by Sadie Swift
Was he finally understanding the ways of women? Or was it a case of ‘out of sight, out of mind’? Whatever the reason I hurried through the crowds of people. Most of them when seeing the state I was in must have sympathised with my urge to visit a haberdashers and moved out of my way. Arriving at the shop he’d indicated I found it closed with the shutters down. Had it just shut for the day due to all of the excitement? If so, would Katherine come out shortly with whatever she went in for? And why didn’t she tell me she would be here?
My heart leapt - what if she wanted to surprise me with something?
I saw movement through the closed shutters and hurried away down the street and round a corner. I’d happily let her surprise me if she wanted.
The door opened and I recognised the dress and hat as those of Katherine’s.
I didn’t, though, recognise the lady wearing them.
***
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Katherine
One
The crowds of people passing by on the street ignored me as they headed to see the remains of the downed Russian airship. That was fine by me as I was dirty and smelly from somehow surviving the airship’s destruction and throwing up in the escape. But also because my thoughts were confused at what I’d just seen - Katherine, the lady I loved, had disappeared. The clothes I recognised as hers were now, somehow, being worn by a stranger.
Gradually the lady wearing Katherine’s hat and dress melted away into the crowds. What was going on? Why wasn’t Katherine in her own clothes?
Maybe the shock of killing two vampires and having a major hand in the Russian airship’s destruction made me stand and stare at the last place I saw the strange lady. Then something inside my mind gave a little kick, unfortunately too late to be able to follow the stranger into the crowd, so I headed to the haberdashers from where she’d exited a short while ago.
Would I be able to gain entry and find an answer? There was but one way to find out.
Quickly I hurried back up the street and tried the door. Locked. Shielding my eyes I tried to make out any movement behind the blinds, but saw nothing. That wouldn’t stop me though, so I hurried back to the alley I’d used to spy on the person I thought was Katherine and went through it to see if I could gain entry around the back.
I entered chill shadow and shivered as if something had just walked over my grave. Speeding up I dodged the accumulated smelly rubbish and exited the alley. The street this side was much quieter, almost as if it was in a different place and time.
Thin flower beds and window boxes containing bright flowers decorated the outside of neat little terraced houses. I hurried up the street to where the rear of the haberdashers was and had a surprise, so much so that I looked back to the alley to see if I’d miscalculated. No, I was correct - the rear of the haberdashers was Mistress Velda’s Emporium of the Arcane Arts.
What was going on? Had Katherine been visiting the haberdashers or Mistress Velda?
I approached the small mullioned windows and peered in. This shop also looked closed, but also possibly unused for quite a while if the skeleton hanging in the window was Mistress Velda, or one of her staff.
I touched the front door handle and jumped at a cry of “Miss Lovelady!”
The sound of steps came from behind me and I turned to see Sir Percival and a sooty and most dishevelled-looking Departmental Liaison following behind. For some reason I felt slightly better knowing that we hadn’t killed him by destroying the airship, but also they’d back me up if I needed to enter Mistress Velda’s arcane Emporium.
Sir Percival came up close to me and whispered, “Best do what you need to do quickly; the Liaison is still quite shellshocked and may not take in what you’re up to.”
I nodded my thanks to him and turned back to the handle. Similarly to the haberdasher’s, it was locked. Quickly I looked through the windows, peering past the skeletons of varying sizes, shrunken heads, books, and more candles than you could shake a chicken’s foot at. But I saw no-one and nothing that spoke to me of Katherine.
Disheartened I turned back to Sir Percival and said, “We’d best get back. There may be something among her belongings that would help solve this conundrum.”
He nodded his agreement and we each took one of the Liaison’s arms and helped him back to the steam carriage.
Back to Top
Two
Evening was falling as we arrived back at the Stately home that the Department owned. I didn’t realise how famished I was until my stomach protested most unbecomingly at the smell of dinner cooking. Heeding Sir Percival’s advice that we needed to clean ourselves up first or Mrs Miggins would refuse us entry to the dining room I quickly washed and changed into far cleaner clothes.
But before heading to the dining room I opened the drawer on Katherine’s side of the bed to begin my investigation.
At the bottom of the drawer underneath her masses of jewellery knick-knacks (she so did love bright glittery things - I was sure I could get the splinter of the Caspian Star cut and set into earrings and a matching necklace, and perhaps even a ring) were two envelopes. Both addressed to Katherine at a town she’d never brought up in conversation. Though, to be honest, geography, apart from that of our bodies, was not our normal topic of conversation. Both were missing the letters they may have contained, but in both were rough pencil drawings of what appeared to be Da Vinci’s Vitruvian man but inside a cog. I had no idea what that meant, if anything. The postmark date on one was from three years ago and on the other only a few days ago. Why the difference in dates? And why were they empty?
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the dinner gong. As the sound reverberated around the stately home I secreted them in a pocket and planned to ask Sir Percival if he knew anything about the town written on both.
Mrs Miggins was forced to serve us herself as one of her staff was already absent due to a family issue, as well as the disappearance of Katherine (who’d replaced one of her more recalcitrant staff).
Thankfully the Departmental Liaison seldom ate at the same table as us, perhaps feeling it was best to avoid over-familiarity. This evening though he’d also managed to cement himself into Mrs Miggins’s bad books by arriving to dinner in the same smoke-stained, dishevelled state that Sir Percival had found him.
While ladling soup into my bowl Mrs Miggins stood close and whispered, “Have you two had a tiff, Miss?”
She was the fount of all gossip in the house and seemed inordinately put out by not knowing why Katherine was absent.
“No,” I whispered back, “Have you heard anything?”
“I’ve asked the rest of my staff but they only know she left shortly after noon. Destination… unknown,” she added, needlessly melodramatically.
I could tell how rattled she was by her lack of information as I needed to indicate to her that my soup bowl would soon be overflowing.
“Oh, sorry, Miss.”
Sir Percival raised his hairy eyebrows at me as she moved off scowling to serve the Liaison.
“She received two letters,” I whispered at him.
He looked blankly at me, “Who?”
“Katherine.”
That didn’t seem to aid his memory.
“Girl that works here? Long dark hair? Hazel eyes you could lose yourself in?”
“Dab hand with a pepper grinder?”
Well, yes.
“What do you know about Southend-on-Sea?”
He considered the question while somehow navigating Mrs Miggins’ excellent soup past his luxuriant beard and moustache into his mouth.
“Nothing springs to mind.”
I knew it was a long shot anyway so wasn’t too disheartened.
“I’ve not looked through all her things yet, but I doubt Mrs Miggins had found anything of use in her staff quarters.”
Sir Percival nodded his agreement. “I’m sure she’d have been most thorough.”
When I’d first been taken on as Sir Percival’s companion I qu
ickly appraised Mrs Miggins that my room was out of bounds. On learning what miracle I’d achieved, Sir Percival similarly advised her, with the result that she informed me in no uncertain terms that I now responsible for making sure that both our rooms were habitable. It was a small enough price to pay for privacy. I did though have a sneaking suspicion that neither she, nor her staff, wanted to delve too deeply under his bed.
“Maybe if I take a leave of absence? Say my family is of need of me?”
“You wish to go there?”
Was Sir Percival actually following the conversation? Had the airship debacle addled his brains?
“Yes, I wish to find out if Katherine is safe, and…”
Emotion made me stop. Thankfully I believe I hid it by dabbing my lips with a napkin before the Liaison could notice, though he did seem more interested in the non-steaming vegetables that Mrs Miggins had just ‘accidentally’ served him.
I regathered myself as my soup dish was taken away and the main course served. I caught Mrs Miggins’ looking at me and she whispered, “You’re going after her?”
“Yes.”
A few more carrots found their way to my plate. And they were steaming hot.
I’d never wondered about Mrs Miggins as she was already a part of the furniture that came with the stately house. Was there a Mr Miggins? I had no idea.
A thought occurred to me and I quickly whispered to her, “What do you know of Southend-on-Sea?”
She pondered the question while absently giving Sir Percival far too many French beans for his constitution (I was extremely glad I had no reason to be in his room tonight).
“Hmm, there’s some nasty places in Southend.”
I wasn’t sure I wished to be delving too deeply into her reminisces. Then a thought occurred to her and she took out a well-used pencil and piece of paper. After licking the end she quickly scribbled something on the paper.
Handing it to me she said, “Here’s a place I know. Food was better than expected. Hmm… a passable hotpot. A tad too much salt in the fish sauce–”
I felt it prudent to cut in and stop her before she critiqued the whole menu. Taking the piece of paper with a heartfelt, “Thank you!” I noted that ‘The Whale’s Gizzard’ was probably a unique name for a guesthouse.
What better recommendation did I require? The only thing was to give a plausible explanation for my absence. Luckily the day’s events had taken their toll on the Liaison and he was nodding off over Mrs Miggins’s excellent steamed pudding. I didn’t rate his chances of ever receiving edible food again.
Quickly I flattened my napkin against the tablecloth, scribbled a quick sentence on it and headed over to him.
“Hello,” I said to his slightly sooty, bald, drooping head.
Bleary eyes in his hippo-like face looked up at me.
“Mmh?”
That seemed the best I’d get.
“It came to me that we needed some special equipment; if you’d care to initial this requisition order…?”
His slab-like hand raised itself and I pushed the pencil into it and placed the napkin on the table in front of him. He blinked at it a couple of times and my heart found its way into my throat. Would my ruse work?
I decided not to smile at him as that always seemed to set him on edge.
With a sigh he slowly scrawled on the napkin. I knew his normal signature and it seemed similar enough.
“Thank you.”
“Mmph?”
“Yes, yes it was.”
I headed out of the dining room after flashing a smile at Sir Percival, who looked like the French beans had begun their invidious assault upon his digestive system, and back to my room.
I sat on the carpet with Katherine’s clothes and scent surrounding me. I’d found nothing else of use. It was like she was a blank slate. Where had she gone? Why had she gone? It seemed I’d never be whole again until I found her.
Quickly I packed my travelling case and headed to bed. I needed to be up in time to catch the first train to Southend.
Back to Top
Three
The sky was overcast as I closed the large front door behind me and began the walk along the long drive to the front gate. I’d struggled out of bed not long ago – escaping from destroying a blimp the day before did rather take it out of one – and hoped the morning air would clear my head. The only other umbrella I had tapped the ground beside me. I hoped I wouldn’t need it to save my life as the first one had done.
The dark blue travelling dress and hat I wore seemed to match the day’s mood.
As this was personal business I wasn’t allowed to make use of the Department’ steam carriage, so it was with quite some surprise that it came round the side of the house and stopped next to me.
From the driver’s seat Wilkins raised his hat revealing his craggy face, “Lift, Miss?”
“You won’t get in trouble for this?”
His response was to spit on the ground. “If you can’t help friends what use are you?”
I smiled up at him, “Thank you.”
“I can only take you to the station, mind. Not the whole way to Southend.”
It seemed that my journey was now common knowledge. I could only hope that the Liaison was out of the loop.
Opening the door I lifted my travelling bag into the carriage and gratefully joined it. Was this a lucky portent for my journey? I could but hope.
We chuffed into town and stopped next to the station entrance.
I’d been on trains before, mainly when accompanying Sir Percival to examine aetheric inventions. This though was different and felt like I was on some adventure.
Having purchased a First class ticket (I’d made a pact with myself to never go back to my roots), and a newspaper, and learning I’d need to change at Fenchurch Street I sat on a bench and watched my fellow passengers. They seemed to be a mix of business people and excited families looking forward to seeing the sights. Did Katherine know any of them? She’d never mentioned family to me, and then there was her behaviour before Sir Percival and I left to see the Russian state airship. Had she left because of me? I had to find out and, if possible, repair the damage in our relationship.
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Four
Fenchurch station was a maelstrom of sights and sounds so it was with quite some relief that I found my way to the platform for the Southend train. On the way I bought a sandwich from one of the many vendors and realised I could have just paid him a penny as he was so surprised at the sight of my pink hair. As it was he nearly short-changed me before I coolly reminded him of basic mathematics.
The train to Southend was a much smaller one than the cross-country I’d caught to get into London, comprising only three carriages. I got in the First class carriage, placed my bag in the rack above my head, and my hat and newspaper (for emergencies) on the seat beside me. With some toots and some shunts we soon headed out under lowering skies. Even though it was still early morning it felt like twilight had fallen. The train wound its way through the smoke and haze of thousands of chimneys, which only slightly cleared when the Thames arrived on our right side, its sluggish waters reflecting the dark clouds that threatened rain.
At one of the stops a bowler-wearing gentleman in a brown suit and carrying his own newspaper entered my carriage and sat down. Naturally he was interested in my hair but I put my newspaper to good use and started reading the idiocy of the day, using it to shield myself from entering into annoying conversation.
Luckily it was but a short journey and before I’d felt the need to plumb the depths of some nonsensical law currently going through the House of Lords we arrived.
“May I?” the man asked in a strong cockney accent, indicating my bag above my head.
“Thank you.”
It was always nice to have some help considering that I’d never see him again.
Replacing my hat and folding my paper I stood and moved out of his way when he reached up for my bag. Some strange scent came
off him, tickling my nostrils. Probably some fashionable hair cream, I thought to myself.
I smiled my thanks and left the carriage, heading towards the ticket inspector at the platform’s exit.
The station master was bawling at porters up ladders to hurry up and light the gas lights as the station was nearly in darkness due to the strange weather.
I stopped just inside the station’s exit in case the threatened deluge had begun. But no, it was just very dark. As a precaution I opened my umbrella and approached the cab rank. I gave the next-in-line bowler-hatted driver the address of the guest house Mrs Miggins had recommended and got in. We steamed off along the main thoroughfare and I looked around at the place. The impression I got was that it was trying to be a smaller, local version of London. Did Katherine originally hail from Southend? How did she become tangled up with Mr Tok?
Too many questions! First things first. Get a place to stay, then head to the address on the envelope, and then go from there.
The road turned a corner and we were now puffing along by the Thames, I noticed an incredibly long pier heading out into its estuarine mouth, and the shops had turned into touristy ones in among guesthouses. Though I doubted Sir Percival would appreciate receiving a postcard bearing a fat mother-in-law joke, which was apparently quite the rage these days.
I checked the names of the guesthouses in case my destination was one of them. It was with some relief that I noticed several of those we passed had vacancy signs hanging outside.
The cab pulled in to the kerb next to a shop with crab and fish-shaped balloons blowing in the breeze outside. I was momentarily nonplussed until I made out the whale-shaped shingle of the guesthouse next to it, The Whale’s Gizzard it was.
I took my umbrella and travelling case out and paid the driver. The clouds seemed even darker now I was underneath them. I hurried up the white steps and opened the front door.
