The Reluctant Time Traveller

by Janis Mackay

  “Aye! Quite right,” Elsie piped up. “Give him hard labour!”

  “Splendid idea,” the big man replied, and the crowd were nodding and laughing. I wriggled and squirmed but his fingers were wrapped tight around my wrist. I couldn’t get away, and Agnes was nowhere to be seen. “You’re coming home with me, dirty thief.” I hoped wherever Agnes was, she heard him. “I’ll make an honest man out of you. A few weeks work, I would say, is a fair price for trying to steal my best rain cape.”

  “You’re just making young folk work for nothing, Gaunt.” The woman with the flower, who had shouted out before, wasn’t backing down.

  My captor glared at her like she was dirt. She just glared straight back at him, then spat on the ground at his feet. I felt him tighten his grip. Tears welled up in my eyes. Then he marched me off, Elsie skipping about me like a yapping dog and that cursed black cape flung over his shoulder flapping like a mad crow.

  My feet were cut and sore. We were heading up the lane. I knew the way. We were going back to the big house. I couldn’t believe this was happening. “He’s a common thief,” the big man announced to the world, dragging me along like I was his naughty dog.

  “Aye, a bloomin’ common thief,” echoed Elsie, who seemed to be having the time of her life. “He’s getting hard labour,” she shouted, “starting today!”

  I was being hauled across the field towards the big house when I heard three whistles coming from up a tree. I felt a burst of hope. That was Agnes. She was following me.

  The big iron gates were in sight. Elsie ran ahead and clanged a bell. A boy came running out with a bunch of keys. Right away I knew it was the same boy that I had knocked over, the one who had opened the gates before. He flashed me a look, then, as he swung open the gates, he winked at me. He only looked about thirteen. He kept nodding to the big man and saluting. “I’ve hired a new coal man,” my captor announced, frogmarching me through the gates. “He’s a dirty thief and there’ll be no hobnobbing with him, you hear?”

  The gate boy nodded his head and muttered, “Yes, sir.”

  The big man pushed me into the house and through a door, into a room lined with bookshelves. There was a big leather desk and a chair. It was hard to concentrate on what was happening because it was so weird to be back where I’d been with Will and Robbie and to remember the shelves all falling down and the books rotting. “Terms and conditions are these,” the man began, like he was spitting out the words. He drummed his fingers on the table. “You work hard for me and in return I give you a roof over your thieving head, food and a blanket to lay your thieving head down on at night. Steal as much as a lump of sugar and it’ll be rat-infested jail for you.” He flashed me a threatening look. “Nobody, but nobody, makes a fool out of me. Do you understand?”

  I nodded. I felt miserable.

  “What’s that in your pocket, thief?” he demanded. “Turn it out!” He’d seen the shape of the ring. With a heavy feeling inside, I pulled it out. “Where did you steal this?” he roared, swiping it. Things were going from very bad to worse. I’d never get home without that ring. And it was Mum’s wedding ring. I couldn’t speak. “This will be your bond,” he said with a snarl, pocketing it. “If you break the terms and conditions, or if you try to run away, you forfeit the ring – it becomes mine. Do you understand?”

  I nodded.

  “Good,” he said. Then he twirled the ends of his long moustache. “Welcome to Gaunt House. Gaunt’s my name.” He was practically stabbing himself in his puffed-up chest. “‘The Master’” to you.” Then, “Noble!” he bellowed.

  I shuddered. What a roar!

  “Right here, sir.” The boy must have been standing at the ready behind the door.

  Gaunt pointed to me, “Put him on fire duty, and if Mrs Buchan needs help he can lend a hand where required. He can be,” he looked me up and down, “the lad o parts.” He laughed at that and I shivered, imagining myself cut in lots of parts. “The chimneys are due a sweep too. He’s to sleep in the bunker room next to the kitchen. I want this house ready soon. And I mean soon! The American guest is due any day.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Noble, robot style. So far he hadn’t even flicked his eyes towards me.

  “He’ll take his meals with you and Elsie. And watch him. He’s a thief.” “Yes sir.”

  “Doesn’t have a name. Call him Blackie! He’ll be black soon enough, working with the fires. And tell Elsie to run up fitting articles of clothing. Nothing fancy. At least, not till the important guest arrives. Then we’ll have to have him presentable looking.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gaunt nodded. We were dismissed.

  I followed the boy called Noble down a narrow corridor. The stone floor was cold, which was alright for him, he didn’t have bare feet. I wondered where Agnes was. Still up a tree probably, planning my escape. She didn’t know the terms and conditions. The only safe escape would be a fast one back to the future. My head was buzzing. My teeth were chattering. Noble stopped suddenly and I almost bumped into him. We had come to the end of the narrow passageway. He slipped a key in a lock and turned it, pushed open a creaking door and we stepped into a dimly lit and damp-smelling cupboard of a room.

  “Welcome tae yer humble home,” he said.

  14

  “Clean the grates.” Noble was speaking to me. “Ash goes oot the back on the compost heap. Guid for the grass. Some fires hav’nae been swept for months. Once they’re a’ swept, black them and polish them. Then hoik the coal up. Set a’ the fires. Dinnae drop coal dust. Dinnae get grubby fingerprints on the wa’s.”

  I stared at him. I’m sure my jaw was falling open. It was like he was reciting a weird poem to his boots. I didn’t understand anything. I felt like laughing and saying, ‘Ok, joke over. Let’s go out on our bikes. Let’s go and see a movie. Let’s stuff our faces with popcorn and fizzy drinks then play the Xbox.’ But he just kept going.

  “Dinnae dae onything tae fash sister Elsie. She’s no been well. Dinnae dae onything tae fash the housekeeper. She’s got a right short temper on her. The gardener keeps his own company. And for God’s sake, dinnae look the wrong way at Gaunt. Dinnae dae onything against the…” then he stopped in his flow and actually looked at me, “terms an’ conditions.” Then he looked back at the floor.

  My mind raced. Robbie’s mum had a wood-burning stove. That was a fire. Will’s granny had a coal fire. He said it kept her fit, cleaning it every day. He said sometimes the wind blew down the chimney and smoke blew into the house. You could buy plastic sacks of coal from the garage. But it was summer now. What were they doing having fires in the summer time? Though it was kind of chilly and damp in that huge house. ‘Dinnae fash…’ Dad said that sometimes. It meant ‘Don’t annoy…’ or something like that. My head hurt. I shivered. My knees were shaking. I couldn’t hold myself up. I heard this whimpering noise, and realised it was coming from me. The room was spinning. I was going to fall…

  Noble was towering over me.

  “Tea.” His lips were moving. “Cup o’ tea fir yea, Blackie.” Who was Blackie? “A good cup o’ tea. That’ll see ye right.”

  I was in a heap on the floor. Maybe I fainted. My head was still spinning. I felt sick. I couldn’t move. Make this end. Make it all a bad dream.

  “Aye,” I heard him mumble, “a wee bit sugar in it and ye’ll be right as rain.” I heard the teaspoon clink. “Aye, Gaunt pits the fear o’ God in folks.” There he was with a cup in his hand. “Proper good stewed tea!”

  I didn’t even like tea. ‘Give me Irn Bru,’ I wanted to yell, but I groaned and hoisted myself up onto my elbows. Then I managed to sit up. What I liked and didn’t like counted for nothing. Irn Bru probably wasn’t invented yet. “Thanks,” I mumbled, and took the cup.

  “Wet yer whistle on that, Blackie,” he said.

  It was bitter, sweet and overpowering. But it tasted good, in a painful way. I drank the whole cup, and thought ‘wet yer whistle’ – I must remember that. I thought how I’
d tell Will and Robbie to wet their whistles. Even though I was in dire straits, I couldn’t stop a smile creeping over my face.

  “What did I tell yea?” said Noble with a funny wee clap of his hands, “there’s nothing like a guid cup o tea to pit the world to rights. Many’s the time I’m that tired I could lie mysel down and die, and what pits me to rights? Aye, you’ve guessed it, Blackie; a cup o’ tea.”

  I nodded. What else could I do? I had this sinking feeling that this was no dream. I was still sitting on the stone floor, dazed, with the empty cup in my hand. I knew if I stood up I would fall. Noble bent down and took the empty cup from me.

  “Run away frae the poor house, did ye?” Then he shook his head in pity. “Right queer-looking clothing they give yea. Wasn’t like that in my day, but nae doot things have changed. If you don’t mind me saying, Blackie, you look like a thief in they clothes.”

  This strangled little laugh burst out of my throat. If he had any idea how much these jeans had cost Mum, he wouldn’t be shaking his head and feeling sorry for me. And if he had any idea what a frump he looked. He was dressed like an old man, but he was probably not much older than me.

  “We’ll have you kitted out and looking spic and span in no time,” he said, flicking a crumb from his baggy jacket. “Gaunt has a finger in a’ manner o’ pies. The poor house is one o’ his pies, if yea get ma drift.” I didn’t. But it was beginning to dawn on me that Noble was ok. If he took off the mad clothes he would look pretty cool. “What I mean tae say, is,” he bent closer to me and lowered his voice, “they’re not going to come here beating the door down for yea.” He sighed. “They didn’t bother coming after me and my sister Elsie.”

  I felt like telling him how I wasn’t from the poor house, whatever that was. I wanted to tell him the whole time travel story. I wanted him to know I wasn’t that poor and I was actually going to go on the school trip to France. My mouth fell open but no words came.

  “His majesty, Mr Gaunt, is dining out today,” he said, yawning. “He willna be back for a guid couple o’ hours. Sometimes he goes off for days. God alone kens where.” Poor guy looked exhausted. He had dark patches under his eyes and his skin was pale like he hardly ever saw the sun. He locked the door and stuffed the huge bunch of keys into an inside pocket of his jacket. “You and me can have a wee kip for an hour or so. His majesty will be none the wiser and Mrs Buchan’s doon the toon buying linen to make bed sheets. And no doubt she’ll spend a good hour gossiping. She’s never in any hurry tae get back here.”

  And unbelievably, he sat down, stretched out on the cold stone floor, took off his too-small cap and placed it carefully down next to him, rolled onto his side, folded his hands under his cheek, closed his eyes, mumbled, “Good night, Blackie,” and went to sleep.

  “My name’s Saul,” I said, but he was snoring by then so I don’t think he heard.

  15

  Agnes

  I had the strangest feeling while I was singing on the street. It was like the jostling crowd fell away and there was only one person there listening. I felt certain I was staring into the green, sparkling eyes of my very own great-great-great-great aunt. Then that big man who grabbed Saul called her ‘Jean’. It must be her. But I couldn’t stop and try to talk to her, or even thank her for standing up to the man. I had to follow Saul when he was dragged away. Now I was in a big tree outside the garden wall of the big house. What was going on in there? What could I do to help Saul? I took out my diary and my pencil. When there’s no one to talk to it is a relief to talk to my diary.

  Dear diary

  It is 1914. I now know for sure it is the 2nd August 1914. Britain declares war on Germany in two days’ time. I happen to know that. Some people here might guess it is coming, but from what I could see in the town high street, most folk don’t. At least, they’re not expecting anything bad is about to happen. They seem quite happy going about their business.

  We didn’t get to have a really good look around before that funny little servant girl found poor Saul. By the way she was coughing I think her days are numbered, which makes me feel sorry for her, even though she is annoying. Anyway, the war is coming and lots of these people’s days are numbered, though of course they don’t know it. I saw a calendar in the butcher’s shop window. It was called an ‘Almanac’ and it said the date, which is how I know. And Saul is prisoner. And I am like a bird in a tree. These are my options:

  1. Go back into town and try to find my great-great-great-great aunt. She looks the kind of person who might help us out.

  2. Walk boldly up to the back door of the big house, ring the bell and ask for a job. If I managed to get one, Saul and I would both be in there together.

  3. Go back to town and find out what I can about this house.

  Plan number 3 feels like the best thing to do, at least for starters. I don’t know what time it is. Somewhere in the afternoon, I think. Oh diary, I hope so much that Saul is ok. This whole thing was my idea. I know I forced him into it, kind of. I just get so excited about doing important things. Now I wonder what is happening to him? I hope he gets good food to eat. I hope they don’t make him work too hard, because I don’t think he is used to it, like I am. But he’s the gang leader and clever. He will be ok, I think. I will stop writing now because I have reached the bottom of this page.

  I wondered about the rucksack. People did look at it funny so I decided to leave it hidden in this tree. I parted the branches to check the coast was clear, then jumped down, and headed back over the field. Half the houses I know in Peebles are not built yet. It looks a smaller place. And lots of the trees I know haven’t grown yet. When I walked over the bridge I noticed it had shrunk. It was narrower and I had to get out of the way when a horse and cart clip-clopped and rumbled past. I couldn’t help but stand and stare. Especially when I saw there was a pile of bones heaped onto the back of the cart. The hills were the same. The steeples were the same. But the people walked slower and the women were wearing long skirts. The mills down by the river puffed out thick smoke from their chimneys. This is my town, I kept telling myself. This is Peebles in the past.

  I saw strange old-fashioned shops called ‘drapers’ and ‘glovers’, a rag store and a temperance hotel. (I’ve read about temperance. It’s people not getting drunk.) I tried not to look too astonished at everything because I needed to fit in. There were sheep and cows, even as close in as the bank of the river. I saw folk going about their business. Most of them looked like they worked in the mills. The men wore flat cloth caps and sometimes they doffed them to me and said “good day”. Which I thought was very polite and friendly. I also noticed how a few men whistled as they walked along the street. I never heard anyone in the twenty-first century whistle tunes on the street. There was a woman with a cart full of fish, she was crying out, “Herring, caller herring.” There were young children playing marbles and hopscotch. Their word for hopscotch was ‘peevers’.

  Down on the green I could see some women hanging out washing and chatting together. Maybe I could find some things out by talking to them? The women had big baskets of washing and were pegging-up sheets and even big baggy pants for all the town to see. My gran would call a sunny and breezy day like this “a good drying day”. I remembered the woman with the white flower and the green skirt. Her hair had been all tumbling down; these women all wore their hair tucked up in buns or hidden under scarves. My great-great-great-great aunt Jean – if it was her – wasn’t here.

  The women were practically shouting at each other to be heard across the green. “It’ll no come to that,” one woman called out, pegging up a flapping white sheet. “If it does, our boys will sort them out, no question about it.”

  “Aye, ‘Rule Britannia’ maybe, but if I don’t get this washing pegged up soon, I’ll be late making his dinner and you ken whit he’s like if his dinner’s no on the table at noon. Then there’ll be a war!”

  “Because he wouldna lift a hand tae mak it himself now, would he?”

 
A few of the women chuckled at that. I was hovering nearby, looking interested in daisies and picking a few. “Instead of making daisy chains, lassie,” someone shouted, “you could be passing up these wooden pegs to me.”

  I swung round, realising she was talking to me. Another woman lowered her basket and studied me. “You should by rights be in the school.”

  “Oh, rights, is it?” another one said. “And where was rights when I was scullery maid at the age of twelve, eh?”

  Another woman hooted with laughter. “That was a long while, back Jessie Linton, when boys went up chimneys. You’re no spring chicken and, let me remind you, times have changed.”

  “They’re going to change even more,” I blurted out, then smacked my hand over my mouth. Silly me. But I wanted to let them know. I wanted them to know they would lose sons and husbands and grandsons in the muddy trenches.

  But they just laughed. “Over here wee missy and huld this peg basket. Make yourself useful.”

  I slipped the daisy chain round my neck then went over and held the peg bag. It was easy to chat to these women and soon I was asking them about the big house up the lane and beyond the field. “The one with the huge iron gates and the big wall all round it,” I said, handing up giant wooden pegs. “Whatever happened to the old man who used to own it?”

  “Ah now, him?” The women shook their heads. “Poor old John Hogg? I thought everybody hereabout kent the story of poor old John Hogg…”

  My heart missed a beat actually hearing the name of John Hogg. So Gran was right! But I just kept passing the pegs. “Aye, lassie,” said another woman, “and who are you anyway, that you don’t know?”

  “And who’s your mother, eh?” They were closing in on me, with their scarves round their heads and their big bright faces. One of them had brown teeth.