Chapter 2 Passages in Time #4
“Gone, that magnificent building?” His voice was little more than a whisper.
“I wish I had seen it. I mean, I’ve seen pictures of it and walked on the ground where it stood. It must have been amazing. Maybe you could tell me about it later?”
“Are you humouring me, Miss Hale?”
“No. I don’t know why or how, but I believe that John Thornton, nineteenth-century mill owner, is in my kitchen trying to understand how the fridge works.”
He seemed to stagger against the kitchen work surface. “Thank God,” he whispered.
“Bring your tea over to the computer, and I’ll explain why I believe your story.”
“Computer?”
“The machine on the table.”
He reached for his tea but paused before speaking. “Do I remove the bag with the tea in it before I drink it?”
MJ smiled. “You do.”
Once they were settled in the lounge, MJ decided that the first thing she should do was explain why she had concluded that he was John Thornton, mill owner.
“So many things puzzled me about you and your sudden appearance in the mill yard. Henry Bourne, the fireman, was certain that the mill was empty. It was as if you just dropped to earth. Then, there was your reaction to everything around you – it wasn’t that you were merely baffled; it was more that you were terrified. ”
“I was, but surely that alone is not the reason you believe me?”
“I haven’t explained what I was doing at the mill, have I?”
“No, but women have always worked at the mill, so your presence there was not surprising. The startling thing was the way you dressed and the way you spoke and….” He looked down at her elegant fingers resting on the table, his own finger brushing hers lightly as he continued.
“And your hands are those of a lady, not a mill worker.”
She trembled slightly, suddenly aware of how attractive this man was.
“No, I’m not a mill worker nor am I a lady.
I’m a vicar’s daughter, studying for her Ph.D.
in history at the university here in Milton.
That is why I was at the mill yesterday.
I am studying social conditions in the nineteenth-century wool and cotton mills of northern England.
I had an appointment to meet the current owner to discuss its history. ”
Mr. Thornton nodded, surprised but not shocked by this information. It was obvious that Miss Hale was an educated young woman.
“So you see, I have been studying your mill and its history. I know a lot about you, Mr. Thornton.”
“Yes, but even so it is quite a leap to believe that I’m the man you have been studying.”
“And I didn’t, but I couldn’t sleep. So, I got up intending to do some more work. I was going over my notes. It’s easier if I show you. First, though, I can answer the question about your mother and sister.”
“How?” he demanded.
“This machine is called a computer. Think of it as the biggest encyclopaedia or almanac in the world.” She pressed some buttons on the computer and words appeared on the screen.
“It contains an amazing amount of information – imagine that not only does it have a brain with a memory, but it is able to communicate with people all around the world. If I type your name,” she said as she began pushing the lettered buttons on the machine, “and add ‘nineteenth-century mill owner’ after it, lots of information comes up about you.”
He nodded, looking at the screen where his name appeared many times.
“If I click here…” she said and pushed another button.
The individual entries were replaced by what looked like a newspaper article.
“This is the report from the Milton Guardian about the fire. You wanted to be sure that your mother and sister were not harmed? Read that part there,” she said, pushing some more buttons to highlight what she meant.
“Although Mr. John Thornton appears to have perished in the fire, his mother Mrs. Hannah Thornton and sister Miss Fanny Thornton were both unharmed in the inferno.”
“Thank God,” he whispered, clutching his hands together in a gesture of prayer.
“The article also confirms that you were listed as missing, presumed dead – no body was found. That piece of information is the reason I am forced to believe your story.”
“Why? It seems straightforward.”
“Like I said, I have been researching you and your mill. I’ve read this article before. In fact, I have a copy of it, and I want you to look at it and tell me if you notice anything different about it.”
She pushed more buttons and as soon as the article disappeared, it reappeared. Or, at least, he thought it had until he read the line about his mother and sister. The first article had said he was presumed dead. This article said his body had been found by the door of the warehouse.
“I don’t understand. This article said they found my body. The other says no body was found. Which of them is accurate?”
“Both, I think. I copied and saved this article several days ago. I think when you moved through time, history was altered; hence, the article changed. When I realised the article had changed, I checked the other articles I had saved. All of them said that your body was found by the door. Now, like the newspaper article on the web, they say your body was never found.”
“I don’t understand at all,” Mr. Thornton said. “Not about the information or what you mean by the web.”
“Neither do I about why the information would change, but I have a friend on the physics faculty at the university who might be able to help. She’s written a paper on time travel. I called her first thing and asked if she’d see us.”
“Wasn’t that dangerous? She could have contacted the police and had me committed.”
“I didn’t tell her that I had a time traveller with me,” MJ said with a chuckle.
“And what is this web?”
“The world wide web – it is how information on different sites all over the world is linked and shared. It’s too complex to explain in the time we have. The friend I mentioned suggested we meet for coffee. Before we do, though, I want to show you something else.”
She typed the words ‘John Thornton portrait’ into the computer and an image appeared. “This picture hangs in the Milton art gallery. Your mother gifted it to them in her will.”
He smiled, recognising it. “It was done for her fiftieth birthday. It hangs in the drawing room of our home, and is one of a pair. The other is of my sister, Fanny. They used to hang side by side.”
“They still do – she bequeathed both paintings to the city. When you appeared yesterday, my first thought was of this painting and how like John Thornton you were. Then, you told me your name. At first, I thought you’d sustained a head injury and were confused.
However, the more time I spent with you, the more confused I became.
There was something that made your story, as implausible as it sounded, seem genuine. ”
“Are you always so open-minded?”
“I don’t automatically rule things out, but I do seek evidence to support what I’m seeing or being told. Hence, the reason I sat up half the night checking my research about you.”
“May I ask the reason why you are doing this? Is it to satisfy your curiosity or something else?”
“I’m curious, I won’t deny that, but I couldn’t bear to see you looking like you did at the hospital. It was like watching a haunted, hunted animal. You looked so confused and frightened. You were actually cowering from everything – I had to do something.”
He took her hand in his and shook it in a very formal manner. “I’m very glad that you did. Thank you, Miss MJ Hale.”
“I think, Mr. Thornton, you might prefer to use my given name, not my nickname – Margaret Jane.”
He smiled, causing crinkles to appear at the corners of his brilliant blue eyes. Something stirred in his mind – familiarity, yet he could not remember any acquaintance of that name maybe it was just the old-fashioned ring to it.
“Margaret – yes, yes, I do prefer it,” he said.
Chapter Four
The building that housed the physics faculty at Milton University was situated in the town centre.
Built in the sixties, it had become one of the most prestigious seats of learning in the science world, and had gained tabloid notoriety when pop-star-turned-physicist Professor Brian Cox become a fellow of the university.
As a history and politics student, MJ would not normally enter this building; her courses were taught in the Samuel Alexander Building.
She’d met the physics professor at a university event celebrating the history of Milton during the Industrial Revolution.
Puzzled to see someone from the science faculty at the event, she had struck up a conversation with the young professor that had turned into a friendship.
Mr. Thornton had remained quiet in the car on the way to the university.
He didn’t appear as terrified as he had yesterday.
In fact, he seemed curious about everything around him.
The fear in his eyes had turned to wonder.
Although he claimed not to have slept deeply, the rest had obviously done him good for his colour was better than when he had left the hospital.
It was only when they parked and were walking through the city centre to the university that he spoke.
They had passed several Victorian buildings that he recognised, and he was trying to place them in the Milton that he knew.
He spoke of buildings long destroyed and what the city had been like in his day, shrouded in smog from the factory and mill chimneys.
MJ explained that she had called ahead to the university and that they were expected.
“What do you mean called? I don’t understand.”
“On the telephone… but you won’t know what that is. It’s a way of speaking to somebody who is not right next to you. They could be in New York, Sydney, Paris, or, as in this case, the other side of Milton.”
Mr. Thornton shook his head, unable to comprehend how it could be possible to hear someone who was on the other side of the world. “What have you told this professor about me?”