TIME QUAKE (22 page)

As Hannah helped Kate wrap strips of her petticoat around her feet, a set of fingers suddenly appeared and gripped the bottom edge of the carriage window. A head rose up out of the darkness with open mouth and wild hair. Hannah screamed.

‘Don’t
do
that!’ exclaimed Kate. ‘You made me jump!’

‘The Lord preserve us! I took you for a highwayman, Master Peter!’

‘Kate! Hannah!’ he panted, in such a rush to get his words out they were almost incoherent. ‘Sir Richard is badly injured and needs help. And the Parson’s been hit on the head and the old gentleman is hurt. Even the dog’s unconscious . . .’

‘Whoa! Slow down!’ said Kate. ‘You’re gabbling!
What
happened to Sir Richard and the Parson? And what old gentleman? What
dog
?’

‘Has the Tar Man shot Sir Richard?’ asked Hannah in alarm. ‘Should we call for a surgeon?’

‘No and yes. I haven’t seen Sir Richard but he’s bad . . . The Parson thinks he might lose his arm.’

‘What happened?’ cried Kate.

Hannah crossed herself.

‘No time to explain,’ said Peter, backing away from the carriage. ‘Gotta go. Gideon’s gone after the Tar Man alone.’

Peter’s face vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. Kate thrust her head through the open window.

‘Peter!’ she shouted after him. ‘If you wait for me to bind my other foot I’ll come with you . . .
Peter!
’

Peter stopped and looked at her. ‘You’ll have to catch up with me, Kate. You haven’t seen what the Tar Man’s done. I can’t wait – everyone else is injured and Gideon needs some back-up
now
. You and Hannah come as fast as you can – the Parson and Sir Richard need you.’

Peter turned and ran.

‘And I need
you
,’ she mouthed into the dark.

Hannah instructed the driver to find a surgeon and hurried after Kate, her blonde hair coming loose as she ran. Despite her assertions to the contrary, Kate’s feet were causing her problems. The uneven cobblestones hurt her even through the layers of petticoat. She prayed that she would not fast-forward again before she reached Peter.

‘You poor soul,’ said Hannah sympathetically. ‘You’re hobbling along like an old woman.’

‘Thanks a lot, Hannah!’

They stopped at the Tar Man’s half-open door and instinctively held hands, unwilling to cross the threshold.

‘Just in case,’ said Kate, bending over and scraping off some dry dirt from between the cobblestones. ‘Gideon taught us this trick. If anyone comes at you, just throw a load of dust right into their eyes and then run like there’s no tomorrow.’

‘With your feet like they are,’ whispered Hannah, ‘let’s hope you don’t need to . . .’

They pushed open the door with great care and crept silently into the house. They heard voices. In the middle of the hall floor, a single candle cast a circle of weak light. A strong river smell hung in the air. Until she recognised one of them, Kate’s heart missed a beat when she spotted two figures in the shadows. Parson Ledbury and the old gentleman were sat on the stone flags, legs outstretched, backs to the wall and shoulders propped up against each other. Kate breathed a sigh of relief. They reminded her of two ancient tomcats at the farm, favourites of hers, both strays with torn ears and a good crop of fleas, who would swagger up and down the farmyard bumping shoulders as they went. The old gentleman had tipped back his head and was gulping something down from a small flask, wiping his mouth with a large handkerchief and letting out a deep sigh of appreciation. He offered the flask to Parson Ledbury who took it gratefully and downed a generous mouthful.

‘Nectar, my dear fellow!’ he said.

In return he offered the old gentleman some snuff from a silver box.

‘Finest snuff in London. Recommended to me by Sir Richard. I’ll send some over if it finds favour with you.’

The old gentleman put a pinch on the back of his hand, covered up one nostril and sniffed.

‘Upon my word, Parson, it’s very fine. Very fine indeed. I often think it is the small pleasures of Life that are the sweetest of all. When you are recovered I hope you will do me the honour of dining with me at a most agreeable chop house I know in Red Lion Square . . .’

‘The Parson seems to have made a friend,’ whispered Hannah to Kate.

‘With the greatest of pleasure, my dear fellow,’ said the Parson.

Hannah coughed to announce their presence and when the two men looked up Hannah bobbed a curtsy.

‘Kate! Hannah!’ exclaimed the Parson. ‘Ah, but you are a sight for sore eyes. The Tar Man has run through us like a fox in a hen house but at least none of us is dead – although Sir Richard is bad, very bad. As for this courageous gentleman and his dog, they have both been ill rewarded for coming to our aid.’

Hannah immediately took out a handkerchief and a water bottle and started to dab at the cut on the Parson’s head. Toby was laid out motionless over his master’s knees. The old gentleman looked up at Kate, his pale features suddenly animated. He bowed his head.

‘You are a friend of the young gentleman?’

Kate smiled and made an attempt at a curtsy.

‘I am, sir. My name is Kate.’

‘Come nearer, child.’

Kate knelt down next to him.

‘It is an honour to meet any friend of Master Schock – we are comrades in arms. Do you, too, come from foreign parts?’

‘I do, sir.’

The old gentleman scrutinised Kate’s face. ‘Your complexion has a delicacy about it which is very rare, indeed one might almost call it
transparent
. . . Tell me, my dear, can you sing? It might revive my dog who loves nothing better in the world than a good tune.’

Kate’s eyebrows crept upwards of their own accord. She got to her feet. ‘Perhaps later once we’ve attended to Sir Richard . . . Where
is
Sir Richard?’

The Parson pointed to the door at the top of the stairs.

‘And the Tar Man?’ asked Hannah. ‘Where is he?’

‘Would that I knew,’ said the Parson. ‘All I can only tell you is
that he disappeared down the trapdoor which you see before you. Gideon is in hot pursuit although I do not hold out much hope of success. I cannot deny that Blueskin is a formidable adversary. Master Peter joined in the chase but a few minutes ago.’

Kate picked up the candle and peered down the gaping black hole in the floor. She could see nothing beyond the first few steps but the strong draught of air that rose up from the darkness made the candle gutter.

‘I fancy it leads to the river,’ said the old gentleman. ‘Most useful if your business is of the sort that demands secrecy.’

Kate nodded and the vision of her friend floundering in dark waters flashed into her mind. She was tempted to dive down the trapdoor there and then. Hannah, meanwhile, had satisfied herself that Parson Ledbury and the old gentleman had suffered cuts and bruises but, as far as she could tell, nothing worse. The dog, however, did give her cause for concern for it did not respond to her touch and when she rested her head on its ribs its heartbeat was barely perceptible.

‘How could anyone bring themselves to hurt such a pretty little creature?’

‘If Toby dies,’ said the old gentleman, ‘I shall consider it a point of honour to bring his assassin to justice.’

‘It is too early to give up hope,’ said Parson Ledbury. ‘He is a game little fellow, and I have observed that in both man and beast, stature and spirit may often be found in inverse proportion.’

Upstairs, they found Sir Richard flat on his belly, one hand formed in a fist and held to his ear, while his pale, blotchy face was squashed into what Kate recognised as being Gideon’s jacket, folded up into an improvised pillow. His legs were spreadeagled over the bare floorboards. It was hard to witness Sir Richard, a
man of such dignity and bearing, being brought so low. Suddenly Kate put her hands to her mouth. She felt sick to her stomach.

‘Oh, Hannah, look how his arm is lying! It looks like . . . it’s not joined on properly!’

Hannah crouched down beside him. ‘Can you hear me, sir?’

Sir Richard groaned a little but did not open his eyes.

Hannah spoke softly into Sir Richard’s ear: ‘It is Hannah. Mistress Kate is here with me. I’ve sent the driver to fetch a surgeon.’

‘Do you think he can hear you?’ asked Kate.

Hannah nodded her head and started to slip the sleeve off Sir Richard’s good arm.

‘We’re going to take your jacket off and roll you onto your back, sir.’

Then she turned her attention to his injured arm. Hannah hesitated, both hands hovering above the second sleeve. She and Kate exchanged apprehensive glances. The arm stuck out from the shoulder socket at an impossible angle.

‘Go on,’ said Kate. ‘You’re doing so well – anyone would think you were a nurse . . .’

Hannah sat back on her heels and put her hands firmly back in her lap. Suddenly she looked tearful. Unwilling to let Sir Richard hear what she said, Hannah leaned over and whispered into Kate’s ear.

‘I’ve had to nurse more folk in my time than I care to remember on account of one thing and another – my brothers back from the war, and all the fevers that have laid low Mrs Byng’s brood – not to mention Master Jack’s scrofula. It’s often fallen to me. But I don’t know as I dare touch Sir Richard. He is Mrs Byng’s brother – what if I damage his arm further?

‘I think Sir Richard is lucky to be looked after by someone who knows what they’re doing,’ said Kate.

‘But I don’t! They say that the body can heal itself but from what I’ve seen of life, it often doesn’t . . . I’ve never seen an injury like this. I don’t know how to treat it, Mistress Kate, save try and make him comfortable – but how can I do that without hurting him?’

Kate sighed. ‘If we were in my century, all we would have to do is telephone 999 and within minutes an ambulance would come and take Sir Richard to hospital. And they’d give him a pain-killing injection and sort him out in no time. Sorry. This isn’t helpful. You must think I’m talking rubbish . . .’

Hannah looked blankly back at her.

‘Perhaps we should just leave him be,’ said Kate. ‘At least until the driver comes back with a doctor.’

Hannah nodded uncertainly and started to stroke Sir Richard’s head, her gaze studiously avoiding his arm. His breath came out in short, hard bursts. If it were not for being reluctant to leave Hannah in the lurch, Kate would have gone down that trapdoor by now . . .

Kate stared blankly at the heavy folds of Sir Richard’s jacket which lay half on and half off his gently heaving back. The log fire glowed bright, hissing and crackling from time to time, and the heat began to redden her cheeks. In the stillness and the quiet, Kate gradually became aware of another vision forming at the back of her mind, like a wall of thunderclouds blowing in from the horizon. It crept up on her stealthily, growing, demanding her attention. A bat squeak of fear sounded in her head. What was it? What did it mean? It unnerved, even angered her. She resisted confronting the darkness that loomed over the landscape of her mind. She also resisted admitting that she could detect a figure in that darkness. Instinctively she wanted to fight it, crowd it out. So, instead of looking at the vision, Kate forced herself to think of her
valley in Derbyshire and how a sudden break in the clouds would allow a ray of sunshine, dazzling against the grey, to pierce the valley as if heaven itself had decided to break through the gloom. She pictured the sunlight, skittering and dancing over the patchwork of yellow and green fields as the clouds moved across the sky.

‘Is anything the matter, Mistress Kate?’

Hannah’s words dragged her back.

‘I . . . No. I’m fine.’

Hannah reached out to hold Kate’s hand.

‘How cold you are!’

‘I was just thinking about what you said – about people not always getting better. That’s all.’

‘Oh, forgive me, Mistress Kate. I didn’t mean to worry you. Sir Richard
will
get better, I am sure of it . . . at least, I hope so.’

Hannah warmed Kate’s hands in her own. Kate smiled at her and realised how young and pretty she was. Having spent so much time with Hannah when she was approaching fifty, Kate knew every last wrinkle of the plumper face she would have in her middle years, and was still not quite used to seeing her like this, with fresh young skin and shining hair and teeth that looked like they could have been bleached.

‘You know,’ Kate said, ‘you were really good to me when Peter’s father and I ended up in 1792. You looked after me when I didn’t feel well. It meant a lot . . .’

‘Oh, please don’t talk to me about the future, Mistress Kate! I’d rather not know if it’s all the same to you – although I’m glad that I was of service to you . . .’

‘Don’t worry, Hannah, if my dad and Dr Pirretti are right, we’re overwriting that particular future, anyway!’

Hannah shook her head in bewilderment and resumed stroking Sir Richard’s brow.

Time, Kate decided, was not as straightforward as she had once thought. It was not as if the past, present and future were obliged to keep in their correct order like good children standing in a queue, and in the same way that stories are supposed to have a beginning, a middle and an end. With everything that had happened to her, she had started to see time through a different lens. The Marquis de Montfaron had likened time to a corridor with many doors leading off it and she was beginning – finally – to grasp what he had meant. He had suggested that, in one sense, all times happen at once, and it was primarily a question of choosing which door to go through – and, of course, how to open that door. To travel through time, it was not necessary to live through each moment in sequential order – it was perfectly possible to leapfrog from one time to another.