A Stitch in Time (9 page)

Sarah walked over and leaned her arm against the mantelshelf. It seemed that Rose wanted to share some gossip. Any information Sarah could glean without appearing to have lost her memory, or her marbles, was most appealing.

‘So do you think that will be an end to her money worries?’ Sarah whispered, looking to the door and back to Rose to show her that she was being careful.

‘If she can get him, yes. I overheard her talking to Mrs Farmingdale the other day when she popped over for tea. Lady Attwood said that she was sick of these old Victorian decorations and once she had a new husband everythink would be different,’ Rose said, sweeping the coal dust from the hearth with the brass-handled brush.

‘Blimey, aren’t you clever finding all that out, Rose. I wish I had your brains,’ Sarah said, hoping that Rose would fall for flattery.

Rose obligingly swallowed the hook, winked and said, ‘That’s nuffink. I found out that old Lord Attwood left her with lots of debts on account of his gambling habit when he died. It’s no wonder that she had to sack young Bill the footman and Daisy.’ Rose put the brush back, folded her arms and sniffed. ‘It was a real shame Daisy went. Even though she was her ladyship’s personal maid, she never had no airs nor nuffink, did she?’ She looked at Sarah expectantly.

‘No, Daisy was a real good sort and no mistake, me old china.’

‘Ere, don’t let Mr Grayson hear you talk slang or you’ll be first out.’

Sarah nodded and then leant in close to Rose. ‘So, Rose, I bet you couldn’t find no more out though, eh?’

Rose raised her eyebrows. ‘I know stuff that would make your hair curl. Now I have to double up as her personal maid as well as everything else, I come across all sorts. For instance, I know that she’s not bothered about no women’s suffrage at all. She’s only bothered about getting close to Mr Darnley, and he’s big pals with all the top ’uns from WSPU. She only joined in with helping those “fallen women” last year ’cos he was doing it.’

‘Oh, Rose, that’s really shocking.’

‘Yes, and talking of shocking, she’d be really shocked if she knew where I went on my days off and no mistake.’ Rose inclined her head in a ‘follow me’ motion.

Sarah followed her out of the room and could barely contain her curiosity as they hurried along corridors, three flights of stairs and stepped into a laundry. Rose stood with her back to a mangle, looked at Sarah and put her finger to her lips.

‘Look, can you keep a secret?’ Rose’s eyes danced with excitement and her face flushed.

Sarah nodded.

‘Well, alright then. On my days off I go to WSPU meetings, but for God’s sake don’t tell Cook.’ Rose giggled, picked up clean towels and ducked out of the room.

Sarah smiled and felt her spirits rise as she stood by the door watching Rose step lightly along the corridor. The bird trapped in the servitude cage had suddenly grown wings and was preparing to fly.

Were parents gifted with a special ‘insight’ button immediately after spawning their first child? It certainly seemed that way to John. He watched his boot lock on to the spade again and force another clod of earth from the ground. Sweat trickled from damp hair into his eye and he flicked his head in annoyance, but didn’t slow the punishing pace he’d set himself. Spade in, boot locked, arms flexed, spade out, spade in …

Harry could always see straight through him, him and his bullshit. His mum, on the other hand, had been a different story. In her eyes he could do no wrong, and if he told her something, she’d believe it hook, line and sinker. God, how he missed her. Of all the people in the world he wished to see right now, she was the one. She’d know what to say, to advise, she’d help him make sense of the tornado of confusion whipping through his heart. But she’d died of cancer two years ago, and no matter how hard he wished, he couldn’t bring her back.

Flinging the spade aside, John sank exhausted to his knees. His breath came heavy and his shirt was soaked through. With the back of his forearm he pushed his hair back, grabbed a water bottle and tipped it to his mouth. Eyes closed against the noonday sun, he gulped half the bottle in one and thought about the day his dad had visited again.

Harry was no fool. But then he did have help from insightful sources – insightful sources that had controlled John from the age of eighteen. The powers that be had guided his every move as a Time-Needle. Of course, Harry had helped, too and by the age of twenty-three, John had become almost as good as his father and his father before him.

When he was about ten he’d asked his father when and why the Needler family had been chosen. Harry had told him that it had all started with his six times great-grandfather, William. He had been a farmer and one day while weeding around the cabbages, he’d picked up an old wooden needle. The needle was one of many artefacts that he discovered in his day-to-day work and thinking that his wife might like it because their name was Needler, and also because she sometimes collected things that he’d found, he took it home. She
had
liked it and placed it in the box with various coins, bits of pottery and even an ancient Roman ring.

Apparently when they’d gone to bed that night William had been visited with what he described as a ‘shining vision from up above’. The vision told him that he and his children would be Time-Needles and described the duties expected of him. The Stitch he was supposed to find was a young woman who lived in his village. Which young woman it was, he wasn’t told, however. Furthermore, the reason why he had been chosen was because he had picked up the needle. Needles belonging to the ‘shining visions from above’ had been dropped here and there over the centuries and only those who were worthy of the job could find them.

At first he thought he’d dreamt it all, until he was shown a glimpse of a Roman amphitheatre while eating his lunch in the top field the next day. There was a gladiator fighting a lion and the lion seemed to be winning. William felt that this was a deadly warning of some kind and, terrified, threw down his lunch and ran back down the lane to his farm. Upon passing a neighbour’s cottage he noticed their daughter, Ann, sitting outside sewing a blanket. Without a shadow of a doubt he knew that she was the Stitch he’d been told of and he somehow managed to persuade her that his ramblings were true.

Ann was transported back in time the next day, somehow prevented the gladiator from being selected to fight that day and the gladiator went on to lead a slave revolt against the Romans. The rest, as they say, was history. John was at the end of a long line of Needlers, but there were others around the world who were his contemporaries apparently, and all with similar tales to tell.

Of course John had felt proud and very special when his dad had told him their history, but there were many times when he wished that he was just an ordinary guy. Life would be so much simpler.

Harry had known exactly how to play John when they’d gone to the pub the other day, John remembered. They had played pool, had a meal, and sunk a few pints without even a mention of Sarah or even
the
business. As ever, John had been lulled into a false sense of security and then, near the end of the evening, he’d been tricked into revealing much more than he’d intended.

‘So Josephina is still in Italy?’ Harry asked, wiping the froth from his pint off his top lip.

‘Yes, and she can stay there as far as I’m concerned,’ John said.

‘Perhaps, but I think she did care, John … You just never showed her the love she needed. Always a bit standoffish I thought.’

‘Thanks, Dad, but I think that
you
think too much. It was Sarah earlier, and now Josephina. And is there any wonder I was a bit standoffish? It’s not the easiest thing in the world to keep our other business hidden. I’m not sure I will ever settle down properly. I mean, how can you give yourself wholly to a person when they only know half of you?’

Harry nodded sympathetically, took another drink and then remarked casually, ‘Sarah seems to be doing quite well in 1913, I’m told.’

‘You got the same email I did, then? Nice that they feel the need to still keep you in the loop … not!’ John frowned at his dad. ‘And yes, considering it’s only her second trip she should be very pleased. She has a way to go before she comes back though, I think.’

‘Are you unduly worried?’

‘Err … no, though of course I’ll be glad to see her back.’

‘And I think she will be glad to see you too,’ Harry said, taking a sip of beer.

‘Oh, here we go again …’ John sighed.

Harry put his hand over his son’s and leaned across the table. ‘You can’t fool me. You care for her but won’t admit it to yourself. If your mum was here …’

‘Well, she isn’t, is she?’ John snapped and stood up. ‘Do you want a last pint or what?’

‘So you do care then.’ Harry said the words as a statement not a question.

‘Shit, Dad, I don’t know … no … yes, I guess.’ John ran his hand through his hair. ‘I know it’s not a good idea, but …’ He tailed off and shrugged.

‘But I am the last one to talk, eh?’

John nodded. ‘Yup, you said it.’

‘And though you’ve only known her five minutes as you say, there is such a thing as love at first sight … it was like that with me and your mum. I remember it like it was yesterday. She’d just come back from her second trip and was in a hell of a state because she’d appeared in the middle of town on a busy Saturday afternoon instead of at work in the bakery where she’d left from. Arriving in town like that had completely thrown her and she had nearly run under a bus apparently.

‘Anyway, I took her to a pub to try and calm her down and, as she sat there nursing her sherry, the light from the open fire dancing on her face, I was furious at the powers that be for putting her through that. I knew Stitches had to be tested, put under stress, but not my Stitch, not my Patricia. It was then that I knew I wanted to marry her, even though I knew the consequences and the heartache that might entail.’

John looked at his dad. ‘So, all the worry, stress, danger and everything else you both went through while Mum was on missions was worth it, then?’

Harry took a hanky out of his pocket and blew his nose. ‘Oh yes, lad. What we had was worth all that … and much more.’

John finished the bottle of water and, with the help of his spade, dragged his aching body up from the damp earth. Love at first sight was something he’d always pooh-poohed. But what exactly did he feel for Sarah? He was buggered if he knew.

What he did know was that he shouldn’t even entertain the idea of a relationship given the rules of Needles and Stitches; his dad might look back with rose-tinted specs now his mum was gone, but John could remember how worried, stressed and sad he’d been when his mum was on a mission. He didn’t want that for himself, and certainly not for Sarah, especially as he knew she had been almost destroyed by her husband’s affair with her best friend. She needed a ‘normal’ guy, someone to depend on, someone in an ordinary job, not someone like him, constantly worrying about other Stitches and their missions. After she’d finished these jobs, she should go back to her life and find happiness.

But try as he might, he couldn’t get her out of his head. Sarah was the first thing he thought of in the morning and the last thing before he closed his eyes at night. He’d been on tenterhooks ever since she’d left the present and his stomach churned at the thought of her getting in trouble, or worse, getting stuck in the past. It had happened to a few Stitches before … ones who had been over confident, or too careless, or they’d just had bad luck. He hadn’t told her that, of course; she had enough to worry about.

A short while later, John set off for his cottage just a few minutes’ walk away. All that digging had left him tired and very hungry. His mind connected to food also presented a picture of Sarah trying to cover her boobs while eating bacon. He grinned at the memory and he felt a twinge of excitement as he thought about what those boobs would look like without that old jumper. His pulse quickened when he thought about what the rest of her would look like naked, too.

John shook the image away. He cared for her, but perhaps his feelings were just based on lust in the end; she was an attractive single woman, he was a single man, and it had been a while since he’d slept with anyone after all. Yep … that was it. He needed to get a grip and see things for what they were. Sarah was a lovely woman who deserved a second chance with someone who would treasure her. And John Needler was definitely not that man.

Having no better plan, Sarah decided to return to the kitchen. Perhaps there’d be a chance of food. It may be mid-morning in 19 whatever it was, but it must be near seven o’clock in the evening back in the present. Though, of course, she had no real idea; she suspected that time didn’t work like that. And any suppositions she’d had about time before had been pooh-poohed by John. An image of John cooking breakfast in her kitchen flashed across her mind. He certainly looked good enough to eat. She shook her head. No point thinking about him now; it wouldn’t do any good.

She walked down the corridor and followed her nose. Her tummy rumbled and the Friday-night curry and wine danced tantalisingly in her head. Sarah yawned and wondered if she would get a kind of time-travelling jet lag. She also wondered when she’d get her stitching done and return to normality – well, as normal as her life could be at the moment. There was still no clue as to whom she had to save, no itchy feet or hiccups – nothing. It had certainly been a lot easier in 1940.
It had been a lot
easier in
1940? Ha! That must be at the top of the list of my all-time surreal thoughts.

‘There you are, Miss Hoity-Toity. I expect you’ve been off thanking people mightily for their concern and reading newspapers, eh?’ Cook snapped, as Sarah entered the kitchen.

Sarah stared at the floor. She figured that this was a rhetorical question and the cook would presently continue her barracking. Sure enough, Cook marched over and prodded Sarah on the shoulder.

‘There’s potatoes to peel and floors to scrub, and you better get to it, gel, or you’ll feel the back o’ my hand!’

The back of her hand? Jeez Louise, were folk still allowed to physically reprimand like that? Sarah wanted to call Cook an ‘overblown maggoty bully’, but for one, this sounded more like an Elizabethan term of abuse, and for two, and most importantly, she’d get the sack.

‘Look at you stood staring at me like I’m a curio. Get to them potatoes!’ Cook pointed to a mound of potatoes masquerading as Mount Everest at the end of the table.

Sarah puffed out her cheeks and let out her tension in a slow stream of air, then walked over and picked up a small vegetable knife.

‘Stop sighing, or so help me!’ Cook pointed a ladle at her. ‘And there will be no bread and cheese for you in half an hour when everyone else has some.’

Sarah rolled her eyes and ran the knife under the skin of a potato. Oh fantastic, bread and cheese … again. What is it with these people in the past? Don’t they ever eat anything else?

‘Ruby, looks like you’re slacking on that brass cleaning. Run into the scullery and fetch a pot of water for Lady Sarah’s taters,’ Cook said to a mouse of a girl polishing a candlestick by the fire.
Oh, please. A Sarah, Rose and now Ruby? She really was in
Upstairs Downstairs
.

Ruby scuttled off and then Grayson appeared at the door. ‘Cook, Her Ladyship wants a word with us both about the Pankhurst visit.’

Unexpectedly alone, Sarah was free to do a spot of snooping. She dashed to the fireplace and knelt by the chair that Grayson had been sitting in earlier. Under it was a stack of newspapers, and Sarah selected the first in the pile, hoping it was the most recent.
The Daily Telegraph
had lots of information about the recent war in the Balkans splashed all over the front page, but the top strip of the page had been torn off.

Damn! Where the hell had that gone?
Sarah’s eyes fell on the brassware that Ruby had been cleaning. A few scraps of newspaper sat under the tin of polish. She snatched the newspaper, knocking over the polish in her eagerness. Smoothing out the pieces on the flagstone, she read: Monday, the 2nd of June 1913. ‘Ha!’ she said aloud. ‘I was right!’

‘Oh, my giddy aunt! Look at my polish, it’s staining the floor!’ Ruby wailed. She set down the pot of water on the table and ran over to Sarah.

Sarah looked up at the poor girl’s panic-stricken face and then back at the puddle of polish. Bloody hell, Cook would go apeshit!

‘Quick, Ruby, get a scrubbing brush and some soap and water.’

Ruby ran back to the scullery and Sarah grabbed the main part of the newspaper and blotted it over the spreading purple stain. Her heart sank; she realised she was probably going to get in big trouble for this.
Come on, Ruby, the evil weevils will be back in a minute.

Right on cue, in walked Grayson and Cook. ‘What on earth has happened here?’ Grayson barked and stomped over to Sarah.

‘You bloody tripe hound!’ Cook said, lifting the corner of the newspaper. ‘Can’t leave you for a minute these days, and where’s Ruby?’

‘Here, Cook, I was just getting soap and water to clean it,’ Ruby panted, slopping the water on the floor as she hurried to join them.

‘Who’s fault was it, I would like to know?’ Grayson asked, arms folded, tapping a shiny shoe inches from Sarah’s hand.

‘Mine, Mr Grayson. Ruby had nothing to do with it.’

‘I might have known. Too busy trying to read your papers again I shouldn’t wonder,’ Cook said, bending to Sarah’s level and shoving her sweaty face close. ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’

Sarah recoiled. Sodding hell, that woman’s breath stank bad enough to fell a skunk! ‘Yes, I expect you are, Cook,’ she said, keeping her head turned away.

‘Well get it scrubbed, madam. There’s definitely no bread and cheese for you now, or supper for that matter if you don’t get it spotless!’ Cook marched back to her table, muttering.

‘It’s a good job it was yesterday’s newspaper, Sarah, or I would have docked your wages,’ Grayson sneered and left the kitchen.

Sarah scrubbed furiously at the stain, imagining it was Cook’s face. God, how she’d love to give both her and Grayson a piece of her mind.

After about twenty minutes scrubbing the floor was back to normal, but Sarah wasn’t. She wanted to go home, was tired, fed up and ravenously hungry. She was just getting back to the potato peeling when Rose breezed in.

‘Her Ladyship is fuming up there,’ she said to Cook, perching on a stool at the table to cut a slice of bread from the board.

‘What do you expect? We’re all fuming, now that that bloody witch Pankhurst has decided she’s too busy to bother herself,’ Cook replied, pushing a cheese plate and butter dish along to Rose. ‘I baked my best fruit cake and all sorts; waste of time and money now.’

Sarah raised her eyebrows. Mrs Pankhurst wasn’t coming? That was one person to cross off her ‘to be saved’ list.

Rose stuck her nose in the air. ‘She has apparently gone to a political engagement that she cannot possibly put off,’ she said, mimicking Lady Attwood’s accent perfectly. She took a bite of her bread. ‘That’s what Her Ladyship said to Grayson, but when I was leaving the room, I heard her mutter, “They should stick her in jail and let her rot next time.” Shows you what she really finks ’bout women’s votes, eh?’

‘Don’t talk with your mouth full and don’t mimic Lady Attwood like that neither, Rose. Remember your place, my gel.’

Cook went off muttering that she needed to sit ‘quiet a bit’ in her room. Ruby and the other maids took their bread and cheese and then were out and about elsewhere. Grayson apparently was on his afternoon inspection of the house, and Rose and Sarah were left alone.

‘Cut me a bit of bread and pass the cheese down will you, Rose. I’m starving.’

Rose did as she was asked. ‘Why didn’t you say you wanted some before, when I was having mine?’

Sarah told her of the spilt polish and that Cook had forbidden her to eat as punishment.

‘She can be such a cow at times. If she weren’t blood, I’d bop her on the nose, job or no job,’ Rose said, pouring out a cup of tea for them both.

Sarah was glad to have a bit of time to gather her thoughts and assess the information she’d acquired. A few choice questions to Rose should help.

‘So, is it the 3rd today, Rose? I lose track of the days.’

‘Yes, because it’s my day off tomorrow and that’s definitely the 4th. I know that ’cos I have a very important WSPU meeting … so to speak.’

‘What do you mean, so to speak?’

‘Can’t say no more than this.’ Rose looked around to make sure nobody was within earshot. ‘I’m meeting an important member of the WSPU and we’re going to do something a bit different.’ She tapped her finger on the side of her nose, nodded, and then sipped her tea.

Sarah worried that poor Rose would end up in prison if she did anything involving criminal damage. ‘I hope you aren’t going to get involved in smashing windows or arson, Rose; that won’t further your cause, in fact it helped set things back until after the war.’

‘War? What war?’

Shit, I mentioned the future again! Hope I don’t start giggling again like last time.
‘Did I say war? No, I meant to say law. The law won’t like it and criminal damage will get the law after you.’ Sarah smiled. Quick thinking, Batman.

Rose looked a bit puzzled but said, ‘No, to tell you the truth, I‘m not happy about the arson, but we have to do somefink to bring us women to the government’s attention.’

‘Yes, but trust me, being banged up, going on hunger strike and having a force-feeding pipe shoved up your nose has its place, but I think peaceful campaigning
will
help in the long run. Real education for women is a must. You’ll get your vote in the end …’ Sarah tailed off. She felt an enormous bout of wind rumbling up from her stomach like gas in a geyser.

Rose sat back on the stool, put down her cup and frowned at her. ‘You seem to know lots about everythink all of a sudden, Sarah … and you seem to be talking right clever an’ all.’

‘
Buurgh! Boulgh! Yarrup!
’ Sarah belched three times in succession louder than she’d ever belched before. She put her hand to her mouth in shock. Not the giggles this time; but this was one of the warning signs for talking about the future.

‘Well, how rude! You’d better not do that in front of Cook or Mr Gr—’

‘
Berrumph
!’ Sarah clamped a hand over her mouth and shook her head at Rose and pointed to the cheese.

‘The cheese made you belch like that, you mean?’

‘
Yerrowgh!
’ Sarah nodded.

‘Cheese? I told you not to eat anything, you disgusting little guttersnipe!’ Cook bellowed from the doorway.

She came over to Sarah and shook her by the shoulders, her face only inches away as she yelled ‘You’re a nasty deceitful little—’

Sarah took her hands away from her mouth and let rip right into Cook’s eyes. ‘
Breuwrgh!
’

Cook jumped away as if she’d been scalded, which was quite an amusing sight. Her jowls shook like jelly and her eyes popped open in disbelief. Rose slid a stool under her aunt’s behind and eased her on to it. ‘Sit here and calm down, Cook. I’m sure Sarah didn’t mean it. She’s not been well all day, have you, Sarah?’

The wind left as quickly as it had come and Sarah found that she was able to speak unhindered. ‘No, of course I didn’t mean it, it just slipped out.’ She winked at Rose over the top of Cook’s head. ‘Better out than in as my old granddad used to say.’

‘You cheeky mare, what’s come over you? Have you no respect?’ Cook asked, struggling to her feet.

‘Now, what’s all this then?’ Grayson barked, strolling in.

‘It’s that Sarah.’ Cook waved her fist. ‘She’s gone funny in the head. Belches right in my face she did, and stands there smirking as large as life.’

‘Is this true, Sarah?’ Grayson asked, polishing his gold-rimmed spectacles on a handkerchief.

‘
Yerugsh!
’ Sarah said.

Grayson took a step back and shoved his glasses back on. He stood blinking at her like an owl plucked from its nest on a sunny day. Sarah blinked back. Where the hell did that one come from? Still, it felt good to see the evil weevils in a pickle.

‘See, I told you!’ screeched Cook. ‘It’s all that reading she does, giving her ideas right above her station. She’ll be wearing trousers next!’

Sarah stood up and folded her arms. She wondered if some mischief-making spirit had hitched a ride across time with her, because before she could stop herself she said, ‘Trousers are very popular where I come from; they free the legs from these cumbersome drapes we are forced to wear. Moreover, literacy …’ she inclined her head towards Cook, ‘ … that means reading and writing, Cook. Now, where was I? Ah, yes, literacy is crucial to the betterment of the human condition, and absolutely necessary to fulfil one’s individual potential.’ She began to pace back and forth across the kitchen with her hands clasped behind her back. Then she stopped and peered haughtily at Cook.

‘It is clear that your condition is poor and your individual potential is sadly lacking, both as a woman and a human. I suggest you learn to read, madam, and perhaps when you do, you may feel the need to have some trousers specially tailored for your alarmingly large derrière.’

Cook, Grayson and Rose gawped open mouthed.

Sarah couldn’t help it; she threw back her head and laughed like some villain in a play. She felt as if she had been dropped on to a stage at an amateur dramatics evening.

The other three looked at each other in disbelief and then back to Sarah. Grayson recovered his composure first.

‘Right, Rose, escort Miss Heggarty to her room and lock her in. I do not want to see her for the rest of the day and I will speak to Her Ladyship about her conduct and further action.’ He pointed to the door and dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief.

Rose led the way out and up a flight of stairs. She didn’t speak to Sarah on the short trip and kept her eyes averted. Sarah was at a loss to why she had just behaved like that and said those things to Cook. If she were locked in a room, how the heck would she complete her task?

Rose opened a door to the shabbiest room that Sarah had seen so far. Two small beds were placed either side of a stand bearing a tin basin and water pitcher. On a metal rail along the back wall hung two dresses and two coats, and two pairs of shoes were placed neatly underneath. A small chest of drawers stood next to the door.

Rose made sure the door was closed and then said, ‘My God, that was bleedin’ marvellous!’