The Steam Pump Jump Read online

  I have to say that, at that moment, I couldn’t feel that my drowning was necessarily a bad thing, because going back and reporting to Max that not only had the two of them not had the pleasant afternoon she’d planned for them, but that I’d actually drowned Miss Lingoss, was not something I even wanted to contemplate. Better I died with her than have to face that. And let’s not even start on explaining all this to Dr Bairstow.

  Obviously, my brilliant idea had been to make Peterson look valiant and brave – and make him feel a bit better about himself as well – and he’d ruined that by not valiantly and bravely jumping in after her. I’d thought he could save her, swim to the bank on the tower side, heave her out, bend over her in concern, music would play, bluebirds would sing and everyone would live happily ever after and now none of that was looking very likely. I was very nearly panicking.

  Unnecessarily, as it turned out. It would appear Peterson was quite capable of looking heroic without any help from me. Evans, standing on the bridge, shouted and gestured behind me, and here he came. He’d found a rowing boat from somewhere – of course he had. If anyone’s going to find a boat in a crisis it would be Peterson – and he was forging his way through the pond scum, calm and competent, and managing to look stylish even when rowing. The bastard still had his hat on as well.

  Looking over his shoulder, he called, ‘I’m nearly with you. Don’t even try to get her on board – the boat will capsize. I’ll tow you both to safety.’

  We clung to the side of the wooden boat as he towed us back to the bridge, right under the engine itself. Lingoss couldn’t have had a better view if she’d planned it.

  It took half a dozen men to pull us out, including Lord Herbert and his assistants. We were being rescued by the aristocracy! Yes, her clothing was heavy and sopping wet, but they’d have got her out a lot more quickly if she’d cooperated with her rescuers instead of being unable to take her eyes off the water-commanding engine above us.

  Everyone clapped politely as we were heaved out of the alleged water. I wondered if they thought we were professional entertainers, hired to provide even more excitement this afternoon. If so, the least they could do was throw money because I could really have done with a drink. My mouth tasted like the bottom of a rabbit hutch.

  They sat the dripping Lingoss on the bank and me alongside her. And yes, someone did pass me a flask. I’ve no idea what was in it but it did me the world of good, I can tell you. I’d happily have taken another swig but the bugger took it back again.

  Someone brought my hat and boots. I was grieved to see the hat had survived. My cloak, however, was at the bottom of the moat so it wasn’t all bad.

  Peterson was bending over Lingoss, asking if she was all right. I wiped my face and waited for him to remember her heroic rescuer as well. Good job I didn’t hold my breath waiting for that one.

  Sykes and North had somehow found their way to the bridge as well and were leaning over, anxiously looking down on us. I remembered the three of them, North, Sykes and Lingoss, had done their training together and, although North and Sykes couldn’t stand each other, they both liked Lingoss. Everyone liked Lingoss. And yes, all right, she was as bonkers as … well, as a very bonkers thing, but everyone liked her. She’d exploded a pig over Dr Bairstow’s car once and lived. I don’t think he’d even blasted her with a Deductions from Wages to Pay for Damages form.

  Lord Herbert, having assured himself there were no bodies floating in the moat to block the water-intake valve had returned to his engine. I could hear him shouting instructions to start it up again, thus displaying a level of single-minded fanaticism that qualified him for St Mary’s. Everyone else was very kind, though. We were offered dry clothing and blankets by some sort of steward, but Peterson politely declined. We couldn’t go back wearing contemporary clothing and Mrs Enderby would kill us where we stood if we left our own gear behind. And it was a warm day. And it certainly wasn’t the first time we’d been soaked to the skin. I don’t know about anyone else but I was just grateful there hadn’t been any swans in the moat.

  People drifted away and left us. The water-commanding engine was far more exciting than we were. It was cold in the shadow of the tower and Lingoss’s teeth were chattering so we helped her to her feet and the servants showed us the way back up through the tower and across the bridge into the warm and very welcome sunshine.

  The crowds were thinner in the Pitched Court and the noise of the engine considerably less. Peterson was taking care of Lingoss so, while he was busy, I took Evans to one side, out of earshot, and asked if he had seen what had happened.

  To my relief, he shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not sure I can tell you anything useful.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ I said, ‘your attention was elsewhere.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry, sir, but it was.’ He nodded over to North and Sykes. ‘They were having a right set-to. I was trying to shut them up so I didn’t see it. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Not your fault,’ I said, which was true.

  I had a sudden memory of Max in Sick Bay, with her tired eyes and the weight of the world on her shoulders. Well, I couldn’t do anything about Leon. Or Matthew. I’d do what I could for Peterson, although I suspected it wouldn’t be very much, but this – this was something I could do for her.

  I beckoned over a suspiciously silent Sykes and North. I spoke very quietly, because shouting is never the way to go.

  ‘Explain to me, please, how Miss Lingoss came to fall into the water.’

  Evans spoke up. ‘Sir …’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Evans. Could you go and keep an eye on our gear, please?’

  He muttered, ‘Yes, sir,’ threw them both a sympathetic look and pushed off to get our stuff together.

  They said nothing.

  I let the silence drag on for long enough to make them uncomfortable and then said, ‘You can’t tell me, can you? Because you weren’t paying attention. You weren’t even looking. You were concentrating on the far more important job of sniping at each other. You could see what was going on. You could have shouted a warning. If, that is, you had actually been doing your job. You weren’t. And a colleague was injured because of that.’

  They said nothing.

  I leaned towards them and lowered my voice even further. ‘Right, you two, listen up, because I’m not saying this again. I know Max puts up with your shit because she values the different perspectives the pair of you bring to each assignment but, after today, that excuse is no longer tenable. Today, you crossed the line between constructive debate and personal animosity. The only reason I’m not packing us all back to St Mary’s now, right at this moment, is that Max doesn’t need the grief of a failed assignment, but let me tell you this. If either of you – for any reason – puts one more foot wrong this afternoon, I will use my authority to curtail the mission and take us all home, where you can explain your conduct to Dr Bairstow. Have I made myself clear?’

  I’d never seen either of them so subdued. North stared straight ahead and Sykes stared at the ground.

  ‘Well?’

  Not looking at each other, they nodded.

  ‘Right, I’m escorting Dr Peterson and Miss Lingoss back to the pod. I’m leaving you to get on with things here. Make whatever concessions are necessary to enable you both to work together this afternoon and then report back to the pod when you’ve finished. Because neither of you can be trusted, Mr Evans is in charge, and you will obey his every word. Please indicate your understanding of these instructions.’

  They nodded.

  Evans was bringing up our gear. I said, ‘Don’t take any crap from either of them. And you can leave the picnic with me as well.’

  Well – two birds with one stone. With luck I’d frightened the living shit out of Sykes and North – I was pretty sure their work this afternoon would be impeccable – and got them and Evans safely out of the way vis-à-vis Peterson and Lingoss. And snagged some food for myself. God, I’m good.

  I helpe
d Peterson to help Lingoss back to the pod. She was still coughing and retching but the cut over her eye had stopped bleeding.

  ‘It’s quite small,’ said Peterson, peering at it. ‘Nothing much to worry about, but you’ve been in dirty water and probably swallowed a fair bit as well. I’m sorry, Miss Lingoss, but I think you’re due some time in Sick Bay.’

  She wasn’t in the slightest bit fazed, waving aside bouts of cholera or industrial-strength diarrhoea as an occupational hazard. ‘Did you see it? Did you see the height he got on that fountain? It must have been a good forty feet. Higher than the tower itself.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘I wonder if we could duplicate that back at St Mary’s. I must have a word with the professor as soon as possible.’

  ‘She’s fine,’ I said to Peterson.

  Back at the pod, Peterson peered helplessly at Lingoss who was a tangled mass of sodden silk. ‘Are you able to get out of that dress by yourself?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I think so. If either of you has a knife, I’ll just cut the laces. I’ll shout if I need any help but I think I’ll be fine.’

  She squelched off into the tiny bathroom leaving long wet marks across the floor. The techies weren’t going to be happy either.

  Peterson was rummaging in the lockers. People leave all sorts of things in them and there’s usually some spare clothing knocking around somewhere. He pulled out a sweatshirt and some shorts.

  ‘She’ll have to stay inside the pod if she’s going to wear those,’ I said, fully embracing my role as the only sensible person present.

  ‘I’ll need to keep an eye on her with that head wound anyway.’ He rummaged further. ‘I can’t find anything for you. Sorry.’

  ‘Not a problem. I’ll sit outside in the sun,’ I said heroically, actually quite pleased because everything seemed to be working out for the best. They could stay inside and have a bit of a chat, and I could legitimately leave them to it. And I had the food, as well.

  I could hear Peterson crashing around with the kettle and a minute later a mug of the steaming hot stuff turned up. For which I was grateful.

  ‘You all right?’ he asked. Better late than never, I suppose.

  ‘Absolutely fine. Just a bit soggy. Although I did inadvertently ingest rather a lot of moat.’

  ‘Yeah – you’re going to be in Sick Bay too, for a while, anyway. Still, not a hardship for you, eh?’

  I indicated my lack of comprehension.

  ‘Eh?’ he said, giving me a nudge.

  I indicated deeper incomprehension.

  ‘Eh? Eh? You know – you and Nurse Hunter?’

  I find it best to meet this sort of thing head on. ‘What about me and Hunter?’

  ‘Well, you know, what with her being … you know.’

  Has anyone else noticed that no one in the entire History Department can string more than two words together? It’s got to be all that tertiary education. It robs them of all basic communication skills. Bloody useless the lot of them.

  I shook my head. ‘No – sorry, not with you.’

  He would probably have pursued it further – he’s a bit of a terrier sometimes – but I was saved by Lingoss emerging from the bathroom wearing the sweatshirt and shorts and carrying the sodden dress and even more sodden undergarments. He handed her a mug of tea and told her to stay inside. We spread the dress and the jacket and the petticoats over a couple of bushes although there was so much fabric I reckoned it would all take about a year to dry.

  I took off my stupid hat, carefully settled myself out of sight of anyone inside the pod but still within earshot and stretched out on the long grass. The sun was warm on my face. The afternoon was peaceful and quiet. I could smell grass and earth and just the faintest whiff of manure. Evans could cope with the Deadly Duo and surely I could safely leave Peterson and Lingoss to get on with things themselves for a few minutes. I closed my eyes.

  They’d left the door open and I could hear a bit of shunting around as they made themselves comfortable inside the pod and then she said, ‘Is Mr Markham all right out there?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Peterson, rather more dismissively than I was happy with. ‘He’s only semi-domesticated and prefers to be outside. How about you? Any bumps or bruises? Do you feel sick? Any pain anywhere? Can you move all your arms and legs?’

  ‘I’m fine – although I drank so much moat I have a really nasty taste in my mouth.’

  ‘Here.’

  There followed a long silence which I chose to believe was her drinking her tea.

  Eventually, she said, ‘Should we check on Mr Markham?’

  ‘No.’

  Any thoughts of sharing the food with him went straight out of the window. I sat up and had a quick rummage and the first thing I found was one of Mrs Mack’s pork pies. The one designed for two people. Not today …

  There were also chicken drumsticks, some bread and cheese, apples, jam tarts, pigs in blankets, and a huge fruit cake. Bearing in mind I was eating for two, I got stuck in.

  He was asking her how she was feeling.

  ‘Absolutely fine, thank you, sir. How about you?’

  That threw him a bit. ‘Me …? Um … fine, thank you.’

  She said shyly, ‘Thank you for rescuing me.’

  I waited for him to say, ‘Well, actually, it was Mr Markham who saved the day.’

  ‘Not at all, Miss Lingoss. An honour and a privilege.’

  What? What? I took an enormous bite of pork pie to compensate for her lack of gratitude and when I was eventually able to hear over the sound of my own chewing I discovered they’d moved away from how wonderful Peterson was – trust me, it’s not a wide-ranging topic and soon covered – and were discussing her hair. I rolled my eyes. Obviously, we all have our own individual chat-up lines but … seriously?

  ‘It’s a bit high-maintenance, though, isn’t it?’ he was saying. ‘You know – blue one day, purple the next. I mean – why do you do it?’

  Actually, a very good question that nearly all of St Mary’s had probably wanted to ask at one time or another. I leaned forwards and tried to chew quietly.

  She didn’t reply for a long time and the daft sod bottled out.

  ‘Sorry. That was a bit rude. Forget I asked.’

  ‘No, no, it’s OK. Actually, I’ve always done it.’

  ‘What – even at school?’

  There was some more silence. I slapped a large slice of Wensleydale cheese on top of my fruit cake and took a massive bite.

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  I grabbed a couple of sausages. This was going well. Thanks to him she was warm and dry. He’d made her tea and now they were talking to each other. Well, she was doing the talking, which was a good thing because that meant he couldn’t say anything daft or make a complete arse of himself. Although give him time.

  He said quietly, ‘I would very much like to hear it.’

  So would I. I leaned back against the side of the pod, made myself comfortable and alternated between sausage and fruit cake.

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘I didn’t have a lot of difficulty at school but I wasn’t really … mainstream … if you know what I mean. And my parents weren’t awful – not in any way – but they were conventional. They were nice people and they had a nice house and they lived nice lives and I suppose they wanted a nice daughter who wore nice dresses and did nice things. Unfortunately, they got me. I was always dirty, perpetually taking things apart – my mother’s juicer never worked again. I wasn’t any trouble. I didn’t get pregnant or do drugs. I certainly wasn’t bad enough to warrant any special attention or outside help, so they dealt with the problem by ignoring it. I just … went my own way. Which was great. Up to a point.’

  She stopped.

  ‘Here,’ he said, ‘have some more tea,’ and I could hear her mug being topped up.

  ‘They were busy people. Dad was pushing back the frontiers of capitalism as fast as he could and Mum was always off fundraising for children in the Third World, so I
pretty much took care of myself. Not terribly well, as it turned out, because one day there was a new teacher – a supply teacher standing in for our usual form teacher who’d gone off with some teaching-related illness – insanity, depression, alcoholism, substance abuse; you know, the sort of problems everyone gets after long-term exposure to kids – so anyway this supply teacher called me in one day and told me to tidy myself up a bit. Well, you’ve seen my hair – it’s a bugger at the best of times …’

  ‘It wasn’t blue then, was it?’

  ‘Oh no. It was quite normal. Just a bit … wayward.’

  I could practically hear him grinning. ‘Just out of interest – what colour is normal?’

  ‘Not sure I can remember.’

  ‘Well … and this is just a helpful suggestion … isn’t it a case of just … comparing the curtains to the carpet?’

  I stuffed in another sausage and nodded. My own thoughts exactly.

  ‘Not really – I have easy-care flooring.’

  I nearly dropped my cake.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, carefully.

  ‘So, anyway, I said everything was absolutely fine and she said what about the holes in my shoes and that my clothes were too small for me and when did I last wash and did she have to write to my parents? I said it wouldn’t do any good because they were barely aware of my existence and she said not to be so silly, of course they were, they were my parents and they loved me because all parents loved their children, and she was so dismissive that it made me angry. I had two parents, both of whom were white and middle-class, so obviously I was the one at fault, and that was when I had my big idea.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘I dyed my hair royal blue.’

  There was a bit of a silence and I must admit I was slightly mystified too.

  ‘Because …?’

  ‘To prove to her she was wrong. About my parents not noticing me, I mean.’