Time Travel Adventures of the 1800 Club, Book 14 Read online

  “Is it a chess club of sorts?”

  “Of sorts,” she answered. “When it first opened in 1828 it was a chess and coffee club, but they’ve evolved into a chess and dinner club. Tell me, do you enjoy Roast beef?”

  “Yes, very much.”

  “Then please allow me to order for you.”

  “Sure, as long as there’s a glass of beer to go with the beef.”

  When the waiter came to them she said, “We’ll both have the Scottish Beef, potatoes, Savoy cabbage, Yorkshire pudding and horseradish please. Mine is rare and yours?” she asked Bill.

  “Rare too.”

  The young man nodded as she added, “And two mugs of Worthington White Shield which we’ll have now, please.”

  The beers came and Bill lifted his mug in a toast and said as she did the same, “To us. May we be as happy as we are right now for eternity.”

  They touched glasses and took a sip. “For eternity,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “Very few people can say that and mean it literally”

  “I do.”

  She slid her hand across and grasped his fingers. “I know we’ve spoken around this subject before, but I have come to a conclusion should we ever become one family.”

  Bill swallowed in a gulp as he thought, We got engaged in Christmas of this year and I must remember that she doesn’t know that as to her it hasn’t happened yet. “And what is the conclusion you came to, love?”

  “Well you once asked if I would stay in your time in New York or would you stay in my time in London. I thought that perhaps we could have two domains: one in London in my time period and a second in New York in your time period and visit each domain as we wished. What do you think of that?”

  He grasped her slim fingers, “I think that you have the answer and I agree. And because history tells us that Dr. Watson wrote up every case that you accompanied him on into a book and I know that his books go into the early 1920s, I wouldn’t want us to wait that long so why not set the date for a month in 1900? That will give us plenty of time to tie things up and make some plans.”

  She beamed, “I think that’s a wonderful idea! I shall start my planning straight away.”

  The waiter suddenly appeared pushing a noiseless silver cart with their large cuts of cooked beef on it. “Oh,” she said as the young man started to carve the meat on the cart and place the cuts on their dishes, “I meant to tell you that because the couples playing chess do not wish to be distracted, the owner has the food served on these noiseless dollies.

  The meat was succulent and she told Bill that the chef demanded that the restaurant use nothing but goods from England. As they ate Bill noticed that many of the patrons were glancing at a couple of men playing chess in a corner table. Bill looked and thought they looked familiar, but couldn’t place them.

  “Do you recognize those two gentlemen?”

  She nodded, “Just one. That’s Ex-Prime Minister William Gladstone on the left, but I do not recognize the other fellow.”

  The other man leaned close to the candle and it could be seen that he had red hair and a short pointed beard. Bill’s eyes widened as he said in a whisper, “That’s Vincent van Gogh!”

  “The artist?”

  “Yes. One of the best whose works will be worth millions of dollars or pounds.”

  She squeezed his hand and said with a bright smile, “One of the things that I love about being with you is your inside information and gossip.”

  After they finished their Yorkshire pudding they left the restaurant that would become one of the oldest restaurants in London and caught a cab back to Baker Street. They rode in silence and Bill put his arm around her as she rested her head on his chest. She happened to look up at him as his face was suddenly bathed in the soft yellow light of a streetlight that they passed.

  “Bill, is there something wrong? Your face has the look of someone holding a dark secret.”

  He looked down and his face now had a smile that she knew was forced for her. Shirley sat up straight as he said, “We-we have to talk.”

  “Of course we do,” she said as she took his cool hand in hers. “And has the conversation that we shall have given you cold hands?”

  Still with a smile on his face, he shrugged. “Perhaps and perhaps not. I suggest we talk over tea.”

  She smiled, “Ah, have I converted you into an Englishman?”

  “Is that such a bad thing?”

  “To quote a great man: Perhaps and perhaps not.” He put his arm around her as she asked, “Tea in my flat or yours?”

  “Whichever is easier on Mrs. Hudson: climbing one or two flights of stairs at this hour of the night.”

  The carriage stopped in front of the small apartment building and as they stepped out they spotted a slight movement of the curtain on Mrs. Hudson’s window. As they walked up the three stone steps Shirley said, “I shall go to my flat and fetch the tea as you bring a pot of water to boil.”

  “Pot of water? No steam kettle?”

  She furrowed her brow, “Steam kettle? What’s a steam kettle?”

  “I guess it’s something that hasn’t been invented yet. I’ll boil water in a pot.”

  Ten minutes later Shirley was about to knock on his door and saw that it was already open for her so she whispered as she entered, Bill?”

  “Come on in.”

  Shirley entered and saw him just as he blew out a match after lighting the small fireplace in the sitting area. He then poured hot water into two teacups and placed them on the round table. She dropped a small brown corduroy bag next to the window and took the lid off of a small tin box. She then used a teaspoon to measure a spoonful of black tea and place one into each cup. “Five minutes before the tea is at its best.”

  Bill picked them up and placed them on a small folded serving table. “Let’s take them over to the couch and relax.” He then lowered the wick of the only oil lamp lit and allowed the flames of the coal fire to shed some light on them.

  “Very cozy indeed,” she whispered as she curled up on the couch and he sat close and put his arm around her.

  “Will it be tea and talk or a mixture of both?”

  Bill handed her a cup of tea and picked his up. He raised his and she clicked cups as he said, “To us.”

  “Hear, hear!”

  They took a sip and both seemed to relax. “So,” she asked as she pushed back a lock of his longish hair, “I am nervous about this coming talk and, as I do on my investigative jobs I wish to get to it immediately.” She took another sip as if to fortify herself and added, “Your turn Mister Scott.”

  Bill took another sip and said as he gazed at the coal fire, “I have a problem.”

  “Please elaborate, sir. Is it a problem with someone in this room? Is it because they brought up a certain subject? Is it the tea? Perhaps I should have brought up the more expensive green leaf?”

  He laughed and shook his head, “None of the above,”

  “Then pray tell, sir. For I truly am at my wits end with the hundreds of thoughts that speed through my mind.”

  Bill squeezed her. “Shirley, I’m stuck in 1887. The time machine broke and I can’t seem to get in touch with anyone from my time.”

  She looked at him with her mouth open before saying in a soft voice, “You are stuck here? That’s it? You are stuck in my time and I’m thinking that you wish to stop our being together? Why?”

  He shrugged, “Don’t you get it? I’m stuck in this time and can’t do any of those things that I promised you. No traveling in time. You, you, I mean we are stuck in 1887 and that’s it!”

  “You mean we are stuck in my time? But to me that’s a plus! Now we don’t have to wonder if we should stay in this time or your time. We had that decision made for us: we shall be together in this time . . . our time! You and I together in London or in New York or as I said earlier, perhaps having a domain in both places.”

  “Y-You’re okay with this? You’re okay with staying in this time and not hopping aro
und as I promised you?”

  Her eyes squinted as she suddenly arrived at what his problem was. “You sir, are a cad! You think me to be superficial by choosing to be your wife only because you can bring me shopping anywhere in time that I wish.”

  “Ahhh, well, no, not at all. I just wanted to tell you that I can’t time travel and . . . “

  “And as I said: you were afraid that I’d change my mind because of the trivial fact that you are just an everyday man who cannot time travel.”

  He winced as she went on. “You who loved me for being so thick headed thinking that without me Scotland Yard would collapse? Me who dresses up in men’s clothes to prove that women are the equal of men and then falls head over heels for a man who cannot even travel in time? Yes and even me who declares war on male inspired corsets and bustles to shape women the way they believe they should look? Well let me tell you mister ‘stuck-in-my-time’ it just so happens that I love you even though you can’t escape me by traveling in time. So there!”

  They both quickly put their cups down and embraced. After a few moments she asked quietly, “Wait! Did you lock the door?” Bill rolled off the couch and hit his head on the table in his haste to lock the front door. He threw the lock and headed back to the now empty couch.

  “Shirley?”

  “Shhh, I’m in the bedroom. I need a moment.”

  Five minutes later she whispered, “Bill, come in and light the fireplace.”

  He took a wooden match from the cast iron matchbox next to the stove and entered the bedroom. He was guided by the low light of an oil lamp and easily lit the small bundle of coal in the fireplace at the foot of the bed. As he stood and turned, the oil lamp was blown out and the slow growing fire illuminated the room. The silhouette that stood before him was that of a beautiful woman with her long dark hair flowing down over her shoulders. The growing light showed that she wore a red silk, tie-front camisole with thin string shoulder straps. On the floor next to the bed was a pile of clothing . . . the outfit she had worn to dinner.

  “Do you like it? I brought this back from my last visit to your time for just such a moment.”

  His answer was to resume their embrace.

  They both woke to the sound of knocking on his door. Bill hopped out of bed, put on his overcoat and opened the door in his bare feet. It was a seemingly very upset Mrs. Hudson.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Hudson. I trust you slept well?”

  Her head was on a swivel as she tried to look past Bill with his hand on the open door and the other on the door jam. “Yes, yes, but I must ask if you have seen Miss Holmes this morning?”

  “No. Is she not home?”

  “I tried banging on her door for ten minutes and she has not opened it. I fear foul play.”

  “We had a late night last night and she is probably still asleep. I wouldn’t worry if I were you.”

  “Late night indeed! Why I do believe that I heard her go up to your flat late last night, but never heard her go back down.”

  “Actually you didn’t hear her go back down because she did not wish to wake you and removed her shoes and tip-toed down.”

  She shook her head so much that a hairpin flew out.

  “Mrs. Hudson, please control yourself lest you have a breakdown. I think it’s best that you go down and have a cup of tea to steady yourself.” Bill watched as she went down the stairs, knocked loudly on Shirley’s door and with her ear against it called out, “Miss Holmes! Please arise and show yourself! Tis the way of the devil to spend such a glorious day in bed.”

  Bill was laughing as he returned to his bedroom. “Did you hear her?” he asked as she clutched the blanket up to her chin.

  “She will stand in front of my door for the rest of the day.”

  “Mmmm, that means we must keep you hidden in my room. It could be a long day.”

  “I doubt I’ll survive! Now, will you turn your back and allow me to get dressed.”

  “Of course, my love.”

  Finally dressed in the clothes she had brought up in the corduroy bag the night before Bill devised a plan to get her out without the nosey landlord seeing her. “I’ll go down the stairs and chat with her as you sneak down and open and then slam your door closed as though you had just left the flat and join me.” She nodded and he opened his door and trotted loudly down the stairs to greet Mrs. Hudson who was sweeping the already swept first floor.

  “Have you seen Ms. Holmes?” he asked as she turned and faced the street to answer him.

  “No! I thought perhaps we should call Doctor Watson as she might be sick.”

  “Who is sick? Mrs. Hudson,” said Shirley as she slammed her door shut.

  The landlady stood with an open mouth. “I-I thought that . . . well, you did not answer your door when I knocked on it.”

  “Oh? Have you some posts for me?”

  “No, no post . . . I-I just needed to, well you must admit that you overslept this morning. I was worried for you, that’s all.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, but as you can see I’m fine.” She slipped her arm in Bill’s and said, “Shall we breakfast, Bill?”

  The young couple left the building and walked to a small eatery near the Thames. They followed the morning meal with a boat ride down the famous waterway and had lunch near Trafalgar Square, which they visited after lunch.

  They sat at the base of Nelson’s Column for a rest and Bill grinned as he thought of Doctor John Watson being aboard Admiral Nelson’s ship, the Victory when the admiral won the Battle of Trafalgar.

  “Bill, it dawned on me: did you see me after the last time I was in New York?”

  “You mean have we seen each other on any other date after today? Yes. A few times.”

  “So as you are here now and if the time apparatus is not fixed it’ll never happen, will it?”

  “No.”

  She looked far off for a few moments and then asked, “Will you tell me all that transpired between us?’

  “That’s a tall order, but I’ll try.”

  She took his hand and looked into his eyes, “Did we get married?”

  He shook his head as he answered, “No. We agreed to wait until 1900 as we did last night.”

  She sat with her hands folded under her chin and said with a slight sigh, “One thing I shall miss is the clothing the women of your old time wore. So free and unencumbered. Oh, and riding in your automobile.”

  “Well along with the time travel ability I miss my friends. But at least I was on a mission in a time that I love and that my girl lives in. I mean what would I have done if the mission was in the 1700s?”

  She looked in his eyes, “Bill, do you still wish to marry me?”

  “Yes. With all my heart and soul.” A group of school aged children laughed and pointed at the couple hugging in public.

  That evening in a local pub the couple relaxed with a beer after a dinner of pork chops and fried potatoes. They both had a pad and pencil.

  “Okay,” said Shirley as she got set to write, “you agree that I can continue helping Doctor Watson and Scotland Yard. Correct?”

  “Yes. And you agree that if the case is very dangerous you’ll at least tell me. Correct?”

  “Yes.” And you agree to never follow me on a case. Correct?”

  “Yes. And after we marry we travel back and forth between New York and London. Correct?”

  “Yes, except when I’m in the middle of an investigation. Correct?”

  “Yes.”

  She closed her pad, “Well that went nicely, don’t you agree?”

  He nodded as he closed his as well. “I also suggest that we keep separate flats at least for the time being.”

  “Of course. We don’t wish to shock poor Mrs. Hudson. When did you plan to return to New York?”

  He shrugged, “After Christmas I guess.”

  “Oh, you’ll love Christmas in London.”

  Bill and Shirley kept separate flats and were constantly coming up with new ways to prevent Mrs. Hud
son from catching them together after dark. They ate in the best and the newest restaurants and sipped wine as they took a day-trip on the Thames. They became known in all of London’s teahouses, as one of their goals was to have tea in every teahouse in the big city.

  One evening in the third week of November they were on their way home from dinner in a newly opened restaurant and Bill mentioned, “While you were sewing today I went to an antique store I heard about and picked something up for us.”

  “Oh, and what was that?”

  “Patience my love, patience.

  That evening she entered his flat and he said as they sat on the couch, “Tea in a few moments.”

  She nodded and her eyes opened wide, as a high-pitched screech from the small gas stove grew louder and louder.

  Bill stood, “Guess the water is ready.”

  “What was that?” she asked as he turned the gas off and the noise went from a loud whistle to a soft whimper.

  “Come and see.” He showed her the pot, which he had a lid on. “First I drilled a hole in the cover then placed a sliver of wood that I whittled down from a wooden match into the hole to act like a reed in a wood instrument. When the water boils the steam escapes through the hole and the whistle you hear is the steam blowing past the reed.”

  “So you invented the steam kettle!”

  “Naw. I can’t take someone else’s invention. For now it’s just between us.”

  She sat next to him as he poured hot water into the cups.

  “Is this the surprise you spoke of?”

  “No, it’s on the bed. Go see.”

  She entered his bedroom and saw a bearskin rug stretched out on the bed. “Oh, where did you get this? It’s beautiful! Just like the one in New York.”

  “In an antique shop. I asked him over a month ago to try and locate one and he finally did. However unlike my bedroom in New York there’s not enough space between the foot of the bed and the fireplace to spread it out.”