The journey back through history seemed to take no time at all. Professor McMoo’s trusty shed blazed purple as it landed in a quiet leafy corner of London parkland.
“Moo-vellous!” The professor checked his controls. “It’s April 29th, 1851, and we’re in Hyde Park – the site of the Great Exhibition. It’s due to start the day after tomorrow!” A dreamy look stole into his eyes. “I hope we’ve solved this case before the grand royal opening What a spectacle! What a sight!”
“Remind me to set my alarm clock,” said Bo with zero enthusiasm. The costume cupboard had just spat out a pile of clothes and she was staring at them suspiciously. “These outfits look rubbish.”
“They’re the height of Victorian fashion!” McMoo told her. “Quickly, let’s get dressed. And don’t forget your ringblenders!”
Pat picked up one of the shiny metal gadgets from the bank of controls and smiled. Ringblenders looked like ordinary nose rings but they were a billion times better. When worn through the nostrils they projected optical illusions that made cows look just like humans – and even translated cattle-speak into any language on the planet.
Bo shoved in her own ringblender, then struggled into several petticoats and a pink gown with a bell-shaped skirt. A white lacy bonnet finished off her disguise. “Gross!” she complained.
Pat put on checked trousers, a fancy waistcoat and a loose-fitting frock coat then checked his human reflection. “Very dashing,” he decided.
Bo snorted. “It makes me want to go dashing to the toilet!”
“You’ll have a job,” McMoo told her. “The first on-street public toilets don’t open till next February – and they’re only for gents!” By now he was looking quite the gent himself in his tall top hat and dark brown suit. A black cravat was smartly tied beneath the high collar of his starched white shirt. “Now, come on. Victorian London’s waiting outside!”
Bo sniffed. “What’s so great about Victorian stuff?”
McMoo stared at her, open-mouthed.
“Maybe we’d better ask the computer,” said Pat hastily. “The Victorian file, please!”
Information appeared on the big screen.
++Victorian Era. ++Queen Victoria ruled Britain and its empire – about a quarter of the planet’s population – for 64 years, from 1837 to 1901. ++During this time Britain became the wealthiest and most powerful country in the world. ++ Millions of people stopped working the land and started working machines as new-fangled factories sprung up. ++Thousands of miles of railways were built, allowing high-speed travel all over the country. ++Many world-changing new inventions appeared, including cameras, bicycles, steamships, electric light, postage stamps, radio, motorcars, underground railways and flushing toilets.
“There!” cried McMoo. “What do you think of that little lot?”
“Pardon?” Bo popped up from behind a hay bale. “I was just getting a snack!” She held up some fleshy leaves. “Look, I found some of that nice twenty-sixth-century clover that Yak sent us the other day . . .”
With a groan, McMoo pointed to the shed doors. “You can eat it later. Now, moooove!”
The cows hurried out into a bright spring morning and found themselves in the shade of a large weeping willow. Looming over them was some kind of a gigantic greenhouse, stretching up into the sky. Workmen swarmed around its lower storeys.
“The Crystal Palace.” McMoo strolled towards it happily, with Pat and Bo beside him. “Made with 293,655 panes of glass! Ten storeys high and longer than five football pitches placed end to end.”
“Um, what about those botanists the F.B.I. are after?” Pat asked, aware that the professor was easily distracted. “Where is this Green Thumb Club anyway?”
“According to Yak’s data, it’s on a posh street called Pall Mall,” said McMoo, raising his top hat to a group of workmen.
“Then let’s check it out!” cried Bo, hitching up her dress and racing through the park. Pat and McMoo hurried after her.
Bo made for a large white stone arch that led on to a wide, busy street. But as Pat looked around he saw that it was very different from the streets in his time. The tall grand buildings were similar – shops and houses and theatres – but a thick smell of smoke and muck was in the air. Dozens of horse-drawn carriages and buses clopped and rattled over filthy cobblestones. Old women sold soup and hot potatoes from barrows, blocking the pavement and shouting about low prices in high voices. Men in tall hats and long coats with enormous moustaches strode briskly through the din. A boy in rags swept a path through the dirt in the road so that grand ladies carrying parasols could cross cleanly, and was given a coin for his trouble.
They walked on through the hubbub and before long had reached a quieter, swankier street. The carriages that rattled along here were smarter, as were their horses.
“Aha!” McMoo declared, peering at a brass plate on the whitewashed wall of a tall, imposing house flanked by marble pillars. “The Green Thumb Club. We’ve arrived!”
“And so has someone else,” Bo observed as a spotless black cab pulled up beside the posh building and a tall, bearded, bony old man dressed all in black jumped out.
“Good day,” he said politely. “I don’t recognize you – are you visitors to my club?”
“Your club?” McMoo beamed. “What a stroke of luck! I’m Professor Angus McMoo, this is my nephew Pat, and Bonnie, my niece. We’re just visiting.”
“Sir Lawrence Pwee, at your service.” The man bowed stiffly. “Which club member have you come to see?”
McMoo lowered his voice. “We’d really like to see the ones who have disappeared.”
Sir Lawrence frowned. “I have tried my best to keep this delicate matter a secret, sir. What do you know of it?”
“Not nearly enough,” McMoo admitted. “Which is why we’ve come to investigate. So!” He started up the steps to the front door. “Pop inside, shall we?”
“Just a moment, if you please!” Sir Lawrence looked cross. “This is a private and exclusive club for botanists. No riffraff – and definitely no ladies!”
Bo’s face darkened. “What?” She marched up to the plant-expert and reached into her pocket. “Maybe this will change your mind about letting me in.” With a flourish she yanked out a piece of her twenty-sixth-century clover and dangled it in front of his startled face. “Ever seen anything like this before?”
Sir Lawrence was astounded. He took the plant with trembling fingers. “Where . . . where did you find this?”
Bo snatched back the peculiar plant. “I’ll tell you once you’ve let us inside. Deal?”
“Yes! Anything. Just let me study that plant!” Sir Lawrence ushered them up the steps and unlocked the front door. But as he pulled it open, a small, red-haired man came rushing out and crashed into them in a wild, shivering panic.
“Let me pass!” the man cried. “I’ve got to get away. Away, I say!”
Sir Lawrence grabbed hold of him. “Seymour Bushes, pull yourself together! Whatever has happened?”
Seymour’s face was white with fear. “It’s the cow,” he whispered. “The Black Cow of Doom is coming to get me like she got all the others. Nothing can stop her. Nothing!”
