The Good, The Bad and The History (Chronicles of St. Mary's #14)

by Jodi Taylor

Even Markham can’t beat that, although he says he’s going to give it a try.

Behind the two officers, Dr Stone grinned and made gagging mimes.

We knew where the bodies were buried because we’d buried most of them ourselves.

He tailed away and then sighed again. ‘Could things get any worse?’ ‘Oh,’ I said comfortingly. ‘I think we both know the answer to that one.’

Brace yourselves. It’s TIME TRAVEL, people.

I’d been an historian, a bounty hunter, a filing clerk in a sinister organisation in the future, and now I was a library assistant. Quite a logical career path if you think about it.

‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘They’ve gone into Rushford to do whatever it is young people find to do in Rushford. If anything goes wrong, the police will contact you. Relax.’

‘Did you make these?’ ‘No – the bacon-sarnie fairy dropped by on the off-chance.’

We’d gone for the convenient option. ‘Less running,’ Markham had said. ‘A much neater death,’ agreed Evans, nodding.

‘Are you here?’ ‘We are indeed,’ said Mr Evans. ‘Just taking a moment to comb our hair and make ourselves presentable. Exiting the pod in about thirty seconds. Race you there.’ Good to see Security taking things seriously.

‘Did you know this building’s on fire?’ he said chattily. I nodded. Because good manners are important and he likes standards to be maintained. He shifted his weight and put his arm around me. ‘No rush.’

Being us, of course, peril came from a completely unexpected direction. Literally. A small bureau appeared from on high and landed at Markham’s feet,

He sighed, stirred and read. ‘Wow,’ I said. ‘Multitasking. Impressive.’

‘Bend over.’ ‘No. You’re not stirring the gravy with one hand and sticking me with the other. It’s not hygienic.’

Markham looked at Evans. ‘You coming?’ ‘Um . . .’ I swear he blushed. ‘What?’ I said. ‘Well, you know, lots to do here.’ I blinked. ‘Such as?’

‘Not so long ago I was arrested three times in one afternoon.’ ‘Show-off.’ ‘Leon’s quite cross that I’ve been arrested more times than he has.’ ‘No husband is happy with his wife having a more impressive arrest record than he himself.’

A door opened and Ian Guthrie limped from his office, uttering the traditional Guthrie Cry of Welcome. ‘Oh God. Go away.’

‘Where’s Elspeth?’ I said, looking around. ‘Upstairs. With instructions to stay out of the way. Plausible deniability.’ ‘Hi, Elspeth,’ I said, as she came down the stairs. Markham frowned at the sight of her. ‘Didn’t there used to be a lot more of you?’ ‘There was, but now she’s sleeping in Ian’s office.’

Ian scowled at me. ‘How I long for the good old days at St Mary’s when I had the legal authority to shoot you both.’

Markham tilted his head. ‘That one on the right’s impossible. You need at least three people.’ ‘I’m not even going to ask,’ I said, pointedly not asking.

She picked up the baby – who immediately held out its arms to Markham, so she laughed and handed it over.

Markham and the baby were engrossed in their own private conversation behind us.

‘Well, as you can see, we’re prosperous and healthy and, not to seem too critical, but how many at St Mary’s could say that?’

Markham patted me gently on the back. Probably in much the same manner as he brought up Flora’s wind. I’ve no idea why but, somehow, it was calming.

‘And if anyone gives us any trouble, you can just vomit over them. You’re good at that.’ ‘Are you going to keep bringing that up?’ ‘Yep – just like you. Ready?’

I asked if he’d put on weight. He accused me of getting soft in my old age. I threatened to drop him in the gutter. He said I’d already done that in London 1605

‘Or I’m walking into a trap. Exciting, isn’t it?’ ‘There is something so wrong with you.’ I grinned. ‘Pot . . . Kettle . . .’

Maxine, you’re in a vicious circle – boredom leads to travel leads to having to take a dead-end job which leads back to boredom again.’

Maxine, you have underachieving overachiever written all over you.’

He was hoovering our little lounge and wearing one of those tiny frilly housewife mini-pinnies with pink flowers all over it. And nothing else. Dear God – I’d experienced World Naked Gardening Day and now there was this.

He turned and disappeared into the kitchen, possibly forgetting his pinny didn’t go all the way around the back – I swear I actually heard my eyeballs scream

‘Naked hoovering?’ ‘I was wearing a pinny,’ he said defensively. ‘How does that make it any better?’ ‘I wasn’t trying to make it better . . .’

He draped the mini-pinny over the sofa and I sat on that. Nervous readers should be reassured that he was, by now, fully clothed.

‘Bring me back a blonde.’ ‘You can’t cope with the one you’ve got,’ I said.

Like many people with no sense of humour, he was slow to recognise it in others.

The official verdict was Definitely Weird but Within Acceptable Parameters.’

Finally, I got what other people have been saying for years. It is me.

I had Geoff behind me, so pushing him off a cliff – accidentally, of course – was going to be quite tricky, but I refused to be downhearted. The night was young.

Eddie gestured to the gold. ‘Gold.’ Geoff gestured to the donkey. ‘Donkey.’ No one actually gestured to Geoff and said, ‘Idiot,’ but it was close.

back, I was standing here with an illegal donkey, and he wasn’t here.

Markham sighed in a manner that actually reminded me of Pennyroyal. And Leon. And Dr Bairstow. Has anyone else noticed how often men sigh?

‘This has to happen because I think it already has.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Oh God.’

I was relieved to see he had his tights on the right way round this time.

‘This sounds to me very much like Time Police propaganda,’ she said. ‘Well, yes – it’s the only propaganda I know.’

‘No – there’s more.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Much more.’ He switched on the kettle. ‘Tell Uncle Markham all about it.’

Markham was very quiet for a while, simply staring into space, and then said, ‘Fun Fact.’

The whole shooting everyone in their beds thing is something about which he frequently fantasises.’ ‘Everyone?’ ‘Including you.’ ‘What?’ ‘Top of the list, he said.’ ‘Why?’ ‘He felt it would be quicker and easier than shooting you while you’re awake.’

It wasn’t massive as blasters go – for some reason no one ever seems willing to trust me with one of the really big ones

I’ve always known that Dr Bairstow had his private quarters somewhere along this side of the gallery. Adjacent to his office, I assumed. Unless he simply hung from the ceiling like a bat, of course. Always a possibility.

Peterson, bless him, was arguing with the Time Police. I like to think he learned that from me.