“You’ve already met my nephew Gideon,” said Mr. de Villiers. “He went through the experiences that you are now having two years ago. Although he was better prepared than you’ve been. It’s going to be difficult to make up all the ground you’ve lost these last few years.”
“Difficult? Impossible is how I’d put it,” said Dr. White.
“Anyway, there’s no need,” said Gideon. “I can do it all far better on my own.”
“We’ll see,” said Mr. de Villiers.
“I think you’re underestimating the girl,” said Mr. George. Then he said, in a solemn, almost unctuous tone of voice, “Gwyneth Shepherd, you are now part of an ancient mystery. And it’s high time you heard more about that mystery. In the first place, you should know that—”
“We mustn’t go too fast,” Dr. White interrupted him. “She may have the gene, but that doesn’t mean she can be trusted.”
“Or that she has any idea what it’s all about,” added Gideon.
He obviously thought I was dim.
Stuck-up idiot.
“Who knows what instructions her mother has given her?” said Dr. White. “And who knows who, in turn, gave her mother those instructions? We have only the one chronograph. We can’t afford another bad mistake. I’m just suggesting you bear that in mind.”
Mr. George looked as if he’d been slapped in the face. “It’s possible to make things unnecessarily complicated,” he murmured.
“I’ll take you to my consulting room now,” said Dr. White. “No offense, Thomas, but there’ll be time for explanations later.”
I felt a cold shudder run down my spine at his words. Going into a room alone with Dr. Frankenstein was the last thing I wanted. “I’d like to see my mum,” I said, taking the risk that the rest of them might think I sounded like a toddler.
Gideon scornfully clicked his tongue.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, Gwyneth,” Mr. George assured me. “We just need a little of your blood, and Dr. White will also be responsible for your immunizations and general health. I’m afraid there are all kinds of dangerous infections around in the past, things that the human organism never encounters these days. It will all be over soon.”
Did he have any idea how awful that sounded? We only need a little of your blood, and it will all be over soon.
“But I … I don’t want to be alone with Dr. Franken … Dr. White,” I said. I didn’t care whether the man thought I was being rude or not. He had no manners himself. As for Gideon—he could think whatever he liked about me!
“Dr. White isn’t as … as heartless as he may seem to you,” said Mr. George. “You really don’t have to—”
“Oh, yes, she does!” growled Dr. White.
I was beginning to lose my temper. Who did this pompous guy think he was? Why didn’t he go and buy a suit in a nice color instead of tormenting me?
“Do I, though? What will you do if I refuse?” I hissed, noticing at the same time that his eyes were red and inflamed behind those black-rimmed glasses.
Much to my relief, before Dr. White could think what he would do to me if I refused (and my imagination was coming up with some unappetizing ideas at the speed of light), Mr. de Villiers interrupted us. “I’ll ask Mrs. Jenkins to go with you,” he said. “And Mr. George will stay with you until she arrives.”
I cast the doctor a triumphant glance, the kind that’s like sticking out your tongue, but he ignored me.
“We’ll meet in the Dragon Hall in half an hour’s time,” Mr. de Villiers went on.
I didn’t mean to, but as I was on my way out I turned back once, quickly, to see if my triumph over Dr. White had impressed Gideon. Obviously not, because he was looking at my legs. Probably comparing them with Charlotte’s.
Hers were longer and thinner, dammit! And she certainly didn’t have scratches all over her calves from clambering about last night among a lot of old junk and a stuffed crocodile.
DR. WHITE’S CONSULTING ROOM looked like any other doctor’s. And when he put a white coat on over his suit and washed his hands thoroughly for a long time, Dr. White looked like any other doctor I’d ever seen. Only the little fair-haired ghost boy beside him was rather unusual.
“Jacket off, sleeves up,” said Dr. White.
Mr. George translated for him. “Would you please be kind enough to take your jacket off and roll your sleeves up?”
The little ghost was watching, interested. When I smiled at him, he hastily hid behind Dr. White, only to peer out again a second later. “Can you by any chance see me?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Don’t look,” grunted Dr. White, tying a bandage around one arm.
“I don’t mind the sight of blood,” I said. “Even when it’s my own.”
“The others can’t see me,” said the little ghost.
“I know,” I said. “My name’s Gwyneth. What’s yours?”
“Dr. White to you,” said Dr. White.
“I’m Robert,” said the ghost.
“That’s a very nice name,” I said.
“Thank you,” said Dr. White. “I’ll return the compliment by saying you have very nice veins.” I’d hardly felt the needle prick me. Dr. White carefully filled a little tube with my blood. Then he exchanged the full tube for an empty one and filled that too.
“She isn’t talking to you, Jake,” said Mr. George.
“She isn’t? Who is she talking to, then?”
“Robert,” I said.
Dr. White’s head jerked up. He looked straight at me for the first time. “What did you say?”
“Oh, never mind,” I said.
Dr. White muttered something to himself that I couldn’t make out. Mr. George gave me a conspiratorial smile.
There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Jenkins, the secretary with the big glasses, came in.
“Ah, there you are at last,” said Dr. White. “You can clear out now, Thomas, and Mrs. Jenkins will see to the proprieties. You can sit over there,” he told her. “But keep your mouth shut.”
“Charming as ever,” said Mrs. Jenkins, but she obediently sat down on the chair he pointed out.
“See you soon,” said Mr. George to me. He held up one of the little tubes with my blood in it. “I’ll just go and put this in the tank,” he added with a grin.
“Where’s the chronograph kept? And what does it look like?” I asked as the door closed behind Mr. George. “Can you sit in it?”
“The last person to question me about the chronograph stole it nearly two years later.” Dr. White took the needle out of my arm and pressed a piece of gauze on my skin to stop the bleeding. “So I’m sure you’ll understand that I’m reluctant to answer such questions.”
“The chronograph was stolen?”
Robert, the little ghost boy, nodded vigorously.
“By your delightful cousin Lucy herself,” said Dr. White. “I remember the first time she sat here. Apparently just as innocent and naive as you seem now.”
“Lucy’s nice,” said Robert. “I like her.” Being a ghost, he probably felt as if he’d last seen Lucy only yesterday.
“Lucy stole the chronograph? But why?”
“How would I know? Schizoid personality disturbance, probably,” growled Dr. White. “Obviously runs in the family. Hysterical females, all these Montrose women. And Lucy had a great deal of criminal spirit in her.”
“Dr. White!” said Mrs. Jenkins. “That’s not true!”
“Didn’t I tell you to keep your mouth shut?” said Dr. White.
“But if Lucy stole the chronograph, how can it still be here?” I asked.
“How, indeed?” Dr. White undid the strap around my arm. “There’s a second one, of course, you clever child. When was your last tetanus jab?”
“No idea. So there are several chronographs?”
“No, only those two,” said Dr. White. “You obviously haven’t been vaccinated against variola major.” He tapped my upper arm as he examined it. “Any chronic sicknesses? Allergies?”
“No. I haven’t been inoculated against the plague either. Or cholera. Or smallpox.” I thought of James. “Can you inoculate people against smallpox? I’ve an idea that a friend of mine died of it.”
“I sincerely doubt that,” said Dr. White. “Smallpox is just another name for variola major, and no one’s died of it for a very long time.”
“Well, my friend has been dead for a very long time.”
“I thought variola was another name for measles,” said Mrs. Jenkins.
“And I thought we’d agreed that you’d keep your mouth shut, Mrs. Jenkins.”
Mrs. Jenkins said no more.
“Why are you so unfriendly to everyone?” I asked. “Ouch!”
“That was only a little prick,” said Dr. White.
“What was it for, then?”
“Believe me, you really don’t want to know.”
I sighed. The little ghost called Robert sighed as well. “Is he always like this?” I asked him.
“Mostly,” replied Robert.
“He doesn’t really mean it.” said Mrs. Jenkins.
“Mrs. Jenkins!”
“Oh, very well.”
“Well, I’m through with you for now. By next time I’ll have your blood group, and maybe your charming mother will be so good as to come up with your inoculation record and any records of illness.”
“I’ve never been ill. Am I inoculated against the plague now?”
“No. Not really worth it. The jab lasts only six months, and the side effects are nasty. And if I have it my way, you’ll never travel to a plague year at all. You can put your things back on, and Mrs. Jenkins will take you back up to the others.”
Mrs. Jenkins rose from her chair. “Come along, Gwyneth. I’m sure you’re hungry, and supper will soon be ready. Mrs. Mallory has roast veal with asparagus on the menu today, delicious.”
I certainly was hungry. Even for roast veal with asparagus, and I wasn’t normally a big fan of eating baby cows.
“The doctor has a kind heart, really, you know,” said Mrs. Jenkins on our way up. “He just finds it rather difficult to be friendly.”
“So I notice.”
“He used to be quite different. Cheerful, always good-tempered. He did wear those dreadful black suits, even then, but at least with colored ties. That was before his son died—such a tragedy. He’s been a different man ever since.”
“Robert.”
“Yes, the little boy was called Robert,” said Mrs. Jenkins. “Has Mr. George been telling you about him?”
“No.
“A dear child. He drowned in a pool at a birthday party. Imagine that.” Mrs. Jenkins counted years on her fingers as we walked along. “It was eighteen years ago now. Poor Dr. White.”
