‘They loved it. They hung on your every word. You tailored it for your audience. It was just right – mud, blood, battles, violence, and a big finish. They loved it. As they say now, “They were engaged”, which I always thought to mean something else completely, but maybe I’m getting old.’ He started to brood about getting old. I nudged him back to reality.
‘Oh, yes, look, what I’m saying is, let’s do this professionally. Get hold of the school curriculum and tailor presentations accordingly; fun and light-hearted for the youngsters, bloody and violent for teenagers, serious and scholarly for exam students. We’ll dress them in armour; we’re bound to be able to pick some up off eBay or “Rmour is us” or something. We show them some weapons, teach them some moves. We’ll make some of them up to look as if they’ve got the plague, boils, buboes, pustules, you know. We’ve got a bit of cash between us; enough to get started, so we needn’t charge too much to begin with and then, when people see how good we are, we can put our prices up a bit. And let’s face it, between the pair of us, we’ve got more qualifications than you could throw a short peasant at. In fact, if you didn’t know us at all, you’d think we were quite respectable.’
He was really enthusiastic now. And actually, I quite liked the idea too. He carried on. ‘I can give archery demonstrations. We could cook medieval meals or provide a Roman menu for dinner parties. And not only schools, but private groups, societies, evening classes as well. Max, it’ll be fun. And we’ll be our own bosses. And we might even make a bit of money. Just think – history for profit.’
I kept my face very still and my hand very steady as I put down my glass. Inside my head my thoughts were racing. History for profit – was this how it started? Was I responsible for this ‘offshoot’ of St Mary’s that wreaked such havoc in the future? Did it start this innocuously? Two people forming an organisation that would grow to threaten both St Mary’s and the timeline itself and all because Tim and I had had a bad day and a good idea.
And what did I say to him? ‘Yes, it’s a fabulous idea, Tim, let’s do it,’ and trust myself to guide future events away from dangerous areas?
Or, ‘No Tim, let’s not,’ and then worry that he went it alone; or worse, started with someone else who didn’t have my foreknowledge? Or would it all happen regardless of any action I could take? Were we back to Calvin and predestination? Bloody hell, I was drunk!
We got in another round and Mrs Partridge wafted in. ‘Dr Bairstow’s compliments and could Miss Maxwell please join him at her earliest convenience?’
‘Miss Maxwell’s compliments,’ I slurred. ‘Owing to the copious amounts of alcohol consumed, it’s not only not convenient but probably well-nigh impossible, given the location of his office at the top of an outrageous number of stairs. Probably Miss Maxwell’s apologies would be more appropriate. How about tomorrow morning?’
‘Dr Bairstow is currently downstairs in the Library,’ she informed me with considerable relish. Well, that solved that problem.
I helped Peterson to his feet and we set off at an angle. Mrs Partridge frowned at him. ‘For the purposes of this exercise,’ he said carefully, ‘you may regard Miss Maxwell and me as joined at the hip.’ We followed her disapproving back.
Not only was Dr Bairstow present, but Major Guthrie and Professor Rapson were there as well. They didn’t look good. We got sat down and the Boss opened the batting.
‘On behalf of the senior staff at St Mary’s I want to apologise to you, Miss Maxwell. This afternoon’s incident was inexcusable and that it should happen to you, today, is mortifying in the extreme. I hope you will accept our apologies.’
I murmured something.
‘You are very generous,’ he said, choosing to interpret that as acceptance. ‘I can assure you that after suitable treatment at the hands of Dr Foster (another one in Sick Bay, thanks to me. I was on a roll today!), Mr Whissell has been removed from the premises. I hope you will soon be able to put this matter behind you. You have my unequivocal assurance that, should you go or should you stay, nothing of a similar nature will ever happen to you again on this campus.’
He paused and sipped his drink. I didn’t dare look at Guthrie. If the Boss was mortified, God knows how he felt. Beside me, Peterson stirred.