The Map of Time (Trilogía Victoriana #1)(64)
“But everything was under control!” protested Charles, pretending to be shocked. “The actor is an expert with a knife. And besides, I can assure you that without that added bit of encouragement, Andrew would never have shot him. Not to mention that the scar it will leave on his shoulder will be a constant reminder he saved his beloved Marie’s life. Incidentally, I liked the idea of employing someone to play a guardian of time.” “Wasn’t that your doing?” declared Wells, taken aback.
“No,” said Charles. “I thought you’d arranged it …” “It wasn’t me …” replied Wells, perplexed.
“In that case, I think my cousin scared off a burglar. Or perhaps he was a real time traveler,” joked Charles.
“Yes, perhaps,” Wells laughed uneasily.
“Well, the main thing is it all turned out well,” concluded Charles. He congratulated them once again on their successful performances and gave a little bow as he said good-bye. “And now I really must go, otherwise my cousin will start to suspect something. It has been a pleasure meeting you. And remember, Mr. Wells, I shall always be one of your most devoted readers.” Wells thanked him with a modest smile that lingered on his face as Charles’s footsteps disappeared down the stairs. Then he heaved a deep sigh of satisfaction and, hands on hips, gazed at the time machine with the fierce affection of a father contemplating his firstborn child, before gently stroking the control panel.
Jane watched him, moved, aware that at that very moment her husband was being assailed by an emotion as intense as it was disturbing, for he was embracing a dream, a product of his own imagination that had stepped miraculously out of the pages of his book and become a reality.
“We might find some use for the seat, don’t you think?” Wells commented, turning towards her.
His wife shook her head, as though asking herself what the devil she was doing with such an insensitive fellow, and walked over to the window. The author went and stood beside her, a look of consternation on his face. He placed his arm round her shoulders, a gesture that finally softened her, so that she in turn laid her head against him. Her husband did not lavish her with so much affection that she was going to pass up this spontaneous gesture, which had taken her as much by surprise—or more—as if he had hurled himself from the window, arms akimbo, in order to confirm once and for all that he was unable fly. Thus entwined, they watched Charles climb into the cab, which then pulled away.
They watched it disappear down the end of the street beneath the orange-tinted dawn.
“Do you realize what you did tonight, Bertie?” Jane asked him.
“I nearly set fire to the attic.” She laughed.
“No, tonight you did something that will always make me feel proud of you,” she said, looking up at him with infinite tenderness. “You used your imagination to save a man’s life.”
PART TWO
If you enjoyed our journey into the past, dear reader, in the following installment of this exciting adventure you will be treated to an expedition into the future, to the year 2000, where you will witness the legendary battle between humans and automatons.
Be warned, however: this episode contains scenes of an extremely violent nature only to be expected of a battle of such enormous consequences for the future of the Human Race.
Mothers of sensitive children may wish to examine the contents and expurgate certain passages before entrusting it to their little ones.
18
Claire Haggerty would have gladly been born into another era if that meant she did not have to take piano lessons or wear insufferably tight dresses, or choose a husband from among an assortment of willing suitors, or carry round one of those silly little parasols she always ended up leaving in the most unexpected places. She had just celebrated her twenty-first birthday, and yet, if anyone had taken the trouble to ask her what she wanted from life, they would have heard her reply: nothing, simply to die. Naturally, this was not what you would expect to hear from the lips of a charming young lady who had scarcely embarked upon life, but I can assure you it is what Claire would have told you. As I have previously explained, I posses the faculty to see everything, including what no one else can see, and I have witnessed the endless self-questioning she puts herself through in her room before going to bed. While everyone imagines she is brushing her hair in front of the mirror like any normal girl, Claire is lost in contemplation of the dark night outside her window, wondering why she would sooner die than see another dawn. Not that she had suicidal tendencies, nor was she irresistibly drawn to the other side by the call of a siren, nor was the mere fact of being alive so unbearably distressing that she felt she must end it all forthwith. No. What it boiled down to was something far simpler: the world into which she had been born was not exciting enough for her, and it never would be, or at least that was the conclusion she reached during her nightly reflections. Hard as she tried, she was unable to discover anything about her life that was pleasurable, interesting, or stimulating. Even more tiresome was being compelled to pretend she was content with what she had. The time she lived in was dreary and uninspiring; it bored her to tears. And the fact that she could find no one around her who seemed to share her disenchantment made her feel very out of place and out of sorts. This profound inner unease, which inevitably isolated her socially, often made her irritable and sharp-tongued, and from time to time, regardless of whether the moon was full or not, she would lose control and turn into a mischievous creature who took delight in wreaking havoc at family gatherings.