Christopher Priest: The Space Machine

“It appears to have become caught in my hair, Mr Turnbull.”

She tugged at the strap, but frowned as the hairs were pulled. I wanted to help her in some way, but I was too nervous of her.

She tugged again at the strap, but the metal clasp was tangled in the strands of hair.

At the far end of the corridor I heard the sound of voices, and the creak of the wooden staircase. Miss Fitzgibbon heard the sounds too, for she also looked that way.

“What am I to do?” she said softly. “I cannot be found with this in my hair.”

She pulled again, but winced.

“May I help?” I said, reaching forward.

A shadow appeared on the wall by the top of the staircase, thrown by the lamps in the hallway.

“We will be discovered at any moment!” said Miss Fitzgibbon, the goggles swinging beside her face. “We had better step into my room for a few minutes.”

The voices were coming closer.

“Your room?” I said in astonishment. “Do you not want a chaperone? After all—”

“Whom would you propose to chaperone me?” said Miss Fitzgibbon. “Mrs Anson?”

Raising her skirt again, she hurried up the steps towards the door. After hesitating another second or two I took up my samples-case, holding the lid down with my hand, and followed. I waited while the young lady unlocked the door, and a moment later we were inside.

The room was larger than mine, and more comfortable. There were two gas-mantles against the wall, and when Miss Fitzgibbon turned them up the room was filled with a bright, warm radiance. A coal fire burned in the grate, and the windows were richly curtained with long, velvet drapes. In one comer there was a large French bedstead, with the covers turned down. Most of the space, however, was given over to furniture which would not have looked out of place in the average parlour, with a chaise longue, two easy chairs, several rugs, an immense dresser, a bookcase and a small table.

I stood nervously by the door, while Miss Fitzgibbon went to a mirror and untangled the goggles from her hair. She placed these on the table.

When she had removed her hat, she said: “Please sit down, Mr Turnbull.”

I looked at the goggles. “I think I should leave now.”

Miss Fitzgibbon was silent, listening to the sound of the voices as they passed the bottom of the stairs.

“Perhaps it would be as well if you stayed a little longer,” she said. “It would not do for you to be seen leaving my room at this late hour.”

I laughed politely with her, but I must confess to being considerably taken aback by such a remark.

I sat down in one of the easy chairs beside the table and Miss Fitzgibbon went to the fireplace and poked the coals so that they flared up more brightly.

“Please excuse me for a moment,” she said. As she passed me I sensed that she had about her a trace of the herbal fragrance I had noticed earlier. She went through an inner door, and closed it.

I sat silently, cursing my impulsive nature. I was sorely embarrassed by this incident, for Miss Fitzgibbon clearly had no need for, nor interest in, my motoring Mask. The notion that she would persuade Sir William to experiment with my goggles was even more unlikely. I had annoyed and compromised her, for if Mrs Anson, or indeed anyone else in the hotel, should discover that I had been alone in her room at night, then the young lady’s reputation would be permanently marked.

When Miss Fitzgibbon returned, some ten minutes later, I heard the sound of a cistern hissing in the next room, and surmised that it must be a private bath-room. This seemed to be so, for Miss Fitzgibbon had apparently renewed her maquillage, and her hair was arranged differently, so that the tight bun she had been wearing had been loosened to allow some strands of her hair to fall about her shoulders. As she moved past me to sit in the other chair I noticed that the herbal fragrance was more noticeable.

She sat down, and leaned back with a sigh. Her behaviour towards me was entirely without ceremony.

“Well, Mr Turnbull,” she said. “I find I owe you,. an apology. I’m sorry I was stuffy to you outside.”

“It is I who should apologize,” I said at once. “I—”

“It was a natural reaction, I’m afraid,” she went on, as if she had not heard me. “I’ve just spent the last four hours with Mrs Anson, and she seems never to be at a loss for words.”

“I felt sure you were a friend of hers,” I said.

“She has’ appointed herself my guardian and mentor. I accept a lot of advice from her.” Miss Fitzgibbon stood up again, and went to the dresser and produced two glasses. “I know you drink, Mr Turnbull, for I have smelled your breath. Would you care for a glass of brandy?”

“Thank you, yes,” I said, swallowing hard.

She poured some brandy from a metal flask which she took from her hand-bag, and placed the two glasses on the table between us. “Like you, Mr Turnbull, I sometimes find the need for fortification.”

She sat down again. We raised glasses, and sipped the drink.

“You have lapsed into silence,” she said. “I hope I have not alarmed you.”

I stared at her helplessly, wishing that I had never set out on this naive enterprise.

“Do you come to, Skipton frequently?” she said. “About two or three times a year. Miss Fitzgibbon, I think I should bid you good-night. It is not proper for me to be here with you alone.”

“But I still haven’t discovered why you were so eager to show me your goggles.”

“I felt you might influence Sir William to consider trying them.”

She nodded her understanding. “And you are a goggles salesman?”

’No, Miss Fitzgibbon. You see, the firm I am employed by is a manufacturer of’…”

My voice had tailed away, for I had heard in the same instant the sound that now clearly distracted Miss Fitzgibbon. We had both heard, just beyond the door, a creaking of floorboards.

Miss Fitzgibbon raised a finger to her lips, and we sat in anguished silence. A few moments later there was a sharp and peremptory rapping on the door!

“MissFitzgibbon!” It was Mrs Anson’s voice.

I stared desperately at my new friend.

“What shall we do?” I whispered. “If I am found here at this hour. …”

“Keep quiet … leave it to me.”

From outside, again: “Miss Fitzgibbon!”

She moved quickly to the far side of the room, and stood beside the bed.

“What is it, Mrs Anson?” she called, in a faint, tired-seeming voice.

There was a short silence. Then: “Has the maid brought a hot water bottle to your room?”

“Yes, thank you. I am already abed.”

“With the lamps still alight, Miss Fitzgibbon?”

The young lady pointed desperately at the door,and waved her hands at me. I understood immediately, and moved quickly to one side so that I could not be seen through the keyhole.

“I am doing a little reading, Mrs Anson. Good night to you.”

There was another silence from beyond the door, during which I felt I must surely shout aloud to break the tension!

“I thought I heard the sound of a man’s voice,” said Mrs Anson.

“I am quite alone,” said Miss Fitzgibbon. I saw that her face was flushing red, although whether it was from embarrassment or anger I could not tell.

“I don’t think I am mistaken.”

“Please wait a moment,” said Miss Fitzgibbon.

She crept over to me, and raised her mouth until it was beside my ear.

“I shall have to let her in,” she whispered. “I know what to do. Please turn your back.”

“what?” I said in astonishment.

“Turn your back … please!”

I stared at her in anguish for a moment longer, then did as she said. I heard her move away from me towards the wardrobe, and then there came the sound of her pulling at the clasps and buttons of her gown. I closed my eyes firmly, covering them with my hand. The enormity of my situation was without parallel.