Authors: Beverley Brenna
“Well, there's the tale of Charlotte and the Shoes,” he began.
“Is it going to be a funny story?” Mary interrupted.
“Yes, there are funny parts in it.”
“And it's serious, too,” said Mary. “Make sure it's going to have something bad in it.”
“Absolutely, there is a difficult situation here for Charlotte,” said William, patiently.
“Go on, then,” said Mary. She had the same demanding tone as Prince Henry, but in a child her age, it was rather comical. William suppressed a smile, and began.
“This story is about how Charlotte does not reckon Frank Hopkin among her friends, as she loves him not since the day when he left her in the mud.”
“In mud?” interrupted Mary. “Is this the serious part?”
“Yes, Princess,” said William. “But let me tell it through, if you please, or I might miss something.”
She nodded at him to go on, and he did.
“It was a few years past, when Charlotte was a small maid of eight years and Frank Hopkin was a great lad of thirteen.”
“Charlotte is eleven now, so that means it was exactly three years ago!” said Mary triumphantly.
“Yes,” said William. “We had gone blackberrying with the Hopkin family, they being neighbors, and Frank, like the imp he was, led the girls home a long way around, and through some thick, dark mud. His sisters made out all right, but Charlotte's shoes did stick, and, being stronger than her, the mud pulled the shoes from off her feet.”
Mary laughed and then reconsidered. “But this is a serious part, too,” she said.
“Yes,” agreed William. “The mud wrestled the shoes from off her feet so that she wept to think of what Mother might say.”
“Did your mother scold about things like that?”
“She did, and still does,” said William, and then saw a shadow pass over Mary's brow at the thought of having a living mother who cared about what you did. He pressed on.
“The Hopkin girls did manage to avoid the mud, but poor Charlotte floundered in stocking feet, again stuck fast, her shoes by now some distance away. Frank Hopkin stayed to laugh at her a while, and then did kick up his heels and run for home so that his own made-up story might arrive in his defense, before the story his sisters would tell.
“Charlotte screamed and roared but it was of no effect. She was left sticking in the wet mud until word came to me, and I ran to find her in this woeful plight. She had pulled off her stockings, being that they were the second thing stuck after her shoes, and now she stood ankle deep with mud fastening her
bare feet
to the place she stood.”
“Oooh!” said Mary. “And did she get a whipping?”
“She did not,” replied William. “I informed Mother that it was ill of Frank Hopkin to leave her thus, as he was elder and should be of better constitution.”
“And what about Frank Hopkin?” demanded Mary.
“Charlotte decided that he would never be her true love, and so I think he was punished enough,” said William, smiling.
“Quite right,” said Mary. “I would never grace Frank Hopkin with my attentions, even if he were of royal blood.”
“Very wise, Princess,” said William. He turned to escape but Mary danced in front of him.
“That was a good story!” she cried. “Another!”
“We'd best leave the storytelling until the morrow,” said William, looking at the nurse who had apparently come to collect her charge. “The sun is quite finished with us and it will soon be time for bed.”
“I hate bed,” said Mary, and the nurse took her hands to lead her away. “See you tomorrow, William!” she called. “I hope you have another story about that Frank Hopkin. He is my favorite of all the ill, naughty, evil, and abominable imps I have heard of lately. I marvel much that he was not at all repentant!”
“Perhaps someday he will mend his ways,” replied William.
“But not very soon!” said Mary. “There are other stories about him, are there not?”
“I believe so,” said William, feeling a bit weary at the thought. “I shall have to think on it.” It struck him that if someone were to create a book of such stories, it might keep Mary satisfied for a good long time, where she could read and reread to her heart's content. It would be a book for enjoyment, not for learning, and although he had some thought of writing an epistle about farming someday, with collected letters to farmers that advised on modern agricultural techniques, he had never considered any other kind of writing, or its value.
Something to think on
, he repeated to himself.
Definitely something to think on.
7
The shadows
KATE WAITED FOR five minutes in the cool blue shadows of London House and then, miraculously, Hal was there.
“I like a girl who's on time,” he said, grinning at her and draping an arm around her shoulders.
“Should I say hello to your sister before we go?”
“She's already gone to the theater,” replied Kate.
A flicker of something that looked like disappointment crossed his face.
“All right, then. Let's go,” he said. “I can always meet her next time.”
Next time! That meant he wanted another date with her! As long as she didn't ruin it. As long as she didn't open her mouth and say something really stupid. As Hal began to walk faster, Kate stepped away. It was difficult keeping up in such close proximity.
“Where ⦠uh ⦠where are we going?” Kate asked tentatively.
“You'll see. It'll be fun,” Hal said, striding quickly down the path toward Coram's Fields. Kate had to run to catch up. She wished she knew where they were headed.
“What's in there?” she asked, noticing his leather pack.
“A surprise,” he said. “For later.”
A twinge of irritation added to her unease. She was not a person who liked surprises. When she realized they were bound for the Russell Square tube station, she stopped abruptly. It was one of the undergrounds equipped with an elevator. A very small, airless elevator that Kate had only been in once before and swore she'd never enter again. Hal, already in the doorway of the station, turned to see what was the matter.
“I don't actually like this Underground,” she blurted, panic welling up in her chest.
“Really?” he asked. “I'd think a New Yorker like you would be seasoned on the tube. You Americans call them subways, right?”
“Yeah,” she said. “This elevator's been stuck loads of times. I read about it in the paper.”
“Well, it'll be a long walk,” he said a bit briskly, “if you're on foot.”
She felt her face grow hot with embarrassment. Why did she have to be such a loser? He must think that she was weird to be okay with one subway but not another. It was just that at King's Cross there were stairs.
“Okay,” she mumbled, her face hot with embarrassment. “I'll try it.”
“Let's go, then,” he said, and she took a deep breath. Self-loathing sloshed around in her stomach. Why did she have to be such a freak? She took another gulp of air and followed him inside the station. A grimy path on the tile floor led them to the lift. It was a small, squalid-looking contraption, hardly big enough to hold the dozen people that were crowding into it.
“We could just take the stairs ⦔ Kate suggested hopefully, seeing a sign on a nearby door.
“You want to go down a hundred stairs? Be my guest!” Hal snorted. “It wouldn't be my choice. Look,” he went on, “I've taken this lift a million times. It's perfectly safe and we'll be out before you know it.” He got in boldly, as if to prove his point. Kate moved reluctantly beside him. For a moment, she felt her heart beating harder, her pulse racing, and then, just as Hal had promised, the ride was over.
As they stood on the platform waiting for the train, Kate tried not to think of how far underground they were. The oily smell of the subway made her throat feel sticky, and in the dim light, she could see the tunnel stretching ahead like a tomb. She took a deep breath, just to make sure she still could, and suddenly the car accident in New York rose up in her mind. There had been this terrible noise, and then she'd been crushed in on herself, her breath a sharp exclamation mark in her chest, the car door crumpled and squeezing against her side. Amazing that she hadn't been hurt. When her dad had been ⦠had been killed. How hard it was to remember this.
“Dad!” she'd yelled, but her father didn't answer. Couldn't answer. And caught in the seat belt, amidst the compacted metal, she hadn't done anything to help. It was all she could do to stay conscious and yell for someone to come and get them out. Except that she was the only one left in the car. He'd been thrown through the front windshield, and when the fire department finally arrived, with the ambulance, it was too late. He was dead.
“Penny for your thoughts?” asked Hal over the rumble of the approaching train. She shook her head, her body beginning to tremble. Caught in the broken car, she'd been sure she'd run out of air, miraculously continuing to breathe until the jaws of life opened a space for the paramedics to get her out. Hal squeezed her hand. Suddenly she caught a glimpse of something plunging along the rails away from them.
“There!” she gasped, the sudden intake of air putting her involuntary shaking to rest. All in a flash, the train was in front of them and Hal was pulling her through the open doorway. What had she seen? Just shadows, or flesh and blood? For a moment, she had been sure she had spotted a wolf.
The train lurched forward and Kate blinked, the view from the scratched window too blurred to see anything. And then they were inside the darkness of the tunnel, and Kate, feeling sick to her stomach, looked away from the glass. The two girls behind them had just finished doing their nails, and the smell of polish stung Kate's nostrils. Nothing like a strong scent to ground you in reality. It must have been shadows she'd seen on the tracks; nothing could live in the underground.
Hal, apparently unconcerned that she hadn't answered his question, was taking gum out of his backpack. The people in the car with them seemed oblivious to anything extraordinary outside. Everyone was busy with something. The guy in front was reading a paperback. Kate craned her neck. It was
Gone with the Wind
. The older man beside him was scanning
The London Times
. Across the aisle, a Goth was gently tugging at a ring embedded in his upper lip, deeply engaged in conversation with the well-dressed businessman beside him. Their banter, reaching Kate's ears, sounded comfortable, warm. They leaned toward each other, obviously partners. How different from each other they look, thought Kate, yet how compatible. She longed for just such an easy relationship, one where communication was effortless. If she wasn't such a loser, maybe she could think of something interesting to say to Hal. She clenched her hands, willing something smart to come out of her mouth, but all she could think of was stuff about the weather, and how dumb was that?
Maybe it hadn't been a wolf back there, she thought. Maybe it was just a dog, a stray who'd somehow found its way down into the tube station. It would run along the tracks and then escape into a side passage at the sound of the approaching train. Or be crushed by the vehicle, its body never found because rats would make swift work of the carcass.
“Come on, it won't kill you,” said Hal.
“What?” Kate asked.
Hal waved the gum under her nose. “Gum?”
“Oh, thanks,” Kate replied, but she made no move to take any.
“What are you so serious about?” Hal asked.
“Oh ⦠I ⦠uh ⦠was just thinking about our field trip today,” she replied with a false laugh, taking the package. “We went to the museum at Greenwich.” She popped a piece of gum into her mouth and chewed, the strong smell of mint reminding her of the scene in the forest. She saw again the people on horseback, heard the sound of the hunting horn.
“Ah, the home of time,” said Hal. “What did you think of the Prime Meridian?”
“What?” asked Kate, thinking he was talking about numbers.
“The place where all the clocks in the world are set. Zero degrees longitude. You can actually stand with one foot in the eastern hemisphere and one foot in the western hemisphere.”
“Well ⦠I don't think we went there,” said Kate, returning the pack of gum.
“Pity,” said Hal. “It's a hoot. I've been there loads of times.”
“Can you ⦠can you feel the difference? Between time zones?” asked Kate, her pulse starting to race again.
“You bet,” he said. “Sometimes I can almost feel myself disappearing.”
“What?” Kate said, startled.
“You can't be in two time zones at the same time, now, can you?” he went on in a light voice. “Sometimes, when you have a choice, you have to pick one time or the other, and then take the consequences.”
“You mean change times?” she asked. He gave a short explosive laugh.
“Hah! Well, that's the question, isn't it? The question that people have asked for centuries. Is time travel possible?” She saw all at once that he was joking and tried to smile. When he offered her another piece of gum, she took it and chewed hard, biting her tongue and then blinking as tears came to her eyes.
8
The concert
WHEN THEY GOT off the train at Hyde Park Corner, Kate and Hal took the stairs two at a time, bursting out into the mild air. No frost tonight. Still, it was damp, and the hint of cold managed to find its way under Kate's skin.
“Was it that different, then, from your subways?” Hal asked.
Kate paused. For certain, there were no wolves in the New York subways. “No, not much different,” she said, finally, “not really,” and did her best to smile. She opened her mouth to try the giggle, but nothing came out. Just as well, she told herself. It would likely have been another one of those squeaks. Not very impressive. She wished desperately that she had something interesting to say to Hal, something that would make him laugh or look at her admiringly. Instead, she felt as heavy as a boiled egg, and just as talkative.
Humpty Dumpty
, she thought dismally.