The Key - A Short Story

The Jiffy Bag was A5 size. It looked as if it had been stuck in the Post Offices possession for a long time. It was dog eared and water stains had made the ink used to write the address run in several places. The postmark said South Kensington SW7 23rd November 1963, the day Dr Who first aired on BBCTV. The postman was really apologetic.

“Must have got stuck in the sorting machine mate, happens all the time.” He smiled. “You don’t look old enough to have been alive back then though. What’s your secret?”

“I think its addressed to my late father, he lived here in the 60’s.” The package was addressed to Mr F W Warner Esq. 2a Bina Gardens, South Kensington. My father was also called Fredrick William. The curse of an old family name.

“Oh well I guess that explains it.” The postman was slightly crestfallen not to have stumbled on the secret of eternal youth, and headed off around the corner into Old Brompton Road.

“What have you ordered now?” Cat asked from the kitchen as I shut the front door of the flat. The smell of fresh coffee and burning toast was drifting through to the hall.

“Not me, it’s an old package addressed to Dad I think, it’s from the 60’s.”

“Really?” She snatched the package from my hand whilst taking a huge bite from a freshly buttered slice of toast. “Oh, ok. Wonder what Dad was buying mail order, do you think it’s a rare Beatles record?” She handed it back to me.

“Looks a bit small for that sis, maybe it’s a letter from mum, they’d have been courting then.” I turned the envelope over. There was no return address.

“Well open it, I’ve got to get to work and I can’t hang around waiting for you to make your mind up.”

“Ok, ok.” I tore open the top and shook out the contents. A large brass ornate key fell onto the counter with a clang, followed by a folded note. The note was short and hand written in flowing copper plate.

Dear Frederick,

My work is complete and I am finally ready to search for Catherine. I pray that I will find success.

I entrust you with the key to the laboratory. You must keep it safe. I do not know if Joseph or the girls will try to stop me, but without the key it will be impossible for them.

Keep safe my boy and thank you for all your help.

Love as always,

Grandpa Samuel

“Ooh I wonder what it opens.” Cat was really excited.

“Don’t you think that whatever it was is long gone? There isn’t one property round here that’s not been gutted and remodelled in the last forty-five years.” Cat looked crestfallen. “Look, get going to work will you. We can take a look into this Grandpa Samuel later on.” I put the key and note back in the envelope and left them on the counter.

Cat went off to work in the West End. I sat down with my laptop and logged onto a genealogy website. After some searching I found my father Fred Warner. His Father and Grandfather were also Fredrick William but his Great Grandfather was Samuel Alfred Warner, born Heathfield Sussex 1793, died London 1853. So, Grandpa Samuel was a real person, but he wasn’t around in 1963. A bit more digging showed Samuel had been an inventor of Naval weapons, but there had been some doubt about whether they actually worked. He died in what were described as mysterious circumstances. He had been buried in an unmarked paupers grave in Brompton Cemetery, just up the road. He also seemed to be linked to an Egyptologist named Joseph Bonomi and the design of the Tomb of Hannah Courtoy a rich widow. It was a mystery that he should have died with nothing to his name.

None the wiser I went off to my job pulling pints in the Anglesey Arms. At closing time, I said my goodbyes and began to walk the half a mile back home. Half way along Onslow Gardens I heard the footsteps behind me. As I quickened my step, the steps behind quickened in unison. I could see the traffic lights ahead, a busy road and safety. I reached the corner at a run, glancing behind I saw a figure in a cape and top hat rushing towards me with walking cane in hand. I panicked and sprinted towards home. Crossing Cranley Gardens, I stole another look behind, the figure had gone. I dared not stop. I found my keys in my jacket pocket, shaking I opened the front door of the flat and burst in slamming the door behind.

The flat was dark save for a light coming from the lounge. Usually Cat would be asleep by now, I wondered if she’d left the light on for me, though it wasn’t usual. I pushed the door open and found her sitting opposite a man that appeared to have come from the pages of a Dickens novel. His Top Hat, Cane and Cape were on his lap. His Mutton Chops were grey and his drawn face had an air of bitter sadness. Cat held the key and note in her hand.

“Will, this is Grandpa Samuel.” I was staggered. “It’s really weird but you need to hear his story.”

“What! How can this guy be our great-great grandfather? He’d be 200 years old by now!”

“Two hundred and twenty-nine to be precise.” His voice was soft yet full of authority. “Do sit down William, I need your help.” I sat down slowly.

“Did you just chase me home from work?” He was alarmed by the accusation.

“You were chased? My boy what did the man chasing you look like? This is very important.” Samuel became quite animated, shifting his position on the sofa to look intently at me.

“I only caught a glimpse. Cape, Top Hat, Walking Cane…”

“Forgive me, I must have been followed here, I don’t know how, but I have. I’m sorry both of you, I should never have come, I have put you both in grave danger.” He began to pick up his things.

“Look will someone tell me what’s going on. Please?” I looked at both Samuel and Cat in turn. Samuel recovered his composure and spoke.

He explained that Cat and I were his direct decedent's.  In the 1960's our father had helped Samuel with his scientific work but unfortunately he had been unsuccessful.  He wanted our help to try again.

“How can you be here? This is a joke surely.” I spoke partly in jest but mostly with rising panic. How was this possible?

“I know this appears, unusual. My work was in Time Travel.” I was speechless. Time Travel, really? This was like an interactive episode of Dr Who. I pinched myself but I wasn’t dreaming.

Samuel explained he had built a Time Machine.  He had been asked to do so by a man named Joseph Bonomi who had been an Egyptologist of some fame. Samuel claimed to have found the secret of Time Travel whilst studying ancient hieroglyphs.

“I built it, but when I tested it I was thrown into the future and it took me some time to get home again. In that time Bonomi and his assistants kidnapped my seven-year-old daughter Catherine and had me declared dead, leaving our family with nothing. I must go back and rescue Catherine from her prison.”

“You think Joseph Bonomi was the man that followed me home?” I asked.

“Yes, he wants the key to control the Time Machine. I must go back to my own time and destroy it.”

“How can you be alive? If as you say you are over 200 years old?” Cat asked out loud before I could ask the same.

“The machines curse is that it slows down the natural aging process. That is why Joseph and his disciples want the machine. They want to live forever.” This was pretty heavy. Time travel, the secret of eternal life. I still didn’t really believe it.

“Where do we find this, machine?” Samuel stared at me and blinked as if I hadn’t been listening to his tale.

“My boy, it’s in the cemetery. The Tomb of Hannah Courtoy. She was Bonomi’s patron. Her daughters are the ones that want immortality.”

Cat took out her phone and ordered an Uber. 

Suddenly we aware of the rain.  It beat down and blew against the windows, whipped up by a strong blustery wind. I packed some tools into a backpack in case we needed them, some screwdrivers and a crowbar. We waited for our taxi.

The journey to the cemetery was short, just five minutes and half a mile.

The large imposing gates were padlocked. The rain blew along Lillie Road from the direction of West Brompton Station. Being 2am on a winters Sunday morning, all was quiet.

Samuel walked up to the gates and produced an object from his pocket. There was a clang as the chain around the gates fell to the floor, and a creak as he pushed the gate open.

“Come.” He whispered to us and walked into the dark cemetery. Cat and I followed, shivering slightly, perhaps because of the weather, but more likely from entering one of London’s most famous cemeteries in the dark with a 200-year-old ancestor. Samuel walked briskly. First to the right and then down the second path on the left. Ahead was an imposing granite tomb. Standing by itself on an island between the paths. Its bronze doors, adorned by Egyptian symbols were weathered green, with parts of the parapet looking cracked and unkempt.

“The key Catherine my dear.” Samuel held out his hand and took the ornate key from Cat. He placed it carefully in the lock, turned it slowly and pushed. The door was stiff and both Cat and I stepped up to help push. With difficulty the door moved and we tumbled inside.

“Look Mary, Joseph told us they would come.” Two women in Victorian dress stood over us. They both looked pleased to see us, but as I glanced toward Samuel I could see he certainly was not. “Come now Mr Warner will you not you introduce us to your companions?” Samuel struggled to his feet using his walking cane.

“William, Catherine, may I introduce Elizabeth and Mary Courtoy.” We struggled to our feet. Behind us another figure entered the tomb. Another Victorian gentleman, however he was holding a revolver and it was pointed at us.

“Well Samuel old man, you are quite difficult to track down.” Joseph Bonomi spoke with a high-pitched voice.

“We have to stop this Joseph, its unnatural, none of us belong in this world.” Samuel was pleading with him. “We must destroy the machine.”

“Destroy it? My dear fellow we must improve it! With the technology of this age we could do marvellous things!” He walked towards us. “Just think Samuel, the lives we could save, the events we could shape. The Empire and Her Majesty would live forever.”

“What about your children Joseph? Is this affair not about saving them and Jessie? The medicines of this century would save them all.” Samuel had hit a nerve. Joseph was suddenly uneasy.

“Joseph you told us this was for us, for mother. Are we not to rescue her from the Cholera?” asked Mary.

“Of course, my dear. All in good time. We must first have Mr Warner recalibrate the machine.” Joseph had recovered his composure and was pointing his gun more menacingly.

“What about little Catherine Warner? What have you done with her?” Cat’s question was brave considering the circumstances.

“We did nothing to her, she died as Joseph’s children did of The Whooping Cough. Her father had disappeared. We arranged for her to have a Christian burial, in this place. Why what did he tell you?” Mary was confused. She looked towards Samuel Warner.

“He told us you’d kidnapped her to force him to do your work.” I replied.

“Samuel, is this true?” Mary was angry. “We gave you everything, money for your projects. Mother spoke to Wellington personally on your behalf. After you disappeared your family felt betrayed. We arranged for your fake death so that they could remember you fondly and not as the rogue you clearly are.”

“Catherine was heartbroken, she never recovered from your absence.” Elizabeth added. “Now you bring your descendants here to destroy everything? How could you?” She began to sob. Samuel used the distraction to dive towards Bonomi and wrestle him to the ground. They fought over the gun until the inevitable happened. The shot killed Joseph outright. Samuel pushed the lifeless corpse from him and turned to face the Courtoy sisters.

“You fools are all the same.” Samuel advanced towards them and they cowered together. “A genius they called me, a maverick genius!” He was almost hysterical. His eyes were wild, having committed one murder it looked as if he was prepared to commit at least two more. “I will control the machine, I will travel time and live forever. You shall all have nothing.” He raised the revolver and I hit him with the crowbar. He slumped and dropped the revolver, Cat picked it up.

“I am deeply sorry that you both have become involved in this affair.” Mary Courtoy spoke with the courage of the British stiff upper lip. “This rogue has brought our family and his own nothing but misery. We must take our leave and return home to our own time.” She and her sister each took an arm of the unconscious Samuel and dragged him towards a trapdoor in the centre of the floor. “We will lock the tomb from the inside before we leave, then no one can meddle with this machine again. Good evening to you both, and thank you.”

We were ushered out of the tomb by the sisters and the door slammed shut behind us. There was a creak of the key being turned and then a bright flash from deep within the building.

We were left standing in the November rain.