A Symphony of Echoes (The Chronicles of St Mary's, #2)

‘They’re gifts, Ian,’ said Peterson, crushingly, ‘You’re not supposed to ask for them back. Jeez, I bet Christmas is fun in your house.’


I continued. ‘From a security point of view and given the nature of the assignment, I am not in favour of anything that could delay our getaway. However, it does seem quicker and simpler to present her with stuff from our time. It would certainly make a greater impact.’

‘Yes,’ said Mrs Enderby, joining the discussion. ‘Modern fabrics, modern colours, modern techniques. That would certainly stop her in her tracks. I could put together something really sumptuous. After all, the whole point is to impress her. If we don’t gain access to her court, then the whole mission is over before we even start.’

‘Mrs Enderby makes a very valid point,’ said Peterson. ‘But then what?’

‘But then nothing,’ said Guthrie. ‘We leave it there. If we’re successful then she only has a very short time left in Scotland anyway and she’s going to be much too busy to worry about frocks. It’s all biodegradable. It’ll probably just be shoved in a cupboard somewhere and forgotten. We leave it there.’

‘It would certainly simplify things,’ I said, trying to overcome instincts and training and failing.

Lovely Mrs Enderby came to the rescue. ‘We can do both, Max. I’ll use modern fabrics for your own costumes. That will make her eyes pop, and then we can use the contemporary stuff for the presentations. Best of both worlds. Trust me; I’ll put together a collection that will rock her world. We’ll start with colour. The Ottomans used metallic thread to make their silks shimmer in the light. I know she likes white and we can use that to set against their rich, deep colours. I think maybe Bursa, rather than Istanbul. Then there’s Italian velvet, of course, we can pick some up easily enough. Plus taffeta, satin, damask. And accessories, of course, braiding, ribbons, lace. Oh, lace ruffs, too. And she likes her caps. And slashing,’ she said excitedly and for one moment I thought we were back to Jack the Ripper again. ‘You just leave all this to me, Max.’

‘Wonderful idea,’ I said. ‘Thank you. Now, Dr Dowson and the archive staff will forge our papers, which are important and need to be able to withstand close scrutiny. Professor Rapson, can your R&D people assist, please?

They nodded, temporarily united. That wouldn’t last, but with luck long enough to get the job done. Just so long as they didn’t actually blow anything up. On the other hand, we wouldn’t be St Mary’s if something wasn’t on fire somewhere.

‘The next step – Dr Peterson and Major Guthrie’s team jump to Edinburgh. They rent a house – a big one – and prepare the way. Gentlemen, I want lots of glitz and glamour. Throw your money around. We only have 90 days at the most. Less, if we don’t get the co-ordinates quite right, so we can’t afford to be shrinking violets. Forget blending into the background on this mission.

‘When everything is ready for their big entrance, Sir Richard and his party arrive, gain access to the Queen, present their papers – and gifts, Major – insinuate themselves into her good graces and …’ I stopped.

And that was where everything stopped, of course. It looked so simple on paper. Get the Queen and Bothwell married.

‘The truth is,’ I said, ‘from that moment on we’re just going to have to wing it.’

Silence.

‘We’ll think of something,’ said Peterson. ‘We’re St Mary’s.’

The magic words. Everyone cheered up.

‘The second part of the assignment is less easy to define. Somewhere, amongst all this is the cause of all the trouble, our old friend, Clive Ronan. Whether he is working alone or with contemporaries is unknown. We have no information on his whereabouts. We think we know his objective but we might be wrong. In short – we have nothing. The only thing we do know is that something is very wrong in 1567 and we have to sort it out.’

I waited, but apart from the sound of people bashing away at their scratchpads, there was no other sound.

‘It gets worse,’ I continued. ‘Having located Mr Ronan, we have no idea what to do with him. I’m not singling out the security section, Major, but we all need to be very clear about this. No harm must come to Mr Ronan. We’ve all read the notes. If he’s dead then he’s not in the Cretaceous. Or at Alexandria. Or anywhere. And by extension, we might not be, either. I don’t often lay down the law but in I’m doing so in this case. Everyone on this assignment needs to be very clear about this. No harm must come to Mr Ronan.’

Guthrie nodded, tight lipped.

‘Question,’ said Schiller. ‘Where’s History in all this? How have things got this bad? Clerk got his arm broken last year when he reached out to help a woman down some steps.’

‘We think, in this case, that it is very possible that History is employing more – subtle – methods, by using St Mary’s.’