The Reluctant Time Traveller by Janis Mackay

my bare feet jabbing over sharp stones. Trying hard not to yell out I followed him round the back of the house.
    There were a few dilapidated stone outhouses. Noble shoved me into the dingiest-looking shed. I felt coal dust smother the back of my throat. “Right then, Blackie,” Noble said, panting like mad as I was choking my head off, “this is the coal shed and here’s where you fetch coal. This is a bucket andthat over there’s a shovel. Shovel as much coal into the bucket as you can and break your back hauling it up a hundred stairs. Any room on the first floor wi’ a stick of furniture in it and a fireplace needs a fire. That’s his majesty’s quarters. First, clean oot the ash. Ye’ll need another bucket for the ash. Then set the fire, then light it. And for God’s sake, be quick about it! I’ll open the back door. Go in that way.” Then he turned and fled. Off to take the saddle off the horse probably.
    “Matches?” I wailed to his flying ragged jacket. “What about matches?” Surely matches were invented? If I was expected to rub stones together, I’d never get as much as a spark. Thankfully Noble heard me. He stopped, pulled a small box from his pocket and hurled it to me. Phew! Matches did exist! I hurried back into the gloomy coal shed, grabbed the shovel and set about filling the tin bucket with coal. What a clatter. I sneezed. My arms ached. My feet were cold, and sore. My jeans were manky. But I’ve never worked so fast. I remembered everything Noble told me, even though he spoke in practically a foreign accent. With sooty hands I lifted the full bucket and an empty one for the ash then hobbled over the cobbled stones towards the big house.
    Noble was right about breaking my back. This was heavier than carrying both the twins together. Heavier than lugging my bike up a hill. I staggered into the house through the back door. It was agony.
    My arms had gone numb. But I did it. I reached the first-floor landing and pushed open a door. There was a four-poster bed in the room and a fireplace. I hobbled over to the fireplace, panting like I’d run a marathon. It was full of grey powdery ash. I sunk to my knees and scooped up the ash with an old brush. I coughed and spluttered but kept scooping with ash puffing up and floating everywhere. I got as much as I could and filled the empty bucket. Then I heaped fat piecesof coal onto the fire grate. I struck a match, put it under the coal… and nothing happened. The match flickered then went out. I tried another one. And another.
    I felt like crying but suddenly remembered the fire Agnes and I had made for our time travel. It felt like years ago, but this was still the same day. We had used twisted pieces of paper to catch the flame. I looked around frantically for newspapers. I looked under the big bed. Nothing. But next to the bed there was a wooden writing desk. I pulled open the drawers and my eyes fell on a sheet of paper. Suddenly I forgot about newspapers. I should be looking for the deeds! Here I was,
inside
the house. Suddenly finding myself trapped as a servant in 1914 was bad, but looking on the bright side, this was my chance to find out more about this place, and to look for nooks and crannies where title deeds might be hidden away. I know that’s how Agnes would see it. From now on, I would be keep my eyes and ears open for any information that might save our den. I’d start with this desk. I opened all the drawers. There were sheets of blank paper in different sizes, envelopes and a leaflet. The leaflet had a grainy black-and-white photo of the house on it, and the words –
    Tweedside Hotel
    A first-class establishment nestled among the sloping and green hills of the Scottish Borders. Magnificent prospects. An ideal retreat for those wishing to get away from the hustle and bustle of life…
     
    Weird. Had the house been a hotel at some stage? Anyway, a leaflet wasn’t the deeds. With my heart racing like mad I fumbled about. Was there