed—of that I am the proof—and yet, still the world turns.”
Queen Charlotte nodded. “Then what would you have me do, Peter?”
“As I ask in my letter, Ma’am, could you find it in your heart to help me in my deception? I wish to help my father and Kate but I do not wish them to know who I am.”
“With a heavy heart, Peter, I will. Remind me of the means of your deception.”
“I shall become for a short time the half brother of my friend and guardian. I shall assume the identity of Joshua Seymour, Ma’am.”
“Joshua Seymour,” repeated the Queen. “Well, Mr. Joshua Seymour, while I most earnestly hope that you are not about to commit a grave error, I cannot deny to be glad that I shall not be deprived of your company.”
“You have my eternal gratitude, Ma’am. I owe you a debt I strive ever to repay. It is on account of your generosity that I am an educated man and enjoy some standing in the world. And you have kept your promise to me all of these years and have never given me away.”
Queen Charlotte smiled and shook her head. “I was touched by your plight. Yet I, at least, have benefited from your exile in this century. Over the years you have described the wonders of your age so vividly I almost believe that I have seen them in person….”
Out of nowhere a kangaroo bounded in front of them. Peter stepped instinctively between the animal and his monarch. The Queen peeped her head over his shoulder and started to laugh.
“I do not know who seems the more startled—you, Peter, or this … kangaroo!”
The kangaroo’s mate poked its anxious face from behind a laurel bush and hopped uncertainly toward the little group, its long ears twitching. Balanced on their elongated feet, their thick, strong tails trailing behind them, both kangaroos frowned deeply at the two humans and stared at them with large, dark eyes fringed with long lashes. Their short forelegs dangled awkwardly in front of them. Now it was Peter’s turn to burst out laughing. The kangaroo nearest them lost interest and hopped slowly away.
“I have a whim to ask George to ennoble them. They would make a welcome addition to the court of St. James.” Queen Charlotte laughed. “Although it would do little to restore His Majesty’s reputation.”
The kangaroos moved away and the Queen turned to face Peter.
“I believe it will be more than you could bear to tell your father of your own death. If this is truly your wish, I shall receive your father and Miss Dyer alone. They will not doubt the word of the Queen of England. If you will not return with him, this deception will ease your father’s path. Afterward, perhaps, in the guise of a family friend, you could pass on some cheerful memories of your childhood which might give some comfort to your father. It is right that he at least knows that you wanted for nothing and have known happiness even in another time and even away from your own family. I am certain that he will then choose to resume his search through time as quickly as he is able.”
The late-morning arrival at the vicarage of the Queen’s black-lacquered landau, together with a company of guards, did indeed cause a sensation in Middle Harpenden. The entire population turned out to wave and doff their hats and tug their forelocks. They admired the four magnificent black horses, groomed to perfection, and the royal crest emblazoned in gold on its doors. The antigravity machine was carefully wrapped in oilcloth, packed around with hay and loaded onto a cart brought especially for the purpose. The bewildered Kate and Mr. Schock were able to say a formal thank-you and farewell to the equally bewildered vicar and Augusta in front of a small but enthusiastic crowd. They left the village to the cries of “Huzzah! Huzzah!” and for nearly a half a mile barefoot boys and girls ran alongside them, trying to keep up with the Queen’s carriage. Kate felt that she ought to wave, as Mr. Schock was busy examining the luxurious interior of the Landau with its chestnut leather seats and ivory damask lining.
“What on earth is going on?” asked Mr. Schock. “I’m not sure how much more I can take today!”
“Queen Charlotte has invited us to tea!”
“Yes, but why? Why us? Why now?”
“I guess we’ll soon find out! Of course, Queen Charlotte and I already know each other … ,” said K
ate grandly. “And at least traveling with this massive escort, we don’t have to worry about highwaymen or footpads.”
“Footpads?”
“Highwaymen minus the horses. Not even the Carrick gang would have enough bottom to attack the Queen’s carriage.”
“Bottom?”
“Don’t you know what bottom is?”
“No, but I suspect you’re going to tell me.”
“In which case I’ll let you find out for yourself and we’ll see if you’ve got any….”
“You’re very cheerful for someone who’s just found out they are stranded in the eighteenth century.”
“We’ll find a way. There’s always a way. The important thing is to believe that there is—otherwise you don’t stand a chance.”
Mr. Schock looked at her in grudging admiration. She’s a remarkably resilient girl, he thought, tougher than me if the truth were known—and a match for Peter.
The journey over heavily pitted roads was, as Kate knew it would be, interminable.
For the first two hours Mr. Schock hung out of the window, drinking in the eighteenth-century English countryside, in raptures over the rural idyll that for mile after long mile passed before his eyes. Thatched cottages and mighty elms and hedge-rows bursting with flowers and berries. He could not stop remarking on the lack of tarmac and road signs and out-of-town supermarkets and on the abundance of insect life and in consequence of birds…. And the butterflies! Oh, and the old-fashioned breeds of sheep and cows!
For the following two hours Mr. Schock hung out of the window for a different reason. Riding in a well-sprung carriage over uneven and poorly maintained roads is surprisingly like sailing in a ship. The joys of the countryside lost their attraction and instead he felt queasy and giddy. With the sound of a dozen horses thundering in his ears, what Mr. Schock desired more than anything else was to be absolutely still and totally quiet.
“You’ll get used to it,” pointed out Kate helpfully. “Peter and I did.”
THE TIME THIEF Page 13
