The Second Time Travel Megapack: 23 Modern and Classic Stories Read online

  Log Entry #8: Jake Lawson

  We had a very pleasant morning. Jane Austen and her friend, Cecil (that’s how she appears in the reference books!) Chamberlayne, called on us about ten, and for a while, we just exchanged the usual pleasantries. Then Patsy, despite Shorter’s warning, pursued the authorship issue again, and Jane indicated that she had recently been working on a gothic novel, set in an old spooky abbey that had been converted into a large country house. It sounded perfectly dreadful.

  Mrs. C. also noted Miss A.’s aptitude for drawing, something that was supposed to have been the highlight of sister Cassandra’s repertoire. They mentioned that the latter was coming to Bath on the first of June, and Jane said she would like to arrange a party to celebrate the occasion. She wanted to know all about Providence and environs, and I managed to BS her sufficiently with a mixture of fact and fantasy until they finally left.

  We got everything recorded on digital video from several different angles, to supplement the long external shots of the author we had already taken. Shorter seemed to be very happy generally with the session, although he complained again about Pat straying from his script. That woman just never seems to learn.

  Log Entry #9: Patricia Wardon

  I was able to confirm at today’s session that Jane Austen is the author or at least partial writer of Northanger Abbey, which is obviously the novel on which she’s currently working. This book has always seemed to me a hodge-podge of different ideas and styles, almost as if the author had started doing one thing (a gothic or a satire of same), and then had suddenly changed her mind in midstream. It now seems perfectly obvious to me that Jane did the first draft and Cassandra the second, and that the transplant just failed to take.

  Still, I have to say that Jane came across much better at this meeting than at our earlier get-togethers. She was definitely in her element: gracious, forthcoming, gentile, in every respect a lady of her time.

  I also found myself liking Cecil Chamberlayne, the wife of a Gloucester squire, Edmund J. Chamberlayne. She was intelligent, athletic, and observant, and I had to be very careful indeed in her presence. I suggested that the three of us take a walk in the countryside sometime later in the week. They enthusiastically agreed. What else do they have to do?

  Log Entry #10: Patricia Wardon

  How can I possibly relate what has happened here today? Particularly since I don’t understand myself exactly what’s going on.

  We set out for the village of Twerton about nine a.m., heading straight across country. The clothes we’re forced to wear can be exceedingly awkward in which to walk any distance, and although I consider myself in reasonably good shape, I was panting after the first few hundred yards, particularly when we started climbing the slope of a long, low hill just outside of Bath proper. Mrs. C. is a regular goat, it seems: she just plowed straight on, scarcely even puffing, while the rest of us (Jane included) had to labor to keep up.

  We finally paused at the top to admire the gorgeous view. Dropping away below us and undulating into the far distance, we could see the beautifully green, unspoiled, pre-industrial countryside of England. It was utterly and amazingly lovely. I don’t think I had realized up to that point how much the world has changed for the worse in the intervening centuries. Even the imposition of Bath’s architecture on part of the landscape could not spoil the shimmering effect.

  Then Cecil Chamberlayne rattled off something in a foreign tongue, and Jane responded back in the same fashion, very curtly. Miss Austen turned to me, and sweetly apologized for the discourtesy.

  “I did not realize that you spoke another language,” I said.

  “I was exceedingly well educated at home,” she replied.

  “Please pardon me for inquiring,” I stated, “but what dialect was that?”

  The two women exchanged quick glances, before Mrs. Chamberlayne responded: “It is merely a game that we play to amuse ourselves. The words have no meaning.”

  She wasn’t a very good liar, but I let the issue drop. I have to say, Theo, that although I’ve been trained in a dozen European tongues, I didn’t recognize this one. Haven’t a clue.

  We reached Twerton about noon. I caught myself unconsciously looking at my wrist to check the time, which of course I couldn’t do, and I’m sure the gesture caught Mrs. C.’s most observant eye. I need to watch these habits a little more closely in the future.

  At Twerton we stopped at the home of a Mrs. Dunn (at least that’s how I heard the name), who welcomed us inside with the cordial hospitality that seems to me common to this place. We feasted on cold meat and cheese and bread and early strawberries.

  Jane inquired of Mr. Dunn, and Catherine (that is, Mrs. Dunn) responded that he was gone away on business, although precisely what business was never actually elucidated during our conversation. These people have a unique talent for talking around subjects and never really saying anything.

  All I could glean was that this Dunn was apparently quite upset over something that someone else had recently said to a third party. I didn’t quite get the context. Mrs. Dunn complained that the other man (unnamed) would not listen to any of them, and Mrs. Chamberlayne responded that something would certainly have to be done. At which point Mrs. D. suddenly laughed out loud, apparently due to the obvious pun, and the tension was finally broken.

  Afterwards, we started back home through a series of fields, and I asked the ladies about the Dunns. Jane indicated that they had been married for some time, and that their relationship was rather unusual, which I interpreted as “strained.” This was beginning to get interesting.

  Cecil said: “Of course, no woman is an island, complete unto herself,” which earned her a very sharp look indeed from Miss Austen. Mrs. C. just smirked.

  Then Jane asked me to tell Mrs. C. about my writing, and so of course I had to respond. It was an obvious diversion, and I learned nothing more about the Dunns that day.

  The skies had been threatening since early afternoon, and about halfway home a storm quickly blew in. We hurried along as best as we could, but our skirts hampered us from making any real speed, and it soon became obvious that we were going to get wet. Indeed, “wet” is an understatement: the skies opened up and within seconds had drenched us to the skin. We started running up a hill. Then I carelessly stepped into a hole and sprawled full-length upon the grassy soil. My foot hurt like hell and the wind was completely knocked out of me. What was I doing here? I thought to myself.

  Suddenly, out of the mist and fog a horse loomed up, and a well-dressed young gentleman leaped from its back.

  “What is wrong?” he inquired.

  “Miss Lawson has been hurt,” Jane responded.

  “Let me take her to Wildwood,” he stated, and effortlessly picked me off the ground and set me on his horse.

  He jumped up behind me, and we rode off together. Somewhere along the way I must have lost consciousness. I don’t remember much of the next few hours, only that I awoke in a large, comfortable bed, being tended by a maid and later by a doctor.

  When I came to my senses the next morning, the sun was bright enough across my eyes that I could barely see the young man standing there. He was perhaps twenty-five or thirty years of age, thin and well-built, elegantly clothed, with a mop of long, brown, curly hair rippling across his forehead.

  “Miss Lawson?” he said, when he saw me awake.

  “Patricia,” I responded, before I fully realized where I was, and then knew that I should not have reacted so informally to one to whom I had not been properly introduced.

  “My name is Mancefield,” he noted, “Jowell Mancefield. You were injured on Knob Hill yesterday, and so I brought you here to my estate.”

  “I am most grateful for your kindness, Mr. Mancefield,” I stated.

  I stretched, and was suddenly aware that I wore nothing under the covers but a ligh
t shift. His eyes were drawn to my movement, and I blushed in response. I hadn’t done something so utterly silly in a great many years.

  Whatever is happening to me? I thought to myself. Have I fallen into one of Jane Austen’s novels?

  Later

  My “brother” and Miss Austen and Mrs. Chamberlayne came for me in a carriage in mid-afternoon, after I had assured my host and the physician, Dr. Fellows, that I was perfectly all right. I do have a slight sprain, very much like Miss Austen suffered the other day, but can get around just fine. Still, it’s pleasant to be the center of so much attention and solicitude, the greater portion of which, so far as I can tell, seems genuine. Mr. Mancefield, in particular, appears to be much taken with me.

  Jane Austen was bubbling over with news from her sister, Cassandra, who will be arriving here next Monday, and she and Mrs. Chamberlayne suggested a party to celebrate her migration here. I thought the idea sounded like a great opportunity for us, and seconded the notion. Mr. Lawson merely frowned, but seemed in somewhat better humor after Miss Jane begged him to agree. Do I detect there the glimmer of some personal interest?

  But once we were deposited upon the doorstep of our lodgings at Green Park, the proverbial excrement hit the fandango. Jake and I were both immediately rousted into the safe room, where Shorter made his unhappiness with us most evident.

  “What the bloody hell do you think you were doing out there?” he yelled, running his hands back over his balding head. “We have standing orders not to get involved with the natives in timestep situations. There are good and valid reasons for this, like not permanently altering our timeline. What part of this don’t you understand? One more violation, Ms. Wardon, and it’s back to tempus firmum with you!

  “In the meanwhile, you will both keep your distance from Jowell Mancefield, Esq., and you will confine your contacts with Jane Austen to those which are absolutely necessary to complete our visual and audio record of the author. ¿Comprende?”

  I mentioned the party that Jane and Cecil had scheduled for early June, and he threw up his hands.

  “And you can’t refuse, can you, without appearing discourteous?” he said. “Very well, you’ll both attend this function, but Long and I will be hovering in the background, just to keep you in line. Now get the hell out of my sight!”

  Oh, the joys of timestepping.

  Log Entry #11: Ellison Shorter to Time Central C&C

  I am recommending that Time Survey #A0860 be terminated early. One of the primary investigators, Ms. P. E. Wardon, has had several personal contacts with the natives here, and I sense that the mission is destabilizing. We have completed about one-third of our mission objectives as of this date.

  Log Entry #12: Time Central C&C to E. Shorter

  Request approved. Accelerate schedule to capture at least 75% of the target images. Monitor Wardon carefully to avoid any future difficulties. Advance withdrawal date to 7 June 1801.

  —Theo Phelps, Th.D.

  Letter #7: Cassandra Austen to Jane Austen

  Kintbury, Newbury

  Wednesday 27 May 1801

  My dearest Jane,

  Revd Debary has offerd me the use of his coach later this week to make the journey to Bath, & I have graciously acceptd. So you will see my palely loitering face once again next Monday, if God be willing & the creek does not rise.—I much enjoyd your tales of the American Lawsons, who sound to be the most bright & amusing people. I look forward very much to meeting with them, & also to the party that Mrs Chamberlayne shall prepare in their honour. She can be a most gracious hostess when pushd into it.

  I have further news of Miss Euphemia Appleby. It seems that she & Mr Everede are not to be married after all! Mr. E., I am told, took a closer look at his intended bride, & found her somewhat wanting. He decided that he would rather prefer a life of service in His Majesty’s Army, & persuaded Mrs A. to purchase for him a commission as a Lieut., so that the Revd Mr Hector Bolitho might have an unfetterd field in which to bring his prey to bay.

  But Miss Euphemia still prays nay,

  There’s nought else for Cassandra to say.

  Concerning that other matter, I have myself met with Mr S. in the past days, & he has asked me to inform you that he will not agree to your terms. You must, he insists, leave him to his holy meanderings thro’ the literary fields, come what may. I have informd him very vigourously that the Council will never agree to this, but he just says, “fie unto them!” or words to that effect. Dear Sister, the Elders are greatly concernd over this extravagance, & will not allow such unfetterd licence to continue in this manner. I have askd him to accompany me to B. next week, so that this matter may be resolvd for good, irrespective of our interfering interruttores. You may handle Mr S. better than I, perhaps; you surely cannot do worse. Truly, I tire of his posturings. C.E.A.

  Log Entry #13: Jake Lawson

  Shorter seemed shorter than usual today. He received a message from Up Front early this morning, relayed as usual through our transport site at the caisson outside Bath. I find his attitude irritating. He seems to regard his “vast” experience as a prescription to have his own way, even in the minutest of matters. He’s now insisting that we limit our purchases of fresh foodstuffs in the city to only those items which he considers absolutely irreplaceable. No fresh fruits or vegetables or meat. Instead, all we’ve got are these dried concoctions that taste like…well, actually, they don’t have much taste at all. Blech!

  Pat has been restricted to Green Park, but that didn’t prevent a second visit to our establishment by Lady Jane and her friend, Cecil (she pronounces it “sáysill”) Chamberlayne, who’s a strange little bird if ever there was one.

  Mrs. C. seems unusually intelligent, certainly more so than her mousy companion, the supposed author, and she’s uncommonly pretty compared to the other women I’ve seen here; but there’s more to her than these surface impressions might indicate. Her wit, her spirit, her quick repartee, all provide us with constant amusement. She also seems unusually well-read in the classics, and has some knowledge of both Greek and Latin, I think. What bothers me is that I can’t quite gauge the exact limits of her knowledge, although I did try several trick questions, all of which she handled without difficulty. Indeed, she mentioned several authors and sources with which I was unfamiliar.

  But Jane Austen still fails to impress. I find her infuriatingly imprecise when it comes to literary matters, on which she is supposed to be so constantly capable. Pat was bolder than I in pressing these questions, as usual, despite the occasional visitation by and cautionary glance from Herr Shorter. How can I fault her? Something about these ladies just doesn’t jibe.

  In any event, we spent a pleasant two hours in idle ruminations on a dozen non-serious topics. Austen is either a complete idiot or the cleverest person I have ever encountered. I can’t decide which, although Pat is convinced that she’s a fool. I do wonder.

  Log Entry #14: Patricia Wardon

  Miss Austen and Mrs. Chamberlayne did us the honor of presenting themselves at our doorstep this afternoon, and we made a most pleasant and uneventful soirée of their presence. I asked about Mr. Mancefield, and Mrs. C. indicated that he was the scion of an old Somerset family, being the nephew and heir presumptive of the elderly Sir Mordecai. He will inherit both the baronetcy and the fortune upon his uncle’s death, which cannot be too many years removed.

  About halfway through the session we somehow ventured into the territory of the classical authors, and Mrs. Chamberlayne recited some Sappho in the original Greek, and then did several delightful impromptu translations of same. Miss Austen still seems to have no idea of what’s what or who’s who with any aspect of literature, and I remain puzzled by her utter lack of interest in and apparent absence of knowledge concerning any of the major writers. I can’t believe this is a ruse. It’s just too damned successful.

  Where is the auth
or of Pride and Prejudice and Emma? It must be our dear Cassandra. She will be joining our little group from Kintbury next Monday, and I very much look forward to meeting her.

  According to Shorter, we’re now going to withdraw our team in early June. I have much yet to do.

  Meanwhile, Jowell has invited me to go riding with him tomorrow morning, and even though I suspect the locals will look askance at an unattended lady accompanying a single man on a journey to nowhere, still I look forward to the occasion. After all, tomorrow’s another day!

  Log Entry #15: Ellison Shorter

  We obtained an excellent series of digivids today, both of Ms. Austen and of her companion, Mrs. Chamberlayne. We will proceed to record as much as we can in the short time yet available to us. I remain concerned over Ms. Wardon’s ungoverned reactions to this period. It’s almost as if she were suffering from some kind of temporal psychosis. I must have the lab boys check into this possibility when we return.

  Log Entry (Personal): Patricia Wardon

  Jowell is utterly delightful. We rode several miles into the countryside together, and when it began to drizzle at midday, found shelter in a partially derelict manger hidden in a copse. There was still enough of a roof on one side to protect the hay from the elements, and we sat there a bit, just talking about nothings. Suddenly he kissed me, and I kissed back, and, well, let’s just say he didn’t disappoint! I think he was very much surprised by my unladylike forwardness.

  Later, I asked him about Jane, but although he has met her, the Austens haven’t really lived long at Bath, and he doesn’t know them very well. I had the impression that he regarded the family as too poor to warrant much notice on his part.

  We promised to see each other again tomorrow. God, I hope so. He makes most twenty-first-century men look so, so, anemic by comparison.