Thank you all you lovely reviewers for your thoughts and squeals! I can't wait for the end of each week to get to that mile stone in my writing where I think I have written enough to share another chapter with you guys. I think this story is really coming together in my head now. Thanks also to anyone who favourited/followed or is just reading along in their own little bubble.
Mostly Myka and Christina in this chapter. I decided to change Mr. Wells' name from Harold to Rupert, simply because I already have a Harold (HG's cousin).
Chapter Three
For several minutes after their introductions, Myka's attention was taken up by the arrival of Dr. Gravestock, who did nothing more than ask how she felt and check the dilation of her pupils. He left with the suggestion that she rest and stay hydrated. She thanked him with relief, having feared the worst from an archaic understanding of medicine; she was sure that her own short education on the subject surpassed his entire lifetime of experience.
Though not concerned for her own well-being (it was just a headache after all), she did wish that she had the option of a sonogram and a twenty-first century midwife. She had no idea what being hit by the Warehouse equivalent of a stun-gun would do to her unborns, but the pregnancy was one thing she wanted to keep to herself for as long as possible.
Without the doctor, Myka was forced to face the two regents again. "I can't explain how that artefact came into my possession other than it was in a package and I grabbed Christina just as she touched it. I don't want to alter the timeline any further than I might have done already. I need that artefact to take us home."
Fervently hoping that she was right in trusting the two regents, Myka waited with baited breath for their response.
"You're from the future?" Eleanor thought aloud, visually reassessing the self-confessed time-traveller. "That rather explains the peculiar manner in which you are dressed. We may have to find something less conspicuous for you while we solve this dilemma. In the meantime, I think it would be best if you remained here and kept a low profile."
Myka nodded slowly, grateful for a comfortable roof over their heads. "And the artefact?"
Rupert exchanged another look with his wife, apparently a habit they had when making decisions. She nodded solicitously. "If you really are a Warehouse agent, then you'll know that we can't authorise the use of an artefact without corroborating your story and assuring the usability of the artefact."
"Have you already taken it to the Warehouse? I should probably have the bag back. The Warehouse won't start using them for a long while yet." She stifled a yawn and reached up to rub at the space between her eyebrows. It made sense for them to take precautions but the idea of waiting for these people to decide if she was or wasn't allowed to try felt as patronising as when her own superiors did it. In light of how some agents behaved though, she guessed their caution had some merit. It wouldn't do her any good to argue at this stage. "I should probably tell you that the artefact became dormant when we arrived here. There was no reaction when I neutralised it; we will have to find a way to re-activate it."
"All in good time, dear," Mrs. Wells cautioned kindly. "Tonight, you must eat, drink and rest. Doctor's orders." She rose gracefully from her seat and spoke quickly to the attendant waiting by the door. "Percy will have a room ready for you shortly and one of the girls is preparing some supper. I imagine the two of you will want to share a room?"
"Yes," Myka agreed immediately, not liking the idea of letting Christina out of her sight for even a minute.
By the time she was in bed; fed, watered and clothed for the evening, with her daughter tucked neatly into her side and snoring lightly; the futuristic agent found sleep elusive. Thoughts fought for dominance inside her mind; she needed a plan, but despite the urgency, the only thing she could settle on for any length of time was Helena.
Helena, who must be in agony at the sudden disappearance of her entire immediate family. Who must be battling hard against old demons in an effort to retain the person she had grown into. Helena, who made such strides to protect Myka from the dangers of their jobs, only to have her loved ones vanish from her own home. Helena of the future, who had suffered incredible torments before finally finding a new life in a new world.
The Helena who Myka loved with all her heart. And now...
London. The Warehouse. November 1890, as she'd been informed by the elder Wells duo.
Myka did the quick calculation and figured that the young HG Wells would be in the early stages of her pregnancy with Christina. She might not even realise it yet.
She had been tempted to ask after her future fiancée, to see if her suspicions were correct regarding the familial names, but in the end decided to refrain. Asking about Helena would only draw attention to a possible connection on her side and that would create more questions that she could answer. Her best bet was to keep her mouth closed and her eyes open. Her eye for detail was why she'd been chosen for the Warehouse in the first place. If Rupert and Eleanor were HG's grandparents, there would be evidence around somewhere.
In the morning, she would have the unfortunate task of explaining to Christina how she should behave in a world where she didn't exist yet. For an eight-year-old who missed her extended family from the distant Victorian era, restraint would be a challenge. Myka knew that her daughter was exceptional, but she was not so far removed from her own childhood that she couldn't appreciate the strain it would have on a young mind.
Her last thought before succumbing to sleep was hope for a quick end to this unexpected adventure.
Christina stirred in her Mama's arms, blinking away the sleep that stung still tired eyes. From her position in the room, facing away from the bed and towards the single window, she could make out familiar shapes that had been inconsequential to her the night before.
She vaguely remembered being woken and half led, half carried to bed. Her hands had instinctively clung to her Mama, fearing the idea of being left alone in this eerily familiar place. A distant part of her mind was aware that travelling back in time to London might bring her close to places and people she knew. Her mother and uncle Charles had grown up in and around London, and her grandparents had resided in one of the richer areas in neighbouring Kent.
After watching Myka fall under the effects of the electric gun, she had screamed and covered her Mama's body with her own, starring daggers at the two men who hovered over her until an older gentleman, with kind eyes, sent them on their way. When more men arrived to pick up her mother's motionless body, she'd screamed again, forcing them to let go and prompting the return of the gentleman.
Leaning over his cane, he'd spoken slowly and calmly, introducing himself as Mr. Wells and asking after her name. 'Christina' she'd said, sniffing and wiping away tears.
Eventually, she'd taken his offered hand and watched as her Mama was carried to his carriage.
Somehow, she'd known that she needed to keep her own surname to herself. Her mothers had told her repeatedly that knowledge was powerful and there were times that you had to be careful how much of that power you gave to another person. Particularly strangers.
Through a narrow gap in the curtain, a thin beam of light shone, cutting in two a chair before laying itself along the foot of the bed. Beginning to feel more awake, Christina followed the trail, twisting round and pushing herself up to see if it had reached the bottom of the door. Mindless of the edge of the bed, she leant back, her hand slipping against a sliver of sheet, mouth opening in a silent cry of shock as she began to fall and eyes squeezing shut in anticipation of the pain that was sure to come.
When her downward momentum appeared to miraculously halt, the eight-year-old opened one eye and chanced a look around.
"I don't think this is the best time to practise swan-diving off the bed, Sweetheart," Myka's half amused, half anxious voice rose from the depths of a pillow. One green eye centred on Christina, while one arm wrapped firmly around her waist, denying gravity. She pulled the girl back into her body and kissed her head. "I suppose it must be morning if you're up and bouncing around."
"There's light at the window, Mama." Christina turned to face the adult fully and played with the messy curls trapped against the pillow. "What are we to do now?" she asked softly.
"A plan?" Myka stalled. Her fingers stroked through dark waves and as happened on occasion, the faceless figure of a man with a head of curls flitted across her mind.
She could count on one hand the number of times she'd thought about 'him', though with each moment spent in contemplation of her daughter's origins had come the sharp edge of envy. 'He' had been a ghost then and still the idea of him had irked her. Now, he was quite likely very alive and possibly very close by. Myka wasn't sure he would survive a hormone driven encounter with her and yet, he was partially to thank for the precious gift that lay in her arms.
"Does this always happen with artefacts?" Christina prompted as her Mama's thoughtful silence drifted on.
The Warehouse both fascinated and scared her. She remembered being very small and sneaking down the stairs one night to see her mummy's friend, Woolly cleaning a gash on her calf. She remembered the curses that had spilled from her mother's mouth as he followed her direction and used a clear liquid to wipe away the dirt to prevent infection. There had been blood and she remembered lying awake for a long time picturing more blood, until there was nothing left of her mummy. She remembered waking with Mummy's arms wrapped around her, rocking her gently and whispering soothing words in her ear. A nightmare. Her first in connection to the Warehouse.
Then there were the times that her mother was at home for several days together, with nothing to do other than devote all her waking hours to her daughter's amusement. She told countless stories and Christina would ask if the magical objects in those stories were real. "Only the bravest and most cunning ever glimpse the endless wonders of this world and see them for what they truly are," her mother had told her in a mystical sort of voice. It had taken her some time to really appreciate that her Mummy was one of those bravely cunning, cunningly brave people, and that the impossible wonders of which she spoke, were in fact very real. In the days that would follow one of these stories, she would imagine herself as the heroine, rushing in to save the innocent and rob the guilty of their ill-deserved treasures, returning said items to the magical place where her mother worked.
Her time spent in the future had changed her perspective somewhat. Mama told less fantastical stories (when she wasn't reading from a book), usually sticking to a version of the truth, and Mummy was less enthusiastic about going away on her adventures. As exciting as it had been, waiting for Mummy to return home, wondering what gift she'd managed to procure and anticipating a new story; life was better now Mummy was with Mama.
Mama made everything softer, calmer; life had a new rhythm where she and Mummy were much happier. She didn't have to think too hard to know that her home was in the twenty-first century and that she didn't want to stay in the past where she'd been born.
Myka blinked at the question, recovering from her temporary emersion into her own thoughts. "There are usually side effects to using an artefact but I've never heard of anyone successfully travelling through time."
"Mummy built a time machine," the eight-year-old reminded the adult.
Smiling at the hint of pride in the girl's tone, Myka explained how Helena's invention could only transport one's consciousness through time and not their corporeal form. "As far as I know, we are the first two people to actually travel into the past."
"How are we going to get home?" Christina asked after a short pause.
The agent studied her daughter's expression, finding trust beneath a thin layer of concern. Trust in her to find a solution. As always, she searched for an explanation that while close to the truth, would not scare the young girl too much. Telling her that right now she had no clue where they should begin would not be helpful.
"I hope we can use the artefact from this house, but I may have to visit the Warehouse with Mr. Wells." She saw Christina's eyes narrow in thought and knew instinctively what was on her mind. They would come back to the name later. "We have a comfortable place to stay, which is more than we had when we got here. I don't want you to worry too much, Sweetheart. I don't know how long it will take to work this out, but I think as long as you are polite and respectful, Mrs. Wells won't mind you exploring a bit and playing. I'm sure I saw a library on our way up to our room last night too."
Eyes lighting up a little, the younger of the two took a moment to think of all the adventures and make believe games she could play in this house. She had spoken to Mrs. Wells the previous evening and agreed with her Mama's assessment; she seemed pleasant and not overly strict. It might be nice not to have formal lessons for a while. To just use her free time as she wanted without projects, experiments and research. First though, she had questions that required answers.
"That doesn't sound too bad, as long as we do find a way home." She paused. Her bed companion waited patiently. "Mama, they have my name. Does that mean we're related? Will we see Mummy when she was a girl?"
"Christina, I have a theory," the agent began voicing the thoughts that had been circulating around her mind. "I don't know for sure yet; it's entirely possible that you share their name by coincidence, but I'm beginning to wonder if we haven't been sent here for a reason and not just by accident; something that involves yours and your mother's family." She saw her daughter hanging onto her every word, as she usually did, and kissed her forehead; a reassuring gesture for both of them. "Eleanor told me that the year is 1890; the year before you were born." She hesitated, searching for any hint of distress behind dark eyes, but if the girl was upset in any way, the bright film of curiosity hid it. "So Mummy will be a young woman in this time, not a little girl."
Christina pouted slightly. "That's a shame. I think it would have been amusing to play with her when she was my age."
"I'm not so sure," Myka disagreed with a playful half grin. "The way Mummy tells it, she was a lot wilder than you. I don't think I'd trust her to be a good influence on you. The two of you get into enough trouble at home as it is!" She chuckled at the shared joke, teasing the eight-year-old who grinned, making her puppy-dog eyes completely unconvincing.
They giggled for a few moments before Myka remembered the girl's original question and sobered. "Sweetie... You understand that Mummy won't know who we are if we do meet her, don't you?" she asked with concern. "Anybody you knew when you lived in London with Mummy won't have met you yet."
Ever so slowly, Christina's happy expression faded and she nodded. "I'll have to remember to call Mummy 'Helena'?"
"Or 'Miss. Wells."
"It's confusing," the young time traveller declared as the abundance of information finally began to overwhelm her and she snuggled closer to her Mama, tucking her head under Myka's chin. "I did so want to talk to Uncle Charlie again."
"I know, Sweetheart... I know," Myka soothed as she gently rocked them side to side.
It took a while to coax Christina out of her funk once she realised the impact of finding herself surrounded by family who didn't know that she was one of their most precious members. Myka reminded her of the family that waited for them back in the future and eventually managed to convince her to treat their adventure like a play, where every place that wasn't their assigned room was the stage and her character was 'Miss. Bering'. They chatted about their characters and created simple back-stories that would be easy to remember.
She allowed her daughter to have fun with her part, knowing that the longer this excursion dragged on, the harder it would be for both of them to keep their spirits up, and the more they were saddened by their extended stay, the longer it would appear to drag on. If she could keep Christina distracted the majority of the time, their situation wouldn't seem so arduous to the young girl.
They had been left to lie in but soon enough both of their tummies were rumbling and Christina was quick to remind her Mama to feed the babies. They washed and dressed; the young girl showing her mother how to use the equipment that she was unfamiliar with. Before long, they were entering the dining room, being greeted by their hosts and shown to their seats.
"I hope you both slept well and that you are faring better this morning Mrs. Bering?" Mrs. Wells sat opposite her husband at the breakfast table, adding butter to her kippers as a maid poured her tea.
Myka and Christina took up one side of the table, leaving the other side open for servants to come and go with more plates of fish, bread, butter and all manner of breakfast paraphernalia. Christina tucked into the feast enthusiastically, appearing to blend into the setting well, her waves having been expertly pulled back into a bun by the girl who had brought her the period dress she wore, completing the picture of a well to do Victorian child. She was in her element, which only served to remind Myka how awkward she felt in her restrictive gown, itching to remove it and to explain that just because she had introduced Christina as her daughter; it didn't mean that she was married.
As she'd attempted to encourage Christina to do, she tried to imagine that she was participating in some sort of period drama, an adaptation of a favourite novel or simply a re-enactment of a time long passed. Every time someone called her Mrs. Bering, she wanted to look around to see if her mother was there. It was important that she play her part though. She didn't know how long they might be stuck here and they didn't want to raise too many questions. They might not be always confined to this house.
The strong smells were testing her ability to block off the part of her brain that was making her stomach churn uncomfortably, and she tried to school her face into an expression of apt politeness as she grazed on a piece of toast. "My headache has gone, thank you."
Despite her efforts, something untoward must have showed in her voice because the moment she caught Eleanor's gaze, she spotted shrewd understanding. With a lazy wave of her hand, she summoned a young woman in a pinafore and gestured to Myka as she said, "I believe Mrs. Bering would benefit from a spot of fresh air. Would you please show her to the veranda and bring some toast to the sun room." She turned back to Christina who had separated from her breakfast long enough to send a worried look across the table. "Young Miss. Bering and I will join her once we've polished off these marvellous kippers."
Hesitating only for a moment, the agent stood and leant down to whisper in her daughter's ear, "The babies don't like the smell of fish." She kissed the girl's cheek as she moved with relief towards the door and the promise of freedom from the overwhelming odours. "Thank you," she repeated to her host before following the maid out.
It was cold out on the veranda, the south facing garden still covered with the melted remnants of the night's frost, but the occasional whip of chilly wind brought relief to the American's pale features and she breathed in slow, even breaths as she wrapped a borrowed shawl tighter around her shoulders.
Lying in bed with Christina, Myka had struggled to word her concerns and misgivings without letting her know how worried she was herself. The time spent wide-awake the previous evening still played on her mind.
Helena had been so sure that the past was unchangeable, and as an authority on the subject, (the only person Myka had ever heard of who had successfully penetrated the untouchable oceans of the past with her time machine,) Myka had been inclined to believe her. So where did that leave them?
The butterfly effect? Alternate realities? Time paradoxes? Not even twenty-four hours into their visit, how much could their presence have already changed the future? Would they even have a home and a family to return to?
As the nausea subsided, the tears began.
Lost in space and time, Myka suddenly felt very alone with the weight of existence sitting on her shoulders. So many questions. So many decisions to make and possible ways that her choices could end in disaster.
She allowed herself a few moments to release the feeling of panic that she'd held at bay since she'd first realised that they were no longer in the twenty-first century. She anticipated these quiet, solitary moments being few and far between and in no time at all, she would have to present a brave face to the rest of the world.
Fortunately, Eleanor kept Christina entertained for almost half an hour before they joined her in the sunroom, leaving her enough time not only to dry her tears and begin formulating a plan, but finish the toast that had been left for her.
A tickly whisper appeared at her ear following the sudden opening of the door. "Are the babies ok now, Mama?"
Appreciating the girl's ability to whisper successfully, Myka beamed, feeling relief for the familiar, innocent source of comfort. "Yes, Sweetheart. All better."
Mrs. Wells watched this interaction closely, smiling at the easy way her two unexpected guests communicated with each other. She had been sceptical when first presented with the idea of a time travelling artefact, though had tried not to show it at the time. After further observation, she was beginning to believe. As she'd mentioned to Myka, the clothes they'd been wearing were very out of place, but that could have been explained away by the fashions of some quirky backwoods part of the Americas. The way they spoke could similarly be chalked up to cultural differences.
One curious observation she'd made was the ring this American wore. Clearly an engagement ring, which begged the question 'where is its partner?' Were women of the future permitted to raise children out of wedlock without censure? It was a hopeful thought. What tugged at her inquisitive nature further though was the carbon copy of her own cherished ring. Hers was unique in its design and mint; born out of unusual circumstances with one particular purpose. The future... Could this woman's ring be her own or was it merely a remarkable copy?
There were all manner of possible explanations more likely than time-travel, but Eleanor trusted her instincts as well as her sense of logic. There was something about the girl that reminded her of her granddaughter, and an air about the mother that inspired trust. Knowing Helena's predilections, it would not be entirely surprising to find that 'Mrs. Bering' was more than an acquaintance, but those observations were best kept to herself. Together, they were an endearing pair and on many levels, the Regent felt duty bound to help.
"Christina has expressed a wish to explore the grounds," she began once the girl in question released her mother from a crushing embrace. "Polly knows all the best spots. Shall we leave them to their explorations while we remain here to figure out your little problem? You can see much of the garden from this room," she gestured to the windows that ran floor to ceiling, curving in a dome like shape and making Myka wonder if the Crystal Palace had had any influence in its design.
"Can I, Mama?" Christina pleaded, looking up through her eyelashes.
"As long as Mrs. Wells is happy with it, then of course." She glanced at the lady of the house long enough to catch the slight nod. "Just stay close to the house please. If we need to stay more than a day or two, another time I'll come and explore with you beyond the trees," Myka promised, though secretly hoped that they would be home before then. She had seen a drawing of the grounds and though it wasn't endless by any means, there were enough hidden paths and secluded spots to let her worry.
The eight-year-old's expression flickered between disappointment and acceptance for several heartbeats before she acquiesced, kissed her mother's cheek and ran off to find her coat.
Myka rolled her eyes fondly. "I hope she hasn't been too much trouble," she thought aloud. She didn't really believe that her angel could be any sort of trouble, but it seemed like the thing to say.
"Not at all. She's a darling little thing; full of questions one minute and then seems to catch herself, as if she realises that she's being too excitable." A wistful expression passed over the older woman's face. "She rather reminds me of my Little One. Though I think your Christina could teach my Helena a thing or two about manners!"
Stomach turning over like she'd driven too fast over a small hill, Myka tried to hide her involuntary gasp with a chuckle. "Your daughter?" she feigned as the wheels in her head whirred. How many Helenas can their possibly be in London?
"Granddaughter," Eleanor corrected even as she spotted the suspected recognition in Myka's eyes.
Myka desperately wanted to pursue this line of questioning but put it away for another time and continued with her earlier thought, adding sheepishly, "I'm sorry about breakfast too. Maybe I should worry more about me being the troublesome one." She had several excuses on the tip of her tongue, but one look at Eleanor made her hold back. Something about the Regent subconsciously encouraged her to tell the truth. Was it a look, the tone of voice or just the memories of many tales told to her about the Wells Matriarch's more enlightened outlook on life? Whatever the trigger, the agent couldn't bring herself to lie. "The smell of the fish was a little overpowering."
"No need to explain. I experienced the same problem with my first pregnancy." At the curly haired agent's shocked expression, she smiled with smug triumph. "A mother knows these things," she offered as her explanation. "Incidentally, we should discuss your 'story', in case anyone comes to call while you're here. I realise that you don't wear a wedding band." Her gaze fell again to the engagement ring that was identical to her own. A question hovered in the back of her mind but she repressed it for now. "As unfortunate as the necessity may be, it would perhaps be best to continue the ruse that you are married."
Frowning, Myka stiffened. "How do you know I'm not married? I might have lost my wedding ring."
With a kind, patient smile, Eleanor sat back in her seat, relaxing as she prepared to educate the young mother. "First, as guarded as you are with what you say, your body language gives many things away. You flinch ever so slightly each time I address you as 'Mrs. Bering'."
Myka blushed. "And second?"
"Children are notoriously bad at remembering to stay in character. Bright as she is, it took a decidedly long time before Christina remembered that she was supposed to be 'Miss. Bering'."
"Is there a third or fourth point?" The agent asked in a spiky tone.
"I also suspect that you knew me, or rather, knew of me before formal introductions were made. That knowledge may or may not have something to do with my granddaughter." She tapped a finger lightly against the knuckles of her left hand. "Which raises the question; just how far from the future have you come?"
Raising an eyebrow at the shrewd woman, Myka felt a conflicting sense of fear and relief. It would make things much simpler if she had someone to confide in; someone who understood just how difficult it was to make decisions in this time, and as a Regent, Eleanor could help her to connect with the Warehouse. Just how far did this woman's open-mindedness stretch though?
"Where do I begin?" The agent opened, finally relaxing from her professional mask and letting the elder woman see the conflict she held inside.
Back to HG in the 21st century next...