The Reluctant Time Traveller by Janis Mackay Page B

polished up and for the love of goodness go about your duties smartly and be neither seen nor heard.”
    “Yes, Mrs Buchan,” Elsie mumbled. With that the housekeeper up and left, muttering to herself about how there was so much to be done – and precious few experienced servants to do it, not like the old days when the house had been bursting with housemaids and footmen, scullery maids and groomsmen.
    When Mrs Buchan had gone, Elsie got up, fished about in the biscuit tin and next thing placed half a bit of shortbread on my plate, like she was doing me a great favour. If it wasn’t for her I would be free to explore 1914 with Agnes, not sit in the servant’s kitchen, exhausted. Elsie had been the one yelling and telling on me. Now she was acting like she felt sorry for me.
    While I gobbled up the shortbread, Noble leant towards me. “How many more fires you still to lay?”
    “Let him finish his biscuit, Frank,” Elsie said, “for Lord knows we must have our food. The poor lad is famished.”
    Frank? Who was Frank? I didn’t ask until I’d licked thecrumbs and drained the last drop of tea. “Who’s Frank?” I said, sitting back.
    “Him,” said Elsie, pointing at Noble with her fork, “my own dear and good brother. The only family I have in this big wide world.”
    Noble put his cup down and thrust out his hand across the table. “Frank Noble,” he said. “Pleased to meet yea.”
    “I’m Saul Martin,” I said, and shook his hand.
    “This here,” he nodded to where the little maid sat, “is Elspeth Noble, my dear and good sister.”
    So I shook her hand too, and for some reason they laughed. Maybe it was my name, or my voice, or the way I shook hands. Maybe they were having me on with this ‘dear and good’ stuff. Maybe they just thought it was funny that the thief was turning out to be so friendly. Whatever the big joke they laughed so much their shoulders shook. I joined in and soon we had tears rolling down our faces.
    Frank was first to stop. Elsie finished with a fit of her coughing.
    “Now, Saul Martin,” Frank said, all formal, “how many more fires?”
    I shrugged. Just thinking about fires and heaving buckets of coal made me tired. My arms seriously ached. It even hurt lifting the cup of tea.
    “Ye best get on. Mrs Buchan gave orders. Elsie will be here polishing the spoons. Gaunt is out snooping about down the Mill. Best stoke up the fire in his study. He likes it roaring. Summer, winter, all the same. Tell you what, I’ll show you. You’ve not got much clue, have you, Saul? I watched you working and I says to Elsie, that boy hasn’t got a clue.”
    I wanted to tell him how I was the gang leader. How I could do loads of things. How I could fix bikes and play guitar, take cool photos, shoot films, make pancakes and climb trees. Iwas good at drawing, and basketball. But I just shrugged and followed him out to the stables. He scooped up a handful of hay. I thought he was going to feed the horses but he stuffed it on top of my coals. “For starting the fire,” he said, and sent me on my way.
    “Keep at it,” Elsie said with a cough as I went back through the kitchen, “or there’ll be no porridge for you later.”
    “Porridge?” I threw her a quizzical frown. Breakfast? It couldn’t be morning already – we hadn’t slept.
    “Aye, porridge, nincompoop,” Elsie said, banging the teacups onto the washboard and giggling, “for supper.”
    Believe it or not, once I got used to the idea, I was actually drooling, looking forward to my evening porridge.
    The hay worked. It was just as good as newspaper. Or writing paper. I built up the fire in Gaunt’s study and kept going from room to room, carrying buckets, stacking up coal, trying to get the rest of the matches to last. I looked for secret hiding places too. Crevices in alcoves, slots by windows, paintings that didn’t hold together properly. I found precisely nothing.
    When I was dusting ash on the floor of a parlour room, I