‘Never mind. It probably won’t work anyway …’
Kate made her way to the back of the house and found the stairs that led to the coal cellar. She crept slowly down them, touching the rough brick walls and marvelling at how new and clean they looked. She was used to seeing them black with centuries of coal dust and glistening with damp. Kate remembered when she had first come here. It was after a gang of Year 8 girls were mean to her during her first ever week at the school. They said they could smell that she lived on a farm and that her lace-up shoes were so uncool even grannies wouldn’t wear them … Megan had eventually found her here. They both ended up skipping Science and got detentions. This became their special place. She crouched down in the exact spot where she and Megan always sat on their backpacks when they wanted to be alone.
A long strand of red hair tumbled down as Kate removed an iron hairpin. She started to scratch at the soft brick with it, biting her lip in concentration. Every so often she would blow the dust away to inspect her handiwork. Oh Megan, she thought, what would you say if you saw me in this stupid dress? I wish you were here, too … No, I don’t. Then you’d be stuck in 1763 as well … Kate finished her message and wiped the red dust off her hands.
‘I’m counting on you, Megan!’ she said out loud. ‘Tell my Dad …!’
All the preparations were complete by the time Kate returned. It was only then that the cheerful, red face of Parson Ledbury appeared at the front door. He stood in the sunshine and wiped away the remains of breakfast with his handkerchief. He bid the assembled company a good morning and Mrs Byng’s comment that she was grateful to him for rising so early went straight over his head.
‘Splendid!’ he commented, surveying the carriage laden with luggage and provisions and the well-groomed horses. ‘Is there anything more pleasing in the world than the prospect of a fine day’s travelling in good company?’ he asked. ‘Watch out for the offleader, there,’ he advised the coach driver, ‘she shied at a hen in the road last month and nearly had us all floundering in the ditch.’
When Mrs Byng introduced him to Peter and Kate, he bowed low to Kate and squeezed Peter’s hand a little too firmly. ‘I hope your cold in the nose has improved, Master Schock, although the loudness of your sneezes are such we could use you in fog to warn other travellers of our presence.’
Peter reddened a little and the Parson gave him a friendly thump on the back that almost sent him sprawling.
‘Damn shame about your encounter with that scoundrel in Dovedale. Still, lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place.’
Parson Ledbury leaned down and picked up little Jack who gladly sat on the big man’s shoulders and pretended to ride a horse.
‘Well,’ the Parson continued, ‘it seems that we are to be a proper party on our way to London and I cannot say that I am sorry for the road is hard and dangerous. We shall make a brave show to any footpad, highwayman or cutpurse that crosses our path, shall we not?’ Here he paused to glare at Gideon. ‘We’ve got enough bottom for an army, eh, Master Jack?’ he roared, causing the little lad to put his hands over his ears. Kate and Peter looked at each other and smirked. ‘Bottom?’ Peter mouthed.
‘Don’t you know what bottom is?’ exclaimed the Parson. ‘You must come from the most out of the way place. A man without bottom, sir, will soon go to the wall. Bottom is courage. And I shall expect every member of the party to show their bottom on this journey!’
The Parson deposited Jack on the ground and walked over to Gideon, leaving Kate and Peter chuckling silently about the quality they were required to exhibit for the trip.
They saw Gideon look up expectantly at the Parson who neither bowed nor extended his hand to him. Instead he said in a quiet and deadly serious voice which everyone could hear: ‘I have my eye on you, Mr Seymour, and do not forget it. You have Mrs Byng’s trust, you do not have mine. One step out of line and you’ll rue the day you ever set foot in Derbyshire.’
The children saw the colour drain from Gideon’s face and heard Mrs Byng’s sharp intake of breath. For a moment everyone thought Gideon would strike the Parson and a terrible hush fell upon the gathering. Gideon mastered himself, never taking his eyes off the Parson.
‘As God is my witness,’ Gideon declared, ‘the Byng family, who has shown me such generosity, can expect nothing less than my devotion and loyalty. And for the sake of Mrs Byng and her good brother, Sir Richard, I will not, on this occasion, hold this illjudged threat against you. But, know this, Parson Ledbury, I answer only to God and my own conscience. If you insult me in this way again, be prepared to accept the consequences.’
Gideon turned his back on the Parson and continued making adjustments to Midnight’s saddle. The Parson walked back to the carriage and everyone started talking hurriedly as if nothing had occurred. Mrs Byng, however, throwing a thunderous glance in her cousin’s direction, went over to have a quiet word with Gideon. A moment later, Gideon had mounted the black stallion and was galloping up the drive.
‘You will be pleased to know, cousin,’ announced Mrs Byng with some irritation, ‘that Mr Seymour prefers not to ride to London with the party in the circumstances and intends to travel alone.’
‘I feel sure that Mr Seymour will now think twice before trying to pull the wool over our eyes,’ said the Parson.
‘Where is your Christian charity, cousin?’ asked Mrs Byng. ‘Must he forever be judged on what he did when little more than a child? Besides, you are basing your concerns on mere rumour and speculation. You are wrong to tar him with the same brush as Lord Luxon …’
‘Then tell me why the fellow must be so mysterious about his reasons for returning so suddenly to London when he has scarcely just arrived?’
‘He was not mysterious with me,’ Mrs Byng replied, ‘but I saw no cause to share his reasons with all the world when he asked me to be discreet.’
The Parson appeared a little awkward for the first time. ‘I am sorry, madam, if, in my enthusiasm for your welfare, I have acted in such a way as to displease you.’
Mrs Byng hesitated, then smiled and held out her hand. ‘Come, cousin, I know you intended well. You have a long journey ahead of you, let us, at least, be friends.’
Peter and Kate exchanged crestfallen looks. How were they going to find the Tar Man without Gideon? What would they do when they got to London?
The Byng sisters said their goodbyes to Sidney and managed to peel Jack from his mother’s embrace and deposit him in Hannah’s lap. Mrs Byng bid Peter and Kate write to her when they were safely reunited with their uncle and wished the whole party God speed.
The Parson and Sidney squeezed onto the narrow bench on top of the carriage with the coach driver. Parson Ledbury insisted on taking the reins while the driver cracked his whip over the horses’ heads and clicked his tongue to get them moving. The rest of the party sat on slippery leather seats inside the stuffy carriage, now full of the sounds of creaking wood, groaning axles and the clinking of Parson Ledbury’s bottles of port. They all leaned out of the windows to wave their goodbyes. Baslow Hall, the elegant figure of Mrs Byng and the row of sisters fluttering their handkerchiefs aloft slowly receded into the distance and Peter realised how lucky they had been to have encountered these kind folk. The horses picked up their pace and the broad carriage wheels seemed to thunder over the stony track past mighty elms, rolling green fields and vast flocks of bleating sheep. Soon they were headed for London and the open road.
The warm, July wind blew through the open window and fanned Peter’s face. He stared at the breathtaking scenery without seeing it. Gideon couldn’t even be bothered to say goodbye, he thought. He said he was going to help – yet another grown-up who says one thing and does another …
CHAPTER TEN
Attack!
In which Dr Dyer meets the NASA scientists
and the travellers make an unwelcome acquaintance
A thick bank of cloud hung over the valley in the gathering gloom. Inside the farmhouse the relen
tless tick-tock of a grandfather clock measured out the seconds that had passed since Dr and Mrs Dyer had last seen their eldest child. Although it was only a quarter to four it was already nearly dark. Outside in the farmyard Margrit, who had stayed on to help, could be heard counting to a hundred while the four youngest children scurried about finding places to hide out of the cold wind. A sickly, yellow light seeped into the dusk from an upstairs window. Sam, who was nearly ten, had refused to come out of his room since lunchtime and his parents had thought it best not to force him.
Dr Dyer broke the silence. ‘It’s almost the longest night of the year.’
Mrs Dyer sat looking out of the front window and was staring at the grey landscape through red-rimmed eyes. ‘And it will be Christmas day this time next week …’ She lifted up a cup of tea halfway to her lips then lowered it down again, as if just sitting propped up in this high-backed chair was taking up all her energy. She let the cup drop heavily onto the saucer with a clink and the tea slopped over the sides. She pushed it away. Kate’s disappearance had hit her so hard the pain of it was almost physical. Every mother’s instinct was screaming at her to go after Kate, to defend her from attack, to protect her from harm, to tear the countryside apart until she could stroke her daughter’s lovely red hair again. But there was nothing for her to do but endure the anguish of waiting. All she could do was wait and hope. Above all she must not give up hope, for everybody’s sake she must not give up hope.
‘Do you think that Peter could have been unhappy enough to run away?’ Mrs Dyer asked her husband.
‘He didn’t seem particularly upset to me … but then, I don’t know him. Margrit says he was about as worked up as she’d ever seen him that morning. I’m sure Detective Inspector Wheeler is right to take that into account. But there’s no way that Kate would have run away with him. She wouldn’t have even gone after Peter to stop him without coming back and telling me first.’
‘No, of course she wouldn’t,’ said Mrs Dyer. ‘She’s far too sensible.’
‘And they both seemed so happy a moment before, laughing at Molly and the Van der Graaf generator. Why would Peter choose that moment to do a runner, in a building surrounded by security guards and fences? No. I don’t buy it.’
They sat in silence again and listened to the wind wuthering down the chimney. When the telephone rang in the hall they both jumped.
‘It’ll be another reporter,’ said Mrs Dyer, desperately trying not to get her hopes up, for with each phone call she imagined the Inspector’s gruff voice announcing that they’d found Kate at last. Dr Dyer walked over to answer it. Mrs Dyer heard him say, ‘Of course I will, I’ll come over straight away.’
‘What is it?’ asked his wife, all alight with hope.
He shook his head quickly. ‘No, no, still no news. It was Tim. The NASA scientists are over at the lab; they wondered if they could have a word. They offered to come over here but I didn’t think you’d feel like being sociable.’
The NASA scientists – Dr Jacob, a youngish man with thinning, blond hair, and Dr Pirretti, a neat, dark-haired woman in her late thirties – were dressed formally as a mark of respect but they looked uncomfortable in their dark suits. Their golden tans and rich, West coast accents seemed exotic in this chilly Derbyshire laboratory. They were embarrassed about bothering Kate’s father at a time like this and spent a long time saying how sorry they were about the children’s disappearance, asking about Mr and Mrs Schock and offering to help in any way they could. In the end Dr Dyer stopped them.
‘You must have had a compelling reason to fly over here to see me,’ he said. ‘Please tell me what it is because I don’t want to leave my wife alone for too long at the moment.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Dr Pirretti. ‘I’ll get to the point directly. You see, Tim Williamson has been working on an anti-gravity project very similar to one in the States – which is why we were particularly happy to fund his research here. We hoped that one project would complement the other. Anyway, Russ Merrick, at MIT, built a device that was different in design to Tim’s but which had pretty similar aims. They were both working on the premise that the casimir effect isn’t just theoretical – although Russ was using static metal plates inside the vacuum chamber rather than a mirrored belt moving at high speed. Russ, like Tim, felt that he was getting nowhere fast with his experiments. He hadn’t managed to generate any measurable amount of anti-gravity. But – and this is why we’re here today – a couple of months ago he contacted us to say that his machine had vanished. Russ assumed that someone had broken in and stolen it, although he couldn’t work out why someone would want to risk breaking into a high-security lab for such a low-profile experiment. However, on precisely the same night as the theft, one of the cleaners who was scheduled to clean Russ’s lab disappeared without trace. Up until now we had not connected the two events – and, sure, the chances are there isn’t any connection. But, hey, if there is, we really want to know about it.’
Dr Dyer’s eyes widened. ‘Does Detective Inspector Wheeler know about this?’ he asked.
‘No. And if it’s not asking too much, I’d prefer he didn’t. Unless some concrete evidence turns up. I’m sure you understand …’
‘I’m not sure that I do understand,’ replied Kate’s father. ‘What do you think could have happened? Why don’t you want the police to know?’
‘Obviously we don’t know what happened but until we’ve investigated the incident ourselves, we’d prefer not to have the interference of the police who, with no disrespect, could only be a hindrance. We’d just be glad if we could count on your co-operation just in case … something turns up.’
‘Yes, of course I’ll co-operate,’ replied Dr Dyer. ‘Why on earth, shouldn’t I? But tell me, for pity’s sake, what do you think could have happened?’
Dr Jacob cleared his throat and looked at Dr Pirretti. ‘Shall I tell him?’
Dr Pirretti nodded.
‘It’s a shot in the dark, you understand, but we have got to at least question whether these disappearances are linked …’
‘How could they be linked?’
‘What if the theory that mini-virtual wormholes are spontaneously created and destroyed in a quantum vacuum turns out to be true …’
‘You’re talking about Space-Time Foam?’
‘Yes. Well, just supposing you wanted to turn a virtual wormhole into a real wormhole … In theory, although it’s never been proven, you would need anti-energy. We’re considering the possibility that both Russ’s and Tim’s machines have provided the anti-energy needed to do just that …’
Dr Dyer frowned and shook his head. ‘I don’t get it. How is a machine that – on a sub-atomic scale – may have an effect on virtual wormholes going to make people disappear?’
‘Let’s just say that we’re thinking along the lines of the relationship between gravity and time.’
Dr Dyer sat down in a chair with a thump. ‘But that’s ridiculous! Surely you’d need massive amounts of anti-energy to create a wormhole big enough to warp time. You’re not serious?’
Dr Pirretti slowly nodded her head. ‘Well it’s not exactly a case of warping time, but, yes, we are serious …’
‘Good Lord,’ Dr Dyer exclaimed. ‘I can see that you are …’
‘Russ is rebuilding his equipment in Houston as we speak,’ said Dr Jacob. ‘And we’d like Tim to return to the US with us to recreate his experiment. We need to throw every test we can think of at these machines. It is almost certainly a red herring but we cannot discount it – yet.’
Dr Pirretti put her hand on Dr Dyer’s arm. ‘Can we count on your discretion? We felt that we owed it to you to share our thoughts with you but we must ask you to talk about this to no one – not even your wife. Even though it is highly unlikely that this gravity-time hypothesis will come to anything, we all know that if the newspapers got hold of something like this all hell would break loose …’
‘You can imagine the headlines,’ said Dr Jacob
. ‘“NASA scientists inundated with requests to become time traveller test pilots …” “Palaeontologists beg for the chance to prove their theories” … “More dangerous than the atom bomb – Protect our history!” … “Worldwide demonstrations against new invention” …’
Dr Dyer nodded. ‘I see what you mean. No, you needn’t worry, I won’t say anything. I wouldn’t want to say anything to my wife that would upset her any more than she is already. Besides, what you say is so far-fetched I find it difficult to take your fears seriously.’
When Mrs Dyer heard the key in the lock she ran to meet her husband. He could tell that she had been crying and that she was now having to try very hard not to.
‘What is it?’ he cried, fearing the worst.
‘Kate’s friend Megan just telephoned. She said that half of the Year 11 prefects were in hysterics at school this morning because they saw a ghost walking through their common room …’
Mrs Dyer covered her face with her hands.
‘A ghost! But you don’t believe in ghosts!’ Dr Dyer exclaimed. ‘What’s that got to do with us?’
‘They all swore the ghost was Kate – they said she was wearing a long, white gown!’
Kate gave a huge yawn and stretched her arms high above her head. The sound of sixteen hooves striking the cracked earth for mile after mile was hypnotic. It was all she could do to keep awake in the stifling heat with Peter falling asleep in the opposite seat and Hannah snoring quietly next to her. She and Jack had both given up leaning out of the window because the dust thrown up by the wheels made their eyes water. Kate invited Jack to sit on her knee. It was the heavy, warm weight of a young child on her lap that provoked a sudden pang of longing to see her family again. She could rarely watch television or have a lie-in on Sunday mornings without Milly or Sean or the twins snuggling up to her. And poor Sam – he was such a worrier. If she was ten minutes late from school he would start asking Mum to phone the school secretary. He was going to be beside himself by now. Jack sensed her distress and turned round to look at her. He stared at a small tear running down her cheek.
Gideon the Cutpurse Page 10
