The Space Between Time, Page 2

  Mr Wells said, “Before we start, you might wish to change your clothes. I have provided what I hope is suitable attire in the cabin.”

  He opened the door where we saw on the table two piles of carefully folded clothing of the late nineteenth century including undergarments, which on inspection, suggested mine had been designed for a bordello rather than for boating on the river. James noticed as well “Hmh! Nice choice of underwear. Look forward to seeing you in them.”

  As I had no intention of exchanging my soft and comfortable twentieth century undergarments for those of the nineteenth he was a little disappointed by my reply.

  However, Wells, on hearing my response, was a little crestfallen and apologised for their unsuitability saying he was assured by my sister they were my favourite things.

  The mention of my sister explained the garments before me. Flory was never one to miss an opportunity for a joke at my expense. However, her welfare was of more concern. Wells replied to my inquiry about this with: “She is in good health and still lives in Hamgreen. We may have time to visit but for now we must hurry for there is much to do.”

  The other clothes Flory had provided were acceptable. A white blouse with thankfully small mutton chop sleeves and a straight, lightly pleated, dark green skirt. I was pleased to find bustles were out of fashion. The jacket was short and practical. As for the hat - well, it sufficed. Poor James however, was provided with beige corduroy breeches and a grey sack coat. I will not repeat the comments he made regarding my sister’s virtue nor on the remains of mine when I said he would look very fetching in the mustard stockings.

  When we had dressed, we returned to the cockpit where Mr. Wells was regarding the river bank.

  On hearing us, he turned and reaching into a pocket within his jacket produced a brown leather wallet.

  “I presume on your excursion, not expecting this adventure, you omitted to bring monies of this period. So, I have provided a sum of £50 for your expenses.”

  He then handed it to James, who immediately opened the wallet and after counting the contents provided me with half.

  “You take this, Elizabeth, just in case we get separated or I lose the wallet. And,” humorously wagging a finger at me, “don’t spend it all on clothes this time.”

  “I can assure you that if I am in need of replacement on occasion of another of your adventures,” I said, carefully putting the monies in my pocket book, “it will be your half which I will use for assistance.”

  Mr Wells made no comment although I could see he was a little confused by this banter. He then withdrew his fob watch from another pocket and with a cursory glance at it and then to our dress said, “We must hurry. If you are ready, we will begin.” And without waiting for a reply he opened a valve which caused a gush of steam to explode from the funnel, nearly frightening us out of our wits, and the launch began to chug slowly downstream.

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  J.

  It was a long time since I’d been on a small boat. The last time was in a Laser off the coast of Hartlepool, where it sank. It has a wooden dam board at the back which you lift to let the sea out and close to keep it out. Apparently if you do this the wrong way around the boat fills with sea water and sinks. So, I wasn’t too keen to get on another one. Not least because I hadn’t considered Wells as a seafarer. Once I’d got into the cockpit, encouraged by some unsympathetic banter by my nearest and dearest, followed by more when I got into her father’s ill-fitting clothes, we started moving. There then followed a lot of wobbling to and fro which, for some reason, was reduced considerably when Elizabeth sat me down on the bench and told me to stay there.

  As we moved down the river I began to appreciate how much wildlife had been lost in the space of only a hundred years. I saw more kingfishers and water voles than I’d seen in the whole of my life, and here and there between the crack willows, lush grass water meadows appeared with their small zigzagging streams twinkling in the sunlight. Then as we approached Easebourne, couples in rowing boats began to appear in their Victorian Sunday best. It was an idyllic scene straight out of an impressionist painting. Elizabeth sat down beside me and for a few minutes we sat enjoying this dreamlike scene almost forgetting we were on one of Wells’ quests. However, it was not to last for as we wove through the boats, waving and smiling, I began to hear behind us quite a lot of raised voices. Looking back, I saw the reason. The bow waves produced by Wells’ boat had turned the peaceful river into a sea of bobbing boats and flailing oars and in the process, judging by the sound of arguments between the couples in the boats, had possibly ended the romantic intentions of quite a few. For the next twenty minutes Elizabeth and I kept our heads down and pretended we were deep in conversation and impervious to the mayhem around us.

  By the time we reached the ruins of Cowdray it seemed like the whole of Midhurst had taken to boating on the river and were determined to impede our every movement. Wells, however, was not to be deterred and steadfastly ploughed through them like an ice-breaker. Elizabeth said she’d never heard such language on a Sunday. However, when I asked her jokingly what days of the week she normally heard such language she said, only when I had work to do on our cottage. A bit unfair, I thought. Eventually Wells broke through the throng and brought the boat to a quiet jetty by the ruins of the old Norman castle.

  When I had got off the boat on to dry land with Elizabeth’s help I said, “So Wells, what have you in store for us? A time machine or a trip to the time cavern?”

  “It is Sunday, Mr Urquhart. We are going to church.”

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  E.

  With my ears still burning from the language I helped James on to the jetty, then noticing his appearance, re-buttoned his shirt so they matched the holes, adjusted the wings of his collar, re-tied his cravat and told him to pull up his left stocking. Eventually I was satisfied that if we met any acquaintances I would be able to pass him off as my husband without too much comment. I do sometimes wonder how men are ever able to dress themselves without assistance. I remember discussing this with Jill one afternoon while James was asleep on the sofa in his gardening attire, or as he called them, his ‘comfortable’ clothes. She thought that although her snoring brother might be an exception most men are perfectly capable of dressing themselves but some purposely use this as a ruse to attract a sympathetic and dutiful lady. Noticing my look, she said that I should not think James was capable of such a thing as that would require effort on his part. Our laughter awoke him and not a little effort was required to convince him our mirth was not at his expense. Poor James. I should record, however, that James suggested that having adjusted most of his clothing I should check he had buttoned his breeches correctly. I declined his request as I felt we had attracted enough attention for one day. Apparently, he told me, buttoned trousers had come back into fashion for a short period in his time. Not to be left out, he duly bought a pair but quickly consigned them to charity after an urgent call of nature during an exceedingly long evening at an hostelry caused him to understand why the zip fastener had become so popular.

  I must apologise to any ladies who may discover and read my dairies and wonder on the variety of subjects I mention, but if you have any thoughts of marriage you may find within these pages considerable assistance in the understanding of our men folk.

  But to Mr Wells and his ‘opportunity’ for us. Apparently, we had an appointment in St. Denys and we were not to be late. As we walked through the ruins of the castle I was gratified that that accursed time machine did not reappear, for I did not wish to play hide and seek in the brambles again and dispatch another good dress and stockings to the rag and bone man.

  When we arrived at the lych-gate, Mr Wells stopped and glanced up at the church clock. “Ah! We have a little time yet. We will wait here.”

  The clock showed five minutes before two o’clock.

  I noticed there was something different about the church upon which I could not lay my finger, but before I
could remark on it, a door opened and several parishioners came out. We made way for them, apologising for being an obstruction to their passage but for some reason they politely, or should I say rudely, ignored our presence except for one lady who seemed to be a little captivated by my male acquaintances. She wore a dark green, heavy dress gathered in by a thick belt at the waist and a white embroidered collar. Her brown hair was tightly curled beneath a small hat. James paused to acknowledge her presence in his usual fashion. “Hi, do we know you?”

  But she said nothing, possibly taken aback by his familiarity or his left stocking which was working its way down his leg again to meet his ankle. Instead she put her hand out to touch him. For some reason, I instinctively put my arm through his and pulled him away a little but the lady did not seem to notice and continued to try and reach out to him! He was now looking distinctly worried but as he turned to me for help she withdrew her hand and looking a little perplexed, turned and joined the other parishioners.

  “God, Elizabeth! What happened there?”

  “I do not know. You do not look completely out of place apart from your stocking. Though perhaps your clean shaven and hatless visage coupled with your unoiled hair may have fascinated her.”

  “And I’d presumed it was my handsome looks and magnetic personality,” he said, pretending to be crestfallen. I responded in kind.

  “On the first, as your dutiful wife, I could not possibly disagree but on the second I confess I am a little influenced by your sister and still withhold judgement.”

  His response reminded me of what protection the bustle afforded to a lady’s rear but also drew my attention to Mr. Wells whom I noticed was following the woman with a puzzled expression on his face. As he gazed after her I heard him say almost under his breath, “I feel I know that woman, but...”

  For the first time since I had known Mr. Wells he did not seem to be in control. He continued in the same fashion.

  “I know her, I am sure,” he said, still looking at her, “But I fear she is not quite of this time.”

  “What do you mean?” I enquired.

  He turned to us, awakening from his contemplation, “For a moment I thought it was my cousin, Isabel. But she did not recognise me.”

  “But I felt as though I was invisible!” said James.

  “Not invisible. But perhaps a little transparent, influenced by the time slip.”

  “Time slip! What time slip?” we said in unison and as if in reply the church clock struck two. We all turned towards it.

  “Ah, I see by the clock it is time.” said Mr Wells, “we must hurry!”

  Mr Wells hurried us towards the church and turned the latch on the wooden studded door then disappeared into the church. With one last look at each other and holding hands tightly, we followed.

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  Chapter Three

  J.

  We walked through the door and, unsurprisingly, found ourselves standing in the nave. Surprisingly, the familiar grey stone work had become a bright sandy colour and the gothic doors and stained glass windows now had rounded arches. However, what really struck me was the ceiling of the nave which was now a barrel vault painted a deep blue with myriad silver and golden stars. Elizabeth said, “This is Romanesque! The old and new gothic has disappeared! Look at the pillars. Have we moved back in time?”

  “I don’t know. Could be. The pillars are massive and the coloured stone with all those patterned whorls reminds me of Durham Cathedral. But look at those people by the pulpit. They’re dressed in the same fashions as those people outside. However,” I looked around the nave, “what’s worrying me is that damned enigma Wells has vanished, leaving us on our own again!”

  We starred at each other, wide eyed. No words were required. We both had the same idea. But when we turned around and tried to open the door to escape we found it wouldn’t open.

  Elizabeth wailed, “What puzzle is this? Why are we here? These people suggest we are still in the same time. But I am sure we did not pass through a portal!”

  “I don’t know.” I said, feeling around the door in the hope of finding some mechanism to open it. “This is weird. And where’s Wells?”

  We stood for a moment scanning the nave for some clue as to what was going on but found none and tried the locked door again. Eventually Elizabeth said, “I am at a loss. There is nothing to be gained by staying here. Let us speak with those people there with the vicar and hope none of them were on those boats.”

  We walked over to them. The vicar was wearing the obligatory large white sideburns and beard of the learned ancient Victorian, and talking about a prayer class. I politely waited until he’d finished then said to him, “Excuse me for interrupting but have you seen a gentleman in a blue coat?”

  No one took any notice and the vicar continued with his conversation. I turned to Elizabeth, presuming my twenty-first century grammar or manners were not worthy of a reply. She took her cue and said in her best sweet-demure voice, which normally gets me to do whatever she wants, “We apologise for interrupting your conversation but we have lost an acquaintance and we believe he passed through here.”

  They continued to ignore us. “Right!” I said, losing it a bit and talking directly to the vicar with a voice that just about echoed off the nave walls. “Would you mind talking to us because we need to find this bloke. He was wearing a blue blazer and cap. Have you seen him?”

  It was at that point that Elizabeth tried to get the vicar’s attention by tugging his white shawl. Her scream reverberated off the walls for her hand went straight through him as if he weren’t there!

  “What the…”, I stopped myself just in time, remembering where I was. I tried to touch one of the parishioners and like Elizabeth my hand went through her. They continued to ignore us.

  “What fantasy is this?” Elizabeth whispered, holding my arm and looking gratified that it at least was solid.

  My mind was racing. I took her by the arm and slowly walked away backwards not taking my eyes off them until I felt a pillar behind me.

  “What shall we do?” she said, still whispering, “They do not see or hear us! Are we invisible?”

  “I don’t know. And that damned door we came through is locked.”

  “Then we must find Mr Wells. Perhaps he has gone outside through the west door.”

  Seeing nothing better to do I agreed and we walked slowly and quietly towards it, for some inexplicable reason being worried that we might disturb the people who couldn’t see or hear us. But as we approached the door it opened and the woman whom we’d met by the lych-gate appeared. She immediately saw us.

  “Oh! You are real! Thank God!” And crossed herself. “Please help me. I arrived by tram for the morning service with my husband but he has gone!”

  “What do you mean gone?” I said, wondering what this had to do with me.

  She grabbed my arm. Her face was white.

  “He is nowhere to be found!”

  I thought she was going to faint. It wasn’t unusual for these poor Victorian women, trussed up in their corsets, restricting the oxygen and blood flow, to pass out. I presume they were designed to lend truth to the idea that women were the weaker sex.

  Elizabeth also suspected she was about to pass out and came to her assistance by gently and firmly holding her arm. “What’s your husband look like?”

  “He was wearing a light blue blazer and cap.”

  I hoped for a moment that blue blazers and matching caps were all the rage in Midhurst.

  “What’s your name?” I asked, hoping the answer wasn’t what I was expecting.

  “Isabel Wells.”

  This was madness. It was Wells’ cousin. I asked the only question left.

  “And is your husband Herbert Wells?”

  “Why, yes! How do you know?”

  “I know a lot about Wells. And now possibly more than he does.”

  “What do you mean?” she said grabbing my arm. “Who are you?”

&nb
sp; I hesitated for a moment, wondering how much to say then said, “We are Mr and Mrs Urquhart. We are visiting Midhurst for a day on the river. We met your husband a short while ago who said he was looking for you.”

  Elizabeth looked at me as though I was mad. I shrugged my shoulders indicating I agreed with her. However, thankfully, this story seemed to mollify Mrs Wells for a moment.

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  E.

  I was surprised Mr Wells was married. He never struck me that he had the slightest interest in my sex.

  I asked her, trying to hide my thoughts, “When did you last see him?”

  “Not more than half an hour ago. We had come for bible class. I had stopped to buy some flowers and he went ahead into the church but when I entered he was nowhere to be seen!”

  Her obvious fragility at her loss told me that this was not the time to admit we had been with Mr. Wells for the last couple of hours. “Are you sure he came in here?” I said.

  “Yes, I am sure!” she exclaimed. Her eyes darted around the nave and then pointing to our locked door, said, “I wondered if he had left by the south door for some reason and I went to explore. It was then that I thought I saw you both with my husband.”

  “What do you mean - you thought you saw us?” said James, a little too strongly for she flinched at his enquiry.

  “You were by the lych-gate. But as I approached you,” she grasped James’ arm for reassurance and said,” you lacked substance!”

  “In what way?” pressed James.

  “I cannot explain it! You were like glittering shadows which faded in and out! I suspected I was affected by his absence so chose to ignore you. I was so pleased that after searching the graveyard with no success I returned here via the west door and saw you again.”

  She was now quite agitated and she had my sympathy for I am sure that in the space of a few moments if I had lost my husband and been confronted by ghostly phantoms I would be of a similar condition. I gently touched James’ arm to try to desist him from further interrogation. He let out a sigh and said to her, quite kindly, “Come and sit down in a pew for a moment. We’ll try and help but first I must talk to my wife in private.”