“This is madness!” exclaimed Monckton Milnes. “What nightmare have you dragged me into, Dick?”
“I’m sorry, old friend,” said Burton. What else could he say? They’d had it. He thought of Isabel as the Morlocks closed in, their awful, subhuman hands reaching for them, the yeasty stink of their bodies combining with the sewer stench to assault the explorer’s nostrils.
Then a brilliant light flooded the space, and the Morlocks squealed, shrinking back from it as if acid had been poured on them. They retreated to what shadows they could still find on the far edge of the brightness.
“Hurry,” a woman’s voice called. “The illumination won’t last for long.”
Burton looked up. The light was too bright even for his eyes, but he could just make out a crude rope ladder hanging down from the mouth of a pipe set high along the wall near their planned escape route. A lithe figure stood there, a dark shape against the light she held in her hand, a light brighter than a thousand gaslamps.
“Hurry!” she said again, and the three men got over their disorientation and made for the ladder. Monckton Milnes went first, shimmying up the awkward ladder like a sprinter. He was followed by Burton, then Abberline, who insisted on bringing up the rear.
The light shut off suddenly as Abberline hoisted himself up and over the lip of the tunnel.
Burton stared at their savior, but glowing orbs filled his vision, the aftereffects of the bright light. “Who are you?”
“Explanations later,” said the woman as she grabbed up the ladder. “Running now.”
She moved quickly up the tunnel, followed closely by Monckton Milnes. Burton helped Abberline to his feet and the four of them ran for their lives.
They followed the woman through a veritable maze of tunnels and pipes, until Burton felt like a blind, trapped rat, groping through darkness. After nearly an hour, the four rounded a bend and saw wan twilight coming from somewhere up ahead. In another few minutes they were out, slipping through a bend in the bars of a locked grate several miles from the tunnel they had entered through in Shoreditch.
“There,” said the woman. “Everyone safe and accounted for?”
“I believe so,” said Burton. He blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom around them. “Now would you mind telling us who you are?”
“Yes,” said the woman. “My apologies. There wasn’t time back there for a proper introduction, and I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances. I’m a huge admirer of yours, Captain Sir Richard. Oh, this is a most momentous occasion! If you don’t mind my saying so. I’m sure it seems very common to you.”
“You can call me simply Captain Burton, if you must. And you are?”
“Oh, right. Sorry, Captain Burton. My name is Penelope Hemlock, and I am a Time Agent. Or, that is to say, I will be, from your vantage point. I haven’t even been born yet, you see.”
“She’s off her bloody rocker,” said Monckton Milnes.
Burton placed a hand on his shoulder. “Please, Richard. Let her explain.”
“Yes, thank you.” She glanced at Abberline. “You are, of course, Detective Inspector Frederick George Abberline. Everyone who knows London history knows who you are, what with the, uh, never mind. That dreadful affair hasn’t happened yet.”
She smiled at Monckton Milnes. “And you are Richard Monckton Milnes, 1st Baron Houghton. But not yet! Oh, sorry. I get my dates confused. Horrible thing for a Time Agent. But I’m just so excited. I do tend to prattle on so when I’m excited. My Da always used to say—”
“Baron?” said Monckton Milnes. “Bloody hell!”
“Calm yourself, Miss, please,” said Burton. “And speak plain.”
“Perhaps we should hear her explanation elsewhere,” said Abberline, his eyes glancing warily about.
“I concur,” said Monckton Milnes. “Preferably over a pint.”
“My house, then,” said Burton.
6. The Indefatigable Miss Hemlock
They returned to Gloucester Place and went quietly up to Burton’s study. Despite the late hour, Miss Hemlock was bubbly, bouncing around the room to admire Burton’s library, his collection of swords, guns, and other weaponry he had picked up on his many travels, even his elephant’s foot umbrella stand.
Monckton Milnes helped himself immediately to Burton’s brandy, and after three glasses he finally stopped shaking. “This is pure madness, Dick. What the bloody hell are you involved in?”
“Mind your language, Richard!” admonished Burton. “We have a lady present.”
“Don’t mind me,” said the woman as she scanned one of the explorer’s bookshelves. “I’ve heard much worse from the soldiers, believe you me.”
“Soldiers?” Monckton Milnes murmured.
Abberline sat by the fire, his bowler mounted atop his left knee.
“Frederick, you look positively done in,” said Burton. “Why don’t you go home?”
“No,” said the policeman. “I’ll be right as rain in a moment. Besides, I want to hear this.”
Burton examined the woman as she bounced around his study inspecting his spear collection. She was short and lithe, with close-cropped dark hair and inquisitive brown eyes. She wore a leather, American-style duster coat over a white shirt and brown pants and dark leather knee-high boots, like a man would wear. She wore no bonnet or hat, and her hair wasn’t at all the current style. This, Burton knew, was a woman out of her place, and maybe even time. She spoke with a crisp, North London accent.
The woman slowly turned around as Burton, Monckton Milnes, and Abberline stared up at her. She blushed and smiled. “I’m sorry, gentlemen. Is everyone settled down? That was quite a row, wasn’t it?”
Burton jammed a cheroot in his mouth and lit it, puffing aromatic smoke as he waited for her to get to the point.
“I can’t believe I’m actually here,” she said. “In the presence of such important men of your time. It’s exciting, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps if you tell us who and what you are we can share in your enthusiasm,” said Monckton Milnes with a scowl.
“You’re right. My apologizes. I do get overwrought sometimes. But it isn’t every day you meet—never mind. As I was saying, I am a Time Agent. I come from the future, the year nineteen forty-five to be precise.”
“Now I’ve heard everything,” said Monckton Milnes. “Are we actually entertaining this, Richard?”
“Yes we are,” Burton grumbled. “Now pipe down!”
Monckton Milnes harrumphed and helped himself to another brandy.
“It’s true, Bar—uh, Mr. Monckton Milnes,” said the woman. “I am a Time Traveler, as Captain Burton here has been.”
Monckton Milnes stared at Burton.
“It’s true,” said Abberline. “On my sainted mother’s grave, it’s true.”
“Since I’m not yet thoroughly in my cups,” said Monckton Milnes, “then I must be mad.” He took the entire decanter of brandy back to his seat behind Burton’s other desk and sulked. “Yes, that must be it. I’m bound for Bedlam.”
“Why are you here, Miss Hemlock?” asked Burton, ignoring his fellow Cannibal.
“I came here tracking a mysterious individual. No one knows who he is, but he’s been a thorough thorn in our sides as of late.”
“The man in the tunnel,” said the explorer. “The one who brought the Morlocks back here.”
“Exactly.”
“But who would do such a horrible thing?” murmured Abberline. “And why? And how?”
“The how we know,” said Miss Hemlock. “He has a Time Machine.”
“But how is that possible?” said the detective. “I thought it destroyed.”