The Reluctant Time Traveller (12 page)

In front of the church, the crowd jostled, taking in the news. People murmured, then the silence erupted.

“Our lads will teach them a lesson!” a woman shouted, and a few people cheered.

“There are tents to be erected on the green,” the man in the top hat announced, “for men to join his majesty’s regiments to let the Kaiser know that the glorious British Empire will come to the aid of Belgium.”

More cheers from the crowd.

“It’ll be over by Christmas!” someone shouted.

“Watch out for the enemy in our midst,” said the man in the top hat, and everyone glanced over their shoulders. A few people stared at me and Agnes. We were strangers. Maybe they thought we were spies?

Next thing, the minister appeared at the door of the church and held up his hand. The crowd quietened down. “At a time such as this,” he said, “let us pray.” And the crowd bowed their heads. Men whipped off their caps. People clasped their hands together.

“Our Father,” over a hundred people murmured all together, “which art in heaven…”

They had just said ‘Amen’, when I felt this tapping on my shoulder. I swung round and nearly dropped the bike. There was the woman we’d seen when we were busking. She had a white rose in her hair again, and she was smiling at me.

“Saul Martin, I presume?”

“It’s my Auntie Jean,” Agnes cried, giving the woman a hug.

“Hello,” I mumbled and because I couldn’t think what else to say, I tugged at Frank’s sleeve. “Um, this is Frank Noble,” I said. “He’s a… a stable—”

“Soldier,” Frank said, giving the woman a salute.

“Don’t, Frank.” Agnes looked like she would burst into tears. “Don’t be a soldier.”

“But, you are too young, surely?” the woman said.

“Haven’t got no birth certificate,” Frank said and I saw how he lifted his heels off the ground. “I can be whatever age the army needs me to be.” Then he crumpled a bit, as if he’d suddenly remembered a problem. “First I need to see that Elsie is recovered. Then I’m off. Try and stop me. We need to do our duty.” Then he turned to me, his dark eyes blazing. “What about you Saul? Surely you want to do your bit?”

I was only thirteen! What did he expect? Sometimes I’d wondered if he was thirteen too. It was hard to tell. Children in the past looked different. But mostly he seemed older than Elsie, and she was fourteen. I looked down at the bike and didn’t answer him.

“But it’ll all be over by Christmas,” the woman said, “isn’t that what they are telling us?”

Frank shrugged.

Agnes shook her head. The crowd was breaking up. “It will go on for four years,” Agnes said. The woman looked sad. Frank, I thought, looked hopeful. He really wanted to go, I could tell. The only reason he wasn’t running to the green to queue up was Elsie and her coughing.

Jean fumbled in the large pocket of her apron and brought out three red apples. “Eat while you may,” she said, handing one to Agnes, one to Frank and one to me. But I needed both hands to steer the bike so I pocketed the apple. It rustled
against the map in my pocket, which made me think about the guest, and getting the bike back for two o’clock. Jean took the white rose out of her hair and gave it to Agnes. “Be happy while you may,” she said, “for something tells me nothing will ever be quite the same again.” Then she gazed right into my eyes, like she knew we were time travellers and it didn’t faze her. “I am very glad to have met you, Saul,” she said, then nodded to Frank and smiled. “You too, Frank, and send my regards to your sister. I hope I have the pleasure of meeting her, and of meeting you again.”

Then Agnes’s great-great-great-great Auntie Jean turned and walked away. When she reached the turn in the road she stopped, turned her head and waved to us. The three of us waved back and while we were waving Agnes said, without looking round at Frank, “Jean said, Frank, that you and Elsie can go and live with her. She said she would be very happy about that. You can help with the garden, Frank, and Elsie can help around the house, and Jean knows about nursing, and making people better. She has two extra beds. She really means it.”

Frank didn’t say anything but I shot a look at him. He was pressing his lips together like he was trying not to cry.

He saw me, whipped out his pocket watch and snapped it open. “We better get our skates on,” he said.

“Or bicycle,” said Agnes.

I couldn’t resist getting on the gentleman’s Sunbeam bike and pedalling it along the High Street and up the lane with Frank and Agnes running along beside me. I changed the gears. I checked the brakes. I couldn’t reach the leather saddle but I rode on the crossbar. What a brilliant bike! As Elsie would say, it was a lark! I wished I could cycle right into the twenty-first century. Check this out, Robbie, a 1914 Royal Sunbeam!

Gaunt was pacing about round the courtyard when we got back. “We stopped to hear the news, sir,” Frank blurted out, before Gaunt had a chance to roar at us. “There’s a war on, sir. We are at war with Germany.”

I wheeled the heavy bike over the cobbles and Agnes darted back into the kitchen muttering something about peeling tatties.

“It has come then, as we all suspected,” Gaunt said, thrusting his big hands onto his hips. He curled up his thick lips – and smiled! “The regiments will be needing khaki, reams of the stuff. Battalions of khaki. The mills will be working, twenty to the dozen, day and night.”

“Um, the bicycle, sir?” I mumbled, not knowing what to do with it.

“Yes, the bicycle. See it is left by the front door.” Now it was Gaunt inspecting his pocket watch. “This very instant, and make sure you leave no grubby fingerprints on the handles. And remember, our important guest does not wish to be disturbed.” Then he pointed to the house, “Clean the windows, Blackie, you hear? Crack at it!”

“Yes, sir,” I muttered and then it was me chewing my lip and trying not to smile, thinking how a window cleaner got a good chance to peer into rooms and see things.

I left the bike leaning against the stone wall of the house, next to the front door. It had no stand. In the distance I could hear the church bells chime for two o’clock. Same bells that had clanged the news of war were back to their usual job of telling the time. The front door opened. I nipped round the side of the house and hid. Mr Inglis was punctual, that was for sure. I pressed against the wall and with one eye spied the American guest trying to mount the bike. He wobbled a bit as he rode it in a circle in front of the house. The thick front tyre must have hit a stone or something because he wobbled again, then he and the bike keeled
over and he hissed under his breath, “
Gott im Himmel!
” Which I thought was a funny thing for an American to say. We had done a term of German at school and I wasn’t bad at it. Those were definitely German words: ‘God in heaven’.

I felt a shiver run up the back of my neck. I’d always had a hunch there was something dodgy about this ‘guest’. I remembered the label of his jacket. Stuttgart was in Germany; I knew that because they had a football team. Why would an American buy a jacket from Germany? My heart skipped a beat. And there was something fishy about him having a map of Leith Docks.

The guest brushed down his trousers, got on the bike again and was off. I could hear Gaunt open the gate for him. “Bad news I’m afraid,” Gaunt bellowed, “it would seem we are at war.” Then he said something about the pleasant leafy lanes of Peebles.

It was a good time for me to do a spot of window cleaning, and I knew just whose room I was going to start with.

I dashed into the kitchen for a window-cleaning cloth and some water. There was Agnes sitting on Elsie’s bed holding her hand and telling her, I guessed, about her Auntie Jean: “And there are red geraniums at the window. It is so pretty. And she makes brews from herbs and plants to cure all sorts of bad coughs.” Elsie, by the way she was gazing into Agnes’s eyes, looked like her wishes were coming true.

I had planned on telling Agnes my hunches about our mysterious American, but now didn’t seem like the time. “Gaunt wants me to clean the windows,” I said instead.

“Use vinegar and old newspapers,” Elsie called over. “You’ll find them in the cupboard behind that old mirror. Just gie it a shove with your shoulder and abracadabra, it’ll open.”

Amazingly, it did! Agnes was gaping. I knew what she was thinking. She had searched the kitchen all over – but I bet she never found this secret cupboard! Right enough, the cupboard was jammed full of old newspapers. “I heard Hogg was a terrible hoarder with newspapers,” Elsie chirped. She was right about that, even by 1914 standards, they were ancient. Yellowing crinkled paper fell out. One said:

Agnes ran over to where I was stuffing the newspapers
back into the secret cupboard. “I thought,” she said, gasping and shaking her head, “that this was just an old mirror.” She scooped up some of the newspapers and started flicking through them.

“It’s not the
only
secret cupboard in this house,” I told her, as I grabbed a random newspaper and found a bottle of vinegar. “Come upstairs and I’ll show you another one.” She was up like a shot. “This one has a secret passage,” I explained as we slipped through the house. “Yeah, no joke! Actually, it was where Frank thought old Hogg would have hidden the deeds.”

“Really?!” Agnes’s eyes were intent.

“Yeah, we both had a fumble about but didn’t come across anything,” We were heading up the stairs. “It’s pitch black in there, you can’t see a thing. I warn you, Agnes, it’s pretty scary.”

“Wait!” Agnes grabbed my arm. “I’ll be back in a second; I’m going to get my torch. It’s under my pillow.”

She was back right away and we sped quietly upstairs. I left my vinegar and newspapers by the visitor’s door, and showed Agnes the wonky mirror in the hallway. I pressed it with my shoulder, and we stepped into the secret cupboard.

It didn’t feel as creepy when it was all lit up with good twenty-first-century technology. The door at the back was easy to see. We stepped through to the steep circular stone stairs.

“Wow!” said Agnes, flashing her torch all over the low narrow passage.

It was cool, a secret stairway, but it was all just bare stone. Dusty as anything and slightly damp, but nowhere you could hide stuff. We crept down, hearing our own breathing and our footsteps down the stone and wooden stairs. We looked all along the underground passage to the boot room door. Nothing.

Agnes hung her head. She really really wanted to find those deeds.

“I better do the windows,” I said, and was going to go back to my duties on the second floor.

“If I was John Hogg,” said Agnes, “I would have thought this was a great hiding place. I bet only the servants know it exists. Gaunt wouldn’t know. He’s never in the cupboards or the boot room. Let me just think…” She turned and looked back along the underground passage to the bottom of the spiral stairs. “Saul!” she said, her voice lifting, “Why are these last steps wooden, do you think?”

I knelt down and tapped them and looked more closely. What a difference it made, searching with light.

Agnes sunk to her knees too and felt along under a thicker board. “Saul! I think it’s a hinge. Have you still got that weird coin? Maybe we can lever it in under here.” We did, and amazingly the middle wooden step lifted like a lid.

Agnes gasped. The torchlight lurched. So I held the torch steady while she slipped her hand under the step. “There’s something in here,” she whispered, “something small.” I trained the light close and saw her pull out a small iron key. A tag on the key said:

“It’s his! But what does it open?” Agnes held it up in the torchlight. We looked and felt all around the steps, all along the passage again, but there was no sign of a box or trunk or secret door. We had a key, but we didn’t know what for. I didn’t know whether to be glad or not. By the look of her, neither did Agnes. She shrugged and gazed at me quizzically.

“We better stop looking now, Agnes,” I said. I needed to get on with cleaning the windows. “Hey! We’ve got a key. That’s great.” I tried to sound upbeat. “All we need now is a lock.”

We crept back through the boot room. Elsie was napping, no one was around; the visitor was still out on his bicycle. Agnes, with the mysterious key safe in her pocket, when off to chop cabbage while I bounded up the main staircase to my vinegar and newspapers. I wanted to do some investigating while I had the chance. I didn’t know how long the ‘American’ would be gone. Maybe I was totally wrong, but something told me Mr Inglis wasn’t really American, and probably wasn’t
called Mr Inglis either. I was up the stairs and in his room in no time. That was a good thing about being a servant: servants knew things! They went into other people’s rooms, they changed beds, made fires, set out jugs of water, cleaned windows!

From his window I had a clear view down the front driveway to the gate. Plus the huge iron gates were creaky. I would hear him coming. I slipped the map of Leith Docks back to the bottom of his leather bag then pulled open drawers. I flung off blankets and felt about under the mattress, under the pillow. I patted under the rugs. I hit around the walls for any more secret cupboards. But I didn’t find anything.

Feeling a bit of an idiot, I made the bed and tried to put everything back the way it had been. Maybe I’d been thinking in the wrong direction. Why would a German spy come to Peebles anyway?

Just when I’d decided I should really crack on with the window cleaning, I spied a brown envelope sticking out of the grey Stuttgart-labelled jacket that was folded neatly over the chair. My heart raced. Hardly thinking what I was doing I pulled it out. It was addressed to some person in Sweden. I thought about peeling it open then and there, but it was sealed at the back with white candle wax. I dashed over to the window. There was still no sign of him, or Gaunt who I was pretty sure was down at the mill getting ready to make big dosh from the war.

I bolted down into Gaunt’s study, rifled through his writing desk, grabbed a brown envelope and fountain pen and, with shaking hands, managed to copy the writing of the address. It looked almost the same. Then I ran back to the guest’s room, ripped a sheet from the newspaper and slipped that into the envelope. Now all I needed was a bit of candle wax and that was easy enough. There were candles
everywhere. I struck a match, held it under the wax till a bit dripped on the back of the envelope. It hardened and that was it sealed. Then I swapped the letters, slipping the one I had made into the jacket pocket on the chair. I grabbed the vinegar and what was left of the old newspaper and hurried out of the room. With my heart banging like a drum, I softly closed the door behind me.

Then I really did clean windows, loads of them, as the sun got lower. The strong smell of hare stew wafted through the house and the letter to Sweden waited in my pocket. The old newspapers I was cleaning with had adverts trying to get people to go and live in America! And adverts for Scotch whisky, and Edinburgh Rock.

From a window on the landing I saw Frank down by the stables with a pole slung across his shoulders, rifle style, marching back and forth over the cobbles. I knew what he was getting in training for. From another window I saw the gardener sitting on a log smoking a pipe. Then from the library window I saw the American (who by now I was convinced wasn’t American) cycling up the driveway. He swung off the bike and there was Gaunt, slapping his thighs and offering his guest a sherry in the drawing room, and there was Frank, running to take the bike like it was a horse. I wondered if he was going to put it in the stable?

By this time, twenty windows done, my arms were aching. I was onto my last scrap of newspaper and was about to scrunch it up and soak it with vinegar when I saw someone had circled an article in ink. It read:

A veritable treasure trove was recently discovered in Melrose, under a yew tree. After considerable examination, detectives
and scholars suggest the box of rubies was put in the earth for safe keeping in the last part of the sixteenth century. The roots of the yew hold fast…

I felt my palms sweat. Someone – Mr Hogg I guessed – had given this article special attention. The same Mr Hogg who had also carefully drawn and painted the yew and its roots and stored the pictures in his treasure chest. Mr Hogg who, Agnes said, called this place ‘Yew Tree House’.

My heart was racing. Suddenly it hit me. I
knew
where the deeds were! Everything pointed to it. They were in a very special place, sure enough. They were hidden under the yew tree! I wanted to shout out loud. With shaking fingers I put the circled newspaper article in my pocket, next to the letter to Sweden that was never going to Sweden.

“Agnes!” I belted along the corridor and burst into the kitchen. A candle was burning on the table. Elsie was sleeping in her recess bed by the stove and Agnes, dressed like a maid, cabbage all chopped, was knee-deep in old newspapers.

“History is fascinating,” she said, holding up a paper with a photo of a bear. “Can you believe this, Saul?”

It looked like she had a whole stack of fascinating history to show me. “And this—”

“Agnes, listen,” I burst out, hunching down next to her. “I think I know where the deeds are hidden, and I think we’ve got a German spy upstairs drinking sherry and pretending he’s American!”