Home in Time

By Richard Youlden

Lesley Woodhall inherited two things from her late Father, a rather large mid–Victorian house, divided into flats, and a partially built time machine. Her brother, Paul wanted nothing to do with either, but Lesley was dedicated to both – and determined to make them each a success: and in the process honour the memory of her father.
Between maintaining the building, working tirelessly on the time machine, and doing odd jobs on construction projects in the area – to pay her bills – Lesley has somewhat made a mess of her social life; something her best friend, Julie is continually fond of reminding her.
With her great project finally complete (for the third time) Lesley persuades a reluctant Julie to come for dinner, so she can prove that all her sacrifice and effort has been worth it: and that time travel really is possible – though she doesn’t mention this last part, that would have her labelled as crazy!
Lesley’s demonstration proves considerably more impressive than she intended. Her wonderful machine transports the entire house, and everyone in it, back to the middle of the seventeenth century – into the heart of a conflicted pre civil war England – and all manner of danger.
Now the race is on to find a power source so the time machine can get back where they belong: without anyone being seriously killed or otherwise inconvenienced...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard Youlden
• Release date: Oct 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311282149

Richard Youlden

I have been a writer for a touch over 30 years, largely busy writing articles for magazines - well, one magazine "What Satellite" - and otherwise struggling with numerous scripts and other bits and pieces.Lately that has meant producing a newsletter and other small written pieces which have faded into obscurity almost as quickly as they have parted with my computer into the great internet yonder...Born and still living in the same area, I have long had a fascination and pre-occupation with fantasy, sci-fi and crime fiction - with a more recent attraction toward horror (lighter horror that is). Lately I have been drawn to novels involving Vampires and ghosts too.The more I have written the less I understand about the whole precess and the harder it seems to become. Over the years I have slowed down, writing less with far greater attention than once was the case. I would hope this means the work is of higher quality, but dyslexia and distraction being what they are, I am not sure that is true. It remains an aspiration however...Where this might lead, and what it means for the future I have not the least idea. But it will be an interesting journey.

Book preview

Chapter 01

It was a warm morning. Clear and bright. The sort of morning that belonged in late May or early June – however, it was still April, so unseasonably hot for the time of year. Lesley was feeling cheerful. Her day was off to a good start, and it looked like getting still better. Finally the parts she had ordered were in, so now she could finish her life’s work and prove that all the planning, building and sacrifice had been worth it. That her father was right.

This might now be her dream, but it had been her fathers’. It was the bond which drew them closer. Her mother never understood. Her brother treated it as a massive joke…Now the boot would be firmly on the other foot.

So here she stood, Lesley Anne Woodhall, 38 years of age. She studied her reflection in the shop window. She wasn’t especially tall, just 5ft 4in – slightly built, some would say, slender. Her thick light brown hair, shoulder length and silky. Her tiny nose, slightly up turned. Her face rounded and sparsely freckled. Her dark brown eyes, a fetching blood–shot red: the result of trying contact lenses rather than the frame–less glasses she normally favoured.

Beyond her reflection, through the shop window, her gaze settled quickly upon the range of electrical goods displayed. An assortment of different items, mostly component amplifiers and turn tables and CD and DVD drives. A range of computer mother boards and other bits and pieces. Many of the parts on offer consisted of pre–existing circuits printed onto veri–board marked out by different integrated circuits – tiny bug like components designed to perform numerous specific functions.

Lesley’s mind was still ringing with the excitement of things to come, as she pushed the shop door open. As the ring of the entry bell died in her ears, she leaned upon the warn wooden counter. Her friend Benson Brown emerged from the rear room and the moment he saw her, began to smile. It was a broad smile, the sort of smile that reached from ear to ear and seemed to keep on growing. A cheery smile that brightened his eyes. No longer a young man, Benson had thick leathery skin, baked by many long years hard labour under the sun. He sported a thick, white/grey beard, a beard that more than compensated for the glassy baldness of his pate.

Rounding the counter he hugged and kissed Lesley. My God, girl! You’re a sight for tired eyes.

Those aren’t tired eyes, Ben – they’re eyes fighting good wine, over indulgence – and far too many hours hard partying!

You know me so well, Les – your father would be proud. And excitedly he dove behind the counter. And speaking of Leslie Senior... He found a plain paper bag and brought it into the light. He would have loved this. Benson pealed back the paper and revealed an equally plain cardboard box. One of those rough, stapled together boxes with a slight grease stain on it. Here it is. Your long over due order. He announced.

Lesley eased closer, her breathing shallow and quick – her heart rising into her dry mouth. Here it was, the final piece of the puzzle.

Benson slid the box across the counter toward Lesley. Your father would have loved this. He all but whispered. Built exactly to your specifications.

Thank you. Lesley fingered the cardboard. Holding her breath she lifted the lid from the plain box. She folded back the tissue beneath, and one section at a time revealed: a vacuum tube, bulbous in appearance – with twenty gleaming gold contact pins. Lesley plucked the large glass object from it’s bed of tissue and held it up against the shops fluorescent light. It’s beautiful! She sighed.

Is it right?

Perfect. Lesley purred, her smile broadening. It is absolutely perfect. In every way. Perfect. You’re right. Dad would have loved this.

He never could stand silicon.

Tell me! She snorted, returning the valve to it’s packing and replacing the lid. I’d have finished years ago if it hadn’t been for his insistence on old components and individual construction. She paused. It wouldn’t be the same…would it? Lesley turned her gaze on Benson. Thanks, Ben. For everything.

Why so solemn? he laughed, Celebrate! This is it. You’ve done it. You’ve finished it. Your father’s great work is complete. Then he leaned closer and asked: Now will you tell me?…What is it?

All in good time, Lesley smiled.

* * *

The ring of the till still strong in her ears, Lesley stepped back onto the street holding her precious package. She drew a deep breath as she took in her surroundings. Directly across the street was Rutland Square, in front of the grand Rutland Arms Hotel, soon to be redeveloped, it was presently serving as a somewhat ugly parking area. Beyond that TK Maxx, the shop which had replaced Waitrose when it relocated to an inconvenient road junction across town. Up to the left was the Jubilee Clock Tower, pride of Newmarket, and long standing land mark of note.

Many different eyes had gazed on this scene. Briefly Lesley wondered what they might make of her current surroundings. Each age looks on the world from a similar perspective, but with far different history and expectations. As much as everything changes, she told herself, it also stays the same. The technology wasn’t around then, but the people were – and their feelings and thoughts must have been quite similar to hers. Lesley smiled to herself, momentarily wondering what future historians might make of this moment. Soon, she thought, I might change forever the way we view this world.

Please move along, Madam, you’re blocking the path. A female voice behind Lesley boomed strong and authoritatively. Lesley, wheeled around to face the Police Woman who had spoken to her. WPC Julie Marleen Lawless. Julie beamed at Lesley. Sorry about that. She laughed. I couldn’t resist – you were totally out of it, Les. With her blonde hair tied back, and heavy duty knife proof body armor and other bulky uniform utilities, Julie was a model of modern law enforcement.

I was reflecting on life, the universe and all that…other crap! Lesley replied, greeting her friend with a hug. How are you, Jules?

So were you counting up all those wasted years following your father’s dream?

Wasted? Lesley shuddered, she was seething as always over this, but as always she made no comment.

Come on, what is it really? Julie eased closer: It’s time you got out from under your father’s shadow and followed your own ambitions.

I am.

You’ve been saying that for over ten years!

You keep count?

Yes, I keep count. You should worry about your biological clock, girl. I know I am.

Lesley nodded slightly, but offered no comment.

I love the way you are so casual about this. But take it from me, you will regret it. This is it. No second chance! Julie asserted. I for one want to settle. I want a family. I don’t intend to loaf around, and stare into space, day dreaming precious time away. This is no time to waste time. Julie snorted.

Don’t worry on my account, Jules. I have everything in hand.

What does that mean? Julie wondered, gripping her friends arm and looking deeply into her eyes. Are you planning something silly?

In a manner of speaking. I guess I might be!

Julie couldn’t be more horrified. What is going on?

Nothing.

Nothing?

Lesley watched Julie, the excitement building deep within her breast. She would have so much liked to explain everything, but this wasn’t the time or place. Over several heart beats though, Lesley knew instinctively that her best and oldest friend should be among the first to learn the truth of her great quest. Stopping her in mid stride, and turning her face on, Lesley all but whispered: Do you have plans for later?

Julie glanced around herself, entering into the conspiratorial manner of Lesley’s enquiry – albeit teasingly. I’m washing my hair. Then I might go down the pub, why?

Can you come round?

Yes?

Then I will tell you everything.

If this has something to do with your ‘project’ then –

Before she could go further, Lesley interjected: Please.

Oh, Les! It is time you gave this a rest. Last time I sat the room for three hours, nibbling a stale cheese sandwich. Remember? You kept telling me it was about to work…what happened? Some smoke, fizzing noises and a loud bang. You practically knocked the National Grid out for ten minutes – and I still have no idea what it was all about!

That was just a minor hiccup.

Look, we’re friends, Lesley. Please. Do me a favor. Forget it. Come down the Pub, have a drink – get rat assed! Do something ordinary!

Jules', I wouldn’t ask if –

If it wasn’t crucial…I know. But it is the same every time.

Lesley took a moment to calm herself. How about you come around, half an hour. If nothing happens…then we’ll go down the Pub. Visit a disco; do whatever you want?

Julie frowned, thoughtfully.

Do we have a deal?

Half an hour?

I promise. Half an hour!

All right, Julie agreed, reluctantly, half an hour, no longer. And if you blow us up or kill us dead, I will be really horrid to you in the after life.

That’s fair. Lesley agreed, eagerly. Not only had she got her best friend to visit, and be present for the grand event – but she reveled in the knowledge that she had also secured a first class key witness to her history changing experiment.

No stale sandwiches this time?

Not one. Lesley grinned. A slap up meal on me…if I fail. A hot home cooked meal if I succeed.

Julie Lawless hesitated, watching her friend closely. Lesley, this time. If it fails –

It wont

"– If it fails. Promise me, you will tell me what this is really all about?"

Lesley avoided looking at Julie. She had told Julie several times what her project aimed to prove – it wasn’t her fault that the WPC hadn’t believed her! She nodded slowly. It’s only fair. You’ve been behind me, albeit reluctantly, all the way. Then she asked: will 19:00 hours – that’s 7 Oclock – be good for you?

Excellent. Julie nodded. I’ll book a table at the ‘Linden Tree’ for 20:00 hours. That’s 8 O’clock! So the real evening can begin with a round of drinks. You’re buying! Afterwards you can explain what went wrong in front of the pub fire.

Believe me, that wont happen. Not this time. Lesley was delighted. She turned and marched off, cheerily. This day just could not get any better. The sun was shining. The spring air fresh and warm. History was ripe to be made.

Chapter 02

Karen Blunt, a blonde with red high–lights streaked through her hair, leaned forward: to look more closely at the stump of the newly felled tree. She was a bright young woman, with sharp slender features and a firm, no nonsense, manner. She squinted closely at the end of the stump, frowning.

What is it? Sterling Gravest asked, crouching down at her side. He was a rugged man, with thick arms, thick neck and surprisingly stubby thick fingers. He had a totally bald head, by choice rather than nature. At just 22 years of age he could be considered young, and he could be called eager. Karen found this trait irritating. But then she felt there must have been a time when she was very similar.

Wood! She replied, teasingly.

Very funny. He groaned, thinking the exact opposite.

Karen turned and sat on the tree trunk to take in their surroundings. It was a scene of tree carnage – felled logs as far as she could see – and behind them a standing row of trees at the edge of a doomed wood. The noise of distant chain saws chewing down still more trees carried to them on the wind.

Do you ever stop to wonder at how long these trees might have stood here? The botanist mused – glancing at her colleague.

No!

Really?

Yes, really.

So you aren’t interested?

They’re trees! He shrugged, scraping some material from the prostrate trunk Karen was sitting on. After checking it, he slipped it into a test tube then added two chemicals each from a small sachet. With the bung in place he shook up the contents. What does it matter? Trees will always be with us. He continued. The species might change…If this goes on it will have too! But the trees, they will always be around.

Oak, Elm and now Ash. Karen recited.

Don’t forget willow?

How could I forget willow? She’s such a pretty little tree.

Sterling laughed. You worry me sometimes. Boss.

He looked at the sample in the tube. There was no sign of reaction. Might be another negative. He moaned.

Karen nodded. Seems that for every infected tree we destroy, another five or so perfectly healthy specimens are sacrificed.

Don’t forget, this test isn’t definitive.

True. Karen agreed. But it is highly likely indicative of the final test results. At this rate we will have denuded the area of healthy Ash trees for little more than the fear they might become infected.

That is how it goes. Sterling sighed, added the test tube to a collection he had in his field bag. This is what gets me down. Forget all that romantic clap trap – it’s just so bloody depressing going through this process only to find that there’s nothing wrong with most of the trees we’ve felled.

Yes, it’s a policy of eradication.

"I doubt they meant eradication of the trees?" He snorted.

Karen laughed, it was not humours.

Still, as I said. There will always be trees. Sterling added, solemnly. Just not any of the local varieties!

I hope you are wrong. Karen sniffed, But I fear you may not be.

The young man nodded, adding another note into the electronic device kept in his field bag for that purpose. They had been busy all morning, and so far he had ‘logged’ almost three dozen minor samples. During the process he and Karen had made several ‘sections’ from sample specimens which would provide further useful data at a future juncture. Or rather, it would, if there were enough dendrologists still working to make use of it.

Standing, Karen stretched and looked about herself at the trees.

Do we need further samples from this tree, boss? Sterling asked.

Karen shook her head. No. It isn’t likely to add anything to the picture.

What next then?

Karen looked across the devastated woodland, littered with fallen trees and masses of still fresh stumps. There were tangles of branches heaped in clusters around the area – some several meters high. Some burning! Around this the edge of the remaining wood formed a stark backdrop, which was gloomy in a disturbing way: soon it would also be felled.

I think we need to spread out a little more. Karen decided, Over that way, down the slope a little. She added, pointing out an area some fifty or so meters further down the hill. Closer to the stream maybe.

Your word is my command! Sterling saluted.

That’s ‘My command, Ma’am.’

D’you have any idea how sexy that sounds?

Karen winked at him. She gathered her various items. Together they started to clamber across the debris of cut trees towards the next fertile area to continue their sample collecting – which despite everything was going smoothly. It was her turn to perform the next batch of preliminary tests…

Chapter 03

Lesley’s large detached house stood at the centre of an inauspicious, poorly maintained, garden. For a town house it was imposing. Solidly built, a stone and brick early–Victorian edifice in the grandest style of the period. In the past this had been the impressive home of a wealthy family, with servants. Possibly owned by a merchant banker, or similar middle class professional man – it was well built, and even now, much diminished, still able to impress.

Lesley’s family had owned this property since the nineteen–fifties, when her father had bought it as a first home. It had been in a run down state, virtually derelict – as he was constantly fond of reminding everyone. He would often regale Lesley and her brother with his stories of re–roofing the house, jointing the floors, and rendering the walls. He claimed to be a self taught master plasterer as a result. He was endlessly proud of his Do It Yourself achievements, so often boasting about them. Paul was never interested, but Lesley was enthralled.

As a result of her fathers constant tuition, Lesley had learned to decorate, build and maintain the property – covering all the major skills to a high degree of competence. Eventually her father boasted proudly of her skills being much better than his own. Lesley had not thought about this for a long time. But now, returning home with her package, she paused at the gate – remembering. Finally, everything was falling into place.

Now the house was divided into flats, spread across all four floors and the cellar. Lesley had settled in a ground floor flat, renting out the remaining parts of the property to ensure herself a reliable income: and recompense her brother for his share of their inheritance. Besides being the owner and landlord, she served as the maintenance woman and general dogs body. Along with these responsibilities, Lesley undertook construction and electrical jobs within the trade. All providing income which had given her a steady flow of components to finish her project.

The Project was began over forty earlier, by her father – who had dreamed of it since his youth. He told Lesley and Paul that it started when he was sixteen, with the main circuit plan coming to him in a dream. A matrix of components and valves and wires which he was unable to shake from his head. This had come together to form a colourful pattern which he insisted had never left his mind since. Every waking and sleeping moment the images lingered with him. Together with his growing interest in electrical engineering, mechanics and the physical world – it had coalesced into a concept and eventually a physical reality that had finally become the Project. A Project which dominated the final years of his life. Paul claimed it was the reason for his death. Lesley understood that he had no choice. There are some things which just cannot be ignored.

Paul always dismissed this as nonsense, but Lesley was fascinated by it. So it wasn’t long before she too had been drawn into her fathers’ dream and began to help build the great machine. At first The Project had been a part time endeavor, occupying weekends and bank holidays. It slowly grew, quickly becoming a full time obsession. As Lesley grew up she became ever more deeply involved, until finally, on the death of her father, ten years ago, she quietly promised him she would finish the project and make his dream a reality.

And so, here she was, on the threshold of completion. The end was finally in sight. It had been a long and arduous, lonely road – but the end was here. It was here in the box, gripped in her slender fingers. All the tests, all the planning and re–testing, was finally at it’s end. Now it was time to put the last components of the machine in place.

This wouldn’t be the first time she had attempted to finish the project. However it was the first time she had done so with everything in place exactly as her father’s original plan had dictated. This was the first moment the machine was truly complete.

Hey, Les – what’s up? Lost you’re way again? Shouted Henry Harcourt William Allingham–Bludge, slapping her squarely between the shoulders.

Lesley jumped, and wheeled around to stare at him.

How you doing girl? Henry was one of those willowy types, with heavily tanned skin and impossibly white hair and teeth. A smooth older gentleman, in his 59 year – but looking every bit nearer seventy! He would have liked everyone to believe this was the result of hard living and harder partying – whereas, it was just worry and occasionally too much alcoholic lubrication.

Snapped from her revery, Lesley failed to suppress the anger she was now feeling. Somehow she managed to force a tight lipped smile. Henry! she said, through gritted teeth. While Henry might be one of her better paying residents, he was also something of a pain. Humorless, he had a tendency to be very fussy indeed. If things were not absolutely right he complained. His list of complaints filled at least two folders falling off the end of her desk, and she couldn’t help but feel all of his more friendly approaches tended to lead up to a complaint.

Actually, he started, I have been meaning to have a word with you. Here it comes, thought Lesley – her smile hardening into a grimace. Have you had an invitation to my sixtieth? He asked, ingratiatingly.

Lesley relaxed, Sixtieth?, she asked, as sincerely as she could manage.

I know, I don’t look a day over thirty! He ventured. Lesley remained stoney faced, so he continued. No. Seriously. It’s true. I’m about to hit the big SIX OH – Ah! Yeah, the grey hair is a bit of a give away. He eased uncomfortably closer. So?

Is this a slightly cunning way of telling me you want permission to hold a party and need me to sort it out with the other residents?

My God, girl – you’re too sharp for me! Am I really that transparent?

Afraid so, Henry. Lesley watched him a moment. Well, I certainly don’t have any objections. When?

Henry drew a deep breath. Well, you see – this is where…

Spit it out?

Tonight!

Tonight? That isn’t a whole lot of notice. She frowned. You did say this was a birthday party?

Right! Er, I can see where you’re going with this.

Birthdays are somewhat predictable.

No. Yes! Of course they are. And I’m sorry about this. But…I…You see, my actual birthday isn’t until next Monday, but Monica – God Bless her dear soul – has arranged a little trip away. A sort of…well, need I say more? Point is, cutting to the chase, she rather upset my party plans –

– and we all know how you like a good party?

Exactly! He began to relax, slightly. So I decided to see if I could manage something today. You know. Nothing big. Just a few close friends. You are invited of course?

Very kind of you.

The very least I can do. Well? Do you think it will be all right?

Henry, if non of the other residents object, then it is fine with me. More notice would have been appreciated. But if Monica is taking you away – then what else can you do? She hesitated. I’ll put in an appearance later. Unfortunately I have other plans for this evening.

Anything I can help with?

No. She continued smiling. Thank you.

Henry grinned, before enquiring, teasingly: So, who is he?

That is between myself and I! She replied, guardedly.

Sometimes you worry me darling young lady. He blustered. For someone so young and attractive you are far too secretive!

Henry. You are, of course, quite right. She paused, grinning at him. Enjoy your party, Old Boy!…and Happy Birthday, for Monday.

Thanks. He backed away, turning to his car, parked a few spaces along the road. This was, of course, a Range Rover – big, black and polished. He stopped, and looked back to Lesley. Oh, and one other thing.

Lesley sighed deeply before facing him. And that is?

Nothing too important. Henry eased a couple of paces closer. Lesley made no effort to further reduce the gap between them. It’s just the rubbish bin was left out after collection the other morning. He said. Only, I thought it was Tim’s turn to bring the bins in?

I have no idea who’s turn it was, Henry, but be assured, I will look into it. Lesley made a ‘ticking it off’ gesture, before opening the gate and starting up the garden path.

It’s not that I’m complaining, you understand? Henry continued, stepping still closer. I just want people to do their share. And particularly to do what they say they are going to do. Then he added, confidingly. If people make promises…I will tell you, for nothing, back in my Army Days I would never have put up with it.

This isn’t the army, Henry. Lesley could almost feel the enamel on her teeth wearing.

No, but it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to instill some discipline in these youngsters. They lack good roll models. What can we expect from a generation that has grown up idolizing Michael Jackson, ruled over by a bunch of Tory do–gooding loonies.

Yes Henry, although most of them grew up under a Labour government!

You could hardly call that bunch of idiots a Government. A spineless load of twittering fools in the thrall of a vacillating obfuscating despotic megalomaniacs!

Anyone would think you weren’t impressed with Prime Minister Blair. Lesley teased him, quietly amused by his somewhat over boiled description. Why don’t you tell me what you really think?

As usual the irony slipped by Henry like a motorbike in a traffic jam. I thought I made myself perfectly clear. He insisted.

"Yes, Henry. And Henry – I will deal with the bins issue first thing. Is that all?’

I believe it is.

Finally free of Henry, Lesley headed up the garden path into her house. Henry climbed into his Range Rover and before she had slipped the key into the lock, was roaring off along the car crowded narrow urban street at something above the legal limit. Lesley reflected upon his total disregard for the possibility of Children, Older People, and all the myriad other possible dangers lurking at the side of every back–street road.

It was impossible to tell someone like Henry of the potential damage he might cause. Such matters were beneath his consideration. Lesley didn’t kid herself, he considered her with something less than distain. Henry tolerated people, he hardly ever considered their feelings. That would never do in his world.

* * *

Closing the hall door behind her, Lesley picked up the mail lying on the welcome mat, and flicked through the different packages and letters. Nothing of note. Separating the different items into resident piles, she set them down on the table. Along with an empty coat rack, this was the only item of furnishing in the long entrance hall. The ground floor was divided into two separate flats – the hall served to demarcate the different areas from one another. Lesley occupied the larger two bedroom flat to the right. While Henry and his wife were opposite.

Up the ornate sculpted wooden stair case, in this typical old house, four further flats were divided off from the different landings. Each dwelling was a self–contained domicile, most had at least two bedrooms. The final Flat was in the cellar, and that was accessed via a separate entrance which could be reached down a flight of stairs from the well in front of the house.

Having found no mail addressed to herself, Lesley headed into her flat and closed the door. Beyond the narrow front door was a small angular hall from which an assortment of heavy wooden doors gave entrance to each of the simple rooms. The big room was divided into a kitchen and sitting area. A bathroom, and two further rooms were accessed directly from this cramped vestibule. Lesley stepped through to the sitting room and faced the massive mahogany wall unit which dominated this otherwise ordinary room.

Filling the entire width of the wall, this unit reached from floor to ceiling, and was built around the imposing marble fire place; from which hung a one hundred and six centimeter widescreen TV. The wood was very dark, aged and somewhat scratched. It had simple knobs on each large paneled door. It dominated the room, looming over the two piece sofa, comfortable warn arm chair and coffee table. At the far end of the room, opposite the tiny kitchen area with it’s seventies style breakfast peninsula, was a desk fitted across the bay window: leaving a gap for access to draw the curtains. This simple MDF construction was linked to the cupboards. There was a small work area set aside on one half of the desk: which was weighted down with electric equipment. The remains of the desk were burdened by an assortment of different size LCD Screens: all were sixteen by nine aspect ratio and angled to three key pads.

Each corner of this cramped room was dominated by a sculptural shiny glass like column – filling the space floor to ceiling. A mottled ruby colour, these singular cylindrical structures, were each about thirty–eight centimeters in diameter, and clearly of great significance to the complex electrical instillation build into this room.

Lesley smiled to herself. Unwrapping the box of valves. She set the rapping down on the work bench and took the first of the two glass tubes over