Time Travel in the Victorian Age

The two detectives put off their delicate duty with what can only be described as a vulgar bashfulness. They perched on Lady Beckinsall's chaise longue like shaggy dogs confused by their sudden allowance on the furniture. The Lady herself was paused in her afternoon tea, with bated cup, and growing impatient. Sensing this, the more working-class of the two detectives, Burke, decided to exploit his social privilege by coming straight to the point. 'Well, ma'am, it's like this, you see... your fella, the good Lord Beckinsall, is currently, ahem, at 'er Majesty's pleasure after being caught - well, erm, seen, with another gentleman, behaving in a manner that may be regarded as... not quite Christian.'

The Lady sighed and sipped her tea. 'You mean for this time period' she said. Time travel having been invented in the year 1851 by a gentleman scientist who had been trying to find a cure for syphilis, it was now a most fashionable pursuit among those that could afford it. At first, it was used for the national good, such as ensuring the survival of the British Empire and the decease of every other empire, but by the thirty-year mark, it had become as much about leisure as learning. Of course, that came with its own problems, what with good Victorian men being exposed to modern ways of doing things.

The more middle-class of the two detectives, Blades, took the pulpit. 'Yes, Lady Beckinsall, the acts are alleged to have been witnessed in the vicinity of this year, which has been described in the official records as a year of our Lord...'

‘And the other gentleman? May I know who he might be?'

‘As yet he has not divulged his identity, but several of the Yard's most distinguished anthropologists have determined that he is from approximately...' Burke produced a notebook that Blades squinted at. '2042. Apparently such behaviour is encouraged in that era.'

‘I'm well aware of that' said Lady Beckinsall, dabbing at her lip with a towel, which she then dropped into a water dish on the silver service before her. 'You needn't think me a mere chit in these matters, nor the victim of a half-cut, moon-drunk molly.' She walked to a large cabinet filled with china plates, opened it, and removed a plate on which was printed an image of Queen Victoria cradling a sceptre. In unison Blades and Burke noticed that the base of the plate was a little thicker than one might expect it to be.

She unscrewed the base and took from it a photograph, one of two. Placing the picture face down on her skirts where it lay like a lost shoe in a snowfall, she carefully re-screwed the lid and called out 'Dimmings!', at which point a mountainous brute barely contained in a butler's tux emerged. She handed him the plate, and then held forward the photograph.

Burke plucked it from her grasp. He turned as white as is possible for a man who spent his childhood sweeping chimneys. Blades paled somewhat himself, as his brain tried to process what seemed to be Prince Albert earning his moniker from a three-fisted Venusian prostitute. 'We'll 'ave 'im out by evensong, m'Lady' said Burke.

‘In the vicinity of this year, I hope' said the Lady, pouring another round of tea.