‘Who would want to travel in a crowded tramcar when they can make the same journey in a luxurious carriage?’ Andrew interposed.
The three others looked at the young man, exchanged puzzled glances, then nodded slowly in agreement.
Wells wiped the grease from his lips with a napkin. ‘But let’s get back to the matter in hand,’ he declared, with renewed enthusiasm. ‘On one of my exploratory trips in the machine, I travelled back six years, arriving in the same attic when the house was occupied by the previous tenants. If I remember correctly, they had a horse tethered in the garden. I propose that you climb down the creeper quietly, so as not to wake them, then jump on the horse and ride to London as fast as you can. Once you have killed the Ripper, come straight back here. Climb onto the machine, set the date for today and pull the lever. Do you understand?’
‘Y-yes,’ Andrew stammered.
Charles leaned back in his seat and gazed at him affectionately. ‘You’re about to change the past, cousin,’ he mused. ‘I still can’t believe it.’
Jane brought in a bottle of port and poured a glass for the guests. They sipped slowly, glancing at their watches occasionally, visibly impatient, until the author said, ‘Well, the time has come to make history.’
He set down his glass on the table and solemnly steered them once more to the attic.
‘Here, cousin,’ Charles said, handing Andrew the pistol. ‘It’s already loaded. When you shoot the swine, make sure you aim at his chest.’
‘At his chest,’ echoed Andrew, his hand shaking as he took it, quickly slipping it into his pocket so that neither Wells nor his cousin would see how terrified he was.
Both men took an arm and guided him ceremoniously towards the machine. Andrew climbed over the brass rail and sat in the seat. Despite his feeling of unreality, he could not help noticing the dark splatter of blood on the upholstery.
‘Now listen to me,’ said Wells, in a commanding tone. ‘Try to avoid making contact with anyone, even with your beloved, no matter how much you want to see her alive again. Just shoot the Ripper and come straight back the same way you went before you meet your past self. I don’t know what the consequences of such an unnatural encounter might be, but I suspect it would wreak havoc in the fabric of time, and bring about a catastrophe that might destroy the world. Now, tell me, have I made myself clear?’
‘Yes, don’t worry,’ murmured Andrew, more intimidated by the harshness in Wells’s voice than by the possibly fatal consequences of his desire to save Marie Kelly if he made a mistake.
‘Another thing,’ said Wells, returning to the fray, although this time in a less menacing voice, ‘your journey won’t be anything like you read in my novel. You won’t see any snails walking backwards. I confess to having used a certain amount of poetic licence. The effects of time travel are far less exhilarating. The moment you pull on the lever, you’ll notice a surge of energy, followed almost immediately by a blinding flash. That’s all. Then, quite simply, you’ll be in 1888. You might feel dizzy or sick after the journey – I hope that won’t affect your aim,’ he added sarcastically.
‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ Andrew muttered, absolutely terrified.
Wells nodded, reassured. Apparently, he had no other advice to give because he began to hunt for something on a shelf full of knick-knacks. The others watched him without saying a word.
When at last Wells found what he had been looking for, he declared: ‘If you don’t mind, we’ll keep the cutting in this little box. When you come back we’ll open it and find out whether you managed to change the past. I imagine that if your mission has been successful, the headline will announce the death of Jack the Ripper.’
Andrew nodded feebly, and handed Wells the cutting. Then Charles went to his cousin, placed a hand solemnly on his shoulder and gave him an encouraging smile, in which Andrew thought he glimpsed a hint of anxiety. When his cousin stepped aside, Jane approached the machine, wished Andrew good luck, and gave him a little peck on the cheek. Wells beamed as he watched the ritual.
‘Andrew, you’re a pioneer,’ he observed, once these displays of encouragement were over, as though he felt he must close the ceremony with a lofty remark of the sort carved in stone. ‘Enjoy the journey. If in the next few decades time travel becomes commonplace, changing the past will doubtless be considered a crime.’
Then, adding to Andrew’s unease, he asked the others to take a few steps back to avoid being singed by the burst of energy the machine would give off when its occupant pulled the lever. Andrew watched them step back, trying to conceal his anxiety. He took a deep breath, struggling to control the panic and confusion that were almost overwhelming him. He was going to save Marie, he told himself. He was travelling back in time, to the night of her death, to shoot her killer before he had a chance to rip her guts out, thus changing history and erasing the eight years of suffering he had endured. He looked at the date on the panel – the accursed date that had ruined his life. He could not believe it was in his power to save her, yet all he had to do to overcome his disbelief was to pull that lever. Nothing more. Then whether or not he believed in time travel would become irrelevant.
His trembling hand glistened with sweat as he grasped the lever. The coolness of the glass in his palm seemed absurd because it was such a commonplace sensation. He glanced at the three figures waiting expectantly by the attic door.
‘Go on, cousin,’ prompted Charles.
Andrew pulled the lever.
To begin with, nothing happened. Then he became aware of a faint persistent purring, and the air seemed to quiver, as though he were hearing the world’s insides rumble. All of a sudden, the hypnotic drone was broken by an eerie crack, and a bright flash of blue light pierced the attic’s gloom. A second deafening crack was followed by another flash of light, then another, with sparks flying in all directions as though they were trying to light up every corner of the room. Suddenly Andrew found himself at the centre of a continuous burst of blue lightning bolts. On the far side stood Charles, Jane and Wells, who had stretched his arms out in front of the other two, whether to protect them from the shower of sparks or to prevent them rushing to his aid, Andrew could not tell. The air, perhaps the world, possibly time, or everything at once, disintegrated before his eyes. Reality fragmented.
Then, just as the author had described, an intense light blinded him and the attic disappeared. He gritted his teeth to stifle a scream, as he felt himself fall through the air.
Chapter XV
Andrew had to blink at least a dozen times before he could see properly again. As the attic went back to
