Peter watched Gideon stride away to Baslow Hall. He set to wondering if his mother, so far away in California, had been told that her son was missing and what she would do. He had not seen her for nearly two months. Would she drop everything, tell the film studio that they would have to do without her, and get on a plane? Would she miss him if he got permanently stuck in 1763? Then it occurred to him that if he’d had a father who kept his promises, he wouldn’t be in this situation now.
The shadows were lengthening by the time Kate heaved herself up on her elbows and helped herself to some water.
“Are you okay?” asked Peter. Kate nodded.
“Lost in time,” she said after a while. “Why couldn’t I see it before? Everyone in fancy dress and speaking funny.”
“I thought that’s how people spoke in Derbyshire,” said Peter with a grin.
“Watch it,” said Kate. “And before you ask, my dad and Dr. Williamson at the lab are not trying to invent time travel. That only happens in stories. They’re studying how gravity actually works.”
“Will,” corrected Peter. “They will study how gravity works.”
An air of unreality descended on them while they sat in the warm, still air, waiting for Gideon. Peter sat obsessively folding and unfolding a slip of paper that he had found in his anorak pocket.
“You’re like Sam; you’re a right fidget!” snapped Kate, irritated. “What is it anyway?”
Peter unrolled the grubby scrap of paper and read, “Christmas homework. To be handed in to Mr. Carmichael on January eighth. Write five hundred words on: My Ideal Holiday.”
They both burst out laughing but soon fell silent. Chance had thrown Peter and Kate together, and whether they liked it or not, each was now a key person in the other’s life. But, of course, they had known each other for less than a day and a half, and neither had yet earned the other’s trust.
After a while Peter said, “You know, it’s got to be something to do with that machine thing that Gideon told us about. It might not be a time machine, but it’s all we’ve got to go on. We’re going to have to find the Tar Man, aren’t we?”
“I don’t know,” Kate replied. “Maybe it would be better to wait here…. My dad will work out what happened. I know he will. He won’t stop until he’s found us.”
Peter did not feel quite so optimistic about Dr. Dyer’s ability to travel back through time. But he also felt a pang of jealousy—he wished the feelings he had about his own dad were less complicated.
“I didn’t blur when I fainted, did I?” asked Kate.
“No, you didn’t, why?”
“Just checking.”
Gideon arrived not on horseback but sitting in an open carriage drawn by two glossy chestnut mares. Beside him sat a pretty, plump young woman in a severe black-and-white dress. She was perhaps twenty years old and she was balancing a basket covered with a muslin cloth on her knee. Golden curls escaped from beneath a cotton bonnet and tumbled over her rosy cheeks. The driver sat perched high up on a box seat. He held his back as straight as a soldier on parade and wielded a whip, which he cracked over the horses’ heads as they strained up the steep track.
When they came to a halt, Gideon helped the young woman out of the carriage. They hurried toward the children. The woman dropped a neat curtsy in Peter and Kate’s direction.
“This is Hannah,” announced Gideon. “Mrs. Byng’s personal maid. She has brought you refreshments and a cloak each to cover your barbaric garb.” Then he raised his voice, and fixing them with his dark blue eyes, he spoke slowly and very pointedly to Peter and Kate.
“I have spoken to Mrs. Byng of your traveling to England from foreign parts and of your terrible encounter with an armed highwayman in Dovedale who made off with all your clothes and possessions. I have also enlightened Mrs. Byng as to your intention of traveling to London. I explained how you became separated from your uncle, who has doubtless made his way to Covent Garden, where he has urgent business.”
“Yes, that’s right,” said Peter in such a stilted voice that Gideon had to turn away to hide his smile. “A terrible highwayman stole all our clothes in Dovedale.”
“You poor, wretched children,” said Hannah sympathetically. “Mr. Seymour told me that you were forced to wear whatever you could lay your hands on, yet I do declare I have never set eyes on a more outlandish getup. Why, a person would be ashamed to be seen in such clothes in respectable company. But, Mistress Kate, you are not well. Let me help you to the carriage. Here, give me your arm and lean on me.”
Kate did what she was told and looked over her shoulder quizzically at Gideon and Peter as she was maneuvered into the coach. Gideon leaned over and whispered in Peter’s ear. “I do not think it wise to be open about your predicament. I fear that half the world will think you mad and the other half that you have been bewitched.”
Tucked up in woollen cloaks, and swayed by the motion of the coach, Peter and Kate listened to the groaning of wooden axles and the rhythmic clop, clop, clop of the horses’ hooves. The wild Derbyshire landscape, mellow in the setting sun, seemed to glide by. Hannah’s basket, stuffed with hunks of bread, salty white cheese, and roast chicken, easily satisfied the children’s ravenous appetites, although Hannah seemed to regard it as a small snack. She wanted to know if the highwayman could have been Ned Porter and if he was handsome. Thinking of the Tar Man, Peter told her that he was as ugly as a pig, with a big nose and greasy black hair, and that he stank. Hannah seemed very disappointed.
Peter heard Kate’s sudden intake of breath and felt her hand on his arm as the broad stone facade of Baslow Hall came into view. Symmetrical and well proportioned in the same way that good doll’s houses always are, the mansion was an impressive sight in the setting sun. The long curved drive cut through a great park, well stocked with stately elms and home to perhaps a thousand sheep.
“This is my school!” she exclaimed softly into Peter’s ear. “This is where I go to school! I can’t believe it!”
The coach crunched to a standstill in front of a flight of steps leading to a pair of imposing gilded doors. “Wow,” said Kate to Peter under her breath. “It doesn’t look this good now.”
“It won’t look this good,” corrected Peter.
“You will get very annoying if you carry on like that,” she whispered back.
As they all clambered down from the carriage, a small blond-haired boy in a velvet suit came careering around the corner of the house and skidded to a halt on the gravel of the drive. His mouth opened into a small O shape of surprise, and he let the misshapen leather ball he had been chasing roll toward Peter and Kate.
“We have visitors, Master Jack,” Hannah called out. “Will you come and bid them welcome?”
The little fellow stood and stared at the strangers and began to walk backward, retracing his steps behind the corner.
“Hello,” said Kate, kneeling down so that she was at the same height. “My name’s Kate and this is Peter.”
Peter walked toward the child’s ball.
“Can I borrow your ball for a moment?”
He threw off his cloak, picked up the ball, and carefully placed it on the top of his right foot. Holding out his arms for balance, Peter kicked the ball to eye level then kept it in the air for a couple of minutes or more, first with his foot, then with his knee, and then he finally flicked the ball behind him, bent forward with his arms outstretched, and caught it deftly on the back of his neck. Master Jack was rooted to the spot, entranced; he had never seen such skill with a ball before. Kate was impressed too, although she couldn’t quite bring herself to say so.
Jack ran forward and snatched the ball from Peter’s neck.
“I like your game,” he said. “I want to play it now.” He smiled up at Peter, and dimples appeared in his chubby cheeks. Then his attention was drawn to Peter’s anorak and he reached out to touch it.
“What is this?” he asked in wonderment, stroking the orange nylon and running his thumbnail up and down the
fascinating metal zip.
“Where are your manners, Jack?” a refined woman’s voice inquired. “Our guests have been attacked by a highwayman who has stolen all their good clothes.”
“You poor souls,” said Jack earnestly, and then added, breaking into a grin, “I should like to meet a highwayman.”
“Hush, Jack,” the woman’s voice replied. “Do not wish for such a thing!”
Peter stood up to see who was speaking. He saw two women walking toward them: a handsome, dignified woman in a magnificent blue silk dress, and following her, a nurse carrying a baby swaddled in a lace shawl. The width of the lady’s dress was nothing less than startling. It must weigh a ton, thought Peter. If she’d been standing on a sidewalk, there wouldn’t have been room for anyone else. Peter started to get nervous. This must be Gideon’s employer, the Honorable Mrs. Byng. What was he going to say to this grand lady? How was he supposed to behave? Thankfully, Gideon and Kate joined him, and all three of them stood to attention in a little row.
“Bow!” hissed Gideon. Peter did a bow of sorts, though he did not know what to do with his arms and legs. If she noticed, Mrs. Byng had enough tact not to show that she had. Kate fared better with a curtsy, as her legs were hidden under her long cloak and she merely bent both knees before bobbing up again.
“Welcome to Baslow Hall,” said the Honorable Mrs. Byng. “I am sorry that the master of the house, Colonel Byng, is unable to greet you. He is recently left for America, where he is to join his regiment. An uncivilized land, but he must needs do his duty for England and King George, and we must do without him as best we can. Come, Mr. Seymour, introduce me to our guests.”
“May I present Mistress Kate and Master Peter Schock,” said Gideon. “Alas the highwayman took everything and they now find themselves entirely without resources. He stole something of great worth that they must recover. They have been separated from their uncle, whom they believe has traveled on to London, where he has urgent business.”
“A sorry tale indeed. My cousin, Parson Ledbury, dines with me this evening. You must give him a description of the foul fellow who committed this crime. Alas, Derbyshire is teeming nowadays with highwaymen and footpads and villains of all kinds. And yet, as Parson Ledbury says, we shall not be cowed into staying at home because the country is rife with wickedness. Are you brother and sister, may I ask?”
“No!” Kate and Peter almost shouted.
“Mistress Kate and Master Peter are cousins,” said Gideon hurriedly.
“I see. And where do your families live?”
Gideon and the children looked at each other. Each was waiting for the other to make the first move.
“We, er, have estates in Germany, near Frankfurt, and also in the north of Scotland,” blurted out Peter, reasoning that the richer they sounded the better they were likely to be treated.
“I have family in Scotland,” said Mrs. Byng. “Perhaps I am familiar with your estate. What is the name of the nearest town?”
“Um,” replied Peter, panicking quietly. “Glanadarry.”
He hoped fervently there wasn’t really such a place.
“No, I do not know it. Such a pity that Colonel Byng is not here—he would have enjoyed conversing with you in German. He has a good ear for languages.”
“Yes, that is a pity,” lied Peter, who did not.
They were saved from further inquiries by young Jack Byng, who, bored with all the talking, was trying to imitate Peter’s skill with his ball. He kicked it high into the air, too high in fact, for it ricocheted off a windowpane. The glass did not shatter, and the ball was caught on the rebound by a tall black-haired boy who had just appeared from the side of the house.
“Jack Ketch, the hangman, will come and get you if you break a window,” the tall boy drawled to young Jack. He then proceeded to mime putting a noose around his neck. Clutching at his throat with both hands, he made as if the breath was being squeezed out of him. He pretended to choke and let his tongue loll out and rolled back his eyes until only the whites showed. When Jack ran toward his mother and buried his head in her long swishing skirts, the black-haired boy laughed. Peter took an instant dislike to him but had to admit it was a pretty good mime.
“I wish you would not take such a delight in frightening your brothers and sisters, Sidney. Breaking a window is hardly a hanging offence, and I’ll thank you not to teach young Jack that it is.” She turned to Gideon. “Such a punishment would be excessively harsh, would you not agree, Mr. Seymour?”
“Yes, madam, although I have seen many a poor wretch strung up at Tyburn for scarcely more serious a crime.”
“I see that you are plain-speaking, Mr. Seymour. It is a quality I shall value highly if you are to help me run the estate in the absence of the colonel. My brother Richard writes to me that you are reliable and resourceful and that you inspire men’s trust. I am happy to take his advice and offer you a position here. You may settle the question of your salary with Parson Ledbury. I take it you are able to start your duties straightaway?”
“I am, madam. I am very grateful to you.” A broad grin appeared on Gideon’s face, and he gripped Peter’s arm behind his back and squeezed it in happiness. He must have really wanted this job, Peter thought.
Mrs. Byng paused to reach into a drawstring purse made of the same blue silk as her dress. She took out a note sealed with wax and handed it to Gideon.
“Here is the letter that I mentioned earlier. It arrived but yesterday.”
Gideon accepted it with a slight bow and tucked it into his pocket to read later.
“So you are often at Tyburn, Mr. Seymour?”
“Lord Luxon, my former employer, never misses a hanging day. He says that to see a man die makes him feel more keenly what it is to be alive. He hires seats in the covered stands—it was my task to see to the needs of his many distinguished guests. Lord Chesterfield’s French chef would prepare sweetmeats, and the finest wines would be offered to the company.”
“How fascinating! You will see little excitement of that type in Bakewell, I fear. Here we live very peacefully—too peacefully for some.” Here she caught Sidney’s eye.
“I should be content, madam, if I never saw Tyburn again in my entire life,” Gideon replied.
“Then, I hope for your sake that you do not,” said the Honorable Mrs. Byng.
Addressing herself once more to Peter and Kate, she said, “You are most welcome to stay at Baslow Hall and send word to your uncle in London that you are here. However, the day after tomorrow Parson Ledbury takes Sidney and young Jack to visit my brother Richard who lives in Lincoln’s Inn Fields—a most convenient location. You might prefer to travel down to London with them. There is room enough in the carriage and four.”
“Oh thanks!” Kate exclaimed. “That’d be so cool! Yes, please!”
“Yes, that’d be brilliant!” said Peter, and seeing the expression on Mrs. Byng’s face, he added, “I mean, one would be most grateful to accept your gracious offer of a…er…lift.”
Mrs. Byng looked as if she were wondering exactly which part of Scotland these children sprang from.
“Well, it is settled,” she said. “I will tell Parson Ledbury to expect two extra passengers.”
“Mama,” interrupted Sidney. “If there is a hanging day while we are staying with Uncle Richard, perhaps I could ask Parson Ledbury to take me to Tyburn?”
“No, Sidney,” replied his mother. “I forbid you to do any such thing.”
Mrs. Byng ordered Hannah to arrange for rooms to be prepared for the guests and for Cook to prepare them a light supper. A footman wearing a tightly curled white wig guided Peter and Kate through the airy entrance hall to a dining room lined with oak paneling. The footman stood to attention at one side of the room. Neither Peter nor Kate could guess whether they were supposed to make conversation with him. Kate tried to catch his eye and smile, but he stared right ahead so they sat in silence. Soon a kitchen maid appeared wearing a starched white apron over a worn g
ray dress. She carried a silver tray crammed with dishes. While the silver was gleaming, Kate could not help noticing that the servant girl could definitely have done with a wash. As the girl bent to arrange their supper in front of them, Kate saw a black rim of dirt above her collar. The kitchen maid curtsied and left the room, closing the door behind her. Peter and Kate sat in silence, feeling awkward, unsure whether they should help themselves to supper or wait to be asked. There was a bowl of steaming cabbage, a golden-crusted pie, and a pretty china dish containing a kind of stew or casserole: Some pale gray lumps were swimming around in some grayish broth. When Peter noticed the islands of congealed fat floating on the top of it, he thought he would plump for a slice of the pie. The footman came forward and picked up a heavy serving spoon. He turned to Kate.
“The stewed carp or the pie, ma’am?” he inquired with a bow of his head.
Kate looked doubtful.
“Hmmm…What are you having, Peter?” she asked.
“I know what carp is, because I’ve caught plenty, but I’ve never eaten one. They’re supposed to taste a bit muddy,” he whispered.
“The pie looks nice,” said Kate brightly to the footman.
“What sort of pie is it?”
“Calf’s head pie, ma’am. It is a favorite of the Byng family.”
Kate gulped and exchanged a desperate look with Peter. “May I have some cabbage and fish, please?”
“And the same for me, please,” said Peter.
They ate without speaking, partly because the presence of the footman unnerved them, but mainly because the excitement of the day had utterly exhausted them. The carp was edible but was not nice—Kate managed to swallow it, but Peter pushed it around his plate with his fork until finally he gave up any pretence that he was going to eat it, and pushed it away. The pudding was better. The kitchen maid arrived with a dome-shaped mound of yellow custard stuck with so many almonds it looked like a hedgehog. As she carried it in, the pudding quivered so much it made Kate laugh.