She took a deep breath. ‘Are you going to keep staring at me all day, or are you going to unstrap me from this chair?’
Max seemed to have been jolted out of his shock and had remembered himself. Etta watched him carefully as he unhooked the leather belts around her wrists. He was dressed more neatly than his companion and smelled of sandalwood and mint. Etta’s stomach flipped as he looked down at her, confusion burning in his eyes.
‘But what about my experiment, Stanhope?’ the Laurie lookalike chimed in plaintively. ‘I was only going to startle her just a little. Just to perk her up, you know.’
‘Your experiment is no longer needed, Charlie. I think strapping her to a chair was enough.’
‘Oh, but she’s been strapped to countless chairs over the years, Max. I don’t see what could be different about this one. Besides, this time she asked me to do it.’
Max looked at Charlie sharply. ‘No more straps, Charlie.’
Free from her restraints, Etta turned in her seat and surveyed the scene. There was a table directly behind her, covered in a vast array of metal and glass tubes (full of whatshe assumed must be battery acid) and fabric-covered cables. Hand-written notes littered every surface.
‘What on earth is going on here? What am I, Frankenstein’s monster?’
Max jolted. ‘Who’s what-now, Hetty?’
‘Frankenstein. You know, the classic novel by Mary Shelley. Mad scientist creates a monster with electricity and body parts.’
Charlie looked confused. ‘I say, I don’t know where you’ve been reading that stuff, Hetty. Father doesn’t keep novels in the library. Thought you were more interested in staring at the sky and things, than reading those.’ He paused, looking reflective. ‘Besides, can’t be that classic, can it? Never heard of it.’
Max found his voice again. ‘I’ve met a Mary Shelley, though, abroad. One of the Godwins, no?’
‘Oh lord, I dunno,’ said Etta. ‘Mary Wollstonecraft’s daughter. She was bezzie mates with Byron. It’s been bloody ages since my English GCSE to be honest.’
She stretched and stood up. Her muscles felt much weaker than usual and everything around her seemed … lower. Bigger, somehow. The two men seemed to tower over her. Despite the discomfort in her wrists and the freezing cold, damp stone under her feet, she felt detached from everything around her.
‘This is such a weird dream. Why am I so short?’ Etta looked down at her thin nightdress and plain wool shawl. ‘Where are my clothes? I think it’s time to wake up now.’
Panic was starting to take hold. ‘Hello? Weird old ladies? Time to wake up!’
She felt her legs begin to buckle under her and Max startedforward to steady her. She looked up at him and found herself staring into a reassuringly concerned face.
‘Oh, stop making sheep’s eyes at Stanhope, Hetty. You’ve never paid him any attention until now, and I don’t see why today should be the day to start.’
Max was examining Etta’s face again. ‘I’m really not sure this is your sister, Charlie.’
‘Not my sister? Don’t tell me you’ve gone queer in the head too, old chap. Clearly my sister. Look at her. My god, you’ve known her nearly as long as I have.’
Max paid no attention, still assessing Etta. ‘What’s your name?’
Etta looked up at him. This didn’t feel like a dream, but he certainly looked like the kind of man she might dream about. In her very best dreams. ‘Etta,’ she said. ‘Henrietta Moore.’
‘Well, that settles it,’ said Charlie. ‘It didn’t work. She might well be chatting away, but she’s still mad as a March hare.’
‘Be quiet, Charlie.’ Max glanced at Charlie derisively, then looked back at Etta. ‘Hmm … I don’t know. What’s the date?’
‘Nineteenth of September 2023. The weather is terrible. Wet, miserable. I was on the Circle Line. Heading to work. I must have fallen asleep.’ Etta was babbling now, she knew, but she needed to make sense of what was happening.
‘2023? What do you mean, 2023?’
‘Mad, I’m telling you,’ Charlie interjected. ‘She remains utterly mad.’
Max straightened up and started walking Etta across the room and along the corridor he and Charlie had entered from. Etta could see now that she was most definitely in a cellar of some kind.
‘You know, if I’m not asleep then I think I actually mustbemad,’ said Etta. ‘One minute I’m chatting to two old ladies on a train, the next I’m in a cellar with two posh blokes, dressed in only a nightie. I don’t even have shoes on.’
‘You seem pretty sane to me,’ said Max. He looked down at her feet, then without saying a word, swept her into his arms and carried on walking.
