“Surprised he didn't ask you what your blood group is.” Sneered Romney, but Victoria ignored him and settled herself back down in the chair that faced the front lawns again.
Time seemed to pass much more slowly in the countryside than in the city Victoria thought. In London it seemed that hardly had the sun broken across the tops of the zeppelin towers and landing stages than it was slinking back towards the horizon once again. Here however an hour seemed to be an awfully long time.
“Heat signature behind the hedge.” Sighed Romney. She had already registered it, but did not say anything for fear of upsetting her assistant. “One person. Male.”
“Carrying a small basket.” She said and as she did so a man strode onto her drive across the long lawn and began to walk towards her front door. He was carrying what appeared to be a small wicker basket over which was draped a chequered red and white tea towel.
He introduced himself as Doctor Martin Prendergast, though he did seem to be keen to impart that he was these days retired.
“Never an ex-doctor.” He said after Victoria had afforded him entrance to her home and placed him down in front of a large cup of tea in her sitting room. “Never that. Once a doctor always a doctor.”
“Patient-less.” Smiled Victoria sweetly and the doctor looked at her curiously.
“Only through choice my dear I assure you.” He said and Victoria smiled in agreement.
“What is in the basket then doctor?” She asked, though she had previously scanned the contents and knew exactly what lay beneath the cloth.
“Strawberries!” He exclaimed, leaning forward and swiping the cloth off the wicker basket, revealing several punnets of the bright red fruit. Despite herself, Victoria found herself licking her lips. “Grew them myself, don’t you know?”
“How wonderful.” Said Victoria, “And so very kind too.”
“My pleasure.” Smiled the doctor, “Though I do have rather a lot of the blighters this year. Bumper crop as they say. If you ever want a top-up, then just pop over. My house is the last one on the old coach road on the west side of the village. You can’t miss it really.”
“Because of all of the strawberry patches?” Asked Victoria and the doctor nodded his head eagerly.
“They really are very plump and a wonderful colour.” She said, looking into the basket. The doctor beamed proudly, glancing at the strawberries with her.
“Well I have a secret method to ensure a bumper crop.” He said, tapping the side of his nose conspiratorially.
” Really?” Said Victoria and the doctor nodded. “Pray tell.” She continued, “It sounds very intriguing. I know when my father tried to grow strawberries they were all eaten by slugs, snails and the like.”
“Quite so.” Said the doctor, looking around the room wildly as if checking to see if anyone was listening, “My secret method involves the use of copper.”
“How clever!” Said Victoria, “I take it that the slugs and so on do not like to cross over a copper band placed around the plant then?” To her surprise the doctor laughed loudly, slapping the side of his chair with his hand as if she had said the funniest thing that she had ever heard.
“Absolutely not!” He laughed, “It is quite simple. I place a small copper circlet around the stem of each strawberry plant, ensuring that they very slightly overlap. I then pass a small low level current through the copper, creating one huge circuit. If you ensure that they all overlay, then quite an intricate electrical defence can be set up with a minimum of fuss.”
“Really?” Said Victoria, raising an eyebrow.
“Of course.” Said the doctor, “I believe Mister Tesla has done some work on the subject. Of course you have to remember to inform your gardener or it may prove problematic.”
“He’s nuts.” Said Romney in her head, “Wants locking up.”
Victoria gave no outward sign that she had heard anything and only she could hear the third level demon, but nevertheless she found herself chewing her lip quite aggressively.
“Especially if your gardener has a weak heart like Mister Jones.” He paused slightly, looking off into the distance, “Or Mister Hobbs.” He stood suddenly as if to derail, his train of thought, “Still. No pain no gain as they say.” He paused as if thinking further, “And a decent strawberry is a decent strawberry after all.”
Shortly after Victoria sat back in her chair alone, marvelling at how slow time was passing and anticipating yet another visitor. She had known of course after her encounter with her majesty’s Government and their foul plan for the Germanic states had failed that she had better lie low for a while, and that was what she was doing. Her work for the society of assassins had all but dried up, but she had an extremely healthy bank balance due to her encounter with the now late Mister Prentice and so there was no rush.
She had severed all ties with the government though they were probably just as delighted as her to find that they no longer had to deal with her. Mister Smith of the society that she was a member of was as always pragmatic about things when she had slipped into his office after hours one weekday evening to find him coddling a good malt as if waiting for her.
“Ah. There you are.” He had said, sipping at the drink. “I wondered how long it would be.”
“Just checking out my position with the society.” She had said and he had thought about it for a while before replying.
“Speculative.” He had said, “But if the government hold off then they will too.”
“I thought as much.” Said Victoria, “Cowards to a man most of them.”
“Indeed.” Agreed Smith, “If I were you I would take some time off. Perhaps enter the world of consultative expertise. I believe the money is good and the work regular.” He looked her up and down as if trying to see something of her that was not visible, “With your new talents you will no doubt find that line of work to be very lucrative.”
There had been small talk for a little while longer but it had been obvious to Victoria that although Smith was very much on her side, she still somehow had the ability to make him uneasy. It did not surprise her of course. She had found she could very easily disturb herself too, and so she was sensible about it and did as he said and decided to find somewhere in the country whilst at the same time considering consultative work. To all intents and purposes she had started to house hunt.
Which was easier said than done. She found that the Zeppelin routes were much more convenient north of the city than south of it, and so she had begun a search around the countryside of the home counties. The first property she viewed had ticked all of her required boxes (Near to London yet far enough from London, not on a main road, no neighbours and a good chimney pot to tether a skimmer to), yet had failed to excite her. It had been in a small village called Markham Rake, and after no more than a cursory inspection it became apparent that the name was as remarkable as it got. The chimney pot of the viewed property was not so good either, and she considered the fact that she may find her skimmer had drifted off during the night if tethered to that particular edifice.
Several other properties were considered but she just did not seem to be able to decide upon one. None inspired her and none made her wish to actually live there. She knew that she was not fussy, but equally she knew what she wanted and was not prepared to settle for second best.
Her increasingly frequent sorties out into the countryside of several home counties were by skimmer. The small personal zeppelin was perfect for viewing a property from above, and several of her prospective new homes were rejected summarily without even having to land the craft, or conceal it stealthily in its own mist.
One weekend however she decided as she sat looking across from her hotel room to the zeppelin towers nearby that as it was a day promising little rain and a great deal of sunshine that she would travel by steam wagon.
The roads were not as reliable as the overhead currents and zeppelin routes, but it gave an air of adventure to her search and the steam wagons were not as notorio
usly old fashioned or as unreliable as they used to be. With her newfound fortune she was of course able to afford the very top of the range vehicle, and so it was an early Saturday afternoon that had found her heading northwards from London and into Berkshire with a rendezvous with one Charles Wilkinson, manager of real estates of that county and Little Cookham in particular.
“I don’t know what we are doing travelling on foot.” Romney had grumbled.
“We are not on foot.” She had replied and the demon had fallen silent for a while as she steered the steam wagon ever north along the winding country lanes and roads. She found it quite exciting that she was in command of the vehicle. She knew that she could turn over the operation of the vehicle to the automatic processes of her data engine of course, but she chose not to. Quite simply she was enjoying herself.
She had lunch at a small inn off the main road and then proceeded further north, making good speed to ensure that she was on time for her three o’clock appointment with Mister Wilkinson.
The village of Little Cookham when she had first entered it had seemed so quaint and welcoming that Victoria felt almost as if the entire place was welcoming her back, though as far as she could recall she had never been there before. The main street through the village was narrow and winding, several stores along the side of it, though none were especially large. There was a coaching inn and tea room close by, and beyond that the vast grounds of Wickersham Hall lay beyond high sandstone walls, hidden from common view. There were many large properties across the village, revealing that the area was well moneyed, though there did seem to be very few people about in the main street at all.
To Victoria it seemed ideal. The property she had come to view was on the southern tip of the village and so she had slowly guided the steam wagon in that direction, pulling up onto the drive of the house a good thirty minutes before her appointment was due, which she considered was sufficient time to have a good look around the grounds.
“Seems okay boss.” Romney said and she had been forced to agree. The house was an old sandstone building of two floors, comprising of three bedrooms, a scullery and kitchen, several reception areas and living rooms, and a large glass conservatory on the rear of the house. The grounds were large, and the building itself set far back from the main road to afford a great deal of privacy, which is exactly what she wanted.
“Data scans show it has been empty for a month or so. No more.” She said to Romney, “Historically a residential property. No tricky contractual obligations or stipends. What have you got?” She asked, requesting Romney’s particular slant on examining the property.
“Well no major issue.” He said slowly, “Two minor, low-level manifestations.” He paused for a second, almost as if sniffing the air. “One is a cat.”
“Nineth life all used up?”
“Well used up.” Said Romney, “Combine harvester.”
“Ouch.” said Victoria, “Nasty.”
“Very.” There was a pause for a few more seconds as Victoria cupped one hand against the lead lined glass windows and attempted to look inside. Eventually the demon continued. “No demonic problems with the land or the buildings. The cat is the biggest manifestation, though there is also a scullery maid to.” There was another long pause. “Fanelda.”
“I beg your pardon?” Said Victoria, and Romney chuckled loudly. “It is her name. I think it’s Welsh.”
“Doesn’t sound very Welsh.” Said Victoria, giving up looking inside. The windows were thick with dust and she could not see inside at all.
‘Well. She reckons so. Anyway, she’s been here about sixty years. Horse related fatality. Doesn’t tend to throw plates around too much.”
“Excellent.” Said Victoria, rubbing her hands together to try and rid herself from the dirt of the outside of the windows, “No need to put any money to one side for exorcisms as such then.”
“Wouldn’t think so.”
“Hello!” Called a cheery voice from the end of the drive as a small rosy cheeked man carrying a small cognitional device strode into view, holding his hand out as he approached. “Charles Wilkinson of Wilkinson, Burridge and Snout. Land and estate agents of note at your service. You must be Miss Neaves.”
“The same.” Said Victoria, shaking hands carefully with the man.
“Quite a steam wagon you have there.” Said the agent, eying the vehicle parked on the drive with admiration, “I have seen the three oh seven models before, but never dreamed I would come across a three oh one.”
“Quite.” Said Victoria, “Shall we?” She pointed speculatively at the house and the agent suddenly started, dragging his eyes away from Victoria’s method of transport. He paused on the doorstep, fetching a large circlet of keys from his briefcase and setting his bag on the floor opened the door and beckoned Victoria inside.
“A fine property.” He smiled as Victoria walked into the reception area, looking up the staircase on her left and examining the wood paneled walls. “Large grounds too. Several acres in fact. Your house here is the second highest in the village.” He said, tipping the side of his nose as if he was imparting something nobody else knew.
“Only the second?” She smiled, walking along the hallway towards the back of the house.
“Indeed.” Said Wilkinson, only Doctor Prendergast’s property is a little more above sea level.”
“I see.” Said Victoria formally, leaving the hallway behind and entering the kitchen. It was she considered quite large and certainly sufficient for her needs. She had after all no plans for any entertaining. “How is it you know this?”
“Ah well.” Said Wilkinson, “I live in the village too and my residence is a little lower lying really. I am a keen astronomer you see, Miss Neaves and so I have an enthusiastic approach to the finer spot to view the heavens. Why, just the other night I observed a particularly spectacular shooting star and several m…”
“Very good.” Said Victoria interrupting him. She felt sorry she had asked the question really. She pointed to the staircase leading up. “Shall we continue?” She enquired.
“I do beg your pardon he said, moving into action and for the next hour they proceeded to examine all aspects of the house.
Victoria felt settled there almost straight away, and she knew after even a cursory inspection that she had to have the house. It was perfect. It was in a secluded quaint little village that was far enough away from London whilst at the same time still remaining within reach, and the rooms and layout were equally exactly what she wanted.
“Fanelda wants to know if you need a maid.” Said Romney in her head when they were halfway around the tour.
“Can she manifest?” Asked Victoria, speaking to her assistant through her mind.
“With a bit of practice I could show her, boss.” Said Romney and Victoria nodded.
“The wainscoting is I believe mid seventeen hundreds.” Said Wilkinson, oblivious to the spectral job interview going on behind his back. “No woodworm at all.”
“She okay with dusting, cleaning and what have you?” Asked Victoria and Romney nodded.
“She says so, yes.”
“Well if I am successful in purchasing the property then you can tell her she is hired.” She said, and from somewhere upstairs came a sudden low whooshing sound that resembled a breeze blowing down an open chimney. A loose clump of soot thudded onto the fireplace of an empty grate nearby, soot settling in the sir.
Mister Wilkinson seemed to increase the speed of his tour after that and was constantly looking over his shoulder as if trying to spot something that was just out of his field of vision, or peering into the darker corners of the rooms suspiciously. He was greatly pleased when Victoria informed him that she would place an offer on the property, especially as she actually offered above the asking price.
‘The extra money is to hasten the speed of the transaction Mister Wilkinson.” she said, “I have a mind to move quickly now that I have found somewhere that is to my approval.”
“I am
sure that will be the case.” He had replied.
“Make sure it is.” She had said and set off back to London in the steam wagon, using her computational engine to pilot the car on its way back to the city so she could relax and run through her various system readouts in her mind to ensure all was as it should be.
Since she had been augmented under duress at the behest of the government she was of the opinion that there were certain things built into her data engines and Babbage designed computational devices than she did not know about. Romney had given her all of her data codes and had freed her from their service, but she still delved endlessly through all of her databases just on the off chance of finding more information. She was connected to the data clouds of the Babbage engines of course, and she could pull up data in her mind on any matter or any subject or place at will, but still she searched, though to no avail.
It took little more than two weeks for the house sale to go through, Mister Wilkinson proving to be good on his word, for which Victoria paid him a handsome bonus. Money after all, was hardly an issue, and soon she was inviting merchants to her hotel suite to display their furnishings and household items to her with a view to furnishing her new home. Upon her next visit she engaged a firm of cleaning and decorating merchants, and shortly after the furniture and furnishings began to fill up the house.
The cellar however was left bare for Victoria wanted to furnish that discreetly herself, and for none of the other firms to be aware of what it was that she was going to use it for. Accordingly, she had them install several paltry wine racks on one wall and told them she would use it as a wine cellar and no more.
Equally she employed a local building firm to strengthen the chimney under the pretence of adding a lightning rod to it, and soon the skimmer waste securely tethered there, hardly moving in the breeze at all. After this a gardener was employed on a casual basis with instructions to keep the somewhat substantial grounds of the house under order and neat and tidy. Mister Harry Rollins was the man she eventually hired, his primary advantage being that he seemed to be completely stone deaf and just a little simple witted. He was however an absolute genius with lawns and plant pots, which was good enough as far as Victoria was concerned.
The Complete Adventures of Victoria Neaves & Romney Page 7
