An Escape in Time Read online

  In the hallway of Aunt Joanna’s house, there was a magic mirror.

  Huge, gold-framed and mysterious, there it hung, looking innocent.

  Ruby Pilgrim glared at it.

  “Just look at that!” she said indignantly. “Sitting there like a lump of glass! Like it’s just – a reflecting thing or something!”

  “It is a reflecting thing,” said her brother, Alex. “It’s just … sometimes it’s a time-travelling thing as well.”

  Because sometimes, the mirror showed another reflection, of another Applecott House in another time. Last summer, they’d gone back to 1912 and helped save a priceless golden cup. Ruby still hadn’t sorted out how she felt about that. She’d hated it and she’d loved it, all at the same time. It had been wonderful … and really, really frightening. For quite a lot of it, she’d been certain they were going to be stuck in 1912 forever, and would probably have to go and live in a workhouse or something and…

  It still made her go cold to remember it.

  But then at Christmas they’d come back to Applecott House, and this time they’d stepped back into 1872. They’d landed in a gloriously Victorian Christmas, with plum pudding, and ice skating on the lake, and charades. There’d been danger there, too, but most of it had been simply wonderful.

  Ruby didn’t like to admit it, but she missed it. All this last year, in a busy, noisy secondary school in a little northern town, where the only things anyone seemed to care about was what sort of shoes you wore, and what sort of music you liked, and who fancied who … Ruby had found her thoughts tugging back again and again to that other time, where magic existed and wishes came true and girls her age wore pinafores and petticoats, and didn’t have to worry about things like eyeliner and tweezers and shaving their legs. The past, though she would never have said so out loud, had been rather restful.

  But now it was half-term. They’d come back to Aunt Joanna’s house for their cousin’s wedding, and were staying on a couple of days so that their parents could help Aunt Joanna with the repairs to the house. And this time…

  This time, she kept looking at the glass, hoping it would change.

  “I was so sure it would open again,” she said. “But why would it? It’s not like we’re anyone special really, are we?”

  “I suppose not,” said Alex sadly.

  They both looked back at the mirror.

  Which was reflecting another room.

  “Oh!” said Ruby.

  The room in the mirror was, very definitely, not in Applecott House. It was clearly a much grander place, with blue walls and tall windows showing a large formal garden. There was an elaborate-looking fireplace behind it, with enormous golden candlesticks on the mantel. Ruby didn’t have time to properly take this in, though, because all at once a person appeared in the frame.

  It was a very, very superior-looking person, in a long, loose gown, of the sort that needs an awful lot of artifice to look natural. At least, Ruby supposed it did; the person had a very narrow waist, which must mean she was wearing a corset, and her hair, though loose-ish, was elaborately loose, with three curls hanging here, and a big bouffy bit here, and it was a very unnatural-looking greyish-white, as though someone had covered it in powder.

  Her cap was complicated too, with lots of lacy bits, and there was more lace round her neck, and ribbons on her sleeves, and what looked like little roses on her shoes. She looked like a very rich person who had spent an hour this morning dressing herself up to look like a very expensive milkmaid.

  She appeared to be in a state of panic. She was shouting at someone outside the frame and pulling at them. Alex and Ruby couldn’t hear what she said, but she seemed to be pleading with someone just out of sight. She stumbled backwards, and the person was revealed. He was a boy about Ruby’s age or a little older, dressed in a blue suit complete with waistcoat, short, tight trousers that came to his knees, white stockings and blue shoes with shiny silver buckles. He had shaggy brown hair that touched his shoulders and he too looked terrified. He was shouting and crying hysterically. His hands flapped in the air in front of him and his mother grabbed them, pulling them down, and then —

  And then they stumbled sideways against the mirror.

  And vanished.

  “Where have they gone?” said Ruby. She scrambled off the window seat. “They should be here! Shouldn’t they? Shouldn’t they have come here? Where are they?”

  “How should I know?” said Alex. Then: “Look!”

  Another person had appeared in the mirror. It was a girl who could have been anywhere from about fifteen to nineteen. She was dressed more simply, in a long, plain dress, and her hair, though curled, was less artfully arranged. She ran up to the mirror and her eyes widened in shock. She could see them – Alex was sure of it. She was staring at him.

  They both, almost without thinking, moved closer to the mirror – so close that they could have reached out and touched the girl if they’d wanted. It was strangely intimate, the three of them there looking so intently at each other, separated only by the glass. Ruby hardly dared to move in case the girl vanished. Who was she? What was happening?

  And then, suddenly, the girl in the mirror flinched and looked back over her shoulder. There it was – the same look of terror on her face. Someone else was there – men, more roughly dressed than the women, with long shaggy hair, holding old-fashioned guns. Muskets? They advanced on the mirror, and the girl turned and plunged herself into it.

  Ruby had never seen someone come out of the mirror before. She drew back in instinctive panic. The girl’s arms and hands appeared, then her head, then her fingers gripped round their arms with unexpected vigour.

  “Hey!” Ruby yelled. “What are you doing?”

  But it was too late. Because now the mirror was sucking them in.

  Ruby cried, “Let go!”

  And then they landed on the floor with a thump.

  “Ow!” said Alex.

  “What did you do that for?” Ruby yelled.

  She sat up, rubbing the back of her head. The three of them – Alex, Ruby and the young woman – were lying on a tiled floor in the hallway of what must be Applecott House. But how strange it looked!

  Everything, except the basic shape of the room, was different. The windows were small and diamond-paned and there were many more of them; there were oil paintings on the wall and no furniture in the hallway at all, except for a small table with a little silver dish and a wide-brimmed black hat on it. The front doors looked different, and the door to the downstairs toilet was missing. There were no light fittings, not even for gas. No radiators (the room was rather cold). No plug sockets. Nothing looked familiar and the whole place looked new.

  Applecott House was Georgian. It had looked old for as long as Alex could remember. Worn stonework on the outside walls of the house. Worn paint on the back door (the front was kept nice for the guests at Aunt Joanna’s bed and breakfast). Old glass, and old pipes, and old, smooth bannisters – old everything.

  This house looked new. The walls were freshly papered with green wallpaper. The bannisters were clearly made of new wood, and so were the window frames. It was disorientating. It smelled of fresh autumn air, and candle wax, and wood polish, and smoke.

  “Good Lord! What devilry is this? More of you!”

  It was a man’s voice. The children turned. Standing behind them – staring – were the grand woman and the boy from the mirror, looking, if anything, grander and more overdressed than ever in person. Next to them, looking utterly astonished, was a short, stocky man, with red hair and the most extraordinary red side whiskers, like mad overgrown sideburns. He was youngish – perhaps early twenties – and not fat exactly, but his waistcoat was definitely too tight, and his stomach bulged ou
t of the bottom. He was dressed entirely, completely in black, and his face was round and red and amiable, though his mouth was open in amazement.

  The boy cried, “Mademoiselle Crouchman!” in a French accent, and the young woman, who was sitting on the floor next to Ruby, scrambled to feet, crying, “My lord! My lady!” Unlike the boy, her voice sounded properly English, like she’d been speaking it all her life. “My apologies, sir, I do not believe we have been introduced.”

  The whiskery man gave a brisk bow.

  “Frederick Pilgrim at your service,” he said.

  Alex and Ruby looked at each other. A Pilgrim! Family!

  “I am – excuse me, madam, I am all astonishment. It is not usual in these parts for gentlefolk – or, indeed, any folk at all – to travel by means of a looking glass. What manner of creatures are you? If you be devils, I assure you I am a gentleman of the cloth, and I will undertake to cast you out by any means possible. Although –” and here he almost smiled – “I confess, I do know exactly know how one performs an exorcism, the existence of demons not being a matter of much consequence in Suffolk.”

  “Demons!” said the grand woman, drawing herself to her full height. She had the same French accent as the boy. “I assure you, sir, I am no demon. I am the Countess d’Allonette, and I demand you explain yourself at once. How came you to own my looking glass? To what purpose did you transport us here? Are you a part of this dreadful revolution? Explain yourself, I insist!”

  “Oh!” said Ruby. “You’re the witch!” She grabbed Alex’s arm in excitement. “Don’t you remember? Aunt Joanna said a witch made the mirror magic to escape getting guillotined in the French Revolution. She said this Countess was about to be arrested, and she just stepped into a mirror and disappeared!”

  “A witch!” The Countess turned an icy expression on to Ruby. “I am a noblewoman of France, a country now sadly overrun by barbarians. What mean you by such remarks?”

  “Well, somebody made the mirror magic,” said Alex. “And it wasn’t us.”

  There was a small noise behind them. Alex turned. The young woman – Mademoiselle Crouchman – was clearing her throat.

  “I beg your pardon, my lady,” she said. “But I believe it may have been me.”

  There was a short, stunned pause. Then Miss Crouchman swayed.

  “My apologies,” she said. “I feel – a little—”

  Frederick caught her hand.

  “The lady is faint,” he said. He raised his voice. “Ho, there! Some assistance, please!”

  A maid appeared. To Alex’s surprise, she looked about Ruby’s age, with raw red hands, a thin, rough-looking face, and fine black hair scraped under a cap.

  Frederick said, “Helen! I wish you would fetch us some refreshments for our guests. And some wine for the lady, who is feeling faint.”

  The girl stared, then bobbed her head, said, “Of course, sir,” and disappeared back into the kitchen.

  Frederick took Miss Crouchman’s arm.

  “If you would allow me, madam. My drawing room is just through here. Perhaps we might sit and take some tea and you – and your mistress –” a glance at the Countess, who was looking furious – “might tell me what’s amiss. I own I long to know who you are and what concerns you with my poor parish.”

  The Countess drew herself up to her full height.

  “Mademoiselle Crouchman! Control yourself!” she said. Then, graciously to Frederick, she said, “Naturally, we would be delighted to accept. Camille! Come!” And she swept out of the hallway and through the door, the boy following behind her.

  Frederick looked at the children and made a face clearly intended to mean “Phew!” Alex giggled. He liked this man who must be some relation of his.

  “Now, Miss Crouchman,” he said, “do not distress yourself. I shall endeavour to assist you and your friends in whatever way I can. Believe me, truly, when I say it will be as much a duty as a pleasure.”

  Miss Crouchman nodded. “It is just… It is so very strange!”

  “Indeed it is.” Frederick squeezed her hand. “Come! Let us share our stories, and surely we shall find the answer to all our questions.”

  They went through into the drawing room, which had pale blue walls, a little coffee table, a green sofa and chairs with little legs, and a bookcase with glass doors. It looked rather more girly than Alex expected, but old-fashioned houses often looked like that. This room was rather colder than was comfortable, but there was a small fire burning in the grate, which helped.

  The maid – Helen – reappeared with a small glass of wine for Miss Crouchman and another for the Countess, who drank it with her icy expression. The boy, Camille, sat close beside her with rather a closed expression on his face. He was still very white.

  “Now,” said Frederick, when they had finished. “Let us all tell our tales and see if we can come to an understanding of our situation. I shall begin. I am a poor clergyman, of the parish of Dalton in Suffolk. I bought the looking glass in the hallway from a dealer in Ipswich, who told me it had come from the King’s palace in Versailles. Naturally, I did not believe him, but perchance he was correct?” He looked enquiringly at the Countess.

  Camille said, “We were in Versailles but a moment ago. How –?”

  “It’s a time-travelling mirror,” said Ruby. “I told you. Look – what’s the date today?”

  “’Tis … now, let me see … the twentieth of September, 1795,” said Frederick.

  The Countess gasped. “Nay! ’Tis not possible! Why, ’twas but March 1794 when we left France!” She rounded on Mademoiselle Crouchman. “What witchcraft is this? How can one travel from spring to autumn without passing through summer between? How can one leap across a whole year without touching it?”

  “Indeed I long to know,” Frederick agreed. “Would not one bump into houses and people as one travelled through the months?”

  “What? No! It’s not like that at all!” said Ruby. “It’s just – it’s like stepping through a door. And then you step out here. I don’t know what happens to all the years in between.”

  “Perchance Miss Crouchman can enlighten us.”

  “Oh!” Miss Crouchman shook her head. “As to that, sir, ’tis as great a mystery to me as it is to you.”

  “Well! Let us not concern ourselves with the wherefores before we have dispensed with the whats,” said Frederick, which Alex thought meant Let’s not worry about why until we’ve figured out what has happened. “My lady?” He inclined his head. “May I beg you to tell us your tale?”

  “Naturally, you may.” The Countess drew herself up and seemed about to begin, when the door opened and the little servant girl appeared again, carrying a tray with a teapot and teacups on it.

  There was a pause while Frederick fussed around pouring cups of tea and offering everyone little cakes. The tea was weak and rather disgusting, and the cakes tasted mostly of raisins. At last, when everyone was served, Frederick bobbed his head to the Countess and said, “And now, my lady. Let us begin.”

  The Countess sat up a little straighter. She looked all around the drawing room to make sure she had their full attention. Then she said, “My name is Jeanne d’Aubenny, Countess d’Allonette. This is my son, Camille d’Aubenny, Lord Connett. And this is Camille’s English governess, Eleanor Crouchman, a very good sort of woman.”

  Alex glanced at the governess, Eleanor. She was looking at the floor, her hands clenched. He wondered how old she was.

  “Naturally, the situation in France has been causing much distress to our friends and ourselves.” She meant the French Revolution, Alex realised. He didn’t know much about the French Revolution. There was the old joke: “The peasants are revolting!” And something about the Queen telling people to eat cake. But one thing he did know was the revolutionaries chopped off the heads of the aristocrats with guillotines. Was that what had been happening to the Countess’s friends?

  Was that what those men had wanted to do to the Countess?

  “
Since the death of the Count, Camille and I have been part of the Queen’s court at Versailles. In recent months, we have been working to help our friends to safety.”

  “You mean you were a counter-revolutionary?” Ruby perked up. “Did you sneak around after dark getting people out of the palace? Did you have a musket?”

  “What an abominable notion!” The Countess looked horrified. “Naturally, I did nothing of the sort. No, I merely … passed messages and made introductions, nothing less.”

  “Like a spy for the resistance,” said Alex, fascinated.

  The Countess bristled. “Nay! I assure you, nothing so vulgar.”

  “Vulgar! Nay! I think it everything that is brave and noble!” said Frederick enthusiastically. The Countess twitched her skirt with a gesture of irritation, but a prim look of self-satisfaction crept around her lips.

  “As to that, it was nothing,” she said. “But evidently the soldiers of the revolution did not agree. This very afternoon, they burst into our rooms, determined to drag us off to the Bastille, and from there –”

  She paused dramatically.

  “The guillotine!” said Ruby.

  “Just so. We screamed and fought, but there was nothing to do. Just as we thought all hope was lost, I happened to glance at my looking glass and saw that the reflection had altered, so that it showed another room and place. Naturally, I assumed it was a secret door, placed there for our escape. I grasped Camille’s arm and stepped into the looking glass. And found myself here.” She waved a dismissive hand at Eleanor and Alex and Ruby. “I know not who these children are, or what this child’s mother thinks to have her go about half dressed.”

  “They’re trousers,” said Ruby. “I’m just as dressed as Camille is!”

  “As to that,” said Frederick hastily. “Perhaps it is time for Miss Crouchman to speak.”

  He looked enquiringly at Eleanor, who drew in a deep breath and nodded. She was still rather pale, but her voice was steady.

  “My name is Eleanor Crouchman,” she said. “I am a lady of modest income but respectable birth. My mother died when I was a child, and my father when I was fifteen; for the past two years, I have worked in Versailles as an English governess to the young baron.”