No Time Like the Past Read Online Free Page A

for the King.’
    Markham gulped his tea. ‘They were on opposite sides?’
    ‘Yes. Something not uncommon in this particular conflict. Families divided. Some members fought for the King – others for Cromwell. Anyway, Captain Lacey fetches up here on …’ I consulted Dr Dowson’s notes, ‘3 rd August. Sir Rupert, whereabouts unknown at this point, is away, leaving behind his wife, their two sons, and, presumably, one or two servants. Later that same day, there’s a fire – probably set by the Roundheads. Perhaps Edmund wanted her to surrender St Mary’s and she refused. Although it’s hard to see how she could possibly have resisted. Anyway, there’s a fire. A serious fire. It starts in one of the rooms off the gallery and spreads rapidly. Wooden floors, wooden furniture, hangings – it all goes up.
    ‘Margaret Lacey and the elder son, Charles, don’t survive. The younger boy, a lad of around six or seven, somehow gets away. He runs up to the roof. Maybe he’s pursued by Edmund Lacey who died when the roof came down. We don’t know. Edmund Lacey never rejoins his unit. In fact, he’s never seen again, so yes, at this time, we’ll assume he died in the fire, along with his sister-in-law and nephew.’
    ‘What happened to James?’
    ‘James was rescued by a servant and taken to the village for safety. Sir Rupert was killed later on in the war, so eventually James inherits St Mary’s. The estate escaped the fines and imprisonment usually imposed on the losing side by virtue of his youth. When Charles II later restored the monarchy, he escaped the fines or imprisonment usually imposed for having a Parliamentarian in the family, by virtue of his father’s service to the king. As far as everyone knows, he lived happily ever after.’
    We drank our tea.
    ‘So no one falls off the roof?’ persisted Markham.
    ‘Well, if anyone does, I’m betting it’s Edmund Lacey.’
    ‘Why did he desert his unit in the first place?’
    ‘Dunno. Maybe he thought his brother was already dead and came to claim the property.’
    ‘But there were sons to inherit.’
    ‘Yes,’ I said quietly, ‘but there was also a fire in which one son died. The other escaped only thanks to their servant. Who knows for what purpose Captain Lacey chased him up onto the roof?’
    Silence.
    ‘A bit of a bastard, then,’ observed Markham.
    ‘Yep.’
    ‘And that’s who we’re going to check out?’
    ‘Yep.’
    ‘Cool.’
    We assembled outside my favourite pod, Number Eight, and checked each other over.
    Peterson and Markham both wore unpadded jerkins, knee-length breeches, stockings, heavy leather shoes, and mirth-provoking hats. Fortunately for me, ladies’ costumes were looser and more comfortable than the heavily embroidered portable torture chambers of Elizabethan times. However, I do have to say that for the short, mildly overweight ginger historian, the mid-17 th century wasn’t a good look. In addition to what Mrs Enderby from Wardrobe maintained was actually a very moderate bum roll, my ankle-length full skirt made me look wider than I was high.
     I unwisely enquired whether my bum looked big in this.
    There was a brief pause.
    ‘Bloody massive,’ said Peterson. ‘I’m not sure we’ll get you through the door.’
    I glared at him. ‘You could at least have tried for a tactful response.’
    ‘That was the tactful response. Be grateful.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Markham, ‘because I was going to say …’
    ‘Just shut up and get in the pod.’
    Once inside, we were joined by the centre of my universe. Or Chief Farrell, as everyone else called him. He wore the orange jumpsuit of the Technical Section and was, as usual, festooned with tools and implements. He had more silver in his hair than when we first met, but his blue eyes remained as bright as ever. He winked at me and began to check over the console.
    Markham stowed our gear while Peterson and I ran our eyes over the read-outs.
    ‘All laid in,’ said Leon,