The Knowledge

By Imrah Baines

Spencer Harker doesn’t know what he knows. But others do.

Feuding families…

>

Secret societies…

A simple love story…

Knowledge to be shared, or to be kept in the hands of a few?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Legend Press
• Release date: Oct 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9781789558012

Book preview

dictionary.com

I

Bill Meets Maria Chadwick & Spencer Harker

Why waste your money shopping at other places? Shop at Buy Lo, where you can save while you spend. And the more you spend, the more you save. You can’t lose! Come to Buy Lo, where you can save while you spend. Now that’s a bargain!

Capitalism, thought Bill, an economic system which guarantees destruction of the planet. And, as yet, everyone’s a winner. You just couldn’t lose.

There came a gentle tap at the door and from Bill, there emanated a sigh. Languidly detaching his rather slender frame from the sofa, he reluctantly dragged himself all of two yards to the front door. The morning sun, which would rise at the fore of the house, and would shine directly into the front room at this time of day, momentarily blinded him as he peered outdoors, squinting. He placed his hand across his furrowed brow in order to shield his eyes from the streaming rays, but only an opaque figure came into view.

Are you Bill? a voice enquired, uncertain though, paradoxically, assured.

It depends. If you’re here about the TV licence, then no, no, I’m not.

Do I look as though I am here to enquire about whether you are in possession of a TV licence or not?

No, no, you don’t. Which is why I said that. If I really thought you were here to, as you say, enquire about whether I possess a TV licence or not, I would have said: No, no, I’m not Bill. Who is this Bill you speak of? I know of no Bill. Bill who?

The ensuing awkward silence was tangible, momentarily filling the morning air; the only sound being that of passing traffic during the morning commute. The two characters, both seemingly unsure what to say, remained mute.

Well? Bill eventually asked, breaking the silence. You knocked on my door.

Yes, yes, I did. And I did not expect to be greeted so rudely. Your manners… I mean… Is this how you always greet people who come to your door? the figure enquired, a little flustered. It is not what I expected. I expected a little more.

Oh, forgive me, apologised Bill, more than a hint of sarcasm in his tone. What did you expect? A cup of tea? Did you expect me to roll out a red carpet and welcome you in? Perhaps you expected me to perform a little dance? Or would you prefer a song?

I expected an honest reply to my query, as to whether you are Bill or not. And I did not expect any flippant or sarcastic remarks.

I only made a joke.

Well, I expected better.

A better joke?

A better greeting.

Oh, so sorry to disappoint you. I tell you what, I’ll close the door, and we’ll try again, shall we?

No…

Bill closed the door. The visitor, feeling unsure, knocked again; this time with a little more force.

Top of the morning to you, Bill cheerily sang upon answering the door, while performing a little jig. And how can I help you on this fine, fine morning?

The visitor sighed and looked away, rolling her eyes, she became dismayed. With little patience did she speak, though with much consternation.

I wish to speak with Bill.

Are you from the TV licensing company?

You know full well I am not from the TV licensing company!

You know, people think life is a mystery, or how and why the universe was created, suddenly stated Bill. But I don’t, I think a far greater mystery is who you are.

Should you invite me in, I shall inform you of who I am. For I am rather weary, having undergone a lengthy and arduous journey.

Have you? Well, I’m sorry. Tell you what, why don’t you knock on the neighbour’s door and see if they’ll take you in? You see, I’m not in the habit of inviting strangers into my home.

But ’tis you who I have come to see, Bill.

Upon a hearing a word or sound which it recognises, a dog will nod its head to the side, just as Bill did upon hearing his name spoken.

How do you know my name?

Should you allow me to come in, I shall explain.

Ok. But can you at least tell me who you are? The sun needs to move, because it’s blinding me and I can’t see who you…

Then alter your position, interrupted the visitor, rather tetchily. Though you cannot move the sun, you can move yourself.

What wisdom!

Onto the pavement did Bill step, rotating, so that his back was to the sun and he was standing next to the visitor, facing his home.

If you’ll just turn, so I can see your face?

The visitor did not turn around but, instead, stepped inside the small house and closed the door, leaving Bill flummoxed. He looked up and down the street, checking to see he wasn’t dreaming. He saw people, he saw houses, he saw cars and shops, yet how could he be sure that he was not dreaming? ‘Surely the fact that I can question whether I am dreaming or not, shows I am not dreaming,’ he reasoned. ‘I think, therefore I am,’ he concluded, confident that he was wide awake. Once satisfied that he was not asleep, he knocked on his own front door.

Good morning to you, sir. And how may I help you? smiled the visitor.

Well, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back into my home?

Certainly, she replied, permitting Bill to enter by moving aside. Do you see how one should answer the door? Assuredly, and with a warm smile. Not just stand there, waiting to be spoken to, then making flippant remarks and silly jokes.

The visitor, evidently far from impressed with her host, shook her head and glanced him a disapproving look, as the two stood in a rather awkward silence.

Though you are too ill-mannered to ask me to sit, I assume you have no objection if I were to do so?

Not waiting for a reply, she moved to an armchair and sat down. Her back was firmly upright and her hands she placed on her lap, looking rather stiff and feeling rather cumbersome.

Well? asked Bill, sitting on the sofa. Who are you?

Two things: Firstly, you offer me no refreshment, being so ill-mannered. For I have already communicated to you that I am weary, having embarked upon a lengthy journey. Secondly, are you really so ignorant as not to recognise me?

Feeling slightly scolded by the visitor’s somewhat harsh intonation, Bill glanced at her, seeing a restrained vexation in her eyes. Unsure what to do or what to say, he could only look away.

I’ll go and make you a cup of tea? suggested he. How’s that?

Delightful.

In the kitchen, feeling somewhat put out, he set about making a cup of tea, while mumbling to himself.

Coming to my house… telling me I’m ignorant… got a bad sense of humour… that I can’t even answer the door properly…

Everything ok? shouted the visitor, paying attention to the clattering of cups and plates.

Never been better, sang Bill. I’m afraid I only have low-fat milk. Is that ok, or would you like me to go to the shop and purchase another which would be more suitable for you? Or perhaps I can go to a farm and find a cow to milk and…

No, that shall suffice.

Sugar?

Thank you, no.

By the time the kettle had boiled, Bill had calmed a little, though he was not overly impressed with the brashness of his guest. He returned to the living room with a cup of tea and an enforced smiled spread across his face.

There you go.

Oh.

By the tone of her voice, it was evident that something was amiss.

Sorry, should I wear a butler suit to serve you?

No, your choice of attire is wholly irrelevant.

Great.

’Tis just that… I expected to be served tea in a teapot, rather than in a… ’Tis fine. I see you mean well, and I expect you are not accustomed to making tea.

What do you mean? I make a fine cup of tea.

Fine, perhaps. But not outstanding. Not if you do not use a teapot.

She sipped her tea and looked a little more at ease, leaving Bill feeling somewhat ill at ease. Falling on to the settee, he turned to the visitor.

So, you’ll have to forgive my ignorance, but I’d be really grateful if you could tell me who you are, if you wouldn’t mind? If that’s no trouble? It’s just that you are sitting here in my home and…

I am Maria Chadwick.

She waited for a reaction, while Bill waited for more information. Neither got what they were waiting for. Another awkward and prolonged silence emerged, eventually broken by the host.

Maria Chadwick, hey?

You know me not?

Doesn’t look like it…

Are you a philistine?

Sorry?

There is no need to apologise.

I wasn’t apologising. Did you just call me…?

Illiterate. Are you illiterate?

What?

Illiterate. I asked whether you were illiterate. Are you also deaf?

What?

Are you deaf?

What?

Are you…?

No, no, of course not. I just can’t believe… Of course I’m not illiterate…

Literacy was not so common in the nineteenth century. ’Twas not everyone who could read. And while I note that everyone here, today, in the twenty-first century, is literate, few read literature of any value.

I read the TV guide.

I wrote a book. Several, in fact. The most well-known of which is called, The Book.

Rubbing his chin, Bill considered saying something intelligent, something philosophical, or arty, deep and insightful, but nothing came to mind. Silence being the best response, he did decide.

Why are you here? he suddenly asked.

Two reasons…

Tell me one.

How can I say?

Don’t. Just leave.

The scandal…

Scandal?

’Twas to do with the silver.

Silver?

Yes…

Treasure?

No, a spoon…

A spoon?

Oh, the shame!

The shame of the spoon?

’Twas no ordinary spoon.

A silver spoon.

That is correct…

Maria trailed off, looking pained as she recalled past events.

And what is the other reason you are here?

I have told you so. To speak with you.

Speak, then, Maria Chadwick. Speak!

Maria sighed and blew out her cheeks, wholly unimpressed and completely taken aback by the animated host.

You are an impatient man, she complained. And somewhat abrupt in your manner.

Oh, forgive me, you see, I was having a nice, quiet morning, minding my own business, when you just turned up…

I expected more of him, mumbled Maria, shaking her head, looking away.

Of who?

Of you. I expected more.

What more is it I can do?

Be courteous, polite, respectful, considered.

Anything else?

Spencer…

Spencer?

My fiancée. He shall be here shortly. He is tying up the horses.

Who? What? Why? Bill snapped. Forget Spencer! Forget the horses! Forget the book and the spoon…

’Twas a sliver spoon…

I don’t care if it was gold! Please… He opened the front door, encouraging his visitor to leave. Thanks for stopping by. Next time, don’t. Just keep walking…

What is it? asked a man at the door, looking ruffled.

Spencer!

He walked in, unceremoniously barging his way past Bill so that Maria and he could embrace. They did so, tenderly yet passionately, as though it had been a long while since they’d last seen one another, and as though the separation had been both painful and eternal.

Forgive me, my love. I did but make haste, but there was much confusion, for I do not fully understand this place.

Oh, Spencer! I am so glad to see your face!

And to see your eyes and your smile – I would have travelled a thousand miles!

Bill rolled his eyes.

Sorry to interrupt your happy reunion…

There was no place to tie up the horses, explained Spencer, ignoring Bill. I found a park, but ’twas cemented. And I cried aloud: What sort of park be this? ’Twas a car park. There I tied up the horses, but a man told me I had to pay, but I only had two shillings. Thus, I took the horses and left.

What does it matter? smiled Maria. The fact is that you are here and, once again, to me, you are near!

Yes, my darling! And I shan’t ever leave you again, of that, do not fear!

Oh, Spencer!

Marie!

Once again, Bill had to consider his surroundings and question whether he was dreaming or not, in order to satisfy himself that he was awake. Once he was confident that he was indeed wide awake, he decided the initiative he would take.

Get out! he shouted. Just get out! Go on! The pair of you! I’ve had enough! Enough! It’s Monday morning and…

What is this? quietly enquired Spencer of Marie, turning and eyeing Bill inquisitively.

This is Bill, she informed him.

He?

Apparently.

Yes, so sorry to have been a disappointment, commented Bill, rather sarcastically. So sorry not to have lived up to your expectations. I’m just an ignorant philistine who can’t even answer the door properly.

Is it really he? queried Spencer, disbelievingly.

So I believe, responded Marie, disappointingly. Spencer moved forward so that he was standing before Bill, eyeing him curiously, causing him to feel slightly uncomfortable. He was taller than Bill, and being rather slight and lanky, he towered over him.

You are a fool! suddenly shouted Spencer, loud enough for Bill to stumble backwards.

I have already informed him of that, said Maria.

We are here for you, to forewarn you, and you have no gratitude?

No, no, I don’t, Bill smiled. I’m completely selfish. So why don’t you both take your horses and return back to your silver spoon?

Spencer gasped; he turned and looked at Maria, aghast.

You told him… of… the spoon? he asked in a manner rather accusatory.

No, no, I did but merely mention it, replied Maria, rather defensively.

What did she tell you? Spencer enquired of Bill, earnestly. Tell me! I implore thee to tell me!

Ok, keep your pants on.

My pants?

She said it was shameful.

Shameful? Yes! Yes! cried Spencer in some agony. Oh, the shame! The shame!

Maria consoled the stricken man as he wept into his hands, causing her, too, to begin weeping and sobbing.

Look, I’m really sorry to break up your party, but would you mind, please, just leaving?

Yes, snapped Maria. Yes, we do mind. For we have come all this way, partly for you. So what has been bid of us, we shall do.

Then do whatever it is you need to do and just get out and leave me in peace.

Peace? shouted Spencer. You want peace? You want to be left alone?

Yes.

No.

No?

No! For they shall come. They shall observe. They shall destroy. They shall give you no peace.

Taking away the sunshine they shall bring forth dark clouds of misery and rain.

For you, they shall only bring pain.

Such deceivers in sight, shall withdraw all that is good and that which is right.

They detest the light, but they love the darkness alright,

They shall bring forth their deception and trickery.

Banishing all that which is just and fair.

You shall come to understand, you shall despair.

Hmm… mused Bill. Seriously?

Indeed, affirmed Spencer and Maria.

So what should I do?

Come to the nineteenth century, of course. What else is there to do?

II

Bill, Maria & Spencer Depart For The 19th Century

The journey to the nineteenth century was unremarkable. Along the M25 motorway did the horses trot, soon to exit down the slip road which would merge with the M1. There they would begin the lengthy journey northwards, where they were due to exit at Junction 27A: The nineteenth century.

There are trains, Bill, who was more accustomed to a speedier means of transport, informed Maria.

Trains are not our way, Maria explained. In our century, railroads are only just being built, transforming the landscape, the economy, and indeed our way of life. The rivers and canals are no longer needed for transportation, and this we call the industrial revolution.

Spencer sat at the front, directing the two horses, clicking away to give them direction and keep them on a steady trajectory.

It’s gonna take forever, moaned Bill.

What rush is there? smiled Maria. Besides, we can enjoy the view, the scenery, there’s so much to take in, do you not think?

I try not to think. It’s easier that way, sighed Bill. I’ve never been to the nineteenth century before.

You will be much surprised, for it shall make you appreciate your own century much more.

Is that for sure?

Well, see how you get by on half a loaf of bread for a day, and to those stricken by consumption, what shall you say? There is much here to be appreciative of, at the end of the day.

So you say. But you, yourself, were only now just complaining of the state of things.

Yes, but ’tis a better state than the nineteenth century.

We have our own consumption, a bit different from yours.

I know which I would prefer: most definitely yours.

To consume or be consumed? The choice is yours.

The horse and carriage eventually left the traffic of the M25 and duly joined the traffic of the M1.

What progress has been made.

Yes, indeed, Maria agreed.

I was being sarcastic, explained Bill.

Why? What need for such sarcasm? Progress has indeed been made. You have not had to survive on half a loaf of bread for half a day, then you would note how progress has been made.

But something strikes me as not quite right. And even you, yourself, said that when you examine things, you have the same feeling that something is hidden, being kept out of sight.

I do, said Maria. Whichever the century be, something just appears to be missing.

Can you put your finger on it?

Can you?

No, sighed Bill. It’s like something is being kept out of view.

By who?

If only we knew. Then perhaps we would know what is not quite right.

The built up, urban landscape gradually began to fade and gradually more greenery slowly came into view. Expanses of green, of fields, of farmland, began to fill the more rural scenery.

What exactly is a comedian? Maria, all of a sudden, enquired.

That’s my job, replied Bill. That’s what I do to make a living. I make jokes about things and people laugh.