A Trail Through Time (The Chronicles of St Mary's) (18 page)

This was her moment and she seized it, spitting the words she knew would destroy my world.

‘It wasn’t Leon, you stupid cow. It wasn’t Leon who lifted that contemporary from Troy. Only one person would ever do anything that stupid.’

My world slid away from me but I had to ask anyway.

‘Who was it then?’

‘It was you. Her. Maxwell. Maxwell did it. You did it because you’re arrogant and conceited and full of yourself and you think you’re wonderful and you can do anything you want. And everyone covered for you. And then you died so it didn’t matter any longer and I thought we were safe. And he was getting over you. One day he would have seen me. And then you turned up and ruined everything. And now we’re all at risk. Again. Do you wonder people hate you?’

We all have our own self-image. A picture of ourselves as we hope we appear to others. Mine was based on my work. I saw myself as I hoped others saw me – professional, hard-working, dedicated, competent – all the usual stuff. To have that blasted away in an instant … To know that I had committed a crime so terrible … to know that it was me. It was me who had done it. I had endangered the timeline, St Mary’s, my colleagues … Had Leon run away? From me? My world crashed down around my head.

I felt as if I had plunged into a bath of icy water. The shock took my breath away. She'd kicked away the foundations of my world and suddenly, I wasn’t the person I thought I was. The last thing I owned in this world – my sense of self – had been stripped from me.

I didn’t know what to do. I really didn’t know what to do. How to feel. What to say. No wonder Leon had told me to say nothing. This was the reason Leon had hidden me in the toilet. So that I couldn’t talk to Helios. So that I wouldn’t find out. That in this world it hadn’t been Leon. It had been me. The person who had threatened the timeline, risked everything, had been me.

It was a measure of how much I identified now with this life I had taken over – I felt every bit as frightened and ashamed and horrified as if I had done it myself. Maybe I should hand myself over to the Time Police – admit my crime and take my punishment. Was that why I was here? To provide the Time Police with a scapegoat? But no, that wouldn’t save Peterson or Guthrie or the Boss. Far from it. Because if I was guilty then so were they.

What was I going to do?

What could I do?

I don’t know how long I stood, lost in thought and panic, but when I looked up, she was gone.

I sat heavily on the little bed. The springs chinked beneath me. I tried to think, but the same three words ran through my mind. ‘It was you. It was you. It was you.’ I don’t know for how long I sat there. The overhead light flickered. Shadows danced. Time passed. I should be preparing for this hearing. Preparing my defence. Except I didn’t have one. If I were Maxwell then they’d shoot me. And Guthrie and Peterson and the Boss. And Leon if they ever found him.

And even if I weren’t Maxwell – would that save anyone? Who would believe I was from another world? I couldn’t prove it. And they couldn’t dig up a body because I’d been cremated and my ashes scattered. No mouldy earth for me. Just a small stone with my name.

I didn’t care about me. Knowing what I’d done, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to survive. If I hadn’t come here …

I was so completely in my own dark world that I never heard the quiet footsteps in the passage. When she spoke, I nearly had a heart attack.

‘Good afternoon, Dr Maxwell.’

The voice had the majesty of millennia.

I wasn’t in the mood.

‘Push off, Mrs Partridge.’

Perhaps I could goad her into finishing me off now.

‘I can see that you are considerably distressed, but there really is no need for discourtesy.’

She was in full battledress, her dark hair looped around her head and held in place with silver pins. A long, gracefully draped robe fell around her sandaled feet. She held a scroll in one hand. This was obviously a formal occasion.

I pushed myself to my feet. To confront her. My voice shook with emotion, although which emotion, I couldn’t have told you. I felt like a pressure cooker – ready to explode at any minute and bring half the building down with me.

‘Is this why you brought me here? To take the blame and get the Time Police off your backs? Am I to be sacrificed for something I didn’t do? I was dying at Agincourt, so you thought you’d bring me here and I’d be so grateful for a couple of extra weeks of life that I’d put my hand up for anything? Well, I tell you now, Mrs Partridge, I am not your puppet. I don’t care what you want me to do – I won’t do it. You’ll have to get another Maxwell from somewhere. It shouldn’t be a problem – you seem to have an inexhaustible supply.’

I had much more to say but it never happened. The overhead light flickered wildly. Shadows flew around the room. I’d finally done it. I’d finally made Mrs Partridge angry.

We stared at each other. I would not back down. She could whistle up storms and portents and shake the earth and it wouldn’t do her the slightest bit of good, because in this world, I’d done something so terrible that I couldn’t live with it, and if she wiped me off the face of the earth now, she would be doing everyone a favour.

‘Go on,’ I shouted. ‘Go on. I defy you. Do your worst and do it now because I’m finished with you.’

I hadn’t realised she was so tall. She regarded me long enough for my first faint stirrings of fear to register. Then everything was still.

‘Dear me,’ she said lightly. ‘I do think we should sit down, don’t you?’

I had no memory of moving, nor had I intended to, but there I was, sitting on the bed, listening to the birds singing outside on a lovely afternoon.

‘I think we need to update each other. Shall I begin?’

I didn’t want to do this. ‘I’m facing a hearing at four o’clock. I need to concentrate on that.’

‘Well, you have an hour or so yet.’

‘I need to prepare some sort of defence.’

‘I’m sure you’ll successfully wing it, just as you always do.’

I gave it up. And it would be nice to get some answers. ‘All right. You begin.’

‘The Time Police must be stopped. If they are not – if St Mary’s cannot prove its innocence, then people will die. Dr Bairstow, Peterson, Guthrie, you – all the people on whom St Mary’s depends. Their removal will pave the way for a new director to be appointed – we both know who – and the events you worked so hard to prevent in your own world will occur here because there is no one to prevent them.’

‘But,’ I said, ‘how can we stop them? We are guilty. I’m guilty.’

Once again, I stood on the precipice of panic.

‘No,’ she said, slightly exasperated, ‘you’re not.’

‘But I can’t prove it. No one’s going to believe me. I as good as admitted who I was. In public. In front of everyone. Everyone thinks I’m Maxwell.’

Now she was really exasperated. ‘You
are
Maxwell.’

I was back to being confused again. Only a short journey for me.

‘But how does that help? If I’m Maxwell they’ll shoot me because of Helios. If I’m not Maxwell, they’ll shoot me because I’m an anomaly.’

‘I am sure that if you take the time to think carefully, everything will become clear.’

I was bloody sure it wouldn’t.

‘If I give myself up – will they let the others go?’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Then why am I here? Am I to be sacrificed to get the Time Police off your backs?

‘Certainly not. Where do you get these ideas?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. In between being sick, chased, frozen, shot, chased again, shot again, covered in mud, covered in ash, sick again … A crowded schedule but still leaving room for the odd existential query – why am I bloody here? For God’s sake, Mrs Partridge, what do you want me to do? Give me some sort of clue.’

‘I cannot. You must choose your own path.’

‘What path?’

Silence.

‘Perhaps,’ I said bitterly, ‘I should just let them shoot me.’

‘You have died once in this world. Try not to do so again.’

‘Aren’t I supposed to die? Isn’t that why I’m here? I’m to be executed to get the Time Police off your back.’

‘On the contrary, you are to do your very best to remain alive.’

‘Why?

‘To tell the truth.’

‘You mean admit to being Maxwell.’

She said again. ‘You
are
Maxwell.’

True.

She continued. ‘You are making this far more difficult than it needs to be. I am sure, if you think about it carefully, you will see the wisdom of admitting who you are.’

I doubted that. A thought occurred to me.

‘Did you kill me? As a punishment for what I did with Helios?’

She smiled, but not with amusement. ‘I did not get the chance.’

I sat back, overwhelmed.

‘Perhaps this will help. Drink this.’

It really was the worst thing I’d ever drunk and I’d once got blitzed on Babycham. Eventually. It took about four crates but I got there in the end. And subsequently wished I hadn’t. I took a huge glug of something that nearly blew my head off. I took a while to recover and when my eyes stopped watering, she was on her way out of the door.

I disregarded instructions and panicked.

‘Wait. You haven’t told me what I must do.’

She turned back.

‘Remember – we can’t change the past. But we can change the future.’

Then she was gone and Officer Ellis was there, telling me it was time.

Chapter Eleven

A period of calm reflection would have been nice.

A period in which I would be able just to stop and think for a moment. To consider what I had been told. To think about what I was going to do. What I was going to say.

Fat bloody chance.

I don’t know what was in that drink she gave me. I only know that as I followed Ellis back into the building, I felt as if I could have conquered the world. Forget Hercules – I could have completed all twelve labours before lunchtime and then taken on the Minotaur. While standing on my head and whistling
God Save the King
.

My feeling of invincibility lasted all the way through the building and finally into the Great Hall itself. The place was packed, which was a bit of a surprise because I’d been expecting something in a cellar. With electrodes and no witnesses. On the other hand, the silence that fell as we entered was neither friendly nor welcoming. Neither was the layout.

An unknown woman sat alone at a table with her back to the stairway, facing the main doors. She wore the black Time Police uniform, which was not reassuring. She was about Dr Bairstow’s age and the sun streaming through the glass lantern overhead picked out the silver in her hair. She didn’t look up as we entered, continuing to write, her hand moving slowly but steadily across the page.

To her right, Colonel Albay and an officer unfamiliar to me sat at a smaller table heaped with electronic equipment.

Dr Bairstow, Peterson, and Guthrie sat alone in the first row, flanked by guards, with the rest of St Mary’s seated in rows behind them. Miss Lee sat off to one side, scratchpad laid on the table in front of her. She would be keeping the record.

Most ominously, a solitary chair stood isolated in the middle of the room, directly under the glass lantern. Well, at least they were going to let me sit down.

Ellis gave me a little nudge. ‘Go on.’

I walked slowly down the Hall. How many times had I been in here – working, arguing, presenting, giving and receiving briefings? I never thought it would come to this.

‘You may sit,’ said Albay, so, just to annoy him, I took my time, moving the chair slightly out of position, gazing around me, noting the position of familiar faces, smoothing my clothes and making myself comfortable. I didn’t make the mistake of looking for encouragement or support. Ellis took up a position behind me.

Silence fell. The woman continued to write. We hadn’t even started yet. What on earth could she possibly be writing?

The coughs and scuffling noises slowly died away into complete silence. A bit of a first for an historians’ working area. I stared at my feet. As far as I was concerned, they could take as long as they liked.

Eventually, she laid aside her pen and looked up.

‘Good afternoon. Let’s get the introductions out of the way. My name is not important. I have agreed to preside over this hearing, the purpose of which, as I understand it, is to establish the identity of the person before us.

‘Allow me to present my own credentials. I worked for St Mary’s for many years before transferring out and taking up a position with the Time Police. It was felt that these qualifications would give me a foot in both camps and allay any possible uneasiness over bias or prejudice. Should anyone have any reservations over my suitability, please speak up now. Silence will be taken for unopposed consent.’

She stared around the room. Silence. Good God, she was a female Dr Bairstow. I wondered in which particular incarnation of St Mary’s she had served and was just grateful it wasn’t mine.

‘To my right is Colonel Albay who will be leading the hearing this afternoon. As I understand it, this hearing is part of a larger investigation into the alleged removal of a contemporary from his own time?’

He nodded.

‘Yes, Madam President.’

‘I believe any witnesses to be called are already present?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘To my left is the subject of this enquiry. Good afternoon. I understand you are not yet completely recovered from recent ill health. Are you quite comfortable?’

‘Yes, thank you, Madam President.’

‘Colonel, you will remember the witness’s state of health and adjust your questioning accordingly.’

He stood.

‘Ma’am, I intend …’

‘I am sure you do, Colonel. I am simply warning you not to provide grounds for any subsequent appeals.’

That shut him up.

‘I am grateful, ma’am.’

She picked up her pen and started writing again.

‘You may begin.’

Here we go.

‘Madam President, this witness has shown herself to be hostile and uncooperative. I am advised that administering any kind of drug is contra-indicated and therefore, unless you have any objection, I intend to use the truth-cuff.’

This bloody cuff again. I deliberately hadn’t asked Ellis about it because I didn’t want to know.

The unknown officer approached, carrying a box, from which he extracted a metal cuff, about six inches long, with an LED display built in. A number of lights flashed yellow.

‘Please state the nature of this device for the record.’

‘Madam President, this is a truth-cuff. It cannot lie. In-built sensors monitor the body’s reactions to questions asked. Untruthful answers will cause the lights to flash red. Prolonged untruthful answers will cause the cuff to react in such a way as to discourage any subsequent untruthful answers.’

Bloody hell!

A stir ran around the room, but no one actually stood up and said, ‘You can’t do this.’

I resolved that should Leon ever return, he and I would be having a quiet word about this. For an hour or so. Possibly longer.

Colonel Albay rose. He had no papers in front of him. Clasping his hands behind his back, he turned to me.

My mind was all over the place. I needed to focus. Concentrate Maxwell. What are you going to say? Did I admit to not being from this world? Would that be enough to free those accused of this crime along with me? I doubted it and who would believe me, anyway?

Or did I try to convince them I was indeed Maxwell? What could that possibly gain?

I really, really wished I hadn’t given up silence as an option. Then I looked at David Sands in the third row back, alive and unharmed, sitting between Schiller and Roberts, and didn’t regret a thing. I’d think of something. A voice in the back of my mind told me I’d better make it quick, because he was off.

‘Madam President, this is a simple matter. There are currently three people accused of assisting in the removal of a contemporary from his own timeline. A fourth has evaded custody and is not present today. However, if, as I suspect, this is Madeleine Maxwell, then she was the instigator and the person chiefly responsible.’

‘I understood Madeleine Maxwell was dead.’

‘I suspect that is not, in fact, the case. I believe I can prove this person is Dr Maxwell. If that is so, then the court must hear her testimony.’

‘This is not a court, Colonel.’

He made a dismissive gesture. It didn’t matter. And he was right. Once he established my identity, we were all for the short walk and even shorter goodbye.

‘Well, this seems an easy matter to resolve, Colonel. I assume DNA samples are available.’

‘They are, ma’am.’

‘And the result?’

He hesitated.

‘Close. Very close.’

‘How close?’

‘Very close.’

‘Close enough?’

He hesitated again.

‘I ask again. Close enough?’

‘The results are inconclusive.’

‘How so?’

‘They neither prove nor disprove whether she is Madeleine Maxwell. The samples are not identical. They are, however, a very close match.’

‘Are you saying she is not quite Madeleine Maxwell?’

‘I’m saying that she is and that somehow the samples have been tampered with and the results skewed just sufficiently to raise doubt.’

Helen bristled angrily. I didn’t give much for his chances if he ever found himself alone with her.

‘How can they have been skewed? Your own people verified the results.’

‘I don’t know how – I just know they were.’

‘That is not good enough, Colonel.’

‘I am convinced, ma’am, that this woman standing here today is Madeleine Maxwell. She was heard to admit it herself.’

‘Then prove it, Colonel and stop wasting our time.’

At a nod from Albay, his officer slipped the cuff over my right forearm. He struggled to get it closed. The swelling had not yet completely gone down. He tried to squeeze it shut and it hurt. I laughed. Because I’m stupid, and antagonising someone already causing you pain is such a good idea.

She didn’t even bother looking up.

‘Use the other arm, Colonel.’

‘Ma’am, the results are more accurate …’

‘Then wait until her arm is healed. I can adjourn the hearing.’

He set his jaw and nodded.

The cuff slipped easily over the other arm. He clicked it closed. It was very heavy. And very cold.

I’d like to say I had some sort of plan. That I’d thought everything through thoroughly and come up with a carefully crafted course of action that would ensure a successful outcome. Yes, I’d really like to be able to say that.

On the other hand, Mrs Partridge had told me to wing it and who was I to disobey?

Someone was talking to me.

‘Sorry, miles away. Say that again.’

He frowned and said sarcastically, ‘Should I speak up, perhaps?’

‘No. No need. Sometimes I just don’t listen.’

Lights on the cuff glowed green. Someone laughed.

‘I shall begin by asking you a few simple questions, the purpose of which is to calibrate the cuff.’

I gestured airily. ‘Take your time. I’m quite comfortable.’

There was some of muttering at the table. The unnamed officer made a few adjustments to his equipment and finally, off we went.

‘Please could you answer this question untruthfully.’

‘My pleasure.’

‘How old are you?’

‘One hundred and eight.’

Rather worryingly, it took the red light a second or two to show.

‘Thank you. What colour is your hair? Please answer truthfully.

‘Flame-flecked auburn.’

The red light flashed.

I sighed. ‘Ginger.’

Green.

Madam President looked up. ‘The cuff appears to be working perfectly, Colonel. You may proceed.’

I waited with trepidation, memories of my last interrogation still fresh in my mind.

He leaped straight in.

‘Did you remove a contemporary while you were on assignment at Troy?’

Something snapped into place inside my head and I stopped feeling sorry for myself and concentrated. Suddenly, I thought I could see my way through all this. In the matter of identity, I was on very rocky ground, but in the matter of removing contemporaries, I could actually display a pure and shining innocence. Because, of course, I hadn’t. It wasn’t me. Suddenly, there was a possibility I could get the whole show over with right now. Today. Because, sure as eggs is eggs, I couldn’t afford a trial. If I was drugged then God knows what I might say. Here, today, I did at least have some control.

However, if I answered too easily, he might become suspicious. I needed to keep him focused on the removal of a contemporary and hope, in the excitement of the chase, he forgot about establishing exactly who I was. Piece of cake. I could still feel Mrs Partridge’s liquid fire coursing through my veins.

‘Last warning, Colonel.’

‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. I merely wished to save the court some time.’

‘The hearing reminds you again that this is not a court.’

‘Very well. Your name, please.’

I didn’t want to get into a pissing contest with Colonel Albay, so I addressed my responses to Dr Bairstow in the front row. As far as I was concerned, he was the one in charge here. And I could see that it annoyed the colonel, so no downside there.

‘Maxwell.’

We all looked at the green light.

He allowed the silence to become heavy. When I shifted my position slightly, I could feel my T-shirt drenched in sweat.

‘Are you Madeleine Maxwell?’

‘No.’

Red. Pure, solid, unblinking red.

And three seconds later – a sharp pain. Not for long. Not savage. But it could be if I didn’t start telling the truth.

I said, ‘Ow,’ and looked indignantly at the colonel. ‘That hurt.’

‘It was supposed to. Are you Madeleine Maxwell?’

I shook my head, thinking it might be safer. It wasn’t. The pain was a little sharper this time. I couldn’t prevent an indrawn hiss of breath. And these bastards had wanted to attach it to my damaged arm …

I looked across at Dr Bairstow, whose face was of stone. ‘You torture people here?’

He said, with careful emphasis, ‘
We
don’t, no.’

‘The witness will confine her remarks to the hearing,’ said Albay.

‘The witness is pretty pissed off at the moment.’

‘The witness will remember this is a formal hearing.’

‘The witness is unlikely to be allowed to forget it.’

‘May we continue, please, Colonel.’

‘Of course, ma’am. You are Madeleine Maxwell?’

‘No.’

Red.

A short sharp jab. I could not help jumping in my seat. I was hanging on to my temper by a thread. I’d have his bollocks for this.

‘Do you now or have you ever worked at St Mary’s.’

‘Yes.’

Green.

There was, as they say, a sensation in the court.

‘Might it not be easier, Colonel, to allow the witness to make a statement and then question her as to the contents. We appear to be going nowhere, at the moment.’

I couldn’t help glancing over at Dr Bairstow whose face, suddenly, had a ‘welcome to my world’, expression. He caught me looking and immediately rearranged his features.

I shifted position on my chair.

‘My name is Maxwell. I was living in Rushford with the man known as Leon Farrell. One day, from nowhere, a group of armed men attacked us. They did not, at any point, identify themselves or offer any explanation. We escaped and ever since, we have been pursued by a group of incompetent thugs whose disregard for the safety of the timeline and the contemporaries therein has been breathtaking.’