Read Online The Derring-Do Club and the Year of the Chrononauts by David Wake - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Wake
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along here,” said Fellowes.
“Where’s the master bedroom?”
“It’s not been touched since the Captain–”
“I’m simply curious,” Georgina said. “Where is it?”
“Along the landing, Miss, and there… blue door.”
“Excellent.”
Before Fellowes could do anything, Georgina swept along the landing and through the blue door. Fellowes shuffling stride sped up to try and intercept her, but he was too late.
“It’s not been aired,” he said.
“Bring me some light.”
“Miss?”
“And bedding, I shall sleep here,” Georgina said, and when the boy, a youth of ten or eleven, appeared and plonked the trunk down, she added, “Thank you, that will be all.”
The boy slunk out, smirking.
Fellowes looked reluctant. His hand moved with indecision making the lantern shift the great path of light that shone into the room to illuminate the corner of a bed. Georgina moved across the room and sat there.
“Miss, I really think…”
Georgina gave a tiny smile, thin, and very like Earnestine’s.
Fellowes wavered.
“That would be lovely, thank you. Fellowes, is it?”
“Yes Miss.”
He disappeared, scurrying away.
Georgina mouthed ‘Ma’am’ after him, then she felt rather foolish and very like Charlotte.
The door closed slowly and, sitting still, she realised how cold it was in the room. The wind whistled outside, howling suddenly in the echo chamber of a chimney before returning to a low murmuring, and a tree scraped across the window.
Even the light under the door had vanished.
This was Arthur’s room, she thought, and it would have been their room. She could not feel his presence, smell his aftershave or hear his heart beat as she had when he’d held her to him. She seemed to be sitting on a raft adrift on an immense black river, while at the same time the darkness enveloped her as if she were in a tomb.
The light flickered under the door frame and Fellowes knocked.
“Come in.”
Fellowes had a pair of candles in brass holders. He set one upon a dresser and the other on a bedside table. The room slowly came to life. There was a military jacket hanging outside the wardrobe, shaving equipment laid out on the dresser, as well as pictures and knick–knacks. She touched his aftershave jar, smelt her fingers and almost conjured up the time they’d met, the long railway journey and that one night together.
The sheets weren’t fresh but they weren’t musty: “This will be fine.”
“Miss… I… really, you can’t.”
“Goodnight, Fellowes.”
She ushered him out, closed the door and leant against it to sigh her utmost. It had been a long day.
She undressed herself; it wouldn’t do to call a maid as she might join forces with the butler and she’d be in the guest room.
She snuggled into Arthur’s bed.
Arthur’s bed, the thought was intoxicating.
There were two books on the bedside table: Wisden’s Cricketers’ Almanac edited by Sydney Pardon and Bleak House by Charles Dickens. The latter had a bookmark betraying a lack of progress. She would read it, she thought, but use a different device to keep her place. There was another book, which had a blank cover and also empty within, or at least where Georgina opened it. Flicking to the front, she found Arthur’s handwriting. It was a journal. The last entry talked about going to London, called in by Major Dan and looking forward to a possible adventure. She had been part of that adventure.
She felt that familiar lump in her throat again.
She decided then to continue the journal.
There was a fountain pen in the drawer and she fished this out, a couple of shakes and it wrote. She wrote the date, neatly, and then began an entry: ‘I, Mrs Arthur Merryweather, continue this journal. Upon arriving at Magdalene Chase, after travelling across country on the 11:23 from Paddington, it was dark and–’
The candle guttered, its flickering light warning her of impending darkness. Georgina capped the pen and closed the
“Where’s the master bedroom?”
“It’s not been touched since the Captain–”
“I’m simply curious,” Georgina said. “Where is it?”
“Along the landing, Miss, and there… blue door.”
“Excellent.”
Before Fellowes could do anything, Georgina swept along the landing and through the blue door. Fellowes shuffling stride sped up to try and intercept her, but he was too late.
“It’s not been aired,” he said.
“Bring me some light.”
“Miss?”
“And bedding, I shall sleep here,” Georgina said, and when the boy, a youth of ten or eleven, appeared and plonked the trunk down, she added, “Thank you, that will be all.”
The boy slunk out, smirking.
Fellowes looked reluctant. His hand moved with indecision making the lantern shift the great path of light that shone into the room to illuminate the corner of a bed. Georgina moved across the room and sat there.
“Miss, I really think…”
Georgina gave a tiny smile, thin, and very like Earnestine’s.
Fellowes wavered.
“That would be lovely, thank you. Fellowes, is it?”
“Yes Miss.”
He disappeared, scurrying away.
Georgina mouthed ‘Ma’am’ after him, then she felt rather foolish and very like Charlotte.
The door closed slowly and, sitting still, she realised how cold it was in the room. The wind whistled outside, howling suddenly in the echo chamber of a chimney before returning to a low murmuring, and a tree scraped across the window.
Even the light under the door had vanished.
This was Arthur’s room, she thought, and it would have been their room. She could not feel his presence, smell his aftershave or hear his heart beat as she had when he’d held her to him. She seemed to be sitting on a raft adrift on an immense black river, while at the same time the darkness enveloped her as if she were in a tomb.
The light flickered under the door frame and Fellowes knocked.
“Come in.”
Fellowes had a pair of candles in brass holders. He set one upon a dresser and the other on a bedside table. The room slowly came to life. There was a military jacket hanging outside the wardrobe, shaving equipment laid out on the dresser, as well as pictures and knick–knacks. She touched his aftershave jar, smelt her fingers and almost conjured up the time they’d met, the long railway journey and that one night together.
The sheets weren’t fresh but they weren’t musty: “This will be fine.”
“Miss… I… really, you can’t.”
“Goodnight, Fellowes.”
She ushered him out, closed the door and leant against it to sigh her utmost. It had been a long day.
She undressed herself; it wouldn’t do to call a maid as she might join forces with the butler and she’d be in the guest room.
She snuggled into Arthur’s bed.
Arthur’s bed, the thought was intoxicating.
There were two books on the bedside table: Wisden’s Cricketers’ Almanac edited by Sydney Pardon and Bleak House by Charles Dickens. The latter had a bookmark betraying a lack of progress. She would read it, she thought, but use a different device to keep her place. There was another book, which had a blank cover and also empty within, or at least where Georgina opened it. Flicking to the front, she found Arthur’s handwriting. It was a journal. The last entry talked about going to London, called in by Major Dan and looking forward to a possible adventure. She had been part of that adventure.
She felt that familiar lump in her throat again.
She decided then to continue the journal.
There was a fountain pen in the drawer and she fished this out, a couple of shakes and it wrote. She wrote the date, neatly, and then began an entry: ‘I, Mrs Arthur Merryweather, continue this journal. Upon arriving at Magdalene Chase, after travelling across country on the 11:23 from Paddington, it was dark and–’
The candle guttered, its flickering light warning her of impending darkness. Georgina capped the pen and closed the
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