A Trail Through Time (The Chronicles of St Mary's, #4)

I took a step forwards and Ellis pulled me back.

‘Where are you going?’

Sands was threading his way through groups of historians, heading towards the doors. I had only seconds. What should I do? Could I live with myself if I did nothing? If today was the day …?

I’m an historian. Well, I used to be. I’m trained to make decisions. It’s easy. In a crisis – deal with the now. Sort out the future later.

I struggled feebly with Ellis, but he had hold of my arm and wasn’t going to let go. David Sands was almost at the door. I couldn’t possibly get to him in time. In a few seconds, he would be gone. If I was going to do anything, it had to be now.

Was I going to do anything? Was I going to take the risk?

Of course I was.

I took a deep breath.

‘David Sands. Don’t go into Rushford this afternoon.’

The words rang around the Hall far more loudly than I intended and everyone stopped talking.

Heads turned in the sudden silence.

Sands took two or three paces back into the Hall, his face puzzled.

‘What? Who said that?’

It was too late for me. I’d burned my boats, but I might as well do the job properly.

I pulled free of Ellis and said more quietly, ‘Don’t go into Rushford today.’

‘But I must. Why not?’

I said nothing.

‘Why not?’

I still said nothing.

I saw the challenge in his eyes.

‘Who are you?’

‘The person telling you not to drive into Rushford today.’

Now, everyone was staring at me. Heads appeared round doors. I saw shock, surprise, disbelief, anger, but no welcome.

No one moved for what seemed like a very long time. He looked back towards the front doors. Undecided.

I said nothing.

He said again, ‘Who are you?’

I said nothing.

He turned and walked back towards the vestibule doors. I felt a kind of sick despair. I’d buggered it all up for nothing.

He reached the doors, went to push them open, paused, and looked back.

I held his gaze.

Nothing happened, apart from my heart trying to break out of my chest and then, slowly, he put his keys back in his pocket. The huge surge of relief made my legs go weak.

He stared at me. Everyone was staring at me.

Something made me look up.

Colonel Albay was looking down from the gallery. Smiling.

The dining room was full. St Mary’s always sounds like feeding time at the zoo. Some of the animals might have better manners and smaller appetites, but otherwise, there’s not a great difference.

I stood in the doorway and the noise died away. It’s a shame there was no piano to stop playing. Everyone was looking at me. For lack of anything better to do, I stared back.

I saw Dieter with Polly Perkins from IT, sitting together, both of them peering at a printout while they ate. Not a flicker of emotion crossed their faces. My stomach clenched. Schiller and Van Owen sat with Roberts and Clerk. Over in the corner, the Security section had pushed three tables together. People twisted in their chairs to look at me. There were faces I didn’t recognise, but the familiar ones were all there. Except for Peterson and Guthrie who were still, presumably, under arrest along with Dr Bairstow.

I very nearly bolted. Just for a second, I nearly turned and ran away. Then Ellis nudged me towards the food.

I struggled, one-handed with my tray. Toad in the Hole – must be Wednesday. I helped myself to a good portion. Mrs Mack, kitchen supremo, watched me in silence and then took my plate from me and began to load up a pile of vegetables. I watched in horror. No good ever comes of eating green food.

‘Doctor’s orders,’ she said, handing me back my plate.

I sat with Ellis at a quiet table by the window and watched them all ignore me. No one came over to enquire how I was. Or even ask who I was. I faced a wall of blank hostility. I blinked back tears and concentrated on my food. This was really not my world.

Who was I kidding? This was exactly my world – because even as I ate my way carefully around the vegetables, someone shouted a warning outside, and I heard the sound of furiously galloping hooves.

Mr Markham on horseback was a strange enough sight. He didn’t enjoy a happy relationship with the animal world.

Mr Markham on board Turk was an even stranger sight. He steered clear of horses, especially since, whenever he was near, they tended to form an outward-facing huddle and bare enormous yellow teeth at him. Whether they’d had some sort of temporary reconciliation, I had no idea. Maybe that had only happened in my world.

I reminded myself again that this was my world now.