by Jodi Taylor
In large, red letters, she’d printed:
DO NOT DRINK THE TEA.
I watched him spirit the note away and struggle. The chances were that she’d only spat in it. On the other hand, this was Rosie Lee, and who was to say she hadn’t purloined something from Professor Rapson’s skull and crossbones cabinet. Two sips and the colonel might be stretched out, lifeless, on the carpet. Would Dr Bairstow take the chance? And what could he possibly say?
He sighed. ‘I wouldn’t drink that if I were you, Colonel. Miss Lee, while possessing many admirable qualities,’ his tone led us to believe he hoped, one day, to discover one, ‘does not always allow the kettle to boil quite sufficiently. I believe this to be one of those occasions.’
The colonel wasn’t stupid. He pushed the tea away from him and said to me, ‘You will present yourself tomorrow at sixteen hundred hours. I advise you to give some thought to your defence. Officer, you may remove this person.’
I spent the evening in Sick Bay, ostensibly deep in Jane Eyre, while I thought things through. Occasionally, I remembered to turn a page.
That night, I slept just long enough to experience a dream that drove me not only from my bed, but out of the room and downstairs as well. If this was to be my last day then I intended to get my money’s worth out of it. Starting with an early breakfast.
Time Police patrolled the corridors, but no one challenged me.
Mrs Mack was on the early shift and bustling around. I paused. I’d hoped for gentle Jenny Fields who would let me make myself a bacon buttie.
She saw me standing in the doorway and maybe the remains of my nightmare were still written on my face because she stared for a while and then said, ‘Come in, if you’re coming.’
I stepped into the kitchen and looked around.
She said, in a voice that brooked no argument, ‘Cocoa,’ and suddenly I knew that was what I wanted above everything else. A huge mug of frothy cocoa. Thick and sweet. A bit like me, really.
She nodded at her office.
‘I’ll bring it in.’
Her office was small and cluttered. The centrepiece was a huge, hairy cat, slumbering heavily on a copy of the Flour Handling Regulations. Another difference. My Dr Bairstow always maintained that an organisation possessing Mr Markham should not additionally burden itself with pets.
I made myself comfortable and passed the time by reading those parts of the Regulations not currently covered in cat.
‘Vortigern,’ announced Mrs Mack, dumping a tray on the desk. Two steaming mugs and a silver pot for top-ups. It always pays to stay on the good side of the kitchen staff.
I assumed Vortigern was the cat. Rip Van Winkle might have been more appropriate.
I blew the steam away and sipped. It tasted the way cocoa should. Hot, rich, and chocolatey.
We sat in silence while the building creaked around us. Faintly in the distance, I could hear footsteps and voices. The guard was changing.
I waited for the question du jour – who are you? – but it never came.
I warmed my hands around the mug and licked off my chocolate moustache.
Not looking at me, she said, ‘I don’t know who you are but I’ll tell you this. If you’re not Maxwell then you’d better learn to be, because if it’s one thing this unit needs at the moment, it’s a Maxwell of some kind.’
Startled, I stared at her.
Having said that, she finished her cocoa in silence.
As did I.
I should have spent the day quietly preparing for the hearing. Running through likely questions and rehearsing my answers. A bit like a job interview – although an unsuccessful applicant usually just gets a polite letter – not a bullet in the brain.
That’s what I should have done. It didn’t work out like that. Not at all.
The first thing that happened was that Barclay turned up. ‘I’ve allocated you a room if you want to come and have a look.’
‘Is it worth the effort? I’ll probably be dead by this time tomorrow.’
Her eyelids flickered. ‘Come and see, anyway.’
I never expected to go back to my old room in the main building. I wondered who had it now. I expected to be allocated one of the trainees’ rooms on the first floor of the Staff Block. They were OK – a bit small but so was I, and it wasn’t as if I had any possessions to clutter up the place.
I’d underestimated her.
There are a number of small rooms on the ground floor. They’re not very pleasant, the tiny windows are barred, and they offer a panoramic view of the wheelie bins and the car park. Mr Strong had commandeered most of them as storerooms.
She’d excelled herself.
This one was at the end of a long narrow corridor and smelled strongly of the floor cleaner that had undoubtedly been kept in there. A narrow metal bed was pushed against one wall. A battered chest of drawers occupied another. An old-fashioned strip light hummed and flickered. The floor and ceiling were of concrete. The bathroom was on the floor above. The horses were better housed.
Now I knew why she’d put herself to the trouble. Revenge for yesterday. Well, at least we wouldn’t have to pretend to be friends.
‘I’ll leave you to get settled in.’
That wouldn’t take long. I looked around. I never thought I’d say this, but I really missed Sick Bay. And Dr Foster’s invisible but very real protection. I never thought I’d say that, either. It struck me that, as well as being thoroughly unpleasant, this room was horribly isolated. Anything could happen at the end of this corridor. Fire, for instance. And all the windows were barred. I might not even live long enough for the hearing.
Well, I had nothing to lose.
‘Why did you do it, Izzie?’
I’d touched some sort of nerve. Her face froze and for a moment, she was somewhere else completely. But only for a moment.
‘We couldn’t leave you in Sick Bay indefinitely, could we?’
‘No, I mean, why did you grass up Leon Farrell?’
She loved him. I was sure of it. She’d always loved him. She must have been over the moon when I died. Then he moved to Rushford and she had him isolated and alone and vulnerable. She’d been poised to make her move. Then I came back and wrecked everything.
She stared at me and I could see her lip lifting in the familiar sneer. This was more like it. I knew that underneath that smiling face –
‘You don’t know, do you? You really have no idea.’
I shouldn’t have asked. I should have just walked away.
‘Know what?’
Above our heads, the light flickered again. Shadows came and went.
‘I didn’t report Leon Farrell. I reported Madeleine Maxwell. It was Madeleine Maxwell who should have been arrested, not Leon. He just covered for you. They all did.’
‘Why? What did I do?’
Gone now was any pretence. With no witnesses present, she really let rip. Spit flew from her mouth with the violence of her words.
‘You don’t get it, do you? The great Maxwell. Except you’re not. You’re not great and you’re certainly not Maxwell. You’re just a rather silly girl who’s completely out of her depth.’
I felt myself begin to grow cold, but I’d come too far now. With an assumption of ease I was far from feeling, I said, ‘Talking rubbish as usual, Izzie. What don’t I get?’
This was her moment and she seized it, spitting the words she knew would destroy my world.
‘It wasn’t Leon, you stupid cow. It wasn’t Leon who lifted that contemporary from Troy. Only one person would ever do anything that stupid.’
My world slid away from me but I had to ask anyway.
‘Who was it then?’
‘It was you. Her. Maxwell. Maxwell did it. You did it because you’re arrogant and conceited and full of yourself and you think you’re wonderful and you can do anything you want. And everyone covered for you. And then you died so it didn’t matter any longer and I thought we were safe. And he was getting over you. One day h
e would have seen me. And then you turned up and ruined everything. And now we’re all at risk. Again. Do you wonder people hate you?’
We all have our own self-image. A picture of ourselves as we hope we appear to others. Mine was based on my work. I saw myself as I hoped others saw me – professional, hard-working, dedicated, competent – all the usual stuff. To have that blasted away in an instant … To know that I had committed a crime so terrible … to know that it was me. It was me who had done it. I had endangered the timeline, St Mary’s, my colleagues … Had Leon run away? From me? My world crashed down around my head.
I felt as if I had plunged into a bath of icy water. The shock took my breath away. She'd kicked away the foundations of my world and suddenly, I wasn’t the person I thought I was. The last thing I owned in this world – my sense of self – had been stripped from me.
I didn’t know what to do. I really didn’t know what to do. How to feel. What to say. No wonder Leon had told me to say nothing. This was the reason Leon had hidden me in the toilet. So that I couldn’t talk to Helios. So that I wouldn’t find out. That in this world it hadn’t been Leon. It had been me. The person who had threatened the timeline, risked everything, had been me.
It was a measure of how much I identified now with this life I had taken over – I felt every bit as frightened and ashamed and horrified as if I had done it myself. Maybe I should hand myself over to the Time Police – admit my crime and take my punishment. Was that why I was here? To provide the Time Police with a scapegoat? But no, that wouldn’t save Peterson or Guthrie or the Boss. Far from it. Because if I was guilty then so were they.
What was I going to do?
What could I do?
I don’t know how long I stood, lost in thought and panic, but when I looked up, she was gone.
I sat heavily on the little bed. The springs chinked beneath me. I tried to think, but the same three words ran through my mind. ‘It was you. It was you. It was you.’ I don’t know for how long I sat there. The overhead light flickered. Shadows danced. Time passed. I should be preparing for this hearing. Preparing my defence. Except I didn’t have one. If I were Maxwell then they’d shoot me. And Guthrie and Peterson and the Boss. And Leon if they ever found him.
And even if I weren’t Maxwell – would that save anyone? Who would believe I was from another world? I couldn’t prove it. And they couldn’t dig up a body because I’d been cremated and my ashes scattered. No mouldy earth for me. Just a small stone with my name.
I didn’t care about me. Knowing what I’d done, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to survive. If I hadn’t come here …
I was so completely in my own dark world that I never heard the quiet footsteps in the passage. When she spoke, I nearly had a heart attack.
‘Good afternoon, Dr Maxwell.’
The voice had the majesty of millennia.
I wasn’t in the mood.
‘Push off, Mrs Partridge.’
Perhaps I could goad her into finishing me off now.
‘I can see that you are considerably distressed, but there really is no need for discourtesy.’
She was in full battledress, her dark hair looped around her head and held in place with silver pins. A long, gracefully draped robe fell around her sandaled feet. She held a scroll in one hand. This was obviously a formal occasion.
I pushed myself to my feet. To confront her. My voice shook with emotion, although which emotion, I couldn’t have told you. I felt like a pressure cooker – ready to explode at any minute and bring half the building down with me.
‘Is this why you brought me here? To take the blame and get the Time Police off your backs? Am I to be sacrificed for something I didn’t do? I was dying at Agincourt, so you thought you’d bring me here and I’d be so grateful for a couple of extra weeks of life that I’d put my hand up for anything? Well, I tell you now, Mrs Partridge, I am not your puppet. I don’t care what you want me to do – I won’t do it. You’ll have to get another Maxwell from somewhere. It shouldn’t be a problem – you seem to have an inexhaustible supply.’
I had much more to say but it never happened. The overhead light flickered wildly. Shadows flew around the room. I’d finally done it. I’d finally made Mrs Partridge angry.
We stared at each other. I would not back down. She could whistle up storms and portents and shake the earth and it wouldn’t do her the slightest bit of good, because in this world, I’d done something so terrible that I couldn’t live with it, and if she wiped me off the face of the earth now, she would be doing everyone a favour.
‘Go on,’ I shouted. ‘Go on. I defy you. Do your worst and do it now because I’m finished with you.’
I hadn’t realised she was so tall. She regarded me long enough for my first faint stirrings of fear to register. Then everything was still.
‘Dear me,’ she said lightly. ‘I do think we should sit down, don’t you?’
I had no memory of moving, nor had I intended to, but there I was, sitting on the bed, listening to the birds singing outside on a lovely afternoon.
‘I think we need to update each other. Shall I begin?’
I didn’t want to do this. ‘I’m facing a hearing at four o’clock. I need to concentrate on that.’
‘Well, you have an hour or so yet.’
‘I need to prepare some sort of defence.’
‘I’m sure you’ll successfully wing it, just as you always do.’
I gave it up. And it would be nice to get some answers. ‘All right. You begin.’
‘The Time Police must be stopped. If they are not – if St Mary’s cannot prove its innocence, then people will die. Dr Bairstow, Peterson, Guthrie, you – all the people on whom St Mary’s depends. Their removal will pave the way for a new director to be appointed – we both know who – and the events you worked so hard to prevent in your own world will occur here because there is no one to prevent them.’
‘But,’ I said, ‘how can we stop them? We are guilty. I’m guilty.’
Once again, I stood on the precipice of panic.
‘No,’ she said, slightly exasperated, ‘you’re not.’
‘But I can’t prove it. No one’s going to believe me. I as good as admitted who I was. In public. In front of everyone. Everyone thinks I’m Maxwell.’
Now she was really exasperated. ‘You are Maxwell.’
I was back to being confused again. Only a short journey for me.
‘But how does that help? If I’m Maxwell they’ll shoot me because of Helios. If I’m not Maxwell, they’ll shoot me because I’m an anomaly.’
‘I am sure that if you take the time to think carefully, everything will become clear.’
I was bloody sure it wouldn’t.
‘If I give myself up – will they let the others go?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘Then why am I here? Am I to be sacrificed to get the Time Police off your backs?
‘Certainly not. Where do you get these ideas?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. In between being sick, chased, frozen, shot, chased again, shot again, covered in mud, covered in ash, sick again … A crowded schedule but still leaving room for the odd existential query – why am I bloody here? For God’s sake, Mrs Partridge, what do you want me to do? Give me some sort of clue.’
‘I cannot. You must choose your own path.’
‘What path?’
Silence.
‘Perhaps,’ I said bitterly, ‘I should just let them shoot me.’
‘You have died once in this world. Try not to do so again.’
‘Aren’t I supposed to die? Isn’t that why I’m here? I’m to be executed to get the Time Police off your back.’
‘On the contrary, you are to do your very best to remain alive.’
‘Why?
‘To tell the truth.’
‘You mean admit to being Maxwell.’
She said again. ‘You are Maxwell.’
True.
She continued. ‘You are making this
far more difficult than it needs to be. I am sure, if you think about it carefully, you will see the wisdom of admitting who you are.’
I doubted that. A thought occurred to me.
‘Did you kill me? As a punishment for what I did with Helios?’
She smiled, but not with amusement. ‘I did not get the chance.’
I sat back, overwhelmed.
‘Perhaps this will help. Drink this.’
It really was the worst thing I’d ever drunk and I’d once got blitzed on Babycham. Eventually. It took about four crates but I got there in the end. And subsequently wished I hadn’t. I took a huge glug of something that nearly blew my head off. I took a while to recover and when my eyes stopped watering, she was on her way out of the door.
I disregarded instructions and panicked.
‘Wait. You haven’t told me what I must do.’
She turned back.
‘Remember – we can’t change the past. But we can change the future.’
Then she was gone and Officer Ellis was there, telling me it was time.
Chapter Eleven
A period of calm reflection would have been nice.
A period in which I would be able just to stop and think for a moment. To consider what I had been told. To think about what I was going to do. What I was going to say.
Fat bloody chance.
I don’t know what was in that drink she gave me. I only know that as I followed Ellis back into the building, I felt as if I could have conquered the world. Forget Hercules – I could have completed all twelve labours before lunchtime and then taken on the Minotaur. While standing on my head and whistling God Save the King.
My feeling of invincibility lasted all the way through the building and finally into the Great Hall itself. The place was packed, which was a bit of a surprise because I’d been expecting something in a cellar. With electrodes and no witnesses. On the other hand, the silence that fell as we entered was neither friendly nor welcoming. Neither was the layout.
An unknown woman sat alone at a table with her back to the stairway, facing the main doors. She wore the black Time Police uniform, which was not reassuring. She was about Dr Bairstow’s age and the sun streaming through the glass lantern overhead picked out the silver in her hair. She didn’t look up as we entered, continuing to write, her hand moving slowly but steadily across the page.
