Awakening Read online

  CHAPTER 2 - LOST IN TIME

  James found himself slumped in the wooden chair. A tingling sensation came from his hands and feet. He rubbed his eyes and looked around the room. Walls appeared cleaner, and freshness was evident. Also, the smell of dampness had gone. He stared at his brown sandals, then approached the staircase. With one hand on a wooden bannister, James walked down the steps. He opened the door, went outside and gazed around. There was no sign of his great-aunt. Also, the villa appeared to be a different colour. James looked down, instead of gravel; the courtyard surface now had grass. He went to the rear door of the villa, and attempted to open it. Several frantic knocks on the door followed, with no response. He walked round to look for his father’s car, however, it was not there. Knocking on the main door proved fruitless, no answer came forthwith. James felt alone and afraid. Many miles separated him from Edinburgh. Where had his parents and great-aunt gone? Why had they left him all alone in a strange place?

  The eight-year-old walked down the driveway. Maybe Mum and Dad had taken his great-aunt out for a short drive in the new car? When James reached the bottom of the drive, he looked left, then right. The road did not appear as wide. An unusual vehicle motored at a slow speed towards him, and came to a halt beside James. A woman in the passenger seat popped her head out of the window. “Young boy, where are your parents?”

  James hesitated. “I can’t find them.” He sniffed.

  The woman glanced at the driver.

  The driver whispered, “he isn’t a local boy, Rosalind.”

  “Where are you from?” said the woman.

  “Edinburgh.”

  The woman again glanced at the driver. “What is your name?”

  “James.”

  The woman whispered to the driver, “I haven’t seen those types of clothes before.” She looked at James. “Would you like us to try and find your parents, James?”

  He nodded.

  The driver and his passenger stepped out of the vehicle, and closed their respective doors. The woman loosened the pink bow under her neck, and the driver raised his goggles. James stared at their strange attire. “Why do you tie a bow round your neck?” He looked up at the woman.

  She smiled. “It’s so my hat won’t blow off.”

  “Why do you wear a cap?” James looked at the driver’s head.

  “To keep my head warm.” The driver gave a slight grin.

  “Do people not wear hats where you come from?” said the woman.

  “Sometimes.”

  The woman whispered to the driver, “is this boy ill, maybe he has had an accident? He appears delirious.”

  James walked with both adults up the driveway to the villa’s main door. The driver pulled on the brass doorbell handle and it rang. With no answer, he tried again. He looked at the woman. “Nobody appears to be at home.”

  The woman looked at James. “This is the property?”

  “Yes, then my great aunt took me into the coach house.”

  “The coach house?” asked the driver.

  “Where is the coach house, James?”

  “At the back. I will take you there.”

  The driver and woman followed James to the coach house. When they arrived, one of the doors was ajar. The woman looked at James. “Here?”

  James nodded. “My great-aunt took me upstairs to look around, then had to leave.”

  “Why?” said the driver.

  “The housekeeper called to her from downstairs.”

  “What did she say to your great-aunt, James?”

  “A person from London was on the telephone.”

  “Telephone?” The driver frowned.

  “What is your great-aunt’s name, James?”

  “Olivia.”

  “And your parents?” said the driver.

  “Charlie and Debbie.” James’s voice grew raspy. “Where did they go?” He sniffed.

  The woman knelt down beside him. “Don’t worry, James, we will find them.” She looked at the driver, then James. “We will take you to the local police station.”

  James stared at the woman.

  She smiled. “They will find your parents, and your great-aunt.” The woman brought out a white handkerchief from her jacket pocket, and wiped James’s eyes.

  He sniffed.

  “Better?” She smiled.

  James nodded.

  “My name is Rosalind, and this is my husband, Edward.”

  Rosalind took James’s hand, and all three returned to the vehicle. Edward opened the rear door, and James entered. He sat on a cream leather double-seat, then fidgeted. Rosalind sat in the front passenger seat, and tied a bow under her neck. After starting the engine, Edward got into the vehicle, and resumed his driver’s position. He replaced his goggles, and Rosalind sat upright with hands clasped together on her lap. As the vehicle moved off, she glanced back at James. “Did your parents bring you here, James?”

  “My dad drove us here.”

  “When did you leave Edinburgh?” said Edward.

  “This morning, at eight-thirty.”

  “When did you arrive here, James?” said Rosalind.

  “One o’clock, I think.” James looked towards Rosalind. “Will the policemen find my parents?”

  “They will do their best,” said Rosalind.

  “Does your father have a fast vehicle?” said Edward.

  “It’s a Ford Corsair.”

  “A Ford Corsair?” said Edward.

  James nodded. “It’s much faster than the Anglia.”

  “Does it look similar to this vehicle, James?” said Rosalind.

  James shook his head. “No.”

  Edward glanced at Rosalind.

  “Why does the engine need a handle to start it?” said James.

  Edward glanced back at James. “It causes a spark and then ignites the engine.”

  Rosalind turned around. “Does your mother wear similar clothes to me?”

  James shook his head. “A smaller dress, and no jacket or hat.”

  Rosalind looked at Edward.

  “What does your father wear?” said Edward.

  “Just a shirt, and trousers.”

  “No necktie, jacket or cap!” said Edward.

  “Does he wear driving goggles, James?” said Rosalind.

  “No.” James cast his gaze around the vehicle. “I have seen a car like this in old films.”

  “A car?” said Edward.

  “At a cinema where you stay?”

  “No, at home on our television set.”

  Rosalind looked back at James. “A television set! What’s that?”

  “I watch films and other programmes on it.”

  “Programmes?” said Edward.

  “The Saint, Man in a Suitcase, also The Prisoner. The Saint is on tonight, hope I won’t miss it!”

  Edward and Rosalind looked at each other with bemused expressions.

  The 1914 shiny maroon Rover arrived at Ardrishaig’s police station. Edward and his wife got out, however, James was reluctant to follow. Rosalind took his hand and smiled: “Let’s try and find your parents and great-aunt.”

  Holding onto her hand, James stepped out of the vehicle and followed Rosalind and Edward into the building. As no one was about, Edward knocked on the polished wooden reception desk. A tall well-built police sergeant appeared from a back room, and acknowledged them. “Good afternoon, how can I help?”

  Rosalind glanced at James. “Sergeant, this boy has lost his parents and great-aunt.”

  The sergeant looked over the desk, then downwards.

  James stared upwards.

  “As I drove through Dochar, he was alone outside one of the properties,” said Edward.

  “Which one, sir?”

  “Docharnea.”

  The sergeant looked at him. “The family who live there are on holiday in Inverness.” Staring at James, he added, “those are unusual clothes.”

  “That is how we found him,” said Rosalind.

  “Has he run
away from a circus?”

  “There is no circus in Argyll this summer,” said Edward.

  “What is your name, son?” The sergeant grabbed a pencil and piece of paper.

  “James.”

  The sergeant wrote it down. “Surname?”

  Rosalind looked at James, and smiled. “Last name.”

  “Carsell-Brown.”

  The sergeant looked up, then at the couple. “That’s the name of the family who live at Docharnea.”

  “Then he is a relative,” said Edward.

  The sergeant stayed silent.

  “They have a boy?” asked Rosalind.

  The sergeant nodded.

  James looked at Rosalind. “I’m thirsty.”

  “Would you like a glass of lemonade?” said the sergeant.

  James nodded. “Please.”

  A constable appeared from the back room, and then lifted documents from a wooden table. The sergeant turned to face him. “Sandy, can you take this young lad into the kitchen, and give him a glass of lemonade?”

  “Will do.” The constable looked at James. “Come this way, son.”

  After James followed him into a kitchen, the sergeant shook his head. “He isn’t from around here with that accent!”

  “He told us that his parents came here from Edinburgh in a car, a Ford something,” said Rosalind.

  “A car?” The sergeant frowned.

  “I believe it is another name for automobile, Sergeant,” said Edward, “perhaps, an Edinburgh term.”

  “He talked about a televising.”

  Edward smiled. “Television, darling.”

  Rosalind nodded. “A device that screens programmes.” She looked at her husband. “The Saint, Prisoner and some other name.”

  “Man in a Suitcase, I think,” added Edward.

  The sergeant laughed. “That sounds like the sort of act in a circus. Maybe a show is on tour in the region.”

  Edward glanced at his wife. “It’s a plausible explanation.”

  She nodded. “Indeed.”

  “We’ll investigate the matter, no doubt someone from a touring show, or circus will report a missing boy.”

  “What about his parents and great aunt, Sergeant?” asked Rosalind.

  “I’m sure they will turn up.” He cleared his throat.

  She smiled.

  “How did he know the name of the family who stay at Docharnea, Sergeant? It is an unusual one.”

  “Maybe he had spoken to a passer-by, and they mentioned who stayed at the property? In my experience, young boys are notorious for making up stories. We’ll look after the boy until a relative or guardian comes along.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” said Rosalind.

  “Yes, thanks,” added Edward.

  Rosalind looked at the sergeant. “Can I say goodbye to the boy?”

  “Of course, go ahead.”

  Rosalind thanked the sergeant and then went into the kitchen. The sergeant looked kindly at Edward. “How is Lady Beaumont, sir?”

  “My mother is fine, Sergeant, as is my wife.”

  The sergeant grinned. “Boy or a girl?”

  “If it’s a boy, Andrew. A girl, Olivia. Hopefully a boy, Sergeant.” Edward smiled. “He can follow me into the military.”

  “Are you on leave for long, sir?”

  “Afraid not, Sergeant. I have to report back to my regiment next week.”

  As his wife returned, Edward adjusted his cap. Rosalind looked at the sergeant. “He enjoys lemonade, you may require another bottle!”

  “We’ll look after him, Mrs Beaumont.”

  When the couple departed, the sergeant went into his office, opened a drawer, and took out a file. After browsing through it, he put the file back into the drawer. Lifting his cap from a wooden stand, the sergeant put it on. “Sandy, I’m going out, be back in about an hour.”

  Sergeant Buchan left the station, retrieved his bicycle, and applied metal leg clips to his black uniform trousers. Manoeuvring onto the road, the village sergeant acknowledged the greetings from passers-by.

  Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at a small red sandstone cottage, which overlooked Loch Fyne. After he dismounted, Sergeant Buchan removed the metal trouser clips, put them into his pocket and then approached the front door. A short grey haired woman answered his authoritative knock.

  “Hello, Sergeant, what brings you here?”

  Sergeant Buchan tipped his cap. “I’m doing my rounds, Nancy, and thought I’d call in for a chat.”

  “That’s kind of you, come inside.”

  Following Nancy into the compact living room, Sergeant Buchan closed the door and removed his cap.

  “I trust you will have a cup of tea, Sergeant?”

  “I never refuse one, Nancy.”

  She smiled. “Please, sit down.”

  “Thanks.”

  Nancy went into the kitchen, and Sergeant Buchan made himself comfortable on a cream floral two-seater couch. Whilst waiting, he studied landscape paintings of Loch Fyne and Ardrishaig, paying particular attention to a portrait of a young man. Several minutes later, Nancy returned with a brown wicker tray, which she laid, on a wooden side table.

  Sergeant Buchan cleared his throat.

  “Do you take milk and sugar, Sergeant?”

  “Only milk, please.”

  Whilst Nancy poured milk into her guest’s cup, Sergeant Buchan once more, looked at a portrait on the wall.

  “That’s the coachman at Docharnea. It was a parting gift from Elizabeth.” Nancy sat down.

  “What became of him?”

  “He went to Edinburgh.”

  “Did he come from there?”

  Nancy nodded. “He left Docharnea just prior to Elizabeth and her husband moving to New York.”

  “Do you keep in touch with them?” Sergeant Buchan lifted his blue patterned cup, and took a sip.

  “I receive an occasional letter.”

  “Do they enjoy living there?”

  “From her letters, it would appear so. Elizabeth’s husband works in Wall Street, for an accountancy firm, and she paints.”

  Sergeant Buchan grinned. “You like her paintings?”

  Nancy nodded. “However, she won’t have valleys and lochs to paint in New York.”

  Sergeant Buchan laughed as Nancy sipped her tea. He looked at the plate of digestive biscuits on the table.

  “Take one, Sergeant.”

  He lifted one from the plate. “How is the new family at Docharnea, do they enjoy their surrounds?”

  “I believe so, but with me being off sick, Charlotte has to carry out the housekeeping duties.”

  Sergeant Buchan grinned. “As does my wife.”

  Nancy laughed, and set her cup on the saucer. “Their current vacation came at an ideal time.”

  “When do they return?”

  “In three days.”

  The sergeant lifted another biscuit.

  “Have there been any unusual occurrences in the village?” Nancy enquired.

  Chewing his digestive biscuit, the sergeant shook his head, and took another sip of tea. “However, we do have a boy at the station who has lost his parents.”

  “Lost his parents!”

  Sergeant Buchan nodded. “I’m sure they’ll soon appear to collect him.”

  “A local boy?”

  “From Edinburgh.”

  “Why was he in the area?” Nancy moved forward on her chair.

  “Visiting a relative, at Docharnea.” Sergeant Buchan set his empty cup on the blue patterned saucer.

  Nancy stared at her guest. “Strange, Charlotte didn’t mention she was expecting visitors. What is the boy’s name?”

  “James.” The sergeant stood up. “Thanks for the tea and biscuits, Nancy.”

  Nancy rose from her chair, and escorted her guest to the front door. The sergeant opened the door, and stood on the grey concrete step. “When do you return to work?”

  “A week on Monday. Charlotte will be pleased.”

&n
bsp; Sergeant Buchan laughed.

  “Is the boy at the station?”

  “Yes.” The sergeant put on his cap. “See you, Nancy.”

  “Bye, Sergeant.”

  As Sergeant Buchan cycled off, Nancy closed the door, and pondered. A boy called James, and from Edinburgh, had appeared at Docharnea? Could there be a connection to that other James she had met in 1896?

  Two hours after Sergeant Buchan departed; Nancy made her way to Ardrishaig’s police station with a package. It included a small bowl of elderflower fruit jelly, an apple tart, plus a book.

  When she entered the station, Constable Fraser standing behind the reception desk looked up. “Hello, Nancy, is it Sergeant Buchan you’re after? He’s out and about doing his rounds.”

  “No, Sandy, I’ve come to see the boy.” Nancy put a package on the desk.

  The constable raised his dark eyebrows. “Lucky him.”

  Nancy smiled. “It’s just a pudding, small cake and something to read.”

  “A book?”

  “Sergeant Buchan said the boy came from Edinburgh, therefore, I’ve brought him a book by an author born there.”

  Nancy took a hardback out of the brown package, and showed it to Constable Fraser.

  “A Study of Scarlet by Arthur Conan Doyle.” Constable Fraser frowned. “The boy is only eight years old.”

  “Maybe he is intelligent.” She laid the book down. “Can I meet him, Sandy?”

  “Yes, of course. He is in the back room reading a comic.”

  After Constable Fraser left reception, Nancy took out the bowl of elderflower fruit jelly and an apple tart. She put them beside the book, and waited. The constable brought James through. “This is Nancy, she has something to give you.”

  James smiled.

  Nancy crouched down. “Do you enjoy jelly pudding, James?”

  He nodded.

  “And, apple tart?”

  His smile got wider.

  Nancy stood up, took the pudding and apple tart off the desk, then handed them to James. As he took them, Nancy lifted the book and asked, “have you read this, James?”

  He stared at the book.

  “It’s by Arthur Conan Doyle.”

  “Has it been made into a film, or a TV series?”

  Nancy looked at Constable Fraser.

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  “I saw a film called Sherlock Holmes last year.”