I found a comfortable chair, dropped the books on the floor around me, and curled up with the Bennett sisters.
It was a measure, I think, of how seriously my mind was disturbed. I’d read this story so many times but now, for some reason, I saw so much wrong with it.
There was Mr Bennett, quietly comical, along with his wife, the extremely silly Mrs Bennett – except that she wasn’t, was she?
We’re supposed to laugh at Mr Bennett’s dry wit and gently humorous comments, but this is the man who has so mismanaged his family’s affairs that, on his death, his wife and daughters will be homeless and almost penniless. In an age when there was no mechanism for gently born women to earn their own living, how would they survive?
The answer to that almost certainly kept Mrs Bennett awake at night and, knowing this, who could criticise her frantic efforts to get all her daughters safely married, their future well-being taken care of, while Mr Bennett amusingly uncaring, reads in his library? Poor Mrs Bennett. Laughed at by generations of readers. I wondered about Jane Austen’s contemporaries who would, like Mrs Bennett, have been only to aware of the likely fate of the Bennett girls – had they laughed too?
Bloody hell, I was a right little ray of sunshine today.
I let Elizabeth Bennett slide to the floor and picked up Jane Eyre.
The library was very quiet. I could hear Dr Dowson moving around the shelves, but otherwise, the place was empty. There was no sign of my guard. Obviously, I didn’t need one any longer because I’m an idiot and I’d told them everything they needed to know.
I sighed, turned another page, and someone coughed at my elbow. Looking up, I saw Dr Dowson. He took off his spectacles and polished them.
‘I was wondering … we usually have some tea around about this time. Would you care to join us?’
This unexpected gesture of kindness brought a lump to my throat.
I swallowed. ‘Yes, I would. Thank you.’
‘Please, come this way.’
I picked up my books and followed him to his office, a small room between the library and the archive.
Professor Rapson was already there. Just as I remembered him, with his shock of Einstein hair and his beaky nose. His eyebrows hadn’t yet grown back after the fireship trauma. Today he wore a white coat with a huge scorch-mark just over his heart. Heaven knows what had been going on there.
Dr Dowson ushered me into their cosy room. ‘Andrew, break out the crumpets! We have a guest.’
‘Excellent. Excellent. Welcome, my dear. Come and sit down.’
‘You’d better have the chair by the fire,’ said Dr Dowson. ‘Try to make sure the old fool doesn’t ignite the furniture, again.’
‘You can’t count that time, Octavius. The chair merely smouldered. It doesn’t count unless there is an actual flame, you know.’
He impaled a crumpet on a long fork and held it in front of the hissing gas fire. ‘I’ll toast. You butter.’
I nodded.
Dr Dowson made the tea.
At some point, the sun had disappeared and now rain splattered the windows. It was extremely pleasant to be in here, snug and warm, toasting crumpets with two old friends. Of course, any minute now, the professor could explode the sugar bowl.
I watched them moving around in this small space. Cups, saucers, and plates were all handed around. I buttered enough crumpets for a small country. It was all very peaceful. The sound of them bickering amiably was oddly soothing and familiar. This, at least, had not changed.
Eventually, we each had a small table, a plate of crumpets, and a napkin.
Professor Rapson handed me my tea and said, without looking at me, ‘Should they ever find him, Leon Farrell will be charged with removing a contemporary from his own time, the sentence for which is death. Dr Peterson and Major Guthrie will be charged as accomplices. Dr Bairstow, as the person ultimately responsible for everything has, only temporarily we hope, been removed from his position as Director of St Mary’s.
‘As mission controller, Dr Maxwell would have been charged as well, but she died. At this stage, we’re not sure if the colonel believes that or not. If he thinks you are Max, you’ll be shot. If he thinks you’re not Max, they might shoot you anyway. A no-win situation for you, I’m afraid. One lump or two?’
‘Three, please,’ I said, calmly, hoping my face showed nothing.
Old sins have long shadows. We’d taken Helios back and we still weren’t safe. Would we ever escape the consequences of that day?
I looked up from dark memories, to find the pair of them watching me. Gone were the familiar bickering academics. That was just the face they chose to present to the world. Neither of them was the bumbling buffoon they appeared. I suspected the charade gave them a great deal of quiet amusement.