The Space Between Time, Page 3

  We both stared at him questioningly. He saw our expressions and said to her, “Don’t worry, we will be close by, just over there by the pillar, but I do need to discuss something first with my wife.”

  She agreed to sit down and, once reassured that she was comfortable and could still see us, James took me over to one of the nave pillars and whispered, “Before we go further, first, I need to tell you about what I know about Wells’ women in my world.”

  “His women?” I said, somewhat taken aback, “I had not thought the fairer sex was of interest to him.”

  “Ha! Quite the opposite. From what I can remember of a biography I read of Wells, he was first married to his cousin Isabel Wells – they met at her mother’s house, I think – and that’s who I think this woman is. Unfortunately, they didn’t get on, mainly because she felt outclassed by him. Bit like me sometimes.”

  I was about to protest but with a smile he pressed his finger to my lips and continued, “I think it was actually this year, 1895, that he left her and shacked up with a Catherine Robbins whom I believe he eventually married.”

  “Who is this Catherine?”

  “She was supposed to be quite a liberal person and allowed him to have a number of other women.”

  “I’m afraid you may not find me so receptive to such a proposition.”

  “Really! I’d better cancel my engagements for the weekend. However, what worries me is this. Is the Wells we met on the boat the same one she’s looking for?”

  “You mean the Mr Wells who brought us here may not know of these women?”

  “Possibly. Or, worse case. He’s already legged it with Catherine, leaving us to sort out Isabel.”

  “I will be very disappointed if Mr Wells has dragged us away from our world just to help him with his extra-marital affairs.”

  “I’ll add ‘disappointed’ to the small list of words I was thinking of.”

  “In that case I hope our Maker is not reading your thoughts. But what of your second point?”

  “Second point? Oh, yes. I need to buy some proper trousers.”

  “Why?”

  “These knickerbockers.”

  “They are breeches. But what of them? You look very fetching; if you pull up that left stocking.”

  “I look like an overgrown school boy.”

  “And what of me when I first came to your time, having to wear your sister’s skirts that showed my all? I still remember the embarrassment of having to walk down your stairs with you waiting at the bottom.”

  “You weren’t showing your all.”

  “But how would you know?” I replied, with some amusement, “You claimed you were not looking.”

  “Oh. Erm... Couldn’t help it.” He said, pretending to be crestfallen at my accusation then wagged his finger at me. “Well. It wasn’t my fault. You shouldn’t have such lovely legs.”

  “You are incorrigible. But to return to your clothes before you are further compromised. It is Sunday, James. A day of rest from Mammon. The shops are all closed.”

  “Then I’ll have to get back to the boat.”

  “How? The door is locked. Besides, the cut of your clothes is of trivial importance compared to the plight of that poor woman.”

  After a little more persuasion he acquiesced.

  “OK, you’re right. Let’s go and find out what she knows about Wells. But don’t mention his other women. And tomorrow I want to buy some proper trousers.”

  We returned to Mrs Wells who was watching us pensively. It was at that moment I noticed a gentleman dressed in a blue jacket and matching coloured cap appear from the vestry.

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  Chapter Four

  J.

  He strolled towards us as though he did not have a care in the world. I waited to find out which Wells he thought he was. I soon found out when his ‘wife’ on seeing him, immediately ran to him and hugged him. “Oh, Herbert! I thought I’d lost you.”

  Unfortunately, ‘Herbert’ was having difficulty responding in kind.

  He gently and firmly released her and looking at her intently said, “Isabel. Is it really you?”

  She looked at us then him, “Of course it is! Why do you not think it is me?”

  Then he noticed us and ignoring her question said, “Hello, Mr and Mrs Urquhart. I was looking for you. Where did you go?”

  I said rather sarcastically, “We’ve been standing in this church wondering where you’d gone and looking after your wife.”

  “I do not have a wife, Mr Urquhart.” said Wells, looking at Mrs. Wells as if noticing her properly for the first time.

  “This woman says she’s your wife. Her name’s Isabel Wells. Ring any bells?”

  There was a sharp intake of breath. “Isabel? You mean my cousin?”

  “That’s the one.” I said.

  From what I could remember from my research on Wells’ life, in 1895, it would have been over twenty years since he had last seen Isabel.

  Mrs Wells, having lost one husband and gained another who claimed he wasn’t married to her, was beginning to feel faint again. She grabbed Wells’ arms tightly, “Herbert! What is the matter? Is this some parlour trick? If it is, it is not amusing!”

  He continued to gaze at her, trying to understand. “Isabel. I have not seen you in a long time. Where have you been?”

  She turned to us. Fear and confusion now crossed her face, “What is happening? He does not recognise me! You must help him! Why does Herbert think we are not married!”

  Wells needed to be brought up to speed. For once it seemed he really didn’t know what was going on.

  I grabbed his sleeve. “Wells! Listen to me! I think two time paths have overlapped. You understand what I mean.”

  He took a double take. “You mean there are two of me here?”

  At that point Isabel fainted and fell almost backwards straight into my arms. I should note for when Elizabeth reads this that the only reason I grabbed her by her breasts was to prevent her slipping to the floor.

  We managed to get her to a pew and Elizabeth loosened her jacket and blouse. After a few seconds she came around and Wells, pausing only for a moment, reached out and held both her hands, saying, “I am sorry, Isabel. I must have succumbed to a brain fever. Please forgive me. I cannot remember anything. Where am I?”

  I must hand it to him. He catches on quickly.

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  E.

  I tried to put things together. We came by boat with Mr Wells. We met his wife outside the church but she could only see us faintly as though we were out of her time. Yet when we met her again in the church after passing through the door, she could see us clearly and we were as substantial to her as she was to us! Then, it seems, at almost the same moment we arrived with Mr Wells, Mrs Wells’ husband disappeared. But then I remembered there had been a delay. We did not enter the church immediately because Mr Wells required that we wait until two of the clock before entering. Did he know what was going to happen? And what became of her husband? This needed explanation.

  But to return to the problem in hand. We now had to manage Mr Wells’ recently acquired brain fever for I was not convinced Mrs Wells was ready to accept that there were two of him loose in Midhurst let alone be introduced to time travel.

  However, I was relieved to see that the explanation for his disappearance had relaxed her a little although she was still on her guard, for she said to him, “Oh, Herbert. I am sorry that you are unwell, but in truth it is a relief that there is a reason for your behaviour. But, do you remember nothing? Pray tell me, can you remember what we did this morning?”

  He looked at us for help. I looked at James for assistance who in turn gave me a look which suggested I had put him on the spot. However, he rose to the challenge.

  James said, “Listen! Before we go any further we need to get him home where we can treat him AND I’d like to get away from this place before we all disappear again.”

  “Thank you, Mr Urquhart,” said
Mr Wells, recovering a little more and to keep his wife’s focus diverted, turned to her and said, “Will you take me home, Isabel? I do not trust myself to make a sane decision.”

  “Of course, I will take you home, but I would like your acquaintances to come with us.”

  We glanced at each other, then instinctively towards the door by which we had arrived. James went over to it, tried the handle again and returned.

  “Looks like we’re going with them, Elizabeth.”

  My heart sank. Each turn seemed to be taking us deeper into a labyrinth.

  We all left the church by the west door and walked into bright sunlight across a walled, flagstoned quadrangle and passed through an arch into the main street. To my surprise, it was lined with soot-covered buildings and houses of a Mediterranean style with red pantile roofs. As we stepped on to the cobbled road I immediately smelt a familiar aroma in the air and realised it was coal smoke; so unfamiliar in James’ world I had almost forgotten its pungent odour. But what held my attention was the billowing dark clouds rising to the north which reminded me of the great industrial cities around Birmingham I had once passed on a train en route to Scotland.

  “What can that be?” I said to James, pointing to the horizon. Mr Wells replied, “Iron furnaces.”

  “In Sussex?” said James surprised, “I thought industry was banned in Sussex.”

  “This is a different world. The whole of the north of the county is a wasteland devoted to the retrieval of iron ore and smelting.”

  “But what are they using for fuel? Wood? There’s no coal in Sussex.” replied James.

  “It comes from the coal mines of Kent.”

  “How?” said James.

  One of his endearing and sometimes frustrating qualities is his need to know how and why things work. I confess I am of a similar persuasion. He tells me that each day between arising and returning to bed if he had not learnt something new it was not worth getting up and I could not but agree for is not each day given to us for a reason?

  Mr Wells, who had not been idle in between his quests for us, said, “They have built grand canals across the county to transport the coal to the furnaces and use them to send the iron and steel to London.”

  “So what about the iron and steel industries in Wales and the North?”

  “I am unsure. All news I have read seems to only relate to the south of England. It is though they do not exist or are of no consequence.”

  “Not much difference from my world then,” said James, rather sarcastically, “Most southerners think civilization ends at the Watford Gap.”

  I had heard this phrase before in James’ world. Apparently, it is generally assumed by those that live in London and its surrounds that the North of Britain begins at a place near Northampton. I am rarely admonished by James for my views for he is very tolerant on what my upbringing regarded as natural and has provided much enlightenment on the advantages of equality within our species, but when I suggested this was reasonable he was more than a little put out. I assume by his name that one of his ancestors did come from the North and he had need to defend them.

  But to return to our excursion. As we walked on to the road, we passed families and acquaintances gathered in small groups in their Sunday best but I was surprised to see they were not in black but in all the colours of the rainbow. James was so struck by their colours that he removed his phone and photographed some of them. Their clothes suggested that the period of mourning for Queen Victoria’s husband had expired or perhaps she did not exist in this world. Down the centre of the cobbled road were metal rails on which, to my surprise, I saw an electric tram coming from the east. There was not a horse in sight!

  I asked James if this was expected for this year for I was sure, from my reading of his histories that horse drawn trams were not replaced until the twentieth century. He agreed with my view and suggested that once again we had slipped across time. Eventually, one of the trams stopped by the church and we all followed Mrs Wells on to it. Thankfully. though inexplicably, the conductor and passengers acknowledged our presence. They also did not ask for the fare. As I sat down next to James with the Wells together behind us I whispered to James, “There is something within that church which causes a change, for out here although it is different, people are substantial.”

  “I agree,” he responded in kind, “And I hope our own Wells knows all about it. But after seeing his surprise at seeing his wife here I’m not convinced.”

  “Yes. He does not seem himself,” I said, “And we have still not ascertained why he has brought us here.”

  “I know! When we’ve sorted out Mrs Wells we’ll give him the third degree.”

  I turned around and saw Mr Wells staring out of the window lost in thought with Mrs Wells’ head resting on his shoulder. She saw me and smiled as she snuggled up closer to him. I could see ‘sorting out’ Mrs Wells and her matrimonial relationship, as James put it, was going to require some considerable effort. Although I really could not understand what any of this had to do with us.

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  J.

  Her home was on the edge of the village on the road to Cocking in a row of new but pleasant single-bay, white walled villas complete with small front gardens full of bluebells and hemmed in by iron railings.

  Around the porch of the green painted door of her house red camellias flowered. Mrs Wells removed a key from her handbag which she inserted into the door and opened it. Then she turned to us and said with an almost inviting smile, “Do come into our abode. It is small but it is sufficient for our needs. Isn’t it, Herbert?”

  Herbert continued to play his amnesia card and nodded.

  Once we were in the narrow hall lined with lithographs of rustic churches and rugged landscapes, she closed the door, and turning to Wells said, “Now do you remember where you are, Herbert?”

  He looked around with a puzzled expression and said, “No, I do not, Isabel.”

  I said quickly. “Let’s get him sat down and see what we can do.”

  She took us into the parlour. It was decked out in heavy Victorian green and red chintz with two comfy, green upholstered chairs and a sofa all embroidered with coloured tropical birds. But what caught my attention were the electric lights. When we had sat down I said. “Ok. First question. When are we?”

  She looked puzzled by that. She turned to Wells but seeing no help there turned back to me and said, “Why, whatever do you mean? It is late afternoon, of course.

  “I meant the exact date?

  “Oh,” she relaxed a little, “It is the 24th March 1895. Have you been away?”

  “No more than usual. It is those things that are confusing me,” I said, pointing at the electric lights.

  “Oh, I see.” She said. Again, she looked at Wells for assistance and got none. Then she said, rather cautiously “Why are you surprised to see electric lights here? Do you not have them?”

  “Yes, we do but where or when we live…”

  Elizabeth pinched my arm and just managed to stop me blurting out when we came from. Unfortunately, Mrs Wells noticed and said, “What of the lights. Why do you think…”

  Luckily Elizabeth managed to change the subject. “Please forgive us but we have not properly introduced ourselves.”

  “Of course, I am sorry. This is my husband, Herbert, and I am his wife, Isabel, and we have been married for just four years.”

  She then gave Wells a look that suggested she’d been married to the wrong man for forty.

  “And we are James and Elizabeth Urquhart and we live in Chichester and have been married for just under a year,” replied Elizabeth, who reassuringly gently clasped my hand in a manner which suggested she was married to the right man.

  “Thank you,” said Mrs Wells, then, judging quite rightly I was the weaker of us two, looked me straight in the eye said, “And is it so very different in Chichester ?”

  “Yes. It is.” I said trying to be as neutral as possible without giving anything
away. For I wanted to hear her story first. However, she seemed to understand what I implied. She paused for a while as if calculating something really deeply then hesitantly said: “With regard to the electric lighting, as far as I understand, there were no ‘Dark Ages’ here. Is it the same with you?”

  She’d now cornered me. However, Elizabeth interjected and said, very softly, “But surely Mrs Wells, if there were no Dark Ages how did you know that they did not exist?”

  She’s a bit bright, my wife. I assume a childhood absent of telly and social media must have helped and of course her use of negatives which always confuse me. Well, that’s my excuse.

  She’d caught Mrs Wells nicely. “You are very astute, Mrs Urquhart.”

  She hesitated and bit her lip then continued, “I do not know how to say this for I have already been accused of madness by my husband. But before I arrived here, I lived in a world where they did exist.”

  “When was that?” I said, jumping in and trying to convey the impression it was the most natural thing to ask.

  “About two weeks ago. I can’t quite remember. But it was March.”

  “What happened?”

  “The world just changed. But to my consternation I seemed to be the only one who noticed.”

  “Not even your husband?”

  “No. It was horrible.” She stared at Wells pointedly who was studiously gazing around the room and pretending he wasn’t listening. She continued, “I spoke to Herbert of it and he thought I had had a fit that had affected my mind. He would have none of it and when I refused to desist he took me to a doctor who attributed it to the fragility of a woman’s mind and prescribed complete rest for a week.”

  I turned to Elizabeth, “There you are. All you girls need if you’re getting a bit fraught and emotional is good lie down for a week.”