The Chronicles of St Mary's Omnibus, page 1
Copyright © 2013, 2013, 2014 Jodi Taylor
The right of Jodi Taylor to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in this eBook omnibus edition in 2020
by HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
Just One Damned Thing After Another
First published in Great Britain in 2013 by Accent Press Ltd
First published by HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP in 2019
A Symphony of Echoes
First published in Great Britain in 2013 by Accent Press Ltd
First published by HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP in 2019
A Second Chance
First published in Great Britain in 2014 by Accent Press Ltd
First published by HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP in 2019
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN: 978 1 4722 6686 6
Cover credit © www.zoedrawsthings.co.uk
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Author
Also by
About the Books
Just One Damned Thing After Another
Author's note
Epigraph
Dramatis Thingummy
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
A Symphony of Echoes
Dramatis Thingummy
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
A Second Chance
Dramatis Thingummy
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Jodi Taylor is the internationally bestselling author of the Chronicles of St Mary’s series, the story of a bunch of disaster-prone individuals who investigate major historical events in contemporary time. Do NOT call it time travel!
Born in Bristol and now living in Gloucester (facts both cities vigorously deny), she spent many years with her head somewhere else, much to the dismay of family, teachers and employers, before finally deciding to put all that daydreaming to good use and write a novel. Nearly twenty books later, she still has no idea what she wants to do when she grows up.
By Jodi Taylor and available from Headline
Time Police series
Doing Time
The Chronicles of St Mary’s series
Just One Damned Thing After Another
A Symphony of Echoes
A Second Chance
A Trail Through Time
No Time Like the Past
What Could Possibly Go Wrong?
Lies, Damned Lies, and History
And the Rest is History
An Argumentation of Historians
Hope for the Best
The Long and Short of It (short-story collection)
Long Story Short (short-story collection)
The Chronicles of St Mary’s digital shorts
When a Child is Born
Roman Holiday
Christmas Present
Ships and Stings and Wedding Rings
The Great St Mary’s Day Out
My Name is Markham
A Perfect Storm
Christmas Past
Battersea Barricades
The Steam-Pump Jump
And Now For Something Completely Different
When Did You Last See Your Father?
Why is Nothing Ever Simple?
Elizabeth Cage novels
White Silence
Dark Light
Frogmorton Farm series
The Nothing Girl
The Something Girl
Little Donkey (digital short)
_____________
A Bachelor Establishment
About the books
JUST ONE DAMNED THING AFTER ANOTHER
So tell me, Dr Maxwell, if the whole of History lay before you . . . where would you go? What would you like to witness?
When Madeleine Maxwell is recruited by the St Mary’s Institute of Historical Research, she discovers the historians there don’t just study the past – they revisit it.
But one wrong move and History will fight back – to the death. And she soon discovers it’s not just History she’s fighting . . .
A SYMPHONY OF ECHOES
Wherever the historians go, chaos is sure to follow . . .
Dispatched to Victorian London to seek out Jack the Ripper, things go badly wrong when he finds the St Mary’s historians first. Stalked through the fog-shrouded streets of Whitechapel, Max is soon running for her life. Again.
And that’s just the start. Max finds herself in a race against time when an old enemy is intent on destroying St Mary’s. An enemy willing, if necessary, to destroy History itself.
A SECOND CHANCE
I could have been a bomb-disposal expert, or a volunteer for the Mars mission, or a firefighter, something safe and sensible. But, no, I had to be an historian.
It began well. A successful assignment to 17th-century Cambridge to meet Isaac Newton, and another to witness the historic events at The Gates of Grief. So far so good.
But then came the long-awaited jump to the Trojan War that changed everything. And for Max, nothing will ever be the same again.
With the bloody Battle of Agincourt playing out around her, Max risks everything on one last desperate gamble to save a life and learns the true meaning of a second chance.
I made all this up. Historians and physicists – please do not spit on me in the street.
Jodi Taylor
‘History is just one damned thing after another.’
Arnold Toynbee
DRAMATIS THINGUMMY
Dr Edward
Bairstow
Director of St Mary's.
Tall, authoritative. Early 50s. Holds together a volatile mix of technicians, historians, kitchen staff, security teams and the sometimes explosive Research and Development Section.
Mrs. Partridge
PA to Director. Not to be crossed.
HISTORY DEPARTMENT
Madeleine
Maxwell (Max)
Historian. In her late 20s. Short, red-haired, engaging, impatient, self-deprecating, with a murky past and a precarious future.
Tim Peterson
Historian, late 20s. Tall and shaggy. A good friend.
Kalinda Black
Historian. Blonde and blue-eyed.
Looks like a Disney princess.
Possibly drinks the blood of recently qualified trainees. Recipient of Mr Dieter's affections.
Sussman
Grant
Rutherford
Stevens
Nagley
Jordan
Max's fellow trainees.
TECHNICAL SECTION
Leon Farrell
Chief Technical Officer.
In his mid-30s. Dark hair, blue eyes, competent, calm, quiet.
Mr Dieter
Farrell's number two. Built like a brick shi – a very large young man.
MEDICAL SECTION
Dr Helen Foster
Early 30s. Medical doctor and with the people skills of Vlad the Impaler.
Recipient of Mr Peterson's affections.
& nbsp; Nurse Hunter
Recipient of Markham's dubious affections.
SECURITY SECTION
Major Ian
Guthrie
Head of Security and whose unenviable task it is to keep St Mary's safe, despite all their best efforts. Late 30s.
Mr Markham
Security guard.
Small, grubby and disaster-prone.
Reputedly indestructible – which is just as well.
Mr Whissell
Nasty piece of work.
Big Dave
Murdoch. Gentle giant.
RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT
Professor Rapson
Head of R & D.
Age unknown. Lives in his own world. Responsible for the destruction of the Clock Tower and the disastrous Icarus experiment. Apparently unaware of the properties of methane.
Doctor Dowson
Librarian and Archivist.
Age unknown. Also not quite up to speed re methane.
IT DEPARTMENT
Isabella Barclay
Head of IT. Professional bitch. Short, spiteful and redheaded. Gossip says she harbours an unrequited passion for Farrell.
Polly Perkins
Technician
OTHERS
Mrs Mack
Kitchen Supremo. Mid 40s
Jenny Fields
Kitchen Assistant and dodo advocate.
Mrs De Winter
Retired schoolteacher.
Turk
Officially a horse.
THE VILLAIN
Clive Ronan
Dark, nondescript, impassive and deadly.
Plus, assorted armies, raptors, stonemasons and hostile contemporaries too numerous to mention.
There have been two moments in my life when everything changed. Moments when things could have gone either way. Moments when I had to make a choice.
The first occurred when, after another disruptive day at school, I stood in front of my head teacher, Mrs De Winter. I’d done the sullen silence thing and waited for expulsion, because I was long past ‘three strikes and you’re out’. It didn’t happen.
Instead, she said, with a strange urgency, ‘Madeleine, you cannot let your home circumstances define your entire life. You are intelligent – you have abilities of which you are not even aware. This is the only chance you will ever have. I can help you. Will you allow me to do so?’
No one had ever offered to help me before. Something flickered inside me, but distrust and suspicion die hard.
She said softly, ‘I can help you. Last chance, Madeleine. Yes or no?’
No words came. I was trapped in a prison of my own making.
‘Yes or no?’
I took a huge breath and said ‘yes’.
She handed me a book, a notepad, and two pens.
‘We’ll start with Ancient Egypt. Read the first two chapters and Chapter Six. You must learn to assimilate, edit, and present information. I want 1500 words on the precise nature of Ma’at. By Friday.’
‘Is this a punishment?’
‘No, Madeleine. This is an opportunity.’
‘But … you know I can’t take this home.’
‘You can use the school library and leave your stuff there. Miss Hughes is expecting you.’
That was the first moment.
The second one came ten years later. An email – right out of the blue:
My dear Madeleine,
I am sure you will be surprised to hear from me, but I have to say that, since you left the University of Thirsk, I have followed your career with great interest and some pride. Congratulations on your academic record at Thirsk, Doctor Maxwell. It is always gratifying to see a former pupil do so well, particularly one who laboured under so many difficulties in her early years I am writing now with details of a job opportunity I think you will find extremely interesting.
You will be aware, from your time at Thirsk, of the existence of a sister site -the St Mary's Institute of Historical Research – an organisation I think would appeal to anyone who, like you, prefers a less structured existence. Their work inclines more towards the practical side of historical research. This is all I can say at the moment.
The Institute is located just outside Rushford, where I now reside, and interviews are on the fourth of next month. Do you think you would be interested? I feel it would be just the thing for you, so I do hope you will consider it. Your travels and archaeological experience will stand you in good stead and I really think you are exactly the type of person for whom they are looking.
The pay is terrible and the conditions are worse, but it's a wonderful place to work – they have some talented people there. If you are interested, please click on the link below to set up a possible interview.
Please do not reject this opportunity out of hand. I know you have always preferred to work abroad, but given the possibility that America may close its borders again and the fragmentation within the EU, perhaps now is the time to consider a slightly more settled lifestyle.
With best regards,
Sibyl De Winter
I always said my life began properly the day I walked through the gates of St Mary's. The sign read:
UNIVERSITY OF THIRSK.
INSTITUTE OF HISTORICAL RESEARCH
ST MARY’S PRIORY CAMPUS.
DIRECTOR DR EDWARD G. BAIRSTOW
BA MA PHD FRHS
I rang the buzzer and a voice said, ‘Can I help you, miss?’
‘Yes, my name's Maxwell. I have an appointment with Doctor Bairstow at 2.00 p.m.’
‘Go straight up the drive and through the front door. You can’t miss it.’
A bit over-optimistic there, I thought. I once got lost on a staircase.
At the front door, I signed in and was politely wanded by a uniformed guard, which was a little unusual for an educational establishment. I did my best to look harmless and it must have worked because he escorted me through the vestibule into the Hall. Waiting for me stood Mrs De Winter, who looked no different from the last time I saw her, the day she took me off to Thirsk. The day I got away from that invention of the devil – family life.
We smiled and shook hands.
‘Would you like a tour before the interview?’
‘You work here?’
‘I’m loosely attached. I recruit occasionally. This way please.’
The place was huge. The echoing central Hall was part of the original building with medieval narrow windows. At the far end, an ornate oak staircase with ten shallow steps and a broad half landing branched off left and right to a gallery running round all four sides of the hall.
Various rooms opened off this gallery. Through the open doors, I could see an entire suite which seemed to be devoted to costumes and equipment. People trotted busily with armfuls of cloth and mouths full of pins. Garments in varying stages of completion hung from hangers or from tailor's dummies. The rooms were bright, sunny, and full of chatter.
‘We do a lot of work for film and television,’ explained Mrs Enderby, in charge of Wardrobe. She was small and round, with a sweet smile. ‘Sometimes they only want research and we send them details of appropriate costumes and materials, but sometimes we get to make them too. This one, for instance, is for an historical adaptation of the life of Charles II and the Restoration. Lots of bosoms and sex obviously, but I’ve always thought Charles to be a much underrated monarch. This dress is for Nell Gwynn in her “orange” period and that one for the French strumpet, Louise de Kérouaille.’
‘It's lovely,’ I said softly, carefully not touching the material. ‘The detail is superb. Sadly, it's a bit modern for me.’
‘Dr Maxwell is Ancient History,’ said Mrs De Winter. Apologetically, I thought.
‘Oh dear,’ sighed Mrs Enderby. ‘Well, it's not all bad news, I suppose. There’ll be drapery and togas and tunics, of course, but even so.’ She tailed off. I had obviously disappointed her.
