To Say Nothing of the Dog

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I felt better in the morning. When I came down with Cyril at six, the rain had stopped, the sky was blue, and the wet grass glittered like diamonds.

And time travel is inherently hopeful. Failing to fix it once, you get innumerable other chances, or at least somebody does, and a week from now, or a year, when the forensics expert finally managed to decipher the diary, Carruthers or Warder or some addled new recruit could come back on the fifteenth and see to it that Mr. C made his entrance on cue.

We hadn’t succeeded, but at this very moment they might have solved the Mystery of Waterloo and self-correction. At this very moment T.J. and Mr. Dunworthy might be sending someone through to intercept me on my way to Oxford’s railway station and keep me from meeting Terence and mucking up his love life. Or to separate Professor Peddick and Professor Overforce. Or to stop Verity from wading into the Thames and rescuing Princess Arjumand in the first place. Or to send me to World War I to recover from my time-lag.

The cat would swim to shore, Terence would meet Maud, and the Luftwaffe would bomb London. And I would never meet Verity. Small price to pay for saving the universe. Well worth the sacrifice.

And I wouldn’t feel any loss because I wouldn’t ever have met her. I wondered suddenly if Terence did, if he knew on some level that he hadn’t met his true love. And if he did, what did he feel? Mawkish sorrow, like one of his Victorian poems? Or a gnawing of some need unsatisfied? Or just a grayness to everything?

I took Cyril out to the stable. Princess Arjumand had come down with us, and she stalked ahead across the wet grass, her tail in the air, coming back periodically to wind herself around Cyril’s hind legs and my ankles. There was a sound over by the stable, and the big doors began to creak open.

“Hide,” I said, scooping up Princess Arjumand and ducking back into the shelter of the kitchen door. The groom, looking like he’d just been awakened, pushed the doors open, and the driver led two horses, hitched to the carriage, out. The carriage to take Professor Peddick and Colonel Mering to the station.

I looked toward the house. Baine was bringing out the luggage and setting it on the front steps. Professor Peddick stood behind him in his academic gown and mortarboard, holding his kettle of fish against his stomach and talking to Terence.

“Come along,” I whispered to Cyril and started toward the side of the stable. Princess Arjumand wriggled wildly in my arms, trying to get free, and I let her down. She took off like a shot across the lawn. I led Cyril in the groom’s door.

“Make it look like you’ve been here all night,” I said, and Cyril promptly went over to his burlap sacking, turned round three times, flopped down, and began to snore loudly.

“Good boy,” I said, and let myself out of the stable. And collided with Terence.

“Have you got Cyril?” he said.

“I just brought him down,” I said. “Why? Is something wrong? Did Mrs. Mering see me?”

He shook his head. “Baine came and knocked me up this morning and said Colonel Mering was ill and would I accompany Professor Peddick to Oxford. Seems he caught a chill yesterday fishing for trout, and Mrs. Mering wants to make certain Professor Peddick makes it home. Good idea, actually. He’s likely to spot a hill that reminds him of the Battle of Hastings or something and get off the train. I thought I’d take Cyril. Thought it would be a bit of a holiday for him from—” he stopped and started again, “—especially as he didn’t get to go to Coventry yesterday. Is he in the stable?”

“Next to the hay bales,” I said, but when he opened the groom’s door, Cyril was standing just inside, wagging his pudgy body.

“Would you like to take a journey by rail, old man?” Terence said, and the two of them set off happily for the house.

I waited till the carriage had set off and Baine had gone back into the house and then legged it out to the laburnum arbor before the groom came yawning back to the stables, and then went out through the herbaceous border and across the croquet lawn to the gazebo.

There was someone in it. I circled round the weeping willow and came up behind the lilacs. A dark figure was sitting hunched on one of the side benches. Who would be sitting out here at this hour? Mrs. Mering, hunting for ghosts? Baine, catching up on his reading?

I parted the lilac branches so I could see better, sending a shower of water over my blazer and flannels. Whoever it was, they had a cloak wrapped around them and a hood pulled up over their head. Tossie? Waiting for a rendezvous with her life-changing lover? Or the mysterious Mr. C himself?

I couldn’t see the figure’s face from there. I needed to be on the other side of the gazebo. I carefully let go of the branches, dousing myself again, and stepped back squarely on Princess Arjumand.

“Mrowrrrr!” she yowled, and the figure darted up, clutching the cloak. The hood fell back.

“Verity!” I said.

“Ned?”

“Mreer!” Princess Arjumand said. I scooped her up to see if I’d hurt her. “Mere,” she said, and began to purr.

I carried her round the lilacs and over to where Verity was standing. “What are you doing out here?” I said.

Verity looked as pale as one of Mrs. Mering’s spirits. The cloak, which must have been an evening cloak of some kind, was drenched, and under it she had on her white nightgown.

“How long have you been out here?” I said. Princess Arjumand was squirming. I put her down. “You didn’t have to report in. I told you I’d do it when I brought Cyril down. What did Mr. Dunworthy say about—” and saw her face. “What is it?”

“The net won’t open,” she said.

“What do you mean, it won’t open?”

“I mean, I’ve been out here for three hours. It won’t open.”

“Sit down and tell me exactly what happened,” I said, indicating the bench.

“It won’t open!” she said. “I couldn’t sleep, and I thought the sooner we reported in, the better, and I could be back before anybody got up, so I came out to the drop, and the net wouldn’t open.”

“The drop’s not there?”

“No, it’s there. You can see the shimmer. But when I step into it, nothing happens.”

“Could you be doing something wrong? Are you sure you were standing in the right place?”

“I’ve stood in a dozen different places,” she said impatiently. “It won’t open!”

“All right, all right,” I said. “Could someone have been there? Someone who might have seen you? Mrs. Mering, or Baine, or—”

“I thought of that. After the second time, I walked down to the river and out to the fishpond and over to the flower garden, but no one was there.”

“And you aren’t wearing something from this era?”

“I thought of that, too, but this is the nightgown I brought through in my luggage, and, no, it hasn’t been mended or had a new button sewn on.”

“Maybe it’s you,” I said. “I’ll try.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” she said more cheerfully. “The next drop should be any minute.”

She led me out of the gazebo and around to the side to a patch of grass next to a cluster of pink peonies. There was already a faint glitter to the grass. I hastily checked my clothes. Blazer, flannels, socks, shoes, and shirt were all the ones I’d worn through.

The air shimmered, and I stepped into the very center of the grass. The light began to grow. “Is this what happened when you tried it?” I said.

The light abruptly died. Condensation glittered on the peonies.

“Yes,” Verity said.

“Perhaps it’s my collar,” I said, unfastening it and handing it to her. “I can’t tell mine from the ones Elliott Chattisbourne loaned me.”

“It’s not your collar,” Verity said. “It’s no use. We’re trapped here. Just like Carruthers.”

I had a sudden vision of staying here forever, playing croquet and eating kedgeree for breakfast and boating on the Thames, Verity trailing her hand in the brown water and looking up at me from under her beribboned hat.

“I’m sorry, Ned. This is all my fault.”

“We’re not trapped,” I said. “All right. Let’s be Harriet and Lord Peter and examine all the possibilities.”

“I’ve already considered all the possibilities,” she said tightly. “And the only one that makes any sense is that it’s all breaking down, like T.J. said it would.”

“Nonsense,” I said. “It takes years for an incongruity to collapse the continuum. You saw the models. It maybe breaking down in 1940, but not a week after the incongruity.”

She was looking like she wanted to believe me.

“All right,” I said, sounding more confident than I felt. “You go back to the house and get dressed before you compromise us both and I have to marry you.”

That made her smile, at least. “And then have breakfast, so Mrs. Mering won’t think you’re missing and send out a search party for you. After breakfast, tell her you’re going sketching and come back out here and wait for me. I’m going to go find Finch and get another opinion.”

She nodded.

“This is probably nothing, a glitch, and Warder just hasn’t noticed it yet. Or maybe she’s shut down all return drops till she gets Carruthers back. Whatever it is, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

She nodded again, a little more cheerfully, and I took off for the Chattisbournes, wishing I believed anything I’d just said, and that the Victorians hadn’t lived so far apart.

A maid in a ruffled apron and cap answered the door.

“Gladys, I need to speak to Mr. Finch, the butler,” I said, when I was able to catch my breath. I felt like Professor Peddick’s runner from the battle of Marathon who’d run all the way to Sparta. He’d died, hadn’t he, after delivering his message? “Is he here?”

“I’m very sorry, sir,” the maid said, dropping an even worse curtsey than Jane’s. “Mr. and Mrs. Chattisbourne are not at home. Would you wish to leave your card?”

“No,” I said. “It’s Mr. Finch I wish to speak to. Is he here?”

She had clearly not been briefed for this contingency.

“You may leave your calling card, if you wish,” she said, and held out a small silver plate embossed with curlicues.

“Where did Mr. and Mrs. Chattisbourne go?” I persisted. “Did Mr. Finch drive them?”

She looked completely undone. “Mr. and Mrs. Chattisbourne are not at home,” she said, and shut the door in my face.

I went round to the kitchen and knocked on the door. It was answered by another maid. This one had on a canvas apron and a kerchief and was armed with a potato peeler.

“I need to speak to the butler, Mr. Finch, Gladys,” I said.

“Mr. and Mrs. Chattisbourne aren’t here,” she said, and I was afraid she was going to be equally unforthcoming, but she added, “They went over to Donnington. To the St. Mark’s Fancy Works Sale.”

“It’s Mr. Finch I need to speak to. Did he accompany them?”

“No,” she said. “He’s up to Little Rushlade, buying cabbages. He left this morning carrying a big basket to fetch them home in.”

“When?” I asked, wondering if I could catch up with him.

“Before breakfast. It was scarcely light out. What’s wrong with Farmer Gamin’s cabbages down the road I don’t know, but he says only the best for Mrs. Chattisbourne’s table. I say one cabbage is as good as another.” She made a face. “It’s three hours’ walk at the least.”

Three hours’ walk. There was no point in going after him, and he wouldn’t be back soon enough to justify waiting. “When he gets back, would you be good enough to tell him that Mr. Henry from the Merings’ was here and to please come see him at once?”

She nodded. “Though I should imagine he’ll be all tuckered out by the time he gets back. Why he should have decided to go today, after the night we had, I don’t know. Mrs. Marmalade had her kittens last night, and a time we had finding out where she’d hid them.”

I wondered if the rules against discussing sex didn’t apply to the servant classes, or if once the kittens were a fact, they became an acceptable topic.

“Last time it was the root cellar,” she said, “and once their eyes are open, you can never find them all to drown them. And the time before we never did find where she’d hid them. That Mrs. Marmalade’s a sly boots, she is.”

“Yes, well, if you’d just please give him my message as soon as he gets back,” I said, putting on my boater.

“The time before that, it was Miss Pansy’s sewing box. And the time before that the linen drawer in the upstairs cupboard. The sly boots know you’ll try to take their kittens, you know, and so they hide them in the most peculiar places. When the Merings’ cat had her kittens last winter, she hid them in the wine cellar and they didn’t find them for nearly three weeks! Christmas Day it was they finally found them, and what a time catching them all. When I was in service at the Widow Wallace’s, the cat had her kittens in the oven!”

I managed to get away after several more anecdotes about resourceful cat mothers, and hotfooted it back to the gazebo.

At first I didn’t see Verity, and I thought perhaps she’d tried it again while I was gone and been successful, but she was on the other side of the gazebo, sitting under a tree. She was wearing the white dress I’d first seen her in, and her neck was bent gracefully over her sketchbook.

“Any luck?” I said.

“Nothing.” She got to her feet. “Where’s Finch?”

“Off buying cabbages in a neighboring village,” I said. “I left a message for him to come to Muchings End as soon as he gets back.”

“A message,” she said. “That’s a good idea. We could try and send a message.” She looked speculatively at her sketchbook. “You don’t have any paper you brought through with you, do you?”

I shook my head. “Everything I brought through was washed away when the boat capsized. No, wait. I’ve got a bank note.” I got it out of my pocket. “But what do we write with?”

“We take the chance that a milliliter or so of carbon is a nonsignificant article,” she said, holding up her charcoal pencil.

“That’s too thick,” I said. “I’ll go back to the house and fetch a pen and ink. When’s the next rendezvous?”

“Now,” Verity said, and pointed at the shimmering air.

There wasn’t time to race to the house and back, let alone scrawl, “Can’t get through,” and our coordinates. “We’ll need to wait till next time,” I said.

Verity was only half-listening to me. She was watching the growing glow in the grass. She stepped into the center of it and handed me her sketchbook and pencil.

“You see?” she said. The glow immediately dimmed. “It still won’t open,” and disappeared in a shimmer of condensation.

Well, and that was that. The continuum hadn’t broken down, at least not yet, and we weren’t trapped here. Ah, well, it was probably for the best. I truly did hate kedgeree, and croquet matches were deadly. And if St. Michael’s was any indication, the late summer would bring on hordes of jumble sales and fêtes.

I looked at my pocket watch. It was half past IX. I needed to get back to the house before somebody saw me and asked me what I was doing loitering out here, and with luck I might still be able to get some devilled kidneys or smoked kippers from the Stag at Bay.

I started for the rockery, and nearly ran into Baine. He was standing looking grimly out over the Thames, and I scanned the water, looking for Princess Arjumand out in the middle of it treading water with her white paws.

I didn’t see her, but Baine was going to see me in a moment. I ducked back into the lilacs, trying not to rustle any leaves, and nearly stepped on Princess Arjumand.

“Muir,” she said loudly. “Mrowr.”

Baine turned and looked straight at the lilacs, frowning.

“Mere,” Princess Arjumand said. Shhh, I said silently, putting my finger to my lips. She began rubbing up against my leg, meowing loudly. I stooped to pick her up and knocked against a dead branch. It snapped off, its brittle leaves rattling sharply.

Baine started toward the lilacs. I began thinking up excuses. A lost croquet ball? And what was I doing playing croquet by myself at nine o’clock in the morning? Sleepwalking? No, I was fully dressed. I looked longingly back at the gazebo, gauging the distance and time to the next rendezvous. Both too far. And, knowing Princess Arjumand, she’d saunter in at the last minute and cause another incongruity in the continuum. It would have to be a lost croquet ball.

“Mire,” Princess Arjumand said loudly, and Baine raised his arms to part the lilac bushes.

“Baine, come here immediately,” Tossie said from the towpath. “I wish to speak to you.”

“Yes, miss,” he said, and went over to where she was standing, dressed in ruffles, tucks, and lace, and holding her diary.

I took advantage of the distraction to scoop Princess Arjumand up and step farther into the depths of the lilacs. She snuggled against my chest and began purring loudly.

“Yes, miss?” Baine said.

“I insist that you apologize to me,” Tossie said imperiously. “You had no right to say what you did yesterday.”

“You are quite right,” Baine said solemnly. “It was not my place to express my opinions, even though they were solicited, and I do apologize for speaking as I did.”

“Meeee,” Princess Arjumand said. In listening, I had forgotten to keep petting her, and she put her paw gently on my hand. “Mooorre.”

Tossie looked round, distractedly, and I backed farther out of sight behind the bushes.

“Admit that it was a beautiful piece of art,” Tossie said.

There was a long pause, and then Baine said quietly, “As you wish, Miss Mering.”

Tossie’s cheeks flushed pink. “Not ‘as I wish.’ The Reverend Mr. Doult said it was…” There was a pause, “…‘an example of all that was best in modern art.’ I copied it down in my diary.”

“Yes, miss.”

Her cheeks went even pinker. “Are you daring to disagree with a man of the cloth?”

“No, miss.”

“My fiancé Mr. St. Trewes said it was extraordinary.”

“Yes, miss,” Baine said quietly. “Will that be all, miss?”

“No, it will not be all. I demand that you admit you were wrong about its being an atrocity and mawkishly sentimental.”

“As you wish, miss.”

“Not as I wish,” she said, stamping her foot. “Stop saying that.”

“Yes, miss.”

“Mr. St. Trewes and the Reverend Mr. Doult are gentlemen. How dare you contradict their opinions! You are only a common servant.”

“Yes, miss,” he said wearily.

“You should be dismissed for being insolent to your betters.”

There was another long pause, and then Baine said, “All the diary entries and dismissals in the world cannot change the truth. Galileo recanted under threat of torture, but that did not make the sun revolve round the earth. If you dismiss me, the vase will still be vulgar, I will still be right, and your taste will still be plebeian, no matter what you write in your diary.”

“Plebeian?” Tossie said, bright pink. “How dare you speak like that to your mistress? You are dismissed.” She pointed imperiously at the house. “Pack your things immediately.”

“Yes, miss,” Baine said. “E pur si muove.”

“What?” Tossie said, bright red with rage. “What did you say?”

“I said, now that you have dismissed me, I am no longer a member of the servant class and am therefore in a position to speak freely,” he said calmly.

“You are not in a position to speak to me at all,” Tossie said, raising her diary like a weapon. “Leave at once.”

“I dared to speak the truth to you because I felt you were deserving of it,” Baine said seriously. “I had only your best interests at heart, as I have always had. You have been blessed with great riches; not only with the riches of wealth, position, and beauty, but with a bright mind and a keen sensibility, as well as with a fine spirit. And yet you squander those riches on croquet and organdies and trumpery works of art. You have at your disposal a library of the great minds of the past, and yet you read the foolish novels of Charlotte Yonge and Edward Bulwer-Lytton. Given the opportunity to study science, you converse with conjurors wearing cheesecloth and phosphorescent paint. Confronted by the glories of Gothic architecture, you admire instead a cheap imitation of it, and confronted by the truth, you stamp your foot like a spoilt child and demand to be told fairy stories.”

It was quite a speech, and after it, I fully expected Tossie to hit him over the head with the diary and sweep off in a flurry of ruffles, but instead she said, “You think I have a bright mind?”

“I do. With study and discipline, you would be capable of marvelous things.”

From my mid-lilac vantage point, their faces were hidden from me, and I had a feeling seeing them was important. I moved over to the left to a thinner bush. And ran squarely into Finch. I nearly dropped Princess Arjumand. She yowled, and Finch yelped.

“Shh,” I said to both of them. “Finch, did you get the message I left at the Chattisbournes’?” I whispered.

“No, I’ve been in Oxford,” Finch said, beaming, “where, I’m delighted to say, my mission was a complete success.”

“Shh,” I whispered. “Keep your voice down. The butler and Tossie are having an argument.”

“An argument?” he said, pursing his lips. “A butler never argues with his employer.”

“Well, this one does,” I said.

Finch was rustling under the lilacs. “I’m glad I ran into you,” he said, coming up with a basket full of cabbages. “Where’s Miss Kindle? I need to speak with both of you.”

“What do you mean, ‘Where’s Miss Kindle?’ I thought you said you just came through from the lab.”

“I did,” he said.

“Then you must have seen her. She just went through.”

“To the laboratory?”

“Of course to the laboratory,” I said. “How long were you there before you came through?”

“An hour and a half,” Finch said. “We were discussing the next phase of my mission, but no one came through during that time.”

“Could she have come through without you noticing?” I said. “While you were having this discussion?”

“No, sir. We were standing in the net area, and Miss Warder has been keeping a very close watch on the console because of Carruthers.” He looked thoughtful. “Had you noticed any problem with the net?”

“Problem?” I said, forgetting we were supposed to keep our voices down. “We’ve been trying for the last five hours to get the bloody thing to open!”

“Shh,” Finch said, “keep your voice down,” but it scarcely mattered. Baine’s and Tossie’s voices had risen to shouting point.

“And don’t quote Tennyson at me!” Tossie said furiously.

“That was not Tennyson,” Baine shouted. “It was William Shakespeare, who is eminently quotable. ‘Think you a little din can daunt mine ears? Have I not heard great ordnance in the field and heaven’s artillery thunder in the skies?’ ”

“The net wouldn’t open?” Finch said.

“That’s what my message was about,” I said. “It wouldn’t open for either of us. Verity’d been trying since three o’clock this morning.” A thought struck me. “When did you go through from here?”

“At half past two. ”

“That was just before Verity tried,” I said. “How much slippage was there?”

“None,” he said, looking worried. “Oh, dear, Mr. Lewis said something like this might happen.”

“Something like what?”

“Some of his Waterloo models showed aberrations in the net, due to the incongruity.”

“What sort of aberrations?” I said, raising my voice again.

“Failure to open, destination malfunction.”

“What do you mean, ‘destination malfunction’?”

“In two of the simulations, the historian was sent to some other destination on the return drop. Not just locational slippage, but an entirely different space-time location. Mexico in 1872, in one instance.”

“I’ve got to go tell Mr. Dunworthy,” I said, starting for the drop. “How long ago did you come through?”

“At twenty till ten,” he said, scurrying after me, taking out his pocket watch. “Twelve minutes ago.”

Good. That meant only four minutes till the next one. I reached the gazebo and went over to the spot where Verity had gone through.

“Do you think this is a good idea, sir?” Finch said worriedly. “If the net’s not working properly—”

“Verity might be in Mexico or God knows where else,” I said.

“But she’d have come back, sir, wouldn’t she, as soon as she realized it was the wrong destination?”

“Not if the net wouldn’t open,” I said, trying to find the spot where Verity had stood.

“You’re right,” Finch said. “What can I do, sir? I’m expected back from Little Rushlade,” he indicated the basket, “but I could—”

“You’d better take your cabbages to the Chattisbournes’ and then meet me back here. If I’m not here, you go through and tell Mr. Dunworthy what’s happened.”

“Yes, sir,” he said. “What if the net won’t open, sir?”

“It’ll open,” I said grimly.

“Yes, sir,” he said and hurried off with his basket.

I looked hard at the grass, willing the shimmer to start. I was still holding the cat, and I couldn’t just put her down. She was liable to walk into the net at the last minute, and another incongruity was the last thing we needed.

There were still three minutes left. I pushed back through the lilacs to where Tossie and Baine had been, intending to put the cat down where they could see her.

Things had apparently not improved. “How dare you!” Tossie said.

“ ‘Nay, come, Kate, come!’ ” Baine said. “ ‘You must not look so sour.’ ”

“How dare you call me Kate, as if I were a common servant like you!”

I squatted down and tipped Princess Arjumand out of my hands. She sauntered off through the bushes toward Tossie, and I sprinted back to the drop.

“I intend to tell my fiancé how insolently you spoke to me,” Tossie shouted. Apparently she hadn’t noticed Princess Arjumand. “When Mr. St. Trewes and I are married, I intend to make him run for Parliament and pass a law making it a crime for servants to read books and have ideas.”

There was a faint hum, and the air began to shimmer. I stepped into the center of it.

“And I intend to write down everything you said to me in my diary,” she said, “so that my children and my children’s children shall know what a rude, insolent, barbaric, common — what are you doing?”

The net began to shimmer in earnest, and I didn’t dare step out of it. I craned my neck, trying to see over the lilacs.

“What are you doing?” Tossie cried. “Put me down!” A string of screamlets. “Put me down this instant!”

“I have only your best interests at heart,” Baine said.

I looked at the growing light, trying to gauge how long I had. Not long enough, and I couldn’t risk waiting for the next drop, not with Verity God-knew-where. Mexico had had a revolution in the 1870s, hadn’t it?

“I shall have you arrested for this!” A series of thumps, as of someone beating on someone’s chest. “You arrogant, horrid, uncivilized bully!”

“ ‘And thus I’ll curb her mad and headstrong humour,’ ” Baine said. “ ‘He that knows better how to tame a shrew, now let him speak.’ ”

The air around me filled with light. “Not yet,” I said, and, as if in response, it dimmed a little. “No!” I said, not knowing whether I wanted the net to open or not.

“Put me down!” Tossie demanded.

“As you wish, miss!” Baine said.

The light from the net flared and enfolded me. “Wait!” I said as it closed, and thought I heard a splash.