The Complete Adventures of Victoria Neaves & Romney

by Michael White

  After that she would check and catch up on any correspondence. These were invariably bills for various services associated with the move which surprised her on an almost daily basis by continuing to arrive. Money however was not a problem. The nice Mister Prentice had seen to that. Still. It needed an eye keeping on and she was more than happy to do so.

  After that it was lunch, and then perhaps a small nap before taking another constitutional in the afternoon. Some days she would take the steam wagon for a drive in the afternoon sunshine if indeed it was sunny. If it remained inclement then the vehicle stayed in the garage. Other days she would read for a while or contemplate whether she wanted to take up keeping a diary or perhaps trying her hand at attempting some landscape painting.

  “Romney.” She said, placing her coffee cup firmly down on the table.

  “Yes boss?” Said Romney.

  “I am bored.”

  “Ah. Missing work then?”

  “Yes. I do not think I am quite cut out for the life of a country lady.”

  “Well you can hardly go back to work now, can you?” Said the demon. “You’d only go and get yourself killed if you did.”

  “I could work around the edges of the assassin’s society and the government.” Said Victoria.

  “What the hell does that mean?” Laughed Romney sarcastically, “You are a thief and an assassin. How can you “operate around the edges” of that? It’s a pretty black and white line really you know, boss?”

  “When Mister Prentice called me in he asked for my help in coming up with an explanation for a vanished scientist. I found running through the possibilities that presented themselves to me to be quite exhilarating.”

  “Well that was just a ruse to get you there.” Snarled Romney, “And look how that all ended up.”

  “I know.” She sighed, “All I am saying is I could use my skills in different ways. Perhaps I may be of use as a detectorist or the like.”

  “Well whatever you do keep it low key. I think the last two guys were low key. If they had really wanted you dead they would have sent someone - or something - a little more heavy duty. They know what you can do Victoria. Just remember that.”

  “Of course.” She sniffed. She knew the demon was right, but she was loathe to consider anyone externally curtailing her actions.

  She spent the next hour making small sketches on the notepad for Mister Rollins, along with the answers to the questions that he had. After that period of time he seemed to be relatively sure what was being asked of him and so she retired to the drawing room and dropped down the lid of her writing desk, preparing to make a note.

  “Missing persons located.” She wrote, “Lost pets recovered” (she sneered slightly at this one but considered it upped the “innocuous” rating considerably, “Trespassers or Poachers identified, stolen vehicles or farm equipment traced. No enquiry too small.” She paused for a moment, pen in hand. She needed something a little more open ended. After all, she could not make a list of all likely events. She thought and finally wrote on the end of the advertisement, “Mysteries solved.”

  She finished the note with her telephonic number at the house and then wrote it out much neater onto a postcard. She would take it down to the post office after lunch she thought. She had not placed her name on the postcard as she had not wanted any of the villagers to see that it was her, and so there was no address on the advertisement either. She knew that a lot of the villagers would look down upon her for having work, or certainly for looking for it, especially as she seemed to be quite well monied, and so she decided the best thing to do was to keep them in the dark.

  “I hardly think I am going to be run off my feet with requests for help anyway.” She said as she placed the card in her bag to take with her later.

  After supper Victoria found herself feeling restless and so decided to take the skimmer out for a quick run. The small zeppelin was designed for speed. It could comfortably seat four people and uncomfortably six, for it was very small. It was also equipped, as most skimmers were, with stealth technology, or a mist as it was known. Combining this with near silent running and its speed it was ideal for those members of the assassins society that could afford one, which was many of them, seeing how useful they were as a tool of the trade.

  “I shall take the skimmer for a short run.” She said to Romney as she made her way to her bedroom and then out of the window and onto the roof. The skimmer was at present completely misted, and therefore invisible, but she knew that it was tethered to the chimney where she always kept it.

  “Okay boss.” Said Romney.

  “Just a little “me” time.” She said and Romney chuckled but did not reply. She often wondered just how alone she was when she indicated to him, as she had done now, that she wanted a little privacy. It was not just a case of removing her necklace as the demon was blood bound to her and went with her wherever she went, necklace or not. In fact, she often found herself not wearing the necklace at all and it made not a jot of a difference. They had an understanding however and that was that if Victoria asked for privacy then Romney vanished pretty quickly, though she did wonder exactly how that worked from his end and just how alone she really was.

  She scrambled across the roof and climbed the chimney pot, reaching up to where the skimmer was docked and touched a small switch she found there. The skimmer faded into view, black in colour, dart - like and sleek looking. She clambered through the now open hatch and closed it behind her, settling herself down in the cockpit seat and re-activating the mist to conceal the craft. She touched the small brass fingerprint plate on the dashboard and the skimmer came to life, the controls lighting. She pulled back on the wheel, undocked from the chimney and sailed away into the night, the craft sliding across the countryside, the hills and vales darkened below her as she sailed in a circular route into the night with no particular destination in mind at all. She was gone for three hours and although Romney did not ask her, if he had done she would not have been able to describe where she had been or what she had been doing in those three hours at all.

  ***

  It was a week after the advertisement was posted in the village before there was even the slightest trace of a response. Victoria had sat waiting in the parlour, telephonic to hand but after a few days she had settled back into her normal routine and checked the telephony device for any left messages twice a day. So far there were none. She had invested in one of the newest of devices that housed a fifth circle demonic intelligence whose task was to record any incoming messages should the caller wish to leave a message. The demon intelligence was not sentient as such, hence it belonging to the fifth circle of hell, but it had its uses and Victoria had marveled at the device. It also solved another problem in that if she so desired she could listen to messages on the device rather than answer the call, which maintained her anonymity.

  It was after another long and arduous conversation with Mister Rollins about the location of the herb garden that she had retired indoors and discovered a small light was flashing on the telephonic device. She pulled a small brass lever and the device sprung to life.

  “Good afternoon.” Said the deep, careful voice, “Name is Hawthorne, Lowell Hawthorne and I would like to arrange a meeting with the detectorist with regards to giving me a second opinion on a matter of some delicacy. I am staying at the village Inn in Denwick Beauchamp. Please call to arrange a mutually acceptable time. Thank You.” There was a slight pause and then the same voice could be heard only slightly further away. “How do you turn this damned thing off?” Could however be plainly heard, followed by a thump and then the line went dead.

  “Ah. Technology.” Said Romney.

  “It seems to frighten some people.” Said Victoria speculatively.

  “Speaking of which I have created a casing for the cat.” He said proudly.

  “A casing?” Asked Victoria.

  “Yes. Like a golem sort of thing. “There was a brief pause as if Romney was having more than a little d
ifficulty in explaining himself, “Only not clay.” He paused again before concluding, “Or a golem.”

  “Shall we just have a look at it?” Sighed Victoria and there was a low whisper of air as a small cat sized object appeared at her feet. She looked at it and then bent down for a closer look. “Well now.” She said, “This really is most impressive.”

  “Well the shell is enhanced with a low level psychic field designed to make the spirit essence of the cat feel welcome.”

  “Really? How clever.” Said Victoria.

  “It’s mouse flavoured.” Said Romney and Victoria chuckled as she examined the steel casing.

  The object was cat shaped and made entirely of steel. The leg joints were finely hinged and studded with rivets, the eyes oddly blank, the tail a long metal length of riveted metal and brass. There was a vague scent of oil about it and as she looked at it there was a slight hiss of steam and the eyes lit blue.

  “Wow.” said Romney, “He’s in it already.”

  “Keen.” smiled Victoria as the metal cat took a tentative step forward and then slowly padded around in a circle, stopping at her feet and then the head tilted up at her and the metal mouth opened, revealing brass coloured fangs and teeth.

  “Meow.” said the cat and Victoria laughed.

  “You gave it a voice?” She asked and she heard Romney chuckle.

  “I did. Basic cat sounds. Thought it gave it an air of authenticity.”

  “How wonderful.” She said, “We appear to have a new household member.” Victoria stopped, listening. From the metal cat came a definite sound of purring. The cat moved forward tentatively and rubbed itself against her feet.

  “Aww. Cute.” said Romney, “Think he’s well chuffed after all that stuff with the combine harvester and what have you.” He said, “Now he can chase mice again.”

  “Are you sure that it is a “he”?” She asked and Romney tutted loudly.

  “I’m sure boss.” He said.

  “Excellent.” Smiled Victoria, watching as the cat paced a little more quickly into the centre of the room and then turned as if watching her. “So what shall we call it?” She said and the cat moved forward a few steps and looked up at her.

  “Call me Mister Tibbs.” Said the cat and Victoria could not help but feel her mouth forming a large letter “O”.

  “You seem to rather over-done it on the voice box.” Smiled Victoria and to her surprise the cat tutted.

  “I only programmed it to do cat noises.” Said Romney, “I swear.”

  “He’s telling the truth of course.” Said the cat, “Though I must say I have taken advantage of the voice box somewhat.”

  “So,” said Victoria, “Mister Tibbs then?”

  “At your service.” Said the cat as it lurched forwards, a slight hiss of steam following it as it moved.

  “Pleased to meet you Mister Tibbs.” Said Victoria.

  “Likewise.” Said the cat, and with a louder hiss strode from the room, rounding the doorway and heading for the kitchen, as most cats frequently do. “I will be in the kitchen if you need me.” Said the cat as it disappeared from view.

  “Remind me to never allow you to create a construct for anything bigger than a cat.”

  “No problem boss. I think that my construct days are over.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Victoria busied herself on the telephonic device, speaking first to a datacloud numbers operator and then the Inn at Denwick Beauchamp. It took the staff at the inn a few minutes to trace Mister Hawthorne and for Victoria and he to arrange a mutual time for him to call. Eventually they settled on two o’clock in the afternoon the next day and the call was concluded.

  “Sounds a bit of a stiff.” Said Victoria once she had placed the telephonic back in its cradle.

  “He give anything away?” Asked Romney and Victoria smiled. She knew perfectly well Romney already knew the answer to the question. He was a demon of the third circle after all. He knew precisely what was going on around him possibly to a degree that she did not even begin to comprehend. Yet sometimes she thought he acted, as he was now, in a slightly more human way possibly to put her at ease, or possibly for his own pleasure. She didn’t really have the answer to which of the two it was, and she wasn’t going to ask him. He might be embarrassed.

  “Not a thing.” She said. “We shall just have to wait and see tomorrow.”

  “Okay boss.” Said Romney and from the kitchen came a loud shrill scream and a crash of plates as Fanelda and Mister Tibbs became acquainted with each other in the kitchen.

  The next day began with a light shower of rain, and there was a chill in the air, but as lunch approached the sun came out and warmed the air. Victoria finished her soup and as she placed her spoon down on the table there was a slight pause and then the bowl bobbed into the air and floated away towards the kitchen.

  “Thank you Fanelda.” She said.

  “Mistress.” Acknowledged the spectral maid.

  “Are you sure this bloke isn’t expecting lunch?” Asked Romney. He had the voice of a man who was looking down the garden path in irritation.

  “I am not running a restaurant, Romney.” She said, “Besides two o’clock is far too late for lunch.”

  They fidgeted around each other in silence for a short while until precisely at two o’clock the doorbell rang and Victoria rose to answer the door.

  “Ensure you remain in the kitchen please, Fanelda.” Said Victoria, “You too Mister Tibbs.” There came a brief wail and what sounded more like a hiss of steam than a meow and the kitchen door creaked shut slowly. “Thank you.” She smiled and opened the front door.

  The man on the doorstep was of medium build, grey haired and she estimated to be of about forty years of age. He had a small but prominent grey moustache, and beneath his hat she saw his hair was of the same colour. He wore a bright, lively expression but looked almost predisposed to frowning somehow, as if people and life in general had proven one too many times to be a disappointment to him.

  “Good afternoon.” He said, his voice refined but clipped. “Ex-military” she thought as he continued. “I have an appointment with your master.” He reached into his grey suit, balancing a stout brass topped walking cane against his leg for balance and pulling a card from his pocket and giving it to her. “Lowell Hawthorne.” He smiled and Victoria looked at the card briefly, noting the contact details and that the man had his line of business down as “Author and Journalist."

  “Please come in.” she said, holding the door open and smiling, Hawthorne came inside. She walked through to the drawing room, calling over shoulder as she went. “This way please.” And as he caught her up she sat down in her chair and pointed for the author to do likewise. Victoria thought that perhaps he looked more than a little flustered. Slowly he sat down and took his hat off, placing it on his knee, his cane by the side of the chair.

  “I think there has been some confusion.” He said finally, his moustache wobbling to and fro above his top lip as if it was trying to shake itself free, “I have an appointment with the detectorist who has placed an advertisement in the village post office.”

  “That is me.” Said Victoria, enjoying the look of confusion and then disappointment that swam across his face.

  “Ah.” he said. “I have therefore been under a misapprehension. I will take up no more of your time Miss…” He tailed off, standing and placing his hat back on his head looking quite embarrassed as he did so.

  “Neaves.” She said, smiling, “Victoria Neaves. I think perhaps you underestimate me, Mister Hawthorne. I am more than the equal of any man operating in my field at this present time.”

  “I see.” He spluttered, “And where would it be you learnt the skills you so proudly advertise in the post office window?”

  “Well now.” Smiled Victoria, “If I told you that then I would almost certainly have to kill you.” She smiled broadly as Hawthorne looked at her in confusion.

  “I think perhaps that would be beyond your
abilities ma’am.” He said stiffly, “A good day to you.” He moved to pick his cane up and as he flicked his eyes across to where Victoria had been sitting he was surprised to see that she was not actually there any longer.

  “I know of eleven pressure points on the human body which, with the correct amount of pressure from just one finger could kill a man stone dead in seconds.” She whispered in his ear from behind him.

  “I see.” He gulped.

  “However. I am prone not to show off such a prowess, I find it rarely helps with negotiations.”

  She walked around in front of him, noticing a bead of sweat roll down his forehead, “Sit down Mister Hawthorne.” She said, “And tell me why you are here.” Smiling she sat down.

  Hawthorne did so too, removing his hat and propping his cane back up once more. He seemed to be wrestling with the possibilities before him, but he looked at the stern expression on Victoria’s face and then seemed to come to a decision.

  “Very well.” He said, “My house is at the village of Denwick Beauchamp, some five miles to the west of here.”

  “I know where it is.” Nodded Victoria.

  “Well you will know then it is a quiet village with very few residents. The settlement itself is of quite strong historical significance, bordering the woods the heart of which the village lies in.”

  “I read in the local history books that the village was originally nothing more than the favoured hunting lodge for the Tudor kings.”

  “Indeed.” Smiled Hawthorne, pleased to hear that Victoria knew this. “Yes. It is is a quiet place and I treasure it greatly. I am an author of many shall we say, popular novels. Crime and mystery and so on. My protagonist is a detectorist, like yourself.”

  “Yet I am not familiar with your work.” Smiled Victoria, “And I am no idle reader. My library here is expansive.”