The Derring-Do Club and the Year of the Chrononauts (40 page)

“My Lord,” said Caruthers. “The suggestion is that this Chronological Committee has been pretending. There is no time travel and there is no future catastrophe to circumvent.”

“Mrs Frasier assured me,” said Lord Farthing. He glanced back down a passageway towards the cellars as if seeking an answer there.

“Mrs Frasier is a liar,” Georgina said.

“How can you say that about such a woman? Your own sister?”

“She isn’t my sister, my Lord, that’s the point.”

“Then all our laws, all the legislation is for nothing.”

“Surely not for nothing,” Caruthers said. “The worth of an idea should be for the idea’s sake, not due to its source.”

Lord Farthing stepped apart. He thought for a moment, rubbed his smooth chin. He glanced down the passageway again.

“I would be… we would be the laughing stock of the Empire,” he said. “No. We simply cannot believe you and–”

“It is true, My Lord,” Georgina said. “There is evidence.”

“It is not that we don’t believe you, but that we cannot believe you. As for evidence, I doubt that will survive for long. What’s more we’ve gone too far to turn back now.”

“In the blood so deep it’s best go on than be mired here,” said Georgina. “Or something like that. Mrs Frasier said it.”

“Exactly my sentiments. We rule an Empire, we cannot be revealed as fools. It will not do,” said Lord Farthing. “Caruthers, McKendry, Miss… I forbid you to discuss this matter, or to act independently upon this information. I forbid it absolutely.”

“But my Lord–”

“Forbidden!”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Your word as a Gentleman.”

“My word, Sir.”

“McKendry!”

“My Lord,” said McKendry.

“Miss?”

Georgina had to object: “But my Lord–”

“Miss!”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“You are not to act unless you have orders and you are not allowed to seek alternative orders,” said Lord Farthing and, after the young man had looked at each in turn to satisfy himself that they had understood, he went over to the Porter.

“My hat?” said Lord Farthing to the Porter. The young man, so confident, so important, kicked his heels as he waited.

Georgina was glad Charlotte was keeping quiet and, for once, looking down in a proper manner as if for once she’d realised her place. This was terrible news, but they would have to bear it.

The Porter went into his office, and, as he did so he tidied up, replacing the earpiece on the telephone’s hook. He collected Lord Farthing’s belongings.

“We will come out of this well,” said Lord Farthing. He took back his hat, white scarf, gloves and cane. “Our good deeds today will go down in history and your silence will be rewarded in the next life, Caruthers.”

As he left, he nodded towards the passageway. Georgina saw a servant there, nod back and then turn away.

Lord Farthing walked away with long strides.

“So, that’s the end of it,” Georgina said.

Caruthers smiled and pointed upwards. Georgina didn’t understand the gesture, but McKendry did and raced up the stairs.

“But you’re not allowed to act unless you have orders and you’re not allowed to seek orders,” said Georgina.

“He didn’t say anything about making preparations in case we do receive new orders.”

“You’re not allowed to seek new orders,” Georgina repeated.

“I’m not seeking new orders, but I–”

The telephone device rang.

The Porter answered and then offered it to Caruthers, who stepped into the office to speak into it.

“Caruthers here… I’m afraid, Sir, I’m not allowed to talk about it. I’ve been given very strict instructions,” he said, and then after a pause, he continued: “If that’s new orders, Sir?”

As Caruthers listened, McKendry returned down the wide staircase with a collection of young men from the rooms above. He looked to his Captain.

Caruthers shook his head in reply: “We need proof.”

The men turned despondently and made their way back up the staircase.

“What sort of proof?” Georgina asked.

Caruthers just shrugged.

“Oh, honestly,” said Georgina.

“Ted, see that they have a hansom back to Zebediah Row.”

“Sir,” said the Porter.

“I’ll see if there’s anything I can do,” said Caruthers to Georgina. “I don’t like this anymore than you do.”

As Caruthers went upstairs to join the others and the Porter went outside to hail a cab, Georgina was suddenly left alone.

Where was Charlotte… oh! The girl was bent over on the floor!

“Charlotte, what are you doing?”

Miss Charlotte

Kneeling, Charlotte touched the dirt on the floor. The black grains stood out against the white marble. She licked her finger, dabbed a few grains to pick them up and then tasted them.

“Charlotte!”

It tasted very familiar.

“Charlotte,” Georgina repeated, “Stop it at once, you’ll catch cholera or influenza.”

“This is gunpowder,” Charlotte replied. “It came off Lord Farthing’s shoes.”

Her gaze followed the faint line of dirt from the Porter’s hatch to the passageway. And then, with sudden purpose, she stood upright and made her way to the passageway.

“Charlotte, come back this instant.”

Georgina went after her, but only caught up once Charlotte was through the door and into the long passageway beyond.

“Look,” said Charlotte, “a gunpowder trail.”

There was a black trail, much like the one Charlotte had made to blow up the door of the Temporal Peelers base, but this one was thicker.

“Oh my,” said Georgina, “we’ll have to get it all brushed up directly. I’ll see if I can find a maid.”

Charlotte knelt down, touching the trail with her hand.

“Charlotte, don’t touch that, it’s filthy. You’ll get your dress… ruined further.”

“This is soot.”

“All the more reason–”

“The gunpowder! It’s already been lit!”

“Well, it still needs–”

“Lummy!”

Charlotte leapt forward and sprinted along the line of soot.

“Lottie,” Georgina shouted after her. “You’ll need a light.”

But she didn’t.

Round the corner, fizzing loudly as it belted away from her, was a bursting, fiery living ball of light. She ran past the burning, turned and stamped down upon the fire. It spluttered, flaring around her shoes and she had to lift her skirts to see it spread under her and ignite the trail behind her.

She let out a yelp.

Georgina appeared in the passageway.

Charlotte realised that she needed to get well ahead, and make a gap too large for the conflagration to jump, otherwise her efforts would be in vain. It had turned a corner, twisting down a spiral staircase and the smoke was being drawn up as if it were a chimney.

She coughed as she went into the fumes, almost tumbled, running down after the firestorm, and leapt over the moving barrier again, but this time she went on.

It was a cellar.

She went a further ten paces, counting in her head and then, without looking back, Charlotte–

Barrels.

Barrels and barrels.

Weapons grade.

Enough for a barrage like no other.

A bound figure, writhing.

Earnestine.

Her eyes white and shining from the fire that was rushing into the room.

And then, without looking back, Charlotte selected a place and kicked the trail of gunpowder: kick, kick, kick.

The trail was broken, a little, perhaps a foot, maybe more and then the racing fire caught up with her, flared where the tight line had been scuffed away.

It fizzled, spluttered, thinning as it caught all the scattered grains.

“I did it,” cried Charlotte.

At her feet, the dusting of gunpowder flared with one last effort, a brief burst like a match catching, and then Charlotte’s undergarments, her camisole and petticoats – everything – burst into flames.

Chapter XXVI

Mrs Frasier

The ignition blazed and the match took.

Mrs Frasier lit her narrow cigar and inhaled.

Jones was trying to intercept the Derring–Do Club.

Lombard was preparing the Sanction in case they were discovered.

Farthing was going to dispose of any opposition to the Chronological Committee.

Soon, she thought –
bang!

Miss Deering-Dolittle

“Mmmmmm!”

Charlotte was screaming in panic, and, as she did so, she stumbled around in the gunpowder dusted cellar.

Georgina nearly collided with her, nearly knocked her into the room beyond, the room full of barrels and barrels and barrels and barrels of gunpowder. Loose black powder was spread everywhere, all over the floor and all over a tied–up Earnestine.

“Mmmmmm mm mmmmm!”

Earnestine was having a fit, shaking her head like she was demented.

All around Charlotte, fireflies gathered, whirling around in the vortex of flame as the heat tried to find an escape.

“Lummy!” said Georgina.

Charlotte flapped, slapped her dress with her hand, sending spiralling wisps of burning material spinning upwards and around.

“Mmmmmm!”

“Roll!” Georgina shouted. She pushed Charlotte, who spun, flew away and down to crash on the floor sending soot everywhere.

Beyond the narrow kicked aside line, everything seemed to be on fire.

“Mmmmmm!!!”

Involuntarily, Georgina stepped back and her foot clanged against something. She looked down and saw a–

“Mmmmmm!!!”

Georgina grabbed the pail of water, turned, hesitated as she realised she’d have one shot, and then she cast the water. The ground fizzed and spluttered and a dark canopy of soot rose like a demon to envelope everything.

She stumbled back, and fell in the dry and expectant gunpowder.

Earnestine kicked her.

“Yes! What!” Georgina shouted. She reached out and tugged off Earnestine’s gag.

“Mmcket! Water!”

“Yes, all jolly good,” said Georgina, “I’ve done that.”

“Keys!”

“Yes, after Charlotte.”

Georgina crawled on her hands and knees to the gap that Charlotte had made. Beyond it, a creature like a demonic chimney sweep coughed and hacked.

“Stay –
ack –
there!” Charlotte commanded.

Georgina stopped.

Charlotte spat in a jolly, unladylike fashion.

“If I’m still hot, I could ignite the gunpowder.”

“Gunpowder?”

“You’re covered in it,” Charlotte said. “You look a mess.”

“You should talk,” said Georgina. “You’ve ruined your dress.”

“It just went up.”

“Are you all right?”

“Of course not, I’m drenched!”

“And filthy,” Georgina added.

“If you’d let me wear trousers,” Charlotte said, “this wouldn’t have happened.”

“We will not have rampant bloomerism.”

“KEYS!!!” screamed Earnestine. “Will you two stop blathering and get the keys!!”

“Where?”

“There,” said Earnestine, her head jerking like an overwound clockwork toy.

Charlotte, having checked she wasn’t alight anywhere, found them. There was very little left of her outer layers, her crinoline gone and her corset singed and blackened.

“Which one?” she asked.

“Bring them both!!!”

“Will you stop shouting,” Georgina yelled.

Charlotte went over to Earnestine and fumbled behind her until she’d released the mechanism from the Sheffield steel restraints. Once free, Earnestine flung the handcuffs away.

“What’s the other key for?” Charlotte asked. “It says ‘
The Future’
?”

“Gina!” Earnestine put out her hand: “At least you could help me up.”

“Gladly,” said Georgina, and she leant down and extended her hand to help her sister up.

Mrs Arthur Merryweather

At the reception desk, Ted the Porter looked upon their arrival with pure horror mixed with utter disbelief, when three filthy chimney sweeps came up from the cellar, a horror that intensified when he realised that the chimney sweeps were female.

“We need a dress,” said Earnestine.

“Miss, I… dress, this is a Gentleman’s Club.”

“My sister needs a dress. Her current attire, as you can see, is somewhat ruined.”

“We’ve spare dress for dinner.”

“A dress, excellent.”

The man fussed at the back and returned with a smart dinner jacket, trousers and shirt on a hanger.

“Thank you, now Charlotte, if… those are trousers.”

“I don’t mind,” said Charlotte sweetly, showing her pearly white teeth in the middle of her blackened face.

“No, Charlotte, we will not have rampant bloomerism.”

“Ness,” said Georgina.

Earnestine lips tightened: “Just this once.”

“Yippee!”

Earnestine must have said “oh, hurry up” a dozen times before Charlotte emerged from the Porter’s office clad in a jacket that looked like a skirt and trousers that were rolled up at her ankles.

“That’s…” said Earnestine. “Words fail me.”

“Comfortable,” Charlotte suggested.

“Unladylike.”

“Excuse me,” said Georgina to the Porter. “But you need to clean up in the cellar.”

“Why, Miss?”

“It’s Ma’am, and it’s because your cellar is full of dangerous explosives.”

“Now, Ma’am, how likely is that?” said the Porter. “I’m sure you’ve confused it with something else.”

“Go and look, but I’d advise against taking a lighted flame.”

Earnestine led them outside.

It was a lovely day, blue skies and the usual bustle of London went on despite the legal revolution that had occurred around them.

“Now,” she said, “we have to–”

“Peelers!” Charlotte shouted.

Across the road, Scrutiniser Jones and other top hatted men heard her and reacted to their appearance.

“We’ll just talk to them,” said Earnestine.

“Not likely,” said Charlotte, and she nipped along the pavement.

The traffic was heavy for the time of day, four wheelers, hansoms and growlers jostled with a landau and omnibus coming the other way.

“Back to the Club,” Georgina suggested.