The Night of the Victorian Plot – Part 2

Welcome to America

Chapter 6

"Wait..what?"

When Jim woke up early the next morning the Traveller was in a siding, presumably to allow Nate and Otis to have a rest overnight. Otis knocked on the door of the parlour car looking for eggs and bacon and some bread for their breakfast. Jim came out to meet him and went with him to the galley.

"How's Mr Gordon this morning?" Otis asked.

"The same, I'm afraid," Jim replied rubbing his eyes to get the sleep out of them. He was used to not getting much sleep, from his days in the Royal Artillery, but the events of the previous day had taken their toll on him and depleted his usual high energy levels.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Otis said putting some eggs in his pockets then using a sharp knife to slice the bacon.

"So am I."

"Well, if there's any way Nate and I can be of help you only have to say."

"Thanks," Jim replied with a small smile.

Otis took a hunk of bread off a round loaf and nodded before leaving the way he had entered. "By the way, Nate said to tell you we'll be leaving as soon as we've had breakfast."

"Okay," Jim said, and then he too decided to have something to eat and cooked up some bacon and eggs in a frying pan thinking of the fact that Nate and Otis would be using a shovel for the same purpose. He also made himself a pot of tea and went into the parlour car to eat his meal.

He was on his second cup of Earl Grey when he thought he heard a noise coming from the sleeping car. He put down his cup so quickly he almost cracked the saucer and flew to Artie's side.

As Jim entered the carriage he heard Artie groan again and saw him screw up his features and lift a hand to his head.

"Boy what a hangover! What the hell was I doing last night?" Artie croaked.

Jim put his hand on his shoulder and shook it slightly to get his attention.

"Unless you're a particularly pretty opera dancer then go away and leave me alone," Artie said, still not having opened his eyes.

Jim smiled at his friend's confusion. He obviously thought they were back in London. He didn't know if they had opera dancers in America but even if they did Artie hadn't had time to meet any of them.

"Artie!" Jim said. He was overwhelmingly relieved that Artie had regained consciousness, but he was eager to find out how he was feeling and to give him some pain relief if he needed it though he suspected Artie would refuse the laudanum.

"Is that you, Delacourt?" Artie asked and then sighed. "How can you be so irritatingly animated so early in the morning? You drank just as much as I did last night." Then he gave a big yawn. "Oh, my head!"

Jim smiled. Artie had obviously been dreaming while he was unconscious. He hadn't even known that was possible with a concussion, but he couldn't think of another reason why Artie was under the impression that he was his friend Delacourt from his days in the Rifle Brigade. Unless…..

"Artie, open your eyes and look at me!"

Artie gave a groan that morphed into a sigh, opened one eye and painfully squinted at Jim. "You're not Delacourt," he said.

"No, it's me, Jim."

"Jim…? Jim who?"

'Oh hell,' Jim thought and sat down on the bed with a thump.

Jim was wrong, Artie had taken some of the laudanum for the pain in his head which he claimed felt like more than one Russian cannon was exploding inside his skull. He had then promptly fallen asleep again. Jim had no idea if that was a good thing or a bad thing in someone who was concussed, and they were nowhere near a doctor's office, so he couldn't ask for advice. As for the apparent loss of memory, Jim took consolation in the fact that although Artie didn't recognise him he hadn't forgotten everything – only the last twenty years. He decided against contacting Washington with the news until he could be certain what was going on with his friend. Being an optimistic kind of person, he still hoped that everything would be back to normal when Artie next opened his eyes. It just had to be.

So, it was with trepidation five hours later that Jim heard Artie groaning awake again. It was obvious that he was still in pain as he lifted his hand to cradle his head and found the bandage wrapped around it.

"What the…? What happened?" he asked, looking over at Jim.

"You fell off your horse, Artie," Jim replied looking at him warily.

Artie put out a hand to him. "Tell me, did we win the battle?"

Jim had no idea to what battle Artie was referring. Being younger than his friend he didn't know all that much about the Crimean war. So, he shrugged and said, "I'm afraid I don't know."

"How can you not know, man?" Artie demanded. "You must have heard. The lack of noise outside tells me that it's over." He winced at the pain in his head and looked up at Jim, really looked at him for the first time. "I don't know you," he said. "Why did you call me Artie? Everyone calls me Artemus." Then he looked down and took in his clothing. "Why am I not in uniform? And where is this place – why am I not with the other wounded men?"

"Artemus," Jim said gently. "You have a head injury and you're suffering from a concussion. You've been unconscious for a while, but you still need to rest. You're confused."

"Confused? What do you mean?"

"This is not the Crimea. The war has been over for a long time."

"What nonsense is this? We attacked the Russian lines this morning. I remember…..I was…." Artie clasped his aching head in his hands.

"That was twenty years ago," Jim said and then worried that hearing those words might be too much of a shock for the other man.

"Twenty years ago? Then, where am I?"

"We're in America."

"America!" Artie cried out and tried to get up off the bed. A wave of dizziness and nausea stopped him for a moment, but he was not the sort to give in whether it was from bravery or stubbornness.

Jim helped him, realising that the best way to convince his friend to come to terms with the situation was for him to see for himself. He placed an arm around Artie's shoulder and supported him with a hand on his arm as he helped him towards the window.

Artie leaned half on Jim and half on the wall of the carriage as he observed the scenery going quickly past outside. He felt his head spin and turned away to look back at Jim.

"We're on a train," he said.

"Yes, but I really think you ought to lie down again."

Artie didn't argue with that idea because the way he felt he knew that if he didn't soon lie down he would fall down instead. He leaned heavily on Jim and allowed him to lead him back to the bed and dose him with some more laudanum. Jim was glad because he hated to see his best friend in so much pain and discomfort. However, he was not so happy ten minutes later when he was just in time to put a receptacle under Artie's chin before he vomited copiously. Thank goodness he had read the signs correctly. That ruled out the need to make Artie any breakfast and Jim watched him until he fell into a light doze.

By the afternoon Artie felt well enough to be propped up on the couch in the parlour car with cushions behind his head and a blanket over his legs but he had still not fully recovered his memory.

As Jim moved around the room, keeping Washington updated via telegraph and fetching Artie cups of tea he could feel his partner's eyes on him constantly, as if he was trying to work out who Jim was and what had made them colleagues and friends. He tried to put himself in Artie's shoes. He had no memory of working for the British Foreign Office or James West and he certainly had no idea what they were doing in America. But to be fair, even Jim was beginning to wonder that.

It was inevitable that Jim would be in charge of making dinner for them; cheese omelettes with crusty bread and butter. He realised that it would need to be something light to take account of Artie still being fragile. In addition, it was relatively easy to cook. After they had eaten, the two men sat in the parlour car. Jim would have liked to smoke a cigar, but he was worried that the smell might upset Artie.

"Do you feel well enough to talk?" Jim asked at last.

"I'm sorry I've been silent for so long," Artie said. "As you can imagine, I've had a lot to take in."

Jim nodded. "I left you alone in the hope that your memory would come back naturally."

"Yes, well I don't think that's going to happen. So, I need you to fill me in on a few things."

"Ask away."

"How did we meet?"

"After we began working at the Foreign Office. To everyone in the service we are just two office clerks, but our backgrounds make us perfect for undertaking secret assignments for the Government."

Artie appeared to mull this over. "If we work for the British Government then what are we doing in America?"

"A year ago we came up against a German Arms Dealer called Herr Mikkel Lieblosen. He got away after trying to assassinate Queen Victoria and came to the notice of the US Government a month or so ago. Because of our experience with him the US Government requested our assistance. We're on our way now to Nueva Atenas in New Mexico to bring in Herr Lieblosen or Doctor Loveless as he calls himself now."

Artie looked at Jim as if sizing him up, deciding if he could trust what he was saying. "Why do you call me Artie?"

Jim couldn't help smiling. "Since we've been on this train we've been trying to pass ourselves off as Americans, to help us blend in when we get to New Mexico. We decided that you would use an American accent and I would call you Artie while you would call me Jim." He chuckled. "You used to be an actor, but I wasn't, so you didn't trust me to get the accent right."

"I sound very arrogant," Artie said with a frown.

Jim shook his head. "No that's far from the truth. The fact is you were right. But if you don't get your memory back in time I don't know if we can go ahead with our assignment anyway."

Artie nodded. "Maybe that would be for the best."

That wasn't what Jim wanted to hear even though he had suggested it. "Okay," he said sadly.

"What?"

"It means 'all right'. You were the one who taught me that," Jim said with a wry smile.

"Oh." Artie heard the sadness in the other man's voice and started to feel guilty for letting people down. He and Jim had travelled all the way from England and now he was expecting him and the US Government to put things on hold while he took time to try and sort himself out. There was a long silence before Artie next spoke.

"Okay," he said, hoping that the use of that word would clue Jim in to what he was about to say. "Let's start from now and forget about me losing my memory, excuse the pun, and you can tell me all about what happened back in London when we first met Doctor Loveless so that I know what to expect when we meet him again."

Jim's face brightened. This was more like the Artemus he knew. "Sure," he said, fancying that he was really starting to get the hang of American speech. "I guess it all began when….

To be continued