“Kate, oh, Kate! Come back!”
Suddenly she was aware of the warmth of a human hand, and as she found herself gripping it, the hellish landscape slowly faded away. In its place rose up the flickering flames of a wood fire and Peter’s anxious face staring at her. She gasped with relief and recognition.
“Peter!”
Peter’s heart skipped a beat. How happy it made him feel to be called by his own name. Despite the passage of time and his denial, she knew. Whatever it was that made him uniquely Peter Schock was still recognizable.
“No! No, it is I, Joshua,” he said. “We feared we had lost you!”
“That’s twice you’ve rescued me—you must be my guardian angel.”
“The second? How so?”
“On the ship. I fast-forwarded….”
“Fast-forwarded?”
“Oh … I … Sometimes I move faster through time than everyone else—but when I touched your hand it stopped.”
“On the ship? I was not even aware of it….The girl at the vicarage told me that you were flitting around like a bat in the garden. I think you terrified the poor creature.”
“I terrified myself ! When it’s happening it doesn’t feel like I’m going fast. It just seems that everyone else is going very, very slowly. I hate it.”
Hannah arrived. “The Lord be praised!” she exclaimed.
“What happened?” asked Kate. “How long have I been like this?”
“An hour or more,” replied Peter.
Kate pushed herself up on her elbows and looked around her. She found that she was lying on cushions in front of the fire in the great hall of the Château de l’Humiaire. It was dark. The light of the fire cast giant shadows behind them, and the mountain of furniture next to her seemed so high as to be about to topple down on her. A gleaming silver soup spoon suddenly came at her out of the dark.
“Have a little broth, Mistress Kate. It will give you strength.”
Kate sipped a little of the steaming liquid. It was good. She finished it and Hannah gave her some more.
“The broth was prepared by Marie,” said Peter. “The Marquis told us that she has been secretly preparing food for him ever since the last of his servants left, six months ago….”
“And unless I’m no judge of character, her husband gave her a black eye for her trouble,” said Hannah.
Soon Kate had finished a whole bowl. Hannah refilled it. Peter and Hannah did not take their eyes off her. Kate saw the relief in their faces but also their continued concern.
“Thank you, Hannah….I feel much better. Where is Mr. Schock?”
“He is gone with the Marquis of Montfaron to fetch the wagon and our trunks. In all the excitement we had forgotten the horses. Not that he has anything to feed the poor beasts other than rotten fruit.”
Suddenly Kate remembered the yellow silk and the searing pain. She sat bolt upright.
“What did he do to us?”
“The Marquis of Montfaron electrified us!” said Hannah. “He took us for thieves or Revolutionaries come to imprison him. He told us that his late friend, Mr. Benjamin Franklin, used to kill turkeys using the same method with which he was pleased to welcome us into his house! The Marquis realized his mistake as soon as Mr. Joshua gave him Sir Joseph’s letter of introduction, and he has scarcely stopped apologizing since…. What a terrible thing is electricity! I never felt such pain in my whole life even though it lasted but a second….”
Peter pointed toward the doors that opened out onto the quadrangle.
“Do you see all those great glass jars? They are filled with water, and by some means which is beyond my understanding, they store an electrical current which was transmitted through copper wire threaded through the silk carapace which fell upon us.”
“And after the Marquis pulled the silk off,” said Hannah, “the rest of us were able to get to our feet, shaken though we were, but not you, Mistress Kate. I do not know the words to describe what happened to you….”
Kate looked from Peter to Hannah and back again in alarm.
“What did happen to me? I don’t understand….”
“You blurred, Kate,” said Peter gently. “Only intermittently. It was as if you were in between states: sometimes solid, sometimes transparent. I know not where you journeyed, but sometimes you put your hands over your ears and your whole body shook as if caught in the blast of some explosion. You wandered into the yard and were looking around you, sometimes frightened and sometimes so sad…. Wherever you were, it was a nightmarish place. Once you stooped down as if to pick a flower. And sometimes it seemed as if you were moving far quicker than you normally would and sometimes far slower….”
Kate listened mournfully.
“I saw long trenches cut into the ground. I was in a deserted battlefield. There wasn’t a sign of life, not even any birdsong…. I picked up someone’s broken spectacles. I saw a rifle, half-buried in the mud. I think a lot of people had died there. I could smell it….I’ve only ever blurred to my own time before. I don’t know whether it was past or future! What’s happening to me? Every time it happens, I wonder if I’ll go back to normal.”
Hannah sat down next to her and pulled her close.
“Hannah tried to get you to lie down,” said Peter, “but every time she tried to touch you, it was as if she was pushed backward….”
“Maybe the next time I might…” Kate’s face crumpled. “I might just drift away—and never come back….”
Hannah stroked Kate’s hair and wiped away the single tear that rolled down her cheek.
“Don’t be anxious, Mistress Kate. Now we’ve found the Marquis de Montfaron, he’ll mend the machine and we’ll soon get you home and all will be well.”
“The Marquis saw everything,” said Peter. “There was nothing we could do to hide it from him. He is convinced that it is an unusual side effect of the electrical shock which you received!”
The fire spluttered as the heavy doors creaked open and a gust of wind seemed to blow the Marquis de Montfaron and Mr. Schock into the galleried hall. A smell of damp night air and horses came with them. All solicitude, the Marquis de Montfaron approached Kate’s impromptu bed.
“How fares your mistress?” he asked Hannah. His English was, as Sir Joseph had told them to expect, impeccable, although he spoke with the accent of the South, rolling his r’s at the tip of his tongue and pronouncing every syllable with equal and lilting stress.
“She has drunk two bowls of broth, sir; I fancy she is on the mend at last.”
“Yes, I’m feeling much better now, thank you,” said Kate.
“Mademoiselle,” he said, bowing low to Kate, “there are not words enough to express my sorrow for the injury I have inflicted upon you. You travel from England, you brave a terrible storm, you bring me books and news of my family—and how do I respond? I electrocute you like one of Mr. Franklin’s turkeys! Although, I admit, never have I witnessed a more dramatic reaction to electricity. It was remarkable, I assure you!”
Kate took a liking to Montfaron the moment his large eyes, the color of ripe chestnuts, smiled at her. He was half a head taller than Mr. Schock, stunningly tall for a man born in his century, but neither stooped nor scrawny. His nose was prominent and aquiline, and he had a strong, angular jaw. Although Kate had spotted no less than three wigs on stands perched on the mountain of furniture, Montfaron wore his own springy hair scraped back in a ponytail. It was black but with streaks of white spreading out from his temples. Now in his middle years, Kate guessed that in his youth his looks must have been striking. She noticed a dimple in his chin. Now his tanned, wrinkled face announced a man who was prone both to laughter and frowning in concentration and who was predisposed to take delight in the world.
“We did not mean to sneak up on you, sir, although it might have seemed that way.”
“No, I was at fault. I was too hasty and I hope you will accept my humble apologies.”
“Of course, sir. Thank you,” said Kate.
He’s much nicer than his wife! she thought.
“Mr. Schock tells me you met my son in Calais and that he is on his way to persuade me to decamp to London.”
“Oh dear,” said Kate in alarm. “Has Louis-Philippe not arrived yet? Should we go and look for him?”
“No doubt Louis-Philippe has found something to divert him en route. I am afraid I shall have to disappoint him, however. I have no intention of leaving. I have a profound belief in the common sense of the French people. The situation will improve sooner or later.”
“Have you been able to keep up with the news, sir, despite living in a state of siege?” asked Peter.
“Thanks to Marie, a little. She was in the middle of telling me about the latest atrocities in Paris when her strutting cockerel of a husband arrived and dragged her away….”
“I fancy he’ll make her pay for her trouble, sir,” said Hannah.
Montfaron sighed and nodded. “I shall do what I can for the poor girl. Her family has worked in this house for generations…. Arras is presently overrun with excitable young men with something to prove, and Marie’s husband is one of them. An ex-priest, a man by the name of Lebon, is in the ascendant and the young bloods are vying with each other to impress him….And, of course, our Monsieur Robespierre’s spectacular success in Paris is boosting morale in the camps….”
“Robespierre!” muttered Mr. Schock under his breath to Kate. “You must have heard of him! He was a key figure in the Revolution—he started off with high ideals but in the end sent thousands and thousands to the guillotine. They called him ‘The Incorruptible.’ ”
“You must have been living in fear for your life, sir,” said Peter. “Were you not tempted to join your family in London?”
“And have all our lands and possessions confiscated? No! While hope remains, so shall I. Besides, I am making progress with my research into the nature and storage of electrical current. I cannot leave my experiments now!”
Peter and his father exchanged anxious glances.
“I am not without friends here,” continued Montfaron, “and it may surprise you that I even have some sympathy with the goals of the Revolution. However, I agree that the current madness in Paris makes my situation precarious. Of course, I shall defend myself if I must—it is for that reason that I have been experimenting with my electrical equipment whose efficacy you have unfortunately proved….”
“Yes!” said Mr. Schock, with feeling. “I doubt I shall ever again be able to bear that particular shade of yellow….”
Montfaron laughed. “Ha! I was fortunate to obtain that silk when such quantities of material are so difficult to come by….I scavenged it from a hot-air balloon. It came down in the village pond. The peasants who found it thought that the moon had fallen to earth! And what, I ask you, did they do? Did they examine it or call for a man of science to inspect their marvelous discovery? No! They tried to kill it with pitchforks! But I am a poor host. Food is in short supply, alas, but I can at least offer you wine while you explain the meaning of Sir Joseph’s message and describe to me the mysterious machine of which you spoke.”
Montfaron soon returned from his cellar. “From my cousin in Bordeaux: a Saint Émilion, bottled in 1783. An excellent year.”
Mr. Schock gulped. “Oh my …”
Peter smiled as he watched his father hold up his glass in front of a candle flame, the better to appreciate its color, and savor every last drop with a look close to ecstasy on his face. Deprived of civilized company for too long, Montfaron was delighted to be entertaining a guest who appreciated his cellar. He slapped Mr. Schock enthusiastically on the back.
“I am happy that my wine gives you pleasure!”
“I have some chocolate,” said Kate. “Has anyone seen my backpack?”
Peter passed her the canvas backpack. She untied the cord and rooted about at the bottom of the bag. Unable to find what she was looking for, she pulled out the contents one by one and placed them on the floor: a flashlight, her Swiss Army knife, Megan’s mobile, the small brown bottle containing penicillin, and, finally, the bar of chocolate. Montfaron eyed them curiously. She tore open the wrapper, broke the bar into pieces, and passed it around.
“Chocolate, you clever girl!” said Mr. Schock. “And you’ve managed to resist eating it until now! I am impressed.”
Peter took a piece; it had been twenty-nine years since he last tasted Cadbury’s chocolate. He placed it reverently onto his tongue and let it melt slowly. His eyelids closed and he sighed.
Montfaron, in his turn, offered everyone a clove of raw garlic, whose medicinal properties, he said, were too little appreciated. Hannah looked so scandalized that Peter felt he should answer for her. “I think garlic and chocolate are flavors which do not marry well. Perhaps on another occasion …”
“As you wish,” said Montfaron.
The Marquis popped some garlic into his mouth and went to fetch a couple more logs for the fire. No sooner was he out of earshot than Peter said to the others: “We shall have to tell him the truth. Else we will be hard pressed to persuade him to return with us.”
“I think you’re right,” said Kate.
Mr. Schock nodded. “Agreed.”
Montfaron returned and threw the logs onto the glowing embers; yellow flames licked around them. Kate was glad, for the château was cold.
“So,” said Montfaron. “Who will tell me about this curious device?”
It was Peter who began. He decided to speak plainly.
“Kate and Mr. Schock have traveled from hundreds of years in the future to our time by means of a machine which, although it was not designed to do so, has the capacity to transport people across the centuries.”
Kate studied Montfaron’s expression. Other than a slight twitch in one eyebrow, his face remained impassive.
“It appears that one of the side effects of time travel is a tendency for the subject to return for short periods to their own time—although they are never wholly successful in this attempt. Miss Dyer, in particular, is prone to episodes of ‘blurring,’ and you have yourself witnessed one of these, which was brought on, or so it seems, by the electric shock.”
Peter paused in case Montfaron wished to say something but he merely nodded as if to say, “Continue.”
“Our reason for seeking you out is this: The machine was damaged when it landed on uneven ground and is currently stored in secret at Kew Palace in the hope that we can find someone who can attempt to mend it. The President of the Royal Society himself, Sir Joseph Banks, has examined its workings and is of the opinion that you are one of the very few men in Europe to whom he would dare entrust its possible repair. If it cannot be repaired, Miss Dyer and Mr. Schock will be stranded forever in a time which is not their own.”
Montfaron stared at Peter and then busied himself poking the fire until he could contain himself no longer and exploded into laughter. He could not stop; tears started to flow down his cheeks and he dropped the poker. His laughter was infectious, and soon Kate and Hannah started to snicker. Peter resisted for longer but when he saw Montfaron leaning against the mantelpiece, his whole body vibrating with merriment, alternately holding his stomach and wiping his eyes with his sleeve, it set him off too.
“It’s not funny! It’s true!” said Mr. Schock, which made everyone laugh even more.
“I have always admired,” panted Montfaron, “the Englishman’s sense of the absurd….”
“But I am from the future!” spluttered Kate. “You see this? It’s a flashlight powered by a battery. It produces a beam of light you can direct anywhere.”
She pointed the flashlight at the ceiling and switched it on. Nothing happened.
“Oh dear …” Kate started giggling again. “I’ve got some spare batteries somewhere.”
Montfaron wiped his eyes and blew his nose. “Upon my word, I have not been so diverted in months. How I have missed good company. But I must tell you straightaway that even if your machine existed, I could not possibly a
bandon all of this….” Montfaron made a sweeping gesture with his arm and the general hilarity immediately evaporated. Montfaron, however, still seemed highly amused. “Describe to me how you travel backward in time. Do you witness events unfolding backward? Do you see old men growing younger until they are newborn babes?”
“No,” said Kate. “You are flung into a long, dark tunnel and are surrounded by spirals of light. You lose consciousness and then, when you wake up, you find you are in a different time.”
Montfaron scrutinized Kate’s face. Her sincerity was plain. The smile faded from his face.
“So your tunnel is a kind of corridor which leads to many rooms….You are not obliged to pass through each room in sequence to reach your destination, for the corridor gives you access to the room of your choice … which implies that individuals can exist in different times simultaneously … which, in turn, implies that all times could be seen as unfolding in an eternal now….How fascinating!”
“Have you heard of the guillotine?” asked Mr. Schock abruptly.
Montfaron looked puzzled. “Yes. There is one in Paris; it was used for the first time in the spring, I believe. Dr. Guillotin invented it as a humane way of dispatching criminals. He is to be applauded. Death is instantaneous—better that than to be burned or hanged or broken over the wheel….Why do you ask, Mr. Schock?”
“As a student I took classes in French history. Most of it went in one ear and out of the other, but some of it stuck, despite my best efforts,” said Mr. Schock. “If I scour my memory for a few pertinent historical facts, I think they’ll add up to a pretty accurate prediction of your future.”
“You have my ear, my dear sir….”
“Over the next few months the Revolution enters a new period: the Terror. And the guillotine becomes its symbol. Even the King himself is not spared….”
Montfaron gasped. “Non!”
“Robespierre is the guiding force. Anyone suspected of anti-Revolutionary tendencies is killed. There is a bloodbath: Tens of thousands are slaughtered all over France. As for the ex-priest, Lebon, I remember him, too. He became known as the Butcher of Arras. The town square will soon be stained with the blood of all the citizens he sends to the guillotine….”