A Catalogue of Catastrophe, page 43
part #13 of Chronicles of St. Mary's Series
I was wondering exactly how to introduce the subject without giving her a relapse when she did it for me.
‘1848.’
I jumped. Did she do mind-reading as well?
‘Yes?’ I said, cautiously.
‘They were everywhere, you know.’
‘Who?’
‘Insight. Especially all over northern Europe. Setting up problems for the future was my guess. I even thought I saw that boss of yours once or twice. You know – the one who took you on at Home Farm and lost.’
This was surely the perfect moment.
‘Well . . .’ I said.
She drained her glass, set it down and looked up. ‘Well, what?’
I grinned at her. ‘I’ve had an idea.’
She closed her eyes. ‘I don’t think I want to know.’
‘Bet you do.’
‘Does it involve risk and reward?’
‘A very great deal of both, yes.’
‘How much reward?’
‘A lot. If we live long enough to spend it.’
‘How much risk?’
‘Oh, masses. Tons and tons. It’s almost certain none of us will survive.’
‘And the downside?’
‘It’s all downside.’
‘You’re not really selling this, you know.’
I grinned again. ‘Actually, I think I am.’
‘Who else knows about this idea?’
‘Right now – just me. In ten minutes – you. If I can hoik Markham out of the bar and make him understand simple words – him. Pennyroyal, I’ll leave to you.’
‘Wise,’ she said. She emptied the contents of the jug into her glass. ‘Go on, then. Hit me with the details.’
I wobbled over to her bed, found a chair and talked nonstop for about ten minutes.
Lady Amelia didn’t say a word the whole time. She didn’t even take a sip from her glass. At the end she just stared at me. ‘Are you out of your mind?’
‘There really isn’t an answer which would be acceptable to both of us, so perhaps we should just move on.’
‘We don’t have a base from which to operate.’
‘Dr Bairstow owes us. We can operate out of St Mary’s.’
‘That’s . . . I mean . . . It’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard. Not the St Mary’s bit – the other thing. It’s outrageous.’
I nodded. ‘Yes.’
She sipped. ‘Insane.’
‘Is that another word for audacious?’
‘Reckless beyond description.’
‘I think you mean bold.’
‘Irresponsible.’
‘Dazzling.’
She snorted. ‘Unimaginable folly.’
I grinned at her. There was a very long silence, during which I imagined the wheels going round, cogs engaging, bounties calculated . . .
She sighed heavily. ‘You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?’
I smiled sympathetically. ‘You’ll feel so much better once you do.’
She sighed again. ‘Very well.’ She drained her glass again and squared her shoulders. ‘Congratulations, Dr Maxwell. It’s a Brilliant Idea.’
THE END
Acknowledgements
Thanks, as always, to Phil Dawson – my go-to guy for pain, suffering and all the illegal stuff.
Thanks to Janet Thompson, winner of this year’s CLIC Sargent ‘Get in Character’ auction, who makes a starring appearance not unconnected with Markham’s Spotted Dick. I offered her the chance to be a bad-ass assassin and she turned it down for love of Markham. Psychiatric treatment has been declined.
Thanks to my brother – not the eminent author, the other one. The one we keep for emergencies because he’s the most respectable member of the family, who advised me on the technicalities of head-shaving. I don’t just throw these books together, you know. There was a half-hour consultation – for which he tried to charge me – on clippers versus razors, how long it would take, razor rash, etc., all of which, inevitably, led to unkind jokes about the time he walked into a lamppost and ended up in A&E. Yes, of course he was drunk.
Thanks to all those at Headline who work so hard on my behalf.
My editor, Frankie Edwards.
Jo and Shadé for Marketing.
Emily who handles the Publicity.
And, of course, everyone involved with Sales, Rights, Art, Production, etc.
And my copy editor, Sharona.
And Hannah for the Audio side.
Yes, it really does take all these people to render my books suitable for public consumption.
For those who complain about the wild improbability of my plots – and I know who you are – I’d like to state now that the events of Chapter 35 are a true and accurate account of something that actually happened to me. Even including the cheesy toes. It wasn’t a good morning, culinarily speaking. Understandably, I’ve gone right off kale.
For the avoidance of any legal consequences, my publishers have instructed me to point out that, as far as I know, the British Museum has not drifted to the dark side. Not even a little bit. I think they – my publishers, not the BM – have concerns about being sacrificed to whatever lurks in the British Museum’s Dark and Secret Cellars. Which, of course, do not exist.
Have you met the Time Police?
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Enter Jane, Luke and Matthew. The worst recruits in Time Police history. Their adventures kick off in . . .
And they’re back in . . .
ABOUT TIME
October 2022.
Available to order now.
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Jodi Taylor, A Catalogue of Catastrophe
