The Time Hunters and the Box of Eternity (4 page)

But Becky didn
’
t want to forget anything. She wanted answers. And as she trailed Joe
and Will up the left hand flight of stairs, a stubborn silence amplifying the
howling wind that had picked up outside, she couldn
’
t help but feel
disappointed her return to Bowen Hall wasn
’
t quite as magical as she
’
d hoped.

*

Minutes later, Becky stared out of her bedroom window at the angry
sky, thinking about Uncle Percy and their eventful arrival at Bowen Hall; the
feeling that something was deeply wrong clawed at her like a headache.
 
She flung her suitcase on the four-poster bed
and began to unpack, when her eyes were drawn to a folded newspaper on the
writing table. Looking closely, she saw the banner
The Travelling Times
and below the masthead, a six-word headline that sent her head spinning with
excitement. Dashing over, she picked it up and flattened it out on the bed.

THE SEARCH FOR JOHN MELLOR CONTINUES …

May I, in my position as Institute president, and on behalf of all
members of the administration committee, thank the hundreds of you who continue
to search so diligently for TT114 John Mellor. I have never known such a
collective effort! Every single member of the organisation has submitted an
exploration record looking for John and, to my knowledge, eighty two timelines
and three hundred sectors have been eliminated from our investigations.
Granted, we have had little success so far, but stay optimistic (as John always
was) because your next trip could be the one that matters. However, the
committee has asked me to remind you to stay vigilant. Emerson Drake (and
please excuse my language) may be a snivelling bloody toe-rag, but he is a
devious, deceitful, and highly dangerous snivelling bloody toe-rag. So if you
see or hear of anything suspicious on your travels then please contact TT98,
Percy Halifax or Tracker one, Charles Millport, and they will take the
necessary measures to investigate further.

I would, however, like to draw your attention to some recent notable
but amusing failures in our search for John. TT104 Keith Pickleton was
convinced that John occupied a six by four cell at Alcatraz in 1936 under the
alias, Freddy
‘
The Toad
’
Wiggoni. TT170, Mustapha Khan believed him to be imprisoned in
Sitting Bull
’
s camp in South Dakota in 1869, under the assumed Native American
name, Sunkmanitu Tanka Ob Waci. And my personal favourite was TT145 Phyllis
Crawberry
’
s belief he was being held captive by the German monarch, King
Charles the Fat in 885AD. Sadly, upon investigation, all of these theories were
found to be utter twaddle. Still, one day we shall succeed and a good friend,
devoted father and husband, and committed time traveller will be with us once
more.

Again, I thank every single one of you for your efforts.

Timing out,

TT86 Charles Butterby.

Oh, and can I remind you that Annabel Mullins, our much loved
daytime receptionist, has organised a Bring and Buy Sale at St Barnabus Church,
Fudgington on the 11
^th
December and would appreciate donations of
prizes for the tombola (nothing pilfered, stolen, swiped or nicked from
history, please.)

Becky read the article again and again. After the fourth time, she
folded up the newspaper carefully and held it to her chest. Her hands were
trembling. Of course, Uncle Percy had mentioned that other travellers were
searching for her dad, but seeing it in black and white, knowing that so many
were involved made it all the more real. Surely, it had to be a matter of time
before they had a breakthrough.

Then
–
bang
- the door burst open and Joe
rushed in, panting, his face flushed cherry-red.
‘
Have you seen this?
’
He held up an identical
copy of The Travelling Times.

‘
It
’
s great, isn
’
t it?
’
Becky said, and
before she knew it, had raced into Joe
’
s arms and was giving him the strongest hug she
could.

Joe looked like he
’
d swallowed a wasp.
‘
What are you doing?
’

‘
Hugging you.
’

‘
Well … don
’
t.
’

‘
Why not?
’

‘
It
’
s disturbing.
’

‘
Why?
’

‘
We don
’
t do that. You hit me,
you don
’
t
hug me.
’

‘
But I don
’
t want to hit you. I
’
m happy.
’

‘
I thought hitting me
made you happy.
’

‘
It does. But I
’
m not in a hitting
mood.
’

‘
I prefer it when you
are...
’
But
it was clear from Joe
’
s tone he didn
’
t mean it.

Suddenly, a peculiar tapping sound followed by a loud squawk came
from the corridor. She released Joe and glanced at the doorway. A stumpy grey
bird with a very fat, green beak, a plume of snow-white feathers to its rear,
and short, stubby wings, waddled into the room.

Becky
’
s eyes nearly popped from their sockets.

Joe moved to her right, puzzled.
‘
What type of bird is that?
’

And for once, Becky knew. She
’
d been fascinated by them ever since her
primary school teacher, Mrs Ebrey, had shown her pictures in a tattered history
book.
 
‘
It
’
s
–
it
’
s a dodo …
’

Chapter Five

A Rose By Any Other Name

‘
It certainly is,
Becky.
’
Uncle Percy appeared at the door.
‘
Her name
’
s Deirdre.
’
He looked drained, but an unmistakable spark had returned to his
eyes.

Utterly fearless, Deirdre brushed herself against Becky
’
s shin.

Becky crouched down and ran her fingers over Deirdre
’
s curved beak. An
enraptured smile crossed her lips.
‘
Where
’
s she from?
’

‘
Mauritius … Fifteenth
Century. I was there a month ago investigating a lead on your father. A
predator must have attacked her. If I
’
d left her she would
’
ve died, so I brought
her back and nursed her back to health. She
’
s made quite a home for herself down by the
lake. I don
’
t think she
’
d let me take her back to her own time zone now if I wanted to.
’

Deirdre gave a tiny squawk as if to say she agreed.

Joe waved the newspaper appreciatively.
‘
And thanks for this.
’

‘
Yeah,
’
Becky said.
‘
It
’
s brilliant. Really
brilliant.
’

‘
I just wanted you to
know that the travelling community is doing all it can to find John. And we won
’
t stop looking either.
We will find him.
’

‘
We know,
’
Becky said sincerely.

Uncle Percy drew a deep breath.
‘
Now, let me apologise for the earlier scenes
with Maria. I
’
m sure you
’
re intrigued to know what it
’
s all about, but for once, would you do me the
favour of not pursuing it. I think we should just put it behind us and have a
wonderful week.
’

His words were so heartfelt that Becky had no intention of
challenging them.
‘
Sure,
’
she said, as Joe nodded his agreement.

Uncle Percy smiled gratefully.
‘
Thank you. Now, why don
’
t we go downstairs and
begin our holiday? Tonight, if you
’
ll indulge me, I thought we
’
d have a Victorian evening…
’
And with a wide grin,
he picked up Deirdre and left the room.

The moment he disappeared from sight, Becky glanced at Joe and
whispered,
‘
Victorian evening?
 
L-A-M-E …
’

*

To her surprise, Becky found she enjoyed the night enormously. Will
ensured the parlour
’
s stove blazed with kindling, while swapping stories with Jacob
about their former lives; Maria appeared in fine spirits, her round face
flushed from the swift consumption of two goblets of cowslip wine; and Uncle
Percy seemed in a particularly mischievous mood, dressing Milly and Sabian in
matching Deerstalker hats, and tying a lace bonnet to Deirdre
’
s head, as she toddled
around the parlour feeling thoroughly self-important. When it came time for
supper, Maria laid on Lemon cake, imperial gingerbread and soft crullers,
washed down with ginger ale punch.

It was halfway through her second helping of gingerbread, when Becky
turned to Uncle Percy and said,
‘
Is it okay if I take Peggy for a walk round the grounds tomorrow?
’

Maria giggled wildly.
‘
That is if her fancy fellow will allow it.
’
She tottered
precariously on her chair, before belching loudly.
‘
Verzeihung! You will
be pardoning me, please.
’
Amid all the laughter, Becky and Joe swapped confused glances.

‘
Fancy fellow?
’
Becky asked.

‘
Oh, I didn
’
t tell you, did I?
’
Uncle Percy replied.
‘
Apparently, love is in
the air at the Hall.
 
Peggy appears to
have found herself a boyfriend.
’

Becky looked shocked.
‘
Who?
’

‘
I
’
ll give you a clue:
four legs, thick, armour-plated hide, three horns, and a somewhat clumsy
demeanor.
’

‘
Gump?
’
Becky said.

‘
Indeed,
’
Uncle Percy grinned.
‘
Our little Triceratops
turns out to be quite the lothario. He sleeps next to her stable each night,
they go out walking together during the day. He even leaves a mountain of grass
outside her stable door for when she wakes up. It
’
s quite sweet really.
’

Becky broke into laughter.
‘
Really?
’

‘
Go the Gumpster!
’
Joe said, clapping
his hands.

‘
Well,
’
Becky said, feigning
concern.
‘
As
I am officially her keeper then I might have to have a little word with him.
’

Uncle Percy grinned.
‘
I do believe his intentions are entirely honourable.
’

‘
Let
’
s hope they don
’
t have kids,
’
Joe quipped.
‘
Just imagine a white
Triceratops with wings...
’

*

It was midnight when Becky flopped into bed. The wind had dropped
leaving the Hall and grounds eerily quiet. For a moment, she just lay there
thinking about the strange events of the day and then the scene changed. She
was standing beside her mother on a twisting lane. Rain pelted down from a
muddy sky, slashing her face. She pulled her scarf tight around her neck and
looked up to see her mother smiling kindly back. Then, in the distance, two
silvery eyes appeared in the distance; horrifying, wicked eyes. A spine-chilling
roar shattered the night.
The monster had found them
.

She seized her mother
’
s hand and ran, her heart hammering in her chest. But the monster
was gaining; its poisonous breath filled her lungs. And, with a triumphant
howl, the monster was upon them.

Becky woke up with a start. The clock read 3 am. For the next twenty
minutes, she tried to get back to sleep, but with no luck. Fully awake now, she
decided to check her Facebook messages but had left her phone downstairs so,
with a disgruntled huff, she switched on her bedside lamp, threw on her
dressing gown and left the room.

Becky
’
s footsteps clacked against the Entrance Hall
’
s marbled floor as she
entered the passageway that led to the kitchen. To her surprise, she saw an
orange glow coming from the parlour and heard the crackle of the stove still
burning away. Entering the parlour, she was surprised to see Uncle Percy
staring blankly at the fire, a thick patchwork quilt stretched over his legs, a
half-filled glass of whiskey in one hand and a photograph in the other.

‘
Uncle Percy?
’

Uncle Percy jolted with a start. Looking flustered, he quickly slid
the photograph beneath the quilt.
‘
B-Becky? What are you doing up?
’

‘
I left my phone down
here and -
’
But she couldn
’
t finish the sentence. Staring into her uncle
’
s eyes, she saw they
were bloodshot. She knew at once he
’
d been crying.

*

Becky
’
s head reeled. She didn
’
t know what to do. She hadn
’
t meant to interrupt this most personal of moments
and felt like dashing back to her room, pretending she hadn
’
t seen a thing. At the
same time, she wanted to comfort him, to discover why he was upset, to do what
she knew he would do if the roles were reversed.

Uncle Percy wiped his eyes.
‘
Deary me. I must look quite a state.
’

Becky pulled a chair over and sat down.
‘
What
’
s wrong, Uncle Percy
…
 
is it to do with that photograph you
’
re trying to hide?
’

Uncle Percy gave a sober chuckle, pulled the photograph into the
light and passed it over to Becky.
‘
You don
’
t miss a trick, do you?
’

Becky looked down to see an attractive young woman wearing a mauve
dress that met her ankles, her long auburn hair curly and wild; her blue eyes
shone like sapphires.
‘
Who is she?
’

‘
Her name
’
s Stephanie Calloway.
’

‘
She
’
s beautiful.
’

‘
She was. I
’
m afraid she passed
away a long time ago.
’

‘
I
’
m sorry.
’

Uncle Percy drained his glass.
‘
Yes, it was very sad.
’
He stared mournfully
at the picture.
‘
She was one of those extraordinary people in that everything she
touched was the better for her touching it.
’

‘
How did you know her?
’
Becky asked.

‘
We were students at
Oxford together. She, along with Bernard Preston and Emerson Drake, were part
of the time travelling society I told you about at Mammoth Gorge.
’

Becky cast her mind back.
‘
The Otters.
’

‘
That
’
s right. Anyway,
although I didn
’
t realise it at the time, she had something of a crush on me. Of
course, I was too preoccupied with travelling to even notice.
’
He gave a mirthless
chuckle.
‘
And
besides, I always thought she would go for someone like Emerson. He was so
confident, so self-assured, and believe it or not, so very handsome in those
days. He also seemed quite keen on her.
’
His tone grew bitter.
‘
I find it difficult to
talk about the two of them in the same sentence. Steffers was truly good,
perfect in every way. And Emerson … well, it turns out he was the antithesis of
everything she stood for, everything she believed in. Evil personified…
’

‘
Anyway, after university
we began to spend an increasing amount of time together. She would stay at
Bowen Hall, sometimes for weeks on end. It was then I realised I was falling in
love with her. And, incredibly, she felt the same way. I
’
d never been so happy.
Anyway, I decided to ask her to marry me. Can you guess where I popped the
question?
’

Becky smiled gently.
‘
Mammoth Gorge?
’

‘
That
’
s right. Anyway, I
asked and she said no. She then proceeded to tell me about her illness. I was confused,
angry. The doctors told her she only had a matter of months to live.
’
His voice cracked
now.
‘
I
couldn
’
t
believe what I was hearing. After that, I went off the rails. I even tried to
do something I said I
’
d never do…
’

‘
And what was that?
’