TimeBomb: The TimeBomb Trilogy: Book 1

by Scott K. Andrews

  Sarah tutted and shook her head. ‘You silly, silly girl,’ she said. ‘I thought it must be. Well, what is his name?’

  Dora hated lying, but she gritted her teeth and willed herself to do so. ‘Kaz,’ she said eventually, silently begging her travelling companion’s forgiveness for dragging him into her deception.

  ‘Kaz? What kind of name is that?’ exclaimed Sarah.

  ‘He is a traveller from the east. That morning he passed by the house and knocked on the kitchen door in hope of provisions.’

  Sarah pursed her lips and regarded Dora sternly. ‘Did he force his affections upon you?’

  ‘Oh no, nothing like that.’ Dora felt awful as the next lie passed her lips. ‘He … he stole my heart with a glance and we ran away in search of adventure.’

  Mountfort sniggered, but the double daggers flashed at him by two generations of Predennick women silenced him instantly.

  Sarah shook her head wearily. ‘Am I a grandmother?’ she asked after a moment.

  ‘No,’ replied Dora, trying but failing not to sound outraged.

  ‘Oh, I see. He has deserted you.’

  ‘He has not,’ scolded Dora, unsure why she was so annoyed on behalf of a mostly imaginary lover. ‘He is nearby. I returned this day because it was not possible for me to return earlier. I did not wish to leave without saying goodbye but … oh, I do not know what I can say to you. I am sorry for the pain and worry I have caused, but please believe me, it was not done cruelly.’

  Sarah withdrew her hands from her daughter’s and sat more straight in her chair. ‘Well, it is not only me to whom you must apologise. For a time after you left Lord and Lady Sweetclover were suspected of involvement in your vanishing. There was much gossip abroad, and their names were blackened for a time.’

  Dora was surprised that her mother was accepting her lies so easily, but even more so by the sudden change of focus to Lord Sweetclover. Especially since the conversation she had overheard in the church had led her to believe that it was Sarah herself who had spread such stories.

  ‘Gossip, Mother?’ she asked.

  Sarah nodded primly. ‘Wicked lies were spread. I never believed them. I knew that they could never be guilty of such a crime.’

  Dora would have accepted ‘I felt in my heart that you couldn’t be dead’ or ‘I dared not believe such a fate had befallen my beautiful girl’. But ‘I knew Lord Sweetclover was too nice to murder you’? That did not sit well with Dora at all. She struggled to construct a suitable rejoinder, but something about her mother’s eyes brought her up short.

  ‘Mother, did you not, perhaps, spread such tales yourself?’ she asked.

  Sarah’s face was a picture of outrage. ‘Most certainly not!’ she cried.

  In a flash, as if someone had switched on one of those instant electrickery lights, Dora realised that her mother was not in her right mind. Dora had never been able to lie to her mother, and nor had anybody else; she had been too quick witted for that. Yet now she was accepting Dora’s clumsy deceptions with the easy faith of the truly stupid. What’s more, she was bowing and scraping to her social superiors with a subservient zeal that Dora did not recognise, and seemed unable to remember actions that her old neighbours had referred to in Dora’s earshot earlier that day. Her mother had never been anybody’s lapdog, nor had she ever been scatterbrained. Dora realised someone must have bewitched her mother to be more easily led, less curious and assertive; someone who had played tricks with her memory. Dora decided to play along.

  ‘You speak of a Lady Sweetclover?’ she asked.

  Sarah leaned back in her chair and folded her hands, her preferred attitude for a good gossip. ‘Oh yes. The kindest lady I have ever known. She met Lord Sweetclover shortly after you disappeared. Well, I should rather say after you left, now that we know what became of you. I must own, I greeted her less amiably than I should have. The thought shames me.’

  Dora was incredulous but saw an opportunity to obtain useful information. Playing on her mother’s bewitched pliability, eyes wide and innocent, she guilelessly began asking pointed questions.

  ‘But Mother,’ she said, ‘it is not like you to be so unwelcoming. What was it about the mistress that caused you to act in such a way?’

  Sarah leaned forward, conspiratorially. Dora was aware that Mountfort was doing the same, but refused to make eye contact with him lest his grin of amusement break the concentration she required to keep a straight face as she dissembled so.

  ‘Well, there was an accident many years ago. Milady is badly burned. Disfigured, in fact. She wears a mask made of stone to hide her features, walks with a mighty limp and covers her baldness with a wig. I, foolish flibbertigibbet that I be, surmised that she was a witch who had, by use of infernal magics, escaped a burning stake and taken refuge here, enchanting Lord Sweetclover to fall in love with her despite her disfigurement. My belief was that she had done away with you, perhaps because she considered you a potential rival for Lord Sweetclover’s attentions. And I did not stint to spread this scandalous rumour to all and sundry.’

  ‘Mother!’

  ‘I know, sweet child. All I can say in my defence is that I was not of sound mind for a period of time after your departure. Eventually the mistress sought me out and, while she would have been justified in sending me away, even taking action against me, she instead explained her situation and showed me, by her kindness, how wrong I had been in my opinion of her.’

  ‘She sounds a most patient and understanding mistress,’ said Dora.

  ‘Oh yes, she is the kindest lady I have ever known.’

  The repetition of this phrase was not lost on Dora.

  ‘And what exactly was her situation? How did she come by those burns?’

  ‘An overfilled bed warmer set her sheets alight. It was a miracle she survived. And it is a miracle that Lord Sweetclover should be able to love her in the state she is in, but love her he most assuredly does.’

  Dora could not help wondering whether Sweetclover had been bewitched by Quil, much as her mother clearly had. But something about the way he had spoken of his wife in the future made Dora think otherwise. Unlikely as it seemed, perhaps they truly were in love.

  ‘You must apologise to both of them for your impulsive abandonment of your station,’ instructed Sarah sternly. ‘Perhaps, if you are sufficiently abject, they may agree to let you resume your post. Would you like that, my dear? To work alongside me in this kitchen?’

  Dora could think of nothing she would detest more.

  ‘Certainly, Mother,’ she said. ‘If you would introduce me to them, I will provide a full explanation and apology.’

  Mountfort rose to his feet. ‘I am sorry, ladies,’ he said. ‘Fascinating as this discourse is, I can wait for this tardy servant no longer. I must seek out the lord of this house and relay my message. If you will excuse me.’ He bowed to each of them in turn and left.

  As soon as he was gone, Dora explained that she would go with Mountfort and take the opportunity to apologise to Lord Sweetclover for her disappearance. Sarah tried to stop her, told her she would do better to wait here and let her handle it, but Dora would not be turned aside. Leaving her mother with a promise to return shortly, she hurried out in pursuit of Mountfort. Following the sound of voices, she scurried down the corridor towards one of the rooms off the main entrance hall. She crept up to the door and discovered she could hear what the two were saying. Lord Sweetclover was rebuking Mountfort.

  ‘… for my servant to fetch you to me in good time. I do not take kindly to being interrupted in my private chambers by a man unannounced and, regardless of his claims to the contrary, seeming to be no more than a common farmhand.’

  ‘My apologies, your lordship,’ replied Mountfort, affecting a moderately convincing tone of genuine contrition. ‘But the intelligence I bring is most urgent.’

  There was a long pause. Dora imagined Sweetclover considering Mountfort disdainfully. ‘Very well,’ said Sweetclover eventually. ‘Say
your piece.’

  ‘My lord. I am an agent of the king. Tasked with bringing you both a warning, and a request.’

  ‘Out with it then,’ snapped Sweetclover.

  ‘First the warning, your lordship. There is a large parliamentarian force marching upon this house even as I speak. They believe you to be a Royalist sympathiser and will demand a statement of allegiance from you. If you do not swear to their cause, and allow them to billet their soldiers here to prepare for the forthcoming battle which is sure to occur in or around Lostwithiel in the coming weeks, then they will take this house by force.’ He fell silent, as if waiting for a response. After a few moments, when none was forthcoming, he pressed on. ‘Secondly, the request.’ Mountfort cleared his throat and Dora could tell by the changed tone of his voice that he was nervous. ‘Reports have reached the court of witchcraft and magic being performed in this house. Your sovereign would like to know whether these stories hold any truth.’

  A long pause, and then, ‘And if they do?’

  ‘Then I am tasked with asking whether you would be willing to lend your particular skills to the king’s cause.’

  Another pause and then a rising tide of laughter from Sweetclover. He laughed long and hard for at least a minute until he caught his breath. ‘The king wishes me to use magical powers upon the soldiers of Parliament’s army?’

  ‘If such would please you, sir.’

  ‘This is most strange, think you not, my dear?’

  Dora gasped as she realised that Sweetclover’s wife was also in the room. ‘It is so, husband,’ came a female voice. Dora could not tell whether it was the same voice that had called her name before its owner had flung her across the years, for it was muffled. Dora remembered that Lady Sweetclover wore a mask, which would explain the strange muted quality of her voice. This, Dora felt certain, must be Quil.

  ‘I am able to set your mind at rest on one matter,’ said Quil. ‘The force you describe was earlier today destroyed utterly by a cadre of men loyal to this house.’

  ‘Do you mean the soldiers in Pendarn, milady?’ asked Mountfort.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Unfortunately, I regret to inform you that they were merely a scouting party. A far larger force is right behind them. But I must thank you. If not for the intervention of your … unconventional militia, I fear my life would have been lost. The arrival of your men provided the opportunity for us to escape.’

  ‘I am glad of that, at least. But perhaps you can answer one nagging question,’ said Quil.

  ‘If I am able, milady.’

  ‘The oak tree on the green. It had been cut through at an unusual angle. And there were bodies by the church, which seemed to have been sliced in half. Can you shed any light on this?’

  ‘I regret that I cannot,’ said Mountfort. ‘I was hanging by the neck when the tree collapsed and began to burn. My attention was focused strictly on my imminent demise. As for the bodies, I did hear a terrible scream, but I was fleeing in the opposite direction at the time, so cannot testify as to its cause.’

  Dora could not be sure what happened next, but she fancied she heard Quil give a groan, and then Sweetclover began expressing concern, telling her to sit down. Had the woman suffered a dizzy spell?

  ‘I am quite all right, Hank, stop fussing,’ said Quil. But she sounded far from well. ‘If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have to attend to something urgently.’

  Dora heard footsteps hurrying towards the door. She had no time to make it back to the kitchen, so desperately looked around the hall for a place of concealment. Seeing nothing behind which she could hide, she hurried to the door of the room that sat on the other side of the entrance hall and slipped inside. She heard the door to the opposite room swing open, and footsteps moved away down the corridor.

  Dora risked peeking around the door, but she was too late to catch a glimpse of the elusive Quil. She could hear Mountfort and Sweetclover talking still, and decided it was time to return to her mother and get her away from Sweetclover Hall. With luck they could intercept her father on the way here with the flour delivery and make their escape before the house was attacked. As quietly as she could, she slipped back into the hallway.

  Moments later she burst into the kitchen. Her mother was taking a jug of milk from the fridge as if doing so were an entirely normal thing for a seventeenth-century servant.

  ‘Mother, come quickly,’ Dora shouted breathlessly. ‘We have to leave. The hall is about to come under attack.’

  Sarah turned to her daughter, jug in hand, bemused. ‘Beg your pardon, dear?’ She did not seem particularly alarmed.

  ‘Mother, come on,’ urged Dora, stepping across to her, prising the milk jug from her grasp and replacing it in the fridge. ‘The forces of Parliament bear down upon us and we must flee for our lives.’

  Sarah shook her head and smiled. ‘Oh, don’t be silly, dear. His lordship and her ladyship will allow no harm to befall us. Sweetclover Hall is the safest place in the whole of England. Besides, I couldn’t leave now – the bread’s nearly proven and I need to pop it in the oven.’ She spoke to her daughter as if addressing a foolish girl afraid of spiders.

  ‘Mother,’ said Dora, stepping forward and putting a hand on her mother’s arm, ‘when was the last time you left the hall? Stepped outside, visited with neighbours in Pendarn?’

  Sarah looked at Dora as if she were mad. ‘Leave the hall? Heavens, child, why on earth would I ever want to leave the hall?’

  Rescuing her mother was going to be even harder than Dora had expected. Sarah pulled away and began to rub flour on her hands preparatory to lifting the dough from the proving basket, carrying on as though her long-lost daughter were not begging her to escape, as if no attack was imminent. For a moment Dora seriously considered knocking her mother out and dragging her away, but Sarah was a round, matronly woman and Dora thought it unlikely she’d be able to pull her farther than the threshold. She tried desperately to think of some other inducement, some story that would exert a strong enough pull on her mother to get her from the hall.

  And then the answer, so obvious, occurred to her.

  ‘Mother, listen. I saw James this morning. In the village.’

  Sarah looked up sharply. ‘James?’ she said.

  ‘James, your son, my brother. I saw him in Pendarn not an hour after sunrise.’

  ‘James?’ Sarah said wonderingly, as if it the name were a lost memory, tantalisingly beyond recall.

  ‘Like me, he has returned to make amends to you and Father for the grief he caused by his sudden disappearance. Even now, he waits for us at home. I was sent to bring you to him.’

  ‘James is returned?’

  ‘Yes, Mother,’ she said. ‘If you would but come with me, our family can be reunited once more.’

  Sarah brushed off the flour and stood back from the table. ‘James is with Thomas in Pendarn, even now?’

  ‘Yes, Mother,’ said Dora, trying not to let her frustration show. The spell that held Sarah in thrall was a strong one, and if the love of a mother for her child could not break it, nothing could.

  Sarah’s face was a parade of confused emotions. Finally she smiled. ‘That is wonderful news, Dora. You must hurry home and fetch them to me. The bread will be baked by the time they arrive and we can have a hearty meal.’

  Dora gave a groan of frustration. There was no way she was getting Sarah out of here. She stood still, hands balled into fists, utterly at a loss.

  Someone ostentatiously cleared their throat behind her. She turned to see Sweetclover and Mountfort standing in the doorway. Thinking quickly, Dora decided to play innocent. She bowed her head in deference. ‘My lord, please forgive my intrusion.’

  Sweetclover waved her obsequiousness away. ‘On the contrary, I am the intruder here, in your mother’s wonderful kitchen. Is that not so, Mrs Predennick?’

  Dora was horrified to see her mother put her hand across her mouth and giggle, girlishly.

  ‘Hello, Dora,’ said Sweetclov
er. ‘Welcome back. You’ve been away for a very, very long time.’ The way he said those words forbade any further pretence. His tone was light, but laced with menace.

  ‘You already said that,’ replied Dora.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘The last time we met, you spoke those very words to me.’

  ‘I think you must be mistaken, young lady.’

  ‘I seem to be mistaken about most things, this day,’ said Dora wearily. ‘My mother’s character, my brother’s love, the decency of my betters.’

  ‘Dora.’ Sarah’s voice was sharp with rebuke.

  ‘Oh, be quiet, Mother,’ snapped Dora, her impatience and frustration finally boiling over. ‘You are bewitched. It is a plain as the nose upon my face.’ She felt almost ashamed as her mother’s cheeks bloomed pink with embarrassment and outrage.

  Ignoring her mother’s confusion and anger, Dora turned to Sweetclover. ‘What have you done to her?’ she said, her voice full of fury.

  Sweetclover regarded her coolly. ‘After your unfortunate disappearance, your mother offered her services as our cook,’ he explained, his voice calm and even. ‘We accepted, but cookery was the farthest thing from her mind. She asked awkward questions and prowled around the house, peering into places where she was not welcome, spreading vile gossip about us to local tradesmen. Eventually it became necessary to perform what my wife terms “behaviour modification”. In terms that you will understand, we put a spell upon her to make her more biddable.’

  Dora was shocked at Sweetclover’s lack of remorse.

  ‘You will change her back immediately,’ she said, placing her hands upon her hips and glaring at him.

  ‘I do not understand what is happening,’ said Sarah, her voice small and uncertain. Dora turned back to see her mother looking so lost it made her heart ache.

  ‘Mountfort,’ snapped Sweetclover, all attempt at charm abandoned and replaced by brisk command. ‘Follow me and bring these two with you.’

  He spun on his heels and walked away.

  ‘Goodman Mountfort,’ said Dora, ‘I feel sure you will not partake in this madness. My mother and I must …’