Julie & Winifred's Most Excellent Adventure

JULIE & WINIFRED’S

MOST EXCELLENT

ADVENTURE

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Heather Massey

Copyright 2022 Heather Massey

Publisher: Crackerjack Creatives LLC, 2022

Cover illustration by Eileen Widjaja

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License Notes

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events are from the author's imagination. Any resemblance to events, places, persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people on social media sites or through other means. Please don't reproduce it in any form including physical, electronic, or other (an exception is the use of brief quotations for the purposes of critical articles and/or reviews). The author has asserted her respective rights to be identified as the author of this book.

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Author’s Note

You’re about to read a fun time travel romance that includes a touch of high stakes and thought-provoking material. If you need more information about specific elements before reading this book, go to Book Information at the back of this book or visit heathermassey.com.

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Also, Julie & Winifred’s Most Excellent Adventure features science fiction and fantasy pop culture references ranging from mainstream to obscure. The Glossary explains them in order of their appearance in the story.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Epilogue

Book information

Acknowledgments

Glossary

About the author

About the illustrator

Other books by Heather Massey

For Linda, the best original mom a person could have.

Prologue

London, England, 1838

Winifred’s hand trembled as she turned the key in the lock. The bolt retracted like a clap of thunder in the still air, making her wince. Why had she never noticed how loud it was? Though she had entered the Iron Manor through the servant’s entrance countless times, tonight’s secret midnight foray was a matter of life and death.

As she slipped inside, the smoky scent of the gas lamps tickled her nose. She closed the door quietly, sighing in relief upon discovering an empty hallway before her.

The Iron Manor operated around the clock, but given the late hour on this Friday night, she was unlikely to encounter anyone in its grand halls other than the occasional guard—or so she hoped. Winifred listened for noises other than her own labored breaths but detected nothing.

Grasping her skirts, she quickly ascended the left-hand stairway, the worn green runner absorbing her footfalls. Solid construction meant none of the stairs squeaked, but this was merely the first phase of her perilous journey through the headquarters of the Society of Industrial Arts. Danger now lurked around every corner.

Winifred reached the first floor slightly out of breath. Then she strode with determined purpose along the next stuffy passage even as her palpitating heart threatened to explode.

She crossed from the plain, functional servant’s hallway to the main one, an area of ornate architecture and polished wooden floors. Painting after painting featuring notable men of science decorated the lustrously papered walls. Their unblinking eyes seemed to burn into her from every angle. Did they know about her plan? Of course not, but she fretted all the same.

Keep calm and act like you belong here.

Winifred swallowed past a lump of fear. She usually went to Richard’s laboratory to help him work on his time machine. But tonight, she was going to steal it.

Her brother had finished the first round of testing on the device yesterday morning, but he couldn’t begin experimenting with human subjects until the Society of Industrial Arts granted approval. The time machine’s official unveiling before the council members would occur in less than twenty-four hours, which meant Winifred had an extremely narrow window in which to act.

Richard was a genius inventor, although he lacked sufficient mathematic skills for his ambitious project. Winifred, on the other hand, was a born mathematician. Her ability to perform complex calculations in her head, starting from a young age, had prompted her parents to nurture her abilities with a discrete education provided by the country’s top mathematicians. Hence, when Richard required a trustworthy assistant to help him program the time machine’s analytic engine, he hadn’t needed to look any further than his younger sister.

She usually worked from their parents’ home, but some of the programming had to be done in the device itself. The Society forbade the admission of female scientists, so Richard had given Winifred a key she could use to enter the Iron Manor in a covert fashion. Dressed in the livery of staff to create the illusion she worked here, she took the back stairs and hallways to join him in his assigned laboratory.

Her striped blue and white day dress was scarcely fit for a heist, but it was the least of her concerns since overhearing Richard and a colleague discuss their dastardly plan for the time machine mere hours ago. Changing the past to control the future on behalf of the Society was the last thing Winifred had expected Richard to attempt. To gain her trust and exploit her labor, he’d lied about his true intentions—a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Her outrage about his betrayal had demanded immediate action.

Fortunately for her, Richard had neglected to ask for the key back.

Sneaking into the Iron Manor these past few years had been a demeaning way to work, but it was the one chance she’d had to channel her ambition. Well, some might have considered the endless calculations tedious, but math made her brain sing. Mathematics was the thread that tied together the quilt of technology. Who could blame her for wanting to be a part of an exciting new venture that would benefit the whole world? But no, her brother had to go and ruin everything.

After seizing the time machine, she would confront Richard and convince him to abandon his awful plan.

Hearing footfalls ahead, she peered around the next corner. The entrance to Laboratory 112 was mere yards away. The ginger-haired guard on duty was leisurely strolling toward the opposite end of the hallway, his back to Winifred.

Now for her ruse, the linchpin of which was her status as a highborn woman. She rubbed her cheeks to give them some color. Taking a deep breath while gripping her skirts, she strode toward the guard. Pitched her voice to fearful. Guard! Please, your help is required posthaste.

He spun around, a wary look on his face. Who are you, miss? No visitors are allowed without permission.

Hurry! There’s a row in the servant’s hall between one of the footmen—Mr. Caulton—and a strange man. He may be an intruder! She gestured behind her. They’re exchanging fisticuffs as we speak. Please, you must intervene!

Wait here, he said gruffly.

Yes, of course.

As soon as he rounded the corner, Winifred entered Richard’s laboratory. The regular presence of guards meant the laboratories could generally remain open for Society members anytime of the day or night. She closed the door behind her. The bulky equipment, work stations, and storage bins lurked in the shadows like predatory beasts waiting to pounce.

She felt her way in the dark to the special cabinet that housed the time machine. Inventions were typically safeguarded in one form or another, but Richard hadn’t bothered to hide the security combination from her. Why would he? She was his sister, one whose secret involvement gave him leverage over her. But in his arrogance, he’d underestimated her capacity for skullduggery. A rather bittersweet consolation. Seconds later, she extracted the device, which folded into a boxy, handle-topped case for ease of transporting.

As she closed the cabinet, the laboratory door opened.

Winifred froze, blood roaring in her ears. Dash it all! She’d meant to be gone before the guard returned. Scant light spilled into the room from the hallway. Could he see her? She sunk into the shadows.

Oy, miss, I don’t know what you’re on about, but there weren’t no row. You’re not supposed to be in here. Come out where I can see you.

She broke out into a cold sweat. If he captured her red-handed, the chances were high she’d be charged with burglary. Richard would sooner betray her than reveal she’d been his secret partner. Not even her parents could afford to defend her against the Society of Industrial Arts. The news of her crime would be a scandal of epic proportions. She had to escape, but how?

The answer was in her arms. The time machine—it was her only hope.

Winifred set it down on the nearest table. The gloom obscured her vision, so she’d have to operate the device by memory and touch. To ensure no one could immediately track her down, she would jump in time to next week and to a location far away. Then, she would return to London and settle the matter once and for all. Perspiration gathered on her brow as she selected the date, time, and one of the pre-determined geographical coordinates.

Leave the laboratory at once, miss.

She would, but not by the ordinary route.

Winifred slipped her hands into the red leather gloves attached by wire to the device. Her right hand hovered over the activation switch. Escape was within her grasp, and yet she hesitated. With good reason—the Society’s strict regulation over new inventions meant Richard had only been able to test the machine in a limited fashion by using mice—one of whom had arrived at the scheduled future time in a less then desirable condition.

If a similar malfunction occurred now, she could die.

The ominous sound of footsteps neared—the guard was coming after her!

That settled it. Despite her status, she was a woman. She usually had limited freedom—except for now. She held the unfathomable power of time itself in her hands. Power she could use to save herself from lifetime imprisonment. The power to stop Richard from unleashing his evil scheme. Without further ado, she pressed the switch.

Click.

The analytic engine hummed to life. There came a jolt—and then the laboratory shifted clockwise like a moving panorama. She experienced a tugging sensation, which meant the time machine was generating an artificial gravity field. It was all she could do to maintain steady breathing. Richard had speculated about the time travel process countless times, but the reality of it was far more peculiar, extraordinary, and terrifying.

The shadowy form of the guard approached—and then blinked out of sight. Then he reappeared an arm’s length away!

She screamed, yet no sound emerged. The guard reached out, but just shy of grabbing her arm, he dissolved in a blend of dull colors as though someone had doused a fresh painting with a bucket of water.

The laboratory spun around faster. Then extreme pressure hemmed her in on all sides. Can’t...move!

As she plunged deeper into the unknown territory of the vast sands of time, Winifred blacked out.

Chapter One

Coffee at a con—the perfect combination.

Julie took her first sip of the hot, robust brew while navigating the sunny corridor linking the food court to the rest of the convention center. Her mouth wasn’t the only body part feasting on deliciousness—Galaxy Con brimmed with colorful cosplayers of all shapes, sizes, and ages.

A Black family of five ambled past, wearing matching costumes from The Incredibles, including the gurgling baby in the stroller. Two people cosplaying as creepy automaton dolls from the show A Villainous Affair were engaged in animated conversation. Julie and others shifted to the side as a stunning Jupiter 2 replica built around a white woman’s wheelchair rolled down the middle of the corridor. Near a railing overlooking the ground floor, a trio of Mortal Kombat fans dressed as Sub-Zero, Mileena, and Liu Kang struck dramatic poses for pictures.

Julie sipped more coffee as the 1995 Mortal Kombat theme music unspooled in her head—the only version that mattered, really. After a hearty bagel sandwich lunch, she needed a place to sit, re-energize, and rifle through her dealer’s room loot. A visit to the restroom was also in order to check her costume. She wore a Victorian dress with lots of accessories, fashioned after that of Mary Carr from The Forty Elephants. The show followed the exploits of the titular lady gang from its inception in the 1870s to its heyday in the 1920s. Julie prided herself on being a devoted fan and had seen every episode to date—twice.

She missed being at Galaxy Con with Kassandra and Devan, but they’d had to cancel at the last minute. Devan had fallen in the apartment they shared, an ongoing risk because of their disability. As a precaution, Kassandra had taken them to the emergency room.

Julie had offered to cancel in case they could use more help, but her friends had forbidden it. To somewhat compensate for missing the con, she’d bought their wish-list items along with a few surprise gifts.

It sucked to come alone, but better alone than not at all. And it was definitely better to attend alone and in-person than not have cons altogether thanks to that turd of a pandemic. Fortunately, outbreaks had been rare in the U.S. for the past two years because President Harris routinely deployed federal interventions with laser-like precision.

Going solo also meant Julie would have more time to bond with other single geeks. Telecommuting for work meant less in-person socializing, so events like Galaxy Con offered a primo opportunity to mingle with potential dating partners. She was attracted to multiple kinds of people, so she only had to narrow the possibilities down to folks who shared her specific interests and homebody lifestyle. Toward that end, she was looking forward to tonight’s trivia challenges, the Geek Meet ‘N’ Greet, and the Discotheque Extravaganza, where attendees would dance the night away to science fiction and fantasy theme music.

She’d spent the better part of the day perusing the dealer’s room. The vast, airy hall of concrete and red carpet hosted the usual hundreds of booths. These days, everything was spaced wider apart and took place in a convention center with a state-of-the art ventilation system. It was also much cleaner, reducing the risk of both con crud and Covid-19.

Her enormous The Rose of Versailles bag bulged with autographed graphic novels, action figures, fan art, and other geeky paraphernalia. After finishing her coffee, she’d schlep to the parking garage to store the merch in her car.

Julie made her way to a remote nook she and her friends had found during their first joint Galaxy Con. Three support columns provided a modicum of privacy in a far-flung area devoid of programming. With any luck, she’d have it to herself.

Julie nodded in greeting to the custodian of Asian descent walking past and then rounded the next corner. The con rumble faded. She didn’t mind the noise and crowds—relished it in fact because these were her people—but a few minutes of quiet would help her regroup.

She walked the last few paces toward the nook, which seemed deserted. Her happy sigh morphed into a yelp as she discovered an unconscious person on the floor between the columns and the wall. If not for the coffee cover, the scorching liquid would have splattered all over the patterned carpet.

The female-presenting person was sprawled in an awkward position with her cheek pressed against the floor—not the kind exhausted con-goers usually adopted while taking a load off their feet. Her Victorian day dress had blue and white stripes, accent bows at the chest and waist, and puffy sleeves. Black boots peeked out from beneath the skirts. Her auburn hair was bound in pendant braids. She must have been cosplaying as a character from some Victorian-set show, but Julie couldn’t figure out which one.

Another detail emerged—the woman wore red leather gloves, which were attached by wires to a strange machine. Judging by its gears, brass filigree, and steampunk design, it was either vintage Victorian or made to look that way.

But forget the contraption—what if she had fallen and hit her head? No other people were around, so it was up to Julie to help her.

She set her gear and coffee cup aside. Crouching at a respectful distance, she said, Hey, friend, are you okay? When no answer came, Julie gently patted her shoulder. Are you awake?

Mmf, came the woman’s reply. Her left arm shifted a bit, and then her eyelids fluttered open. Her hazel-eyed gaze seemed unfocused.

Thank goodness her condition appeared to be nothing worse than a possible hangover. A con vendor was selling beer and wine, so maybe she’d overindulged and passed out. Julie had a humorous mental vision of a drunken Victorian lady roaming the halls and holding a plastic cup of sloshing beer while proclaiming the merits of The Prisoner in a slurred British accent to anyone who’d listen.

The stranger expelled a shaky breath. No scent of alcohol followed.

Are you hurt? Julie extended her fingerless-gloved hand. Can you sit?

At her faint nod, Julie helped her up. Her slack jaw, pale oval face, and sweaty forehead implied she’d been through a stressful experience. Slowly, in fits and starts, the stranger removed her gloves. Another shaky breath followed.

Julie switched to a sitting position. Are you all right? What happened?

It...I’ve been on a...rather long trip, she said in a British accent.

Trip to the floor, or...? How do you mean?

Where am I? the woman asked.

She’d been on a trip but didn’t know where she was? Galaxy Con, in Richmond.

The stranger absorbed the sight of Julie, her purple-tinted hair, and her costume, eyes widening by the second. "Rather, when am I?"

It’s about two o’clock. You look like you need medical attention. I’ll take you to the first aid booth.

She threw up her hand. No! No aid. No physician. I...I’m quite well, thank you.

Julie arched her brow. I’m sorry, but you look really pale.

Be that as it may, I’d best be going. The woman attempted to rise. She couldn’t get further than pushing her hands against the carpet and her arms visibly trembled. Then she groaned and rubbed her temple. I have a ghastly headache.

Then we should hang out here a bit. I’ll keep you company until you’re okay. Julie reached into her satchel and withdrew a water bottle. She’d been saving it for later, but this woman seemed like she needed it more. She extended the bottle. This might help.

The woman eyed it suspiciously.

Julie showed her the label. It’s just water. I haven’t opened it.

The Victorian lady accepted it, slanting her brows as she studied the label. She tugged on the cap once, then twice. Her grunt of frustration followed. The cork is stuck.

Huh? Why did she think it had a cork? Maybe she was just staying in character. If only Julie could recognize the woman’s cosplay, she could play along better. Nevertheless, she’d try her best. It’s a screw cap. You twist it open.

The woman continued to stare at the bottle. Slowly turning it over and around to stare at it. Belatedly, another thought came—did she have difficulty with screw caps? Devan struggled with them, on occasion.

But she figured it out. The cap removed, the woman took a tentative sip. Then another. Then a long, noisy gulp. Remarkable, she said, staring at the bottle again. And most refreshing.

What a remarkably odd reaction to the most ordinary of liquids. It was generic bottled water, too. She never fell for any of that brand name crap. I’m Julie Sherman. She/her. And you?

After a brief hesitation, she answered. Winifred Blackburn. And...I am female, yes.

Julie would have thought Winifred was an old-fashioned name by now, but maybe it was still popular by British standards. And Winifred looked anything but old. If she had to guess, she was close to Julie’s age, mid-thirties. Are you here with anyone?

No, I’m quite alone. Where’s here? She glanced at the high ceiling. Such unusual architecture. Is this your home?

"My what? Uh, no. Yikes, whatever had happened to Winifred must have either caused a fair amount of disorientation, or she was carrying the cosplaying a bit too far. If it kept up much longer, she’d need to connect her to some medical assistance. It’s the Richmond Convention Center. In Virginia."

Ah. Yes, well, I meant to come to the United States, to Virginia. She drank more water.

This conversation was turning funkier by the minute. Yeah. Galaxy Con. You know, comic books and stuff. Hundreds of people attend every year. Would more questions help jog her memory? Julie gestured to the woman’s dress. You’re here for the con, right?

Con.... She tilted her head, bird-like. I beg your pardon?

Huh? If Winifred didn’t know what Galaxy Con was, how could she have bypassed security to enter it? She didn’t see Winifred’s wristband, but maybe it had slipped beneath her sleeve.

Well, if you’re not here for the con, what happened to you? And was her accent part of a cosplay or was she actually British? Julie had no idea about the dialect’s origin. It sounded Downton Abbey-ish. Well, to her dorky American ears, anyway.

Winifred’s gaze darted past her, as if worried someone was watching them. But only a handful of con staffers were present. They ambled past the nook, oblivious to its current occupants. Until I properly assess my current predicament, it’s not safe for me to discuss the matter in a public arena. Please understand.

Oh, crap, was she in danger? All the more reason for Julie to stick around. Or maybe she didn’t want to confide in a stranger. Understandable. Sure...okay. Julie reached for her coffee. Might as well drink it since she’d probably be here a while longer.

Begging your pardon, what year is it?

Julie choked on her next sip in a desperate attempt to prevent her mouthful from spraying all over Winifred’s fancy dress. Is that what she’d meant by her when am I question?

Sorry. Julie wiped her lips with the back of her wrist. Not a question she heard every day—well, ever—but she couldn’t rule out that Winifred had suffered a memory lapse. 2030.

Winifred’s face turned paler. Her knuckles whitened as she clutched the now-empty water bottle. Dear heavens, that can’t possibly be accurate.

Julie glanced at the strange machine before regarding Winifred again. Why not?

Oh, no. Oh, dear. Oh, no. Winifred covered her face with both hands. This is wrong. It’s too far in the...I didn’t mean to come this far!

What’s too far? Please, I’d like to help, if I can.

She moaned in distress. This is all wrong. I don’t know anyone. They’ve all died. Everyone I know...dead!

Died? What the hell was she talking about? This was some extreme cosplay performance! She frowned. Not cool to rope a stranger into one’s shenanigans. Julie glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting Winifred’s con squad to show up and join in the melodramatics. If it turned out she was the mark for a geek role-play ambush, there’d be hell to pay.

Julie leaned sideways to view the corridor. A cosplayer dressed as Big Barda appeared but continued toward their destination.

Now Winifred was hyperventilating. Her nostrils flared and her eyes grew saucer-wide. I have no place to go! she squeaked out.

Julie had assumed she’d flown here from the UK. Did she not remember anything about her trip, either? You’re not staying at a hotel?

She shook her head. Then she wrapped her arms