Jasper Fforde - The Eyre Affair

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. Where are you?’

‘About six miles from Haworth.’

‘All the way up there, eh?’ he guffawed. ‘Jolly good.’ He cleared his throat. We could sense it coming.

‘Unofficially, that was one of the bravest acts I’ve ever seen. You saved a great number of lives and stopped the event from becoming a matter of some consequence. You can both be very proud of your actions and I would be honoured to have two fine officers like you serving under me.’

‘Thank you, sir, I—‘

‘I’m still talking!’ he snapped, causing us both to jump. ‘Officially, though, you broke every rule in the book. And I should have both your butts nailed to the wall for not following procedure. If you ever try anything like this again, I most certainly will. Understand?’

‘Understood, sir.’

I looked at Bowden. There was only one question we wanted to ask.

‘How long have we been gone?’

‘The year is now 2016,’ said Rutter. ‘You’ve been gone thirty-one years!!’

We were both victims of the ChronoGuard’s bizarre sense of humour. It was just past noon the following day. We had been gone only seven hours. We both reset our watches and drove slowly into Haworth, each sobered by the experience.

At Haworth House a full media circus was in progress. I had hoped to arrive before this sort of thing really gained a toehold, but the hole in the Mi had put paid to that. Lydia Startright from the Toad News Network had arrived and was recording for the lunch-time bulletin. She stood outside the steps of Haworth House with a microphone and composed herself before beginning. She signalled to her cameraman to roll, adopted one of her most serious expressions, and began.

‘…As the sun rose over Haworth House this morning the police began to investigate a bold theft and double murder. Some time last night a security guard was shot dead by an unknown assailant as he attempted to stop him stealing the original manuscript of Jane Eyre. Police have been at the crime scene since early morning and have as yet given no comment. It is fairly certain that parallels must be drawn with the theft of the Martin Chuzzlewit manuscript which, despite continued police and SpecOps efforts, has so far not come to light. Following Mr Quaverley’s extraction and murder, it can only be surmised that a similar fate is in store for Rochester or Jane. The Goliath Corporation, whose presence this morning was an unusual development, have no comment to make—as usual.’

‘And— cut! That was very good, darling,’ declared Lydia’s producer. ‘Can we do it once more without the reference to Goliath? You know they’ll only cut it out!’

‘Then let them.’

‘Lyds, baby—! Who pays the bills? I like free speech as much as the next man, but on someone else’s airtime, hmm?’

She ignored him and looked around as a car arrived. Her face lit up and she walked briskly across, gesturing for her cameraman to follow.

A lean officer of about forty with silver hair and bags under his eyes looked to heaven as she approached, cracking his unfriendly face into a smile. He waited patiently for her to make a brief introduction.

‘I have with me Detective Inspector Oswald Mandias, Yorkshire CID. Tell me, Inspector, do you think this crime is in any way connected to the Chuzzlewit theft?’

He smiled benignly, fully aware that he would be on thirty million television screens by the evening.

‘It’s far too early to say anything; a full press release will be issued in due course.’

‘Isn’t this a case for the Yorkshire LiteraTecs, sir? Jane Eyre is one of this county’s most valued treasures.’

Mandias stopped to face her.

‘Unlike other SpecOps departments, the Yorkshire LiteraTecs rely on evidence supplied by the regular police. LiteraTecs are not police and have no place in a police environment.’

‘Why do you suppose the Goliath Corporation made an appearance this morning?’

‘No more questions!’ called out Mandias’s deputy as a throng of other news crews started to converge. Goliath had been and gone but no one was going to learn any more about it. The police pushed their way past and Lydia stopped to have a snack; she had been reporting live since before breakfast. A few minutes later Bowden and I drove up in the Speedster.

‘Well, well,’ I muttered as I got out of the car, ‘Startright keeps herself busy. Morning, Lyds!’

Lydia almost choked on her SmileyBurger and quickly threw it aside. She picked up her microphone and chased after me.

‘Although the Yorkshire LiteraTecs and Goliath are claimed not to be present,’ muttered Lydia as she tried to keep up, ‘events have taken an interesting turn with the arrival of Thursday Next of SO-27. In a departure from normal procedure, the LiteraTecs have come out from behind their desks and are visiting the crime scene in person.’

I stopped to have some fun. Lydia composed herself and started the interview.

‘Miss Next, tell me, what are you doing so far out of your jurisdiction?’

‘Hi, Lydia. You have mayonnaise on your upper lip from that SmileyBurger. It has a lot of salt in it and you really shouldn’t eat them. As for the case, I’m afraid it’s the same old shit: “You will understand that anything we may discover will have to remain a blah-de-blah-de-blah.” How’s that?’

Lydia hid a smile.

‘Do you think the two thefts are linked?’

‘My brother Joffy is a big fan of yours, Lyds; can you let me have a signed picture? “Joffy” with two Fs. Excuse me.’

‘Thanks for nothing, Thursday!’ called out Startright. ‘I’ll be seeing you!’

We walked up to the police line and showed our IDs to the constable on duty. He looked at the badges, then at the two of us. We could see he was not impressed. He spoke to Mandias.

‘Sir, these two Wessex LiteraTecs want to get at the crime scene.’

Mandias ambled over painfully slowly. He looked us both up and down and chose his words with care.

‘Here in Yorkshire LiteraTecs don’t leave their desks.’

‘I’ve read the arrest reports. It shows,’ I replied coldly.

Mandias sighed. Keeping what he described as eggheads in check, especially those from another SpecOps region, was obviously not something he was keen to do.

‘I have two murders on my hands here and I don’t want the crime scene disturbed. Why don’t you wait until you get the report and then take your investigation from there?’

‘The murders are tragic, obviously,’ I replied, ‘but Jane Eyre is the thing here. It is imperative that we get to see the crime scene. Jane Eyre is bigger than me and bigger than you. If you refuse I’ll send a report to your superior officer complaining of your conduct.’

But Mandias was not a man to listen to threats, idle or otherwise. This was Yorkshire, after all. He stared at me and said softly:

‘Do your worst, pen-pusher.’

I took a step forward and he bridled slightly; he wasn’t going to give way. A nearby officer moved in behind him to give assistance if needed.