They’d been colleagues. Rivals. They’d met their cats together, gone for their first time hops on the same day. They’d once made out in a cupboard at a party and then pretended it never happened.
Monterey had felt he was going mad ever since he first saw that glimpse of Cressida in the footage from the unaired Cramberleigh pilot of 1964.
Why was she here, and not there? Why were any of them in 1899? What on earth was going on?
Cressida Church stared at him like he was the problem. “Montgomery Jolyon Monterey. What the hell took you so long?”
1 As long as there was a strong cup of tea in his immediate past, or immediate future. Once tea was taken off the table, his charm had a tendency to wane.
2 Monterey’s bucket list was extensive. He had managed to cross many decadent items off it in his eight years as a fully qualified time traveller, but it was a great personal tragedy to him that many were now impossible thanks to Events. Items still remaining on his bucket list at this time included: kissing a butler, tasting kedgeree, attending Woodstock, nicking a pen from the signing of the Magna Carta, dancing at the Last Met Gala, tasting Andrew Jackson’s cheese, and swapping fashion tips with Cleopatra. Monterey was particularly salty about the last one, because the lifespan of Cleopatra was so thoroughly sealed up by Events that he had missed his window.
3 Lovelace claimed to be able to tell what year it was by the scent of the air. Monterey was convinced this was some form of elaborate long con, but if it was fake he had never been able to figure out how she pulled it off every time.
4 The final assignment of the Intro to Costume elective was to be locked in a barn with nothing but a blanket, five pillow cases, a cardboard box and a basic sewing kit, with eight hours to produce a non-anachronistic outfit for a nominated year of history. Monterey had created a credible recreation of Queen Victoria’s wedding dress, and got a B+.
Twenty
At Least Someone Made It To 1964
Fenella was trying not to panic. She had wanted to come along on this mission, after all. She longed to prove she was every bit as capable a traveller as the rest of them, if not for the admin issue that had somehow prevented her from the career she was meant to have.
Why couldn’t she have a cat? Why should she, a graduate with excellent marks, have been prevented from travelling in time? Sometimes Fenella wondered if she had been too much of a doormat in accepting it. She was sure that, deep down, she was the sort of person who railed against injustice. Protests and barricades and all that sort of thing.
In another life, perhaps.
Even the bravest of souls found it hard to raise complaints when faced with the unstoppable force that was Melusine from Admin, who said things like “the matter will be resolved in six to ten weeks. I’m sure you will enjoy this temporary assignment to Costume while you wait” with all the confidence of the person assigning lifeboats on the Titanic.)
Anyway. Fenella had wanted this. But she was not supposed to be here. Something had gone terribly wrong. Had she wanted it so much that somehow she manifested this outcome?
Surely not.
In Fenella’s dream of swooping into the Swinging Sixties, locating her sister and saving the day, she had not been wearing a grey Chronos College jumpsuit under a hand-knitted cardigan. She had planned her ideal outfit in her head — a lovely yellow jersey knee-length dress that was comfortable enough to run around in, paired with an adorable beret.
And here she was, a time traveller for the first time since her student pracs, basically in her pyjamas.
Fenella could weep. Wrong clothes, wrong cat.
At least they were in the right place. It was hard to mistake that particular house for any other. Fenthorp Manor. Cramberleigh.
“Are you all right?” Fenella asked Lovelace. The cat had been thrown a few metres from her, into a tall green hedge.
Lovelace rose to her paws with grace. She was a long-limbed, tawny Abyssinian short-hair with a ticked coat and large pointed ears. Fenella had always been slightly in awe of her, one of the most legendary travellers in Chronos College history.
Here they were, partnered, if only by accident. There was no sign of any of the others. The success of the mission was down to them.
Lovelace gave Fenella a hard stare with her intense, light green eyes. “Did you do this deliberately?”
“No!” Fenella made a wild gesture down at her inappropriate outfit. “Don’t you think I’d have been better prepared?”
“I suppose so,” sniffed the cat, peering around the corner of the hedge. “I don’t smell the others anywhere nearby.”
“Perhaps they’re elsewhere on the grounds.” This was the famed Fenthorp hedge maze. Quant from Control had thought it was one of their best options to set up a discreet hop while the estate was crawling with people.
“Perhaps,” said Lovelace, striding onwards. “I suggest you keep up,” she added. “I won’t wait.”
“Oh, but,” said Fenella. “I need to —” She made a short, strangled sound. No satchel. No postcard. She had an opal, at least, from her time as a student. She activated it now with a quick touch of her finger. “Do you think Control will be able to rescue us?”
Lovelace gave her an expression that was two parts exasperation to one part pity. “Let’s start by finding your sister. Then we can worry about being stranded in time forever.”
Fenthorp Manor, 1964.
Once they found their way out of the maze, the human and the cat circled around the enormous building, heading for the greenhouse. Filming was already well underway, with trucks parked nearby and a mess that could only have been caused by wheeling cameras about on soft ground not adequate for their weight.
No wonder the production team behind Cramberleigh gave up on location shooting soon after this!1
Fenella found a stray run-sheet which showed they had the right year. It was marked Day 4, which was something of a concern, as they’d been hoping to get here earlier. Even more of a concern was the lack of people anywhere on site.
“Perhaps the carnivorous plants got them?” Lovelace suggested, leaping up on to a bench covered in abandoned tea mugs.
“That’s not until Season 8,” Fenella said absently. She might not be a complete Cramberleigh nerd like some people, but she had the basics down.
“I wouldn’t know,” sniffed Lovelace.
“You’re not a fan of the show?”
“I prefer the one with the baking.”2
