A Trail Through Time (The Chronicles of St Mary's)

by Jodi Taylor

  To her right, Colonel Albay and an officer unfamiliar to me sat at a smaller table heaped with electronic equipment.

  Dr Bairstow, Peterson, and Guthrie sat alone in the first row, flanked by guards, with the rest of St Mary’s seated in rows behind them. Miss Lee sat off to one side, scratchpad laid on the table in front of her. She would be keeping the record.

  Most ominously, a solitary chair stood isolated in the middle of the room, directly under the glass lantern. Well, at least they were going to let me sit down.

  Ellis gave me a little nudge. ‘Go on.’

  I walked slowly down the Hall. How many times had I been in here – working, arguing, presenting, giving and receiving briefings? I never thought it would come to this.

  ‘You may sit,’ said Albay, so, just to annoy him, I took my time, moving the chair slightly out of position, gazing around me, noting the position of familiar faces, smoothing my clothes and making myself comfortable. I didn’t make the mistake of looking for encouragement or support. Ellis took up a position behind me.

  Silence fell. The woman continued to write. We hadn’t even started yet. What on earth could she possibly be writing?

  The coughs and scuffling noises slowly died away into complete silence. A bit of a first for an historians’ working area. I stared at my feet. As far as I was concerned, they could take as long as they liked.

  Eventually, she laid aside her pen and looked up.

  ‘Good afternoon. Let’s get the introductions out of the way. My name is not important. I have agreed to preside over this hearing, the purpose of which, as I understand it, is to establish the identity of the person before us.

  ‘Allow me to present my own credentials. I worked for St Mary’s for many years before transferring out and taking up a position with the Time Police. It was felt that these qualifications would give me a foot in both camps and allay any possible uneasiness over bias or prejudice. Should anyone have any reservations over my suitability, please speak up now. Silence will be taken for unopposed consent.’

  She stared around the room. Silence. Good God, she was a female Dr Bairstow. I wondered in which particular incarnation of St Mary’s she had served and was just grateful it wasn’t mine.

  ‘To my right is Colonel Albay who will be leading the hearing this afternoon. As I understand it, this hearing is part of a larger investigation into the alleged removal of a contemporary from his own time?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Yes, Madam President.’

  ‘I believe any witnesses to be called are already present?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘To my left is the subject of this enquiry. Good afternoon. I understand you are not yet completely recovered from recent ill health. Are you quite comfortable?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Madam President.’

  ‘Colonel, you will remember the witness’s state of health and adjust your questioning accordingly.’

  He stood.

  ‘Ma’am, I intend …’

  ‘I am sure you do, Colonel. I am simply warning you not to provide grounds for any subsequent appeals.’

  That shut him up.

  ‘I am grateful, ma’am.’

  She picked up her pen and started writing again.

  ‘You may begin.’

  Here we go.

  ‘Madam President, this witness has shown herself to be hostile and uncooperative. I am advised that administering any kind of drug is contra-indicated and therefore, unless you have any objection, I intend to use the truth-cuff.’

  This bloody cuff again. I deliberately hadn’t asked Ellis about it because I didn’t want to know.

  The unknown officer approached, carrying a box, from which he extracted a metal cuff, about six inches long, with an LED display built in. A number of lights flashed yellow.

  ‘Please state the nature of this device for the record.’

  ‘Madam President, this is a truth-cuff. It cannot lie. In-built sensors monitor the body’s reactions to questions asked. Untruthful answers will cause the lights to flash red. Prolonged untruthful answers will cause the cuff to react in such a way as to discourage any subsequent untruthful answers.’

  Bloody hell!

  A stir ran around the room, but no one actually stood up and said, ‘You can’t do this.’

  I resolved that should Leon ever return, he and I would be having a quiet word about this. For an hour or so. Possibly longer.

  Colonel Albay rose. He had no papers in front of him. Clasping his hands behind his back, he turned to me.

  My mind was all over the place. I needed to focus. Concentrate Maxwell. What are you going to say? Did I admit to not being from this world? Would that be enough to free those accused of this crime along with me? I doubted it and who would believe me, anyway?

  Or did I try to convince them I was indeed Maxwell? What could that possibly gain?

  I really, really wished I hadn’t given up silence as an option. Then I looked at David Sands in the third row back, alive and unharmed, sitting between Schiller and Roberts, and didn’t regret a thing. I’d think of something. A voice in the back of my mind told me I’d better make it quick, because he was off.

  ‘Madam President, this is a simple matter. There are currently three people accused of assisting in the removal of a contemporary from his own timeline. A fourth has evaded custody and is not present today. However, if, as I suspect, this is Madeleine Maxwell, then she was the instigator and the person chiefly responsible.’

  ‘I understood Madeleine Maxwell was dead.’

  ‘I suspect that is not, in fact, the case. I believe I can prove this person is Dr Maxwell. If that is so, then the court must hear her testimony.’

  ‘This is not a court, Colonel.’

  He made a dismissive gesture. It didn’t matter. And he was right. Once he established my identity, we were all for the short walk and even shorter goodbye.

  ‘Well, this seems an easy matter to resolve, Colonel. I assume DNA samples are available.’

  ‘They are, ma’am.’

  ‘And the result?’

  He hesitated.

  ‘Close. Very close.’

  ‘How close?’

  ‘Very close.’

  ‘Close enough?’

  He hesitated again.

  ‘I ask again. Close enough?’

  ‘The results are inconclusive.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘They neither prove nor disprove whether she is Madeleine Maxwell. The samples are not identical. They are, however, a very close match.’

  ‘Are you saying she is not quite Madeleine Maxwell?’

  ‘I’m saying that she is and that somehow the samples have been tampered with and the results skewed just sufficiently to raise doubt.’

  Helen bristled angrily. I didn’t give much for his chances if he ever found himself alone with her.

  ‘How can they have been skewed? Your own people verified the results.’

  ‘I don’t know how – I just know they were.’

  ‘That is not good enough, Colonel.’

  ‘I am convinced, ma’am, that this woman standing here today is Madeleine Maxwell. She was heard to admit it herself.’

  ‘Then prove it, Colonel and stop wasting our time.’

  At a nod from Albay, his officer slipped the cuff over my right forearm. He struggled to get it closed. The swelling had not yet completely gone down. He tried to squeeze it shut and it hurt. I laughed. Because I’m stupid, and antagonising someone already causing you pain is such a good idea.

  She didn’t even bother looking up.

  ‘Use the other arm, Colonel.’

  ‘Ma’am, the results are more accurate …’

  ‘Then wait until her arm is healed. I can adjourn the hearing.’

  He set his jaw and nodded.

  The cuff slipped easily over the other arm. He clicked it closed. It was very heavy. And very cold.

  I’d like to say I had some sort of plan. That I’
d thought everything through thoroughly and come up with a carefully crafted course of action that would ensure a successful outcome. Yes, I’d really like to be able to say that.

  On the other hand, Mrs Partridge had told me to wing it and who was I to disobey?

  Someone was talking to me.

  ‘Sorry, miles away. Say that again.’

  He frowned and said sarcastically, ‘Should I speak up, perhaps?’

  ‘No. No need. Sometimes I just don’t listen.’

  Lights on the cuff glowed green. Someone laughed.

  ‘I shall begin by asking you a few simple questions, the purpose of which is to calibrate the cuff.’

  I gestured airily. ‘Take your time. I’m quite comfortable.’

  There was some of muttering at the table. The unnamed officer made a few adjustments to his equipment and finally, off we went.

  ‘Please could you answer this question untruthfully.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘One hundred and eight.’

  Rather worryingly, it took the red light a second or two to show.

  ‘Thank you. What colour is your hair? Please answer truthfully.

  ‘Flame-flecked auburn.’

  The red light flashed.

  I sighed. ‘Ginger.’

  Green.

  Madam President looked up. ‘The cuff appears to be working perfectly, Colonel. You may proceed.’

  I waited with trepidation, memories of my last interrogation still fresh in my mind.

  He leaped straight in.

  ‘Did you remove a contemporary while you were on assignment at Troy?’

  Something snapped into place inside my head and I stopped feeling sorry for myself and concentrated. Suddenly, I thought I could see my way through all this. In the matter of identity, I was on very rocky ground, but in the matter of removing contemporaries, I could actually display a pure and shining innocence. Because, of course, I hadn’t. It wasn’t me. Suddenly, there was a possibility I could get the whole show over with right now. Today. Because, sure as eggs is eggs, I couldn’t afford a trial. If I was drugged then God knows what I might say. Here, today, I did at least have some control.

  However, if I answered too easily, he might become suspicious. I needed to keep him focused on the removal of a contemporary and hope, in the excitement of the chase, he forgot about establishing exactly who I was. Piece of cake. I could still feel Mrs Partridge’s liquid fire coursing through my veins.

  ‘Last warning, Colonel.’

  ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. I merely wished to save the court some time.’

  ‘The hearing reminds you again that this is not a court.’

  ‘Very well. Your name, please.’

  I didn’t want to get into a pissing contest with Colonel Albay, so I addressed my responses to Dr Bairstow in the front row. As far as I was concerned, he was the one in charge here. And I could see that it annoyed the colonel, so no downside there.

  ‘Maxwell.’

  We all looked at the green light.

  He allowed the silence to become heavy. When I shifted my position slightly, I could feel my T-shirt drenched in sweat.

  ‘Are you Madeleine Maxwell?’

  ‘No.’

  Red. Pure, solid, unblinking red.

  And three seconds later – a sharp pain. Not for long. Not savage. But it could be if I didn’t start telling the truth.

  I said, ‘Ow,’ and looked indignantly at the colonel. ‘That hurt.’

  ‘It was supposed to. Are you Madeleine Maxwell?’

  I shook my head, thinking it might be safer. It wasn’t. The pain was a little sharper this time. I couldn’t prevent an indrawn hiss of breath. And these bastards had wanted to attach it to my damaged arm …

  I looked across at Dr Bairstow, whose face was of stone. ‘You torture people here?’

  He said, with careful emphasis, ‘We don’t, no.’

  ‘The witness will confine her remarks to the hearing,’ said Albay.

  ‘The witness is pretty pissed off at the moment.’

  ‘The witness will remember this is a formal hearing.’

  ‘The witness is unlikely to be allowed to forget it.’

  ‘May we continue, please, Colonel.’

  ‘Of course, ma’am. You are Madeleine Maxwell?’

  ‘No.’

  Red.

  A short sharp jab. I could not help jumping in my seat. I was hanging on to my temper by a thread. I’d have his bollocks for this.

  ‘Do you now or have you ever worked at St Mary’s.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Green.

  There was, as they say, a sensation in the court.

  ‘Might it not be easier, Colonel, to allow the witness to make a statement and then question her as to the contents. We appear to be going nowhere, at the moment.’

  I couldn’t help glancing over at Dr Bairstow whose face, suddenly, had a ‘welcome to my world’, expression. He caught me looking and immediately rearranged his features.

  I shifted position on my chair.

  ‘My name is Maxwell. I was living in Rushford with the man known as Leon Farrell. One day, from nowhere, a group of armed men attacked us. They did not, at any point, identify themselves or offer any explanation. We escaped and ever since, we have been pursued by a group of incompetent thugs whose disregard for the safety of the timeline and the contemporaries therein has been breathtaking.’

  I took a deep breath. Irrepressible anger roiled inside me. I stood up and faced him, because you can’t do this sort of thing sitting down.

  ‘You fired a sonic weapon indiscriminately while standing on a frozen river. You cracked the ice, you morons. That you didn’t cause the Great Frost Fair Catastrophe of 1683 was a miracle. There were hundreds of people on the ice. Men, women, children, and you put them all at risk. If they’d gone into the water, they would have died in seconds. You could have irrevocably changed History.

  ‘And then again in Thebes. Your sonic vibrations woke up every crocodile within a radius of five miles. Don’t you know that’s how they communicate? You were fortunate everyone was at the festival. If the banks had been full of fishermen, families, people drawing water, people bathing, livestock drinking, there could have been massive loss of life that again would have been entirely due to your reckless irresponsibility.’

  I said nothing about Pompeii. There was no point getting Ellis into trouble.

  ‘Ma’am, if asked my opinion, and I hope very much that one day I will be, I would say that the damage done by these officers as they ran riot up and down the timeline is far greater than the crime they are supposed to be investigating. A crime, I might add, that is vigorously denied by everyone charged, and for which no evidence exists outside of the imagination of the Time Police. Why have they not produced this contemporary? Where is she? Or he?’

  I looked artistically around the Hall. ‘Oh! That’s right! Not here! How strange! The one piece of evidence that would prove the case beyond a shadow of doubt and they can’t produce it. Because it doesn’t exist.

  ‘Madam President, I would like the record to show that in my opinion, their behaviour has been appalling. Abominable. Unprofessional. Careless. Stupid. By seeking to punish those whom they consider responsible for a non-existent misdemeanour, they have rampaged through History, endangering the timeline and countless lives along with it. The Time Police are a disgrace, Madam President, and I call for them to suffer the strongest censure possible.’

  I fell back into my seat. Someone at the back started to clap and slowly, it was taken up around the Hall.

  I tried not to show the satisfaction I was feeling. Because I could deny I was Maxwell until I was blue in the face and no one was ever going to believe me after an outburst like that.

  At a gesture from Colonel Albay, members of the Time Police unshouldered their weapons and made their wishes clearly known. St Mary’s slowly subsided, but something had changed.


  Colonel Albay stood, slightly flushed with what I hoped was triumph, his mouth set in a grim line. I hoped – I really hoped – that my outburst had given him all the ammunition he thought he needed to finish me.

  I turned to look at Madam President. Who was still writing. I was battling for my life – and those of Guthrie, Peterson, and the Boss – and she was still writing. She turned her head, caught me looking. She said, quite calmly and with no inflexion whatsoever, ‘The witness will now tell the truth.’

  I nodded. The witness would indeed tell the truth. Because, finally – at long last – our Colonel Albay had allowed triumph to get the better of his judgement. He was about to make a mistake. He was some distance away, but even from here, I could feel his sudden excitement. He thought he had seen his way clear.

  ‘Ma’am, I think it is obvious now to everyone in this room that this is Madeleine Maxwell. Her familiarity with St Mary’s and its functions make this very clear. They think that by claiming Madeleine Maxwell is dead and conveniently cremated that somehow, they can escape the consequences of her actions, but I will not have it. Ma’am, I am prepared to state – on oath, if necessary – that this woman here today is Madeleine Maxwell.’

  ‘You are absolutely certain?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. I am. Without doubt, this is Madeleine Maxwell. This is the woman who, while on assignment to Troy, removed a contemporary from his own time. The penalty for which is death.’

  She turned to me. The silence was absolute. The only things moving were the dust particles, swirling in the sunlight shafting through the lantern.

  I could feel the sweat running down my back. My arm throbbed. My chest throbbed. I had a splitting headache. I suspected Mrs Partridge’s witch’s brew was wearing off. I was going to crash any minute now.

  The witness had been told to tell the truth.

  She said clearly, ‘Please state your name.’

  ‘Madeleine Maxwell.’

  Green.

  No one moved.

  ‘You will take some time to consider your answer to this question and you will answer truthfully. Did you, last year, while on assignment at Troy, remove anyone, anyone at all, from their own timeline?’