TIME QUAKE Read Free Page B

handed in to Mr Carmichael on Jan. 8th. Write 500 words on: My Ideal Holiday
.’
    Kate burst out laughing. ‘You showed it to me that first day in Derbyshire. How funny!’
    ‘If I did it, do you think it’d get us home?’
    ‘You’d be handing it in really late . . .’
    ‘Yeah – I’d probably get a detention . . .’
    ‘Probably two . . .’
    ‘And a hundred lines.
I must not time-travel during term-time
.’
    Peter put it back in his pocket and presently they heard voices in the hall and the sound of the front door shutting, and then the click of heels against wood as someone bounded up the stairs.
    ‘I trust that Mistress Kate fares better,’ said Sir Richard, striding into the room, followed by Parson Ledbury. ‘Ah,’ he continued, observing her strained, pale face. ‘I see that she does not . . .’
    ‘No, I
do
feel a little better, thank you,’ protested Kate, who hated people to make a fuss – well, unless it was her mother.
    ‘Then I am heartily glad to hear it.’
    ‘I trust your luck improved after we left you, Sir Richard,’ said Parson Ledbury. ‘For I grow weary of searching for confounded needles in confounded haystacks.’
    Sir Richard beamed. ‘Indeed our luck
did
improve, my dear fellow. I shall let Gideon tell you his news in person, but I gleaned a crumb or two of information myself in the city this afternoon. I admit that I was becoming a little dispirited and resolved to take my ease a while in the Mitre tavern in Fleet Street. It was while I was there that I happened upon an old acquaintance, a wealthymerchant from Surrey – and a most happy coincidence it was, for he is a great lover of horses and his country estate adjoins that of Tempest House.’
    ‘Lord Luxon’s house?’ asked Peter.
    ‘Precisely, Master Schock. And when I asked him if he had seen his neighbour of late, he replied that he had seen him not two days past in Child’s coffee-house in St Paul’s churchyard. The merchant did not announce himself, however, as he was hidden behind
The London Gazette
, toasting himself in front of the fire. Lord Luxon sat at one of the small tables, in earnest conversation with a gentleman whom my friend immediately recognised as none other than Mr Gainsborough, the portrait painter.’
    ‘Oh, I’ve seen his pictures at Tate Britain!’ exclaimed Kate.
    Sir Richard smiled. ‘It does not surprise me that his fame will live on – he has a truly remarkable talent.’
    Peter shrugged his shoulders. ‘Never heard of him,’ he muttered.
    ‘My acquaintance admitted that the two gentlemen’s conversation was more interesting than his newspaper. Mr Gainsborough, it appeared, remarked to Lord Luxon that he was sick of portraits and wished, instead, to take up his viol da gamba and walk off into some sweet village where he could paint landscapes and enjoy the autumn of his life in quietness and ease. To which Lord Luxon replied that if only he would agree to sell him his present commission and the diverse drawings and sketches of which they had spoken, he would give Mr Gainsborough more than enough gold to retire from society if that is what he so wished. He also advised him to invest his wealth in the American colonies as he himself had been doing, for he was convinced that the country had a great future . . . My acquaintance observed the two fellows shake hands and leave the coffee-house in excellent spirits.’
    ‘So Lord Luxon is still in 1763!’ said Peter.
    ‘Or he’s returned here,’ said Kate. ‘If he knows about America it means that he’s learned how to use the anti-gravity machine.’
    ‘Which is not such good news . . .’ said Peter.
    ‘But what the devil is the fellow doing commissioning paintings?’ asked Parson Ledbury.
    ‘That’s easy,’ said Kate. ‘A painting by Gainsborough would be worth millions in our time.’
    ‘Ha! I thought as much!’ exclaimed Sir Richard. ‘Well, if my Lord Luxon is bent on plundering his past to pay for his future, at