Chapter 33

Edited by Old Rotorhead

It was fully half an hour before Andrew showed the two artists, Ben and Phil into Victoria’s office.

“How did you get on?” she asked them. “Is the equipment suitable?”

“Yes,” Ben replied. Victoria had noticed that he was invariably the leader and spokesman. “It seems excellent, better than the college has. You said the previous photographer was a lady.”

“Yes, my stepdaughter,” said Victoria. “Lady Beatrice Hatherley.”

“Oh! We wondered who took the photographs in the gallery,” said Ben.

“Gallery?” questioned Victoria.

“Yes, there’s a door at the back of the darkroom ... um, there’s quite a lot of ... should we not have...”

Victoria flushed. “The little madam!” she exclaimed. “When I get my hands on her ... Oh well, it’s going to be a long time before that happens.”

“Oh, so...”

“It only matters because some of those photographs are of local ladies who wouldn’t be too happy if they realised the pictures still existed.” Victoria told them. “The previous photographer, Gina took most of them. For some curious reason it seems that ladies often loose their inhibitions in front of a camera. Bea found the room just as you did. I told her to lock it and give me the key, but she obviously just clicked the lock without turning it, and then handed me the key.

The two men looked at each other.

“Don’t even think about it!” said Victoria. “We’ll see, I ought to destroy them. I’ll take you gentlemen over to the workshop and you can meet Josephine and Myfanwy. They are my designers. They do drawings and help make patterns for new designs, but their drawing skills are not what we require for catalogues and that kind of thing.”

“Well don’t destroy the pictures,” said Phil. “They are very good. Really. Although there are some that, well...”

Victoria’s blush deepened.

“I will go and lock it myself,” she stated quite firmly. Those will definitely be destroyed.”

But first they walked over to the workshop where Victoria showed them the rows of sewing machines with the girls busily stitching dresses together, and then they went through into the design studio where they found the two girls working on a new dress which was on a dummy. They were comparing materials to decide which would suit their creation best. They stopped and greeted Victoria, who introduced the two artists.

Knowing how, Josephine particularly, felt about men she watched the interaction between the four of them with care. She was somewhat surprised to find that Josephine was almost flirting, and Myfanwy was quite giggly. She shook her head; there were some things that would always be a mystery.

“Can you gentlemen turn the sketches that Josephine and Myfanwy have done into something that our customers can appreciate?” asked Victoria.

“Of course,” said Ben. “We can do that. Shall we bring them to your office?”

“Yes, please,” said Victoria. “I’ll leave you to it.”

On her way back to her office Victoria mused on the subject of the reactions she had seen. Josephine, she knew, hated men, Myfanwy she had no idea, although she had assumed that she and Josephine were, perhaps, rather more than just friends. But she realised on reflection that she could be wrong. And those two men? Well, she had been quite sure that they were ... hmm ... effeminate would do for now, but the way they treated the girls ... perhaps she didn’t know as much as she thought. Which brought her to the thought that it might be her, or possibly it was the subject of ladies clothing, that attracted some rather ... different people. She did not, of course, consider herself as anything other than completely normal.

It was mid-morning before an elderly steam engine clanked into the station. It took another half hour to refuel it, fill its water tanks, and attach it to the front of the train. When that was completed there was a loud whistle and the journey began. Immediately after leaving the station they entered a long tunnel, and it was only a few minutes after leaving that one that they entered another. There were many stops and it was mid evening before they arrived in Saragossa. It was fortunate that the city boasted an excellent hotel. Also, the Spanish habit of eating much later than the party was used to meant that having secured their accommodation they were in good time for an excellent dinner. After the rigours of the journey it was decided that they would spend a couple of days in Saragossa before proceeding to Madrid.

The next morning, having had an a very good, if late, dinner the previous evening they decided that the only thing they wanted was coffee, which Myrtle provided for them. Because of this, after a walk around the city centre they arrived in the hotel dining room for an early lunch. Hermione and Susan stopped to use ladies cloakroom whilst Jake obtained a table. He was sitting facing the entrance when the two ladies came in. Hermione clearly had something that she wanted to tell Jake, and as soon as she was sitting she leant forward.

“Do you know who I have just seen?” she spoke softly, despite her obvious excitement.

“Minerva Zábradlie,” Jake replied, smiling.

Hermione’s mouth dropped, and she looked at him as though he could suddenly read her mind.

“How...?”

“Because she is standing right behind you,” he said, standing up. “Minerva! I wish I could say how good it is to see you! But what are you doing in such an out of the way place?”

“Sir Jacob! I might vell ask you the same qvestion,”Minerva smiled. “But I don’t suppose you vill tell me.”

“Of course,” Jake replied. “Hermione and I have married and this is our honeymoon. Perfectly innocent I assure you. Are you still with Hugh Jampton?”

Minerva had a faraway look in her eyes for a moment.

“Ah! Such a man! But no, I am with the Marqués de Elefante y Castillo. He has a house in the city. I am his compañera.”

“And mistress,” said Hermione.

“Your husband is a gentleman,” said Minerva acidly. “But you are not a lady. Yes, for my sins, that is the case. I vould vish it was ‘Ugh, but a girl cannot have everything she would like.”

Girl, thought Hermione, hardly. “Do you ever see him?”

“Occasionally. Vhen he can be useful.”

Minerva left them to join a middle aged gentleman at another table.

“When he can be useful,” said Hermione equally as acidly as Minerva. “I’ll just bet.”

“Marqués de Elefante y Castillo,” mused Jake. “I am sure I have heard the name before ... it’ll come to me.”

“Who is she?” asked Susan, which entailed an explanation which took them until they had coffee.

Jake suddenly tapped his forehead with his hand. “Of course!” he said. “The Marqués di Elefante y Castillo. He is the Spanish defence minister! No wonder she is prepared to put up with him. I wonder what she is after.”

Hermione raised an interrogative eyebrow. Jake grinned. “Of course, I meant specifically, there must be some secret that will be worth something to another government.”

The arrival of the stagecoach was an event in itself, and with two horses with bodies tied on them soon gathered a small crowd. The sheriff arrived and explanations were made as to what had taken place. He lifted up the head of the man called Jim by the hair.

“Looks familiar,” he commented. “Best get my wanted posters.”

He returned a few minutes later with several dogeared posters, compared one to corpse and declared a match. He did the same with the other body

“Who shot ‘im?” he asked.

“I did,” said Bea.

“You did?” the sheriff sounded doubtful. “A little lady like you? That looks like a .44 was used.”

“Yes,” Bea sounded exasperated. “Do you want a demonstration?”

The sheriff was now back pedalling, but the crowd, now joined by the undertaker and the mayor were very much in favour. It wasn’t often they got this much excitement.

The sheriff led the way down an alley alongside the jail to a flat area at the rear where there were the remains of six whisky bottles and a considerable amount of broken glass. The sheriff set up six new bottles, whilst the crowd started laying bets.

“They alright for you? Kin y’ hit those?” asked the sheriff.

“Yes,” said Bea. She raised the Remington and took aim. Her first shot was just to the left of the first bottle. There was a moan from the crowd. She corrected for the second and demolished the bottle. The crowd cheered. She repeated this for the other four to the delight of the crowd. As the smoke drifted away there was a shuffling sound as bets were paid. Bea turned, and in a theatrical gesture that came from Fitz knew not where, she turned the gun upwards and blew the last of the smoke from the muzzle.

She tilted her head coquettishly, raised an eyebrow and looked at the sheriff.

The sheriff looked at the mayor. “Kin I have a lady depity?” he asked.

The mayor laughed. “Ain’t nothin’ says you can’t. ‘Cept’n you’ll have to pay her, cos we ain’t got no money for a depity.”

The sheriff turned to Bea. “Them two men was worth $60 ma’am.”

Bea thought for a moment, then turned to the mayor.

“Do you have widows and orphans here, Mr Mayor?” she asked.

“Well, yes ma’am, we do,” said the mayor.

Bea turned to the sheriff. “Give the money to the mayor, and if there is any left from the sale of the horses and saddles add that too. Use the money to make their lives a little easier if you will Mr Mayor.”

Bea took Fitz’s arm and they walked back to the main street where the horses and their gruesome cargo had disappeared, and the coach stood waiting, a hostler holding the reins. She turned to the mayor again.

“Do you have a school here, Mr Mayor?” she asked.

“No, ma’am. We need one, but its getting the money, teachers have to be paid, and there’s only so much tax we can raise.” the mayor told her.

Fitz knew exactly what was in her mind and handed her the cash from Jim’s money belt. Bea handed it to the mayor.

“Ma’am this is too generous...”

“Mr Mayor, the man was trying to ... well, he was assaulting me. If I kept the money I should feel like a ... saloon girl.” Bea told him. She handed him one of her visiting cards. “Write to me and tell me all about what happens,” she said. She turned and Jake handed her up into the coach, and then followed her.

The driver was back in his seat, and the conductor called out to them to ‘git aboard’.

The driver made his usual ‘Heearrh’ sound, flicked the reins and they were soon rolling steadily along the road again.

“That was mighty generous of you Lady Beatrice,” said O’Malley. “But d’you think they’ll be havin’ a big party tonight?”

“They may do, Mr O’Malley,” said Bea, “but I don’t think so. I was glad to be rid of the money, and I think it’ll do some good.”

“I rather doubt the mayor can write,” O’Malley went on.

“In that case,” said Bea, “he will be able to learn, and the school will do some good.”

“I hope it does, Lady Beatrice. Education can only do good.”

“I’m very proud of you Bea,” Fitz joined in. “That was a very generous gesture, and as you say, the money was tainted. I’m sure it will do some good.”

As he usually did Fitz wondered about this slip of a girl who never ceased to amaze him.

Peter Hatherley was almost beside himself with joy when Victoria told him of her pregnancy.

“I shall be able to apply for him to become the Duke of Skegness,” he said.

“It may well be a girl,” Victoria laughed.

“Of course, of course. Foolish of me,” Peter replied, somewhat chagrined. “It doesn’t matter at all. All that matters is that you and the child are safe and well, and ... Oh well, I’m sure you know what I mean my love. I shall write to Beatrice and tell her.”

“We’ll both write to her,” said Victoria. “I’m sure they will be in San Francisco long enough for it to find them there.”

“Yes, of course, my love. That is what we will do. Now, should you stay at home and rest? What does Doctor Foster say? We must look after you.”

Victoria laughed. “I am with child, Peter, not ill. I will be very careful. But I will not allow the business to suffer either.”

She went on to tell him about her new artists and the reaction of Josephine and Myfanwy to them. “ ... and when they spent some time experimenting with all the chemicals and whatever they took some superb photographs. They got Becky to sit for them and they seem to have something extra. Gina and Bea were good, but I suppose being artists they have a better eye for it. Anyway, they are going to start doing portraits the same as the others did. It helps with the business of selling dresses, and if we get some really good pictures of ladies in our dresses we may be able to use them.”

“What about your secretary, what’s his name, Chard, yes,” Peter asked.

“Andrew is proving very useful,” said Victoria. “Doesn’t really approve of Ben and Phil, to umm ... artistic for him I think.”

Peter laughed. “Well as long as he does what you want that’s good. Will he be able to run things when you are confined?”

“He will be able to come here and keep me informed of what is happening, and I shall be able to give instructions. I really don’t see any problem.”

And there they left it. Peter would continue to worry about Victoria. He knew that he wouldn’t change her, but his job at the Home Office was basically as a spymaster, so, as Jake had found out, he was a master manipulator. He would ensure that nothing untoward would happen to her if it was within his power.

The next morning Jake and Hermione decided that whilst Saragossa was very pleasant, they needed to move on. Madrid would be the next stop, and Jake went out to the station to secure a carriage, or at least a compartment for them the next day. He left about mid-morning and it was nearly lunchtime when Hermione asked Susan if she had seen him return. Susan hadn’t and so they asked Myrtle. She hadn’t seen him either.

Hermione had a hat pinned to her head before any more could be said, and was out of the door in an attempt to find out where he was. After her long association with Jake she was quite sure that whatever city he was in something untoward was likely to happen. It was only a few minutes walk to the railway station where she attempted to ask whether they had seen Jake. Her lack of Spanish was a distinct handicap. She was very soon joined by Susan. The only thing they were able to establish with any certainty was that Jake had not been to the station. They could find no one who spoke English or sufficient French to be able to make themselves understood.

They were about to return to the hotel to decide on what their next course of action should be, when Myrtle came running up to them.

“Milady! The doorman at the hotel told me that when Sir Jacob went out he was met by two dragoons. They took him away in a coach,” Myrtle said breathlessly. “and there was a woman in the coach.”

“That’s the work of that damned Zábradlie woman!” declared Hermione. “I should have guessed. She is always up to no good.”

“What shall we do now?” asked Susan.

“My guess,” said Hermione, “is that she has taken him to wherever the Marqués town house is ... we need to find out where that is.”

She thought for a moment.

“Myrtle, do you think you could find that out,” she went on. “I’m sure your friendly doorman will know if you flutter your eyelashes at him.”

Myrtle grinned. “Of course, Milady!”

Hermione and Susan went back to their suite where Hermione checked that Jake had left his revolver behind. That gave them two guns, Jake’s .38 and her Derringer.

A few minutes later Myrtle joined them. “Ooh, that doorman is worse than an octopus!” she exclaimed, fanning her somewhat pink face.

“So what did you find out?” Hermione demanded.

“The Marqués house isn’t far. We could walk.”

“Well that’s good,” said Hermione, thoughtfully. “Anything else?”

“He says the there is just the butler and his wife there,” said Myrtle. “If the Marqués is entertaining they hire a couple of girls from the town.”

“My word, you did do well!” Hermione told her.

“I did well to escape with my virtue intact!” Myrtle grinned. “Are we having an adventure?”

Hermione smiled. “Do you know I rather think we are. Now, planning.”

The rest of their journey by the Overland stagecoach could be described as an anticlimax, but that would depend on which of the four passengers you asked. For the driver and conductor there was little out of the ordinary, but certainly for Fitz, Bea and Amanda and Mr O’Malley it was anything but. Admittedly the rest of the journey did not include any gun play, nor arguments with those people encountered along the way. For Mr O’Malley it was just a further extension of the journey, one that he had to suffer in the interests of his business. To Fitz the rest of the journey was little different to being on board one of Her Majesty’s men of war. Wet cold and uncomfortable and largely boring, with the occasional change when the sun could be seen, and very occasionally some excitement. Bea took every day as it came and spent some time looking out for Amanda who simply worshipped her mistress. Nevertheless the Remingtons were never far from her hands.

It was, however anything but a gentle drive through peaceful countryside. The weather was occasionally good, but more often the rain came down like stair rods and penetrated everything, as did the cold. It was almost a relief to have to get out and walk, apart from the mud, In the mountains this was frozen into ruts that were difficult to negotiate. The penetrating cold at high altitude made the blankets they had purchased almost laughably inadequate.

Eventually they reached Carson City where Mr O’Malley left them, and then it was a comparatively easy run to Sacramento, first skirting Lake Tahoe, a large and beautiful mountain lake, and then by way of the Donner Pass. The conductor cheerfully enjoyed telling them a lurid version of how the pass got its name. After that they viewed the food at subsequent stage stops with even less enthusiasm. In Sacramento they spent two days in the best hotel, not least luxuriating in hot baths. They were heartened by the news that the final leg of the journey to San Francisco would be by train. And so early morning, two days later, saw them clean, with the girls wearing dresses that had been cleaned as well as they could be, boarding the train.

The train consisted of a standard ‘American’ locomotive, brightly painted, a baggage car at the head end and three all seat coaches with open verandas at the ends. The engine pulled away with little fuss and the final leg began. The group had seats in the last car which was fairly full with what could be described as the full range of anyone who could afford the price of a ticket. The train rolled on, stopping at small communities along the way to pick up and set down people and goods from the baggage car, sometimes taking on water.

When Fitz and Amanda decided to get some fresh air on the rear veranda it was only a few minutes before a sharply dressed man took the seat alongside Bea. He smelt of whisky.

“Hows about you and I get to know each other better,” he opened. “I’m Robert Jukes, call me Bob.”

“I don’t think so,” replied Bea, fiddling with her hat. She brought her hands down to her lap.

“Sure you will,” he said and placed his hand on her thigh.”

“No,” Bea replied. “The last man who put his hand anywhere near where you have yours, I handed over to the sheriff with a .44 bullet in his heart.”

He looked at her.

“Were you aware that a man can be killed by a hat pin?” Bea went on. “Because what you can feel against your ribs is a six inch hat pin made from the finest Sheffield steel. It’s been through my hair and my hat. My hair preparation may be toxic, I’m not sure, but I can guarantee that the coating on my hat is. So Mr Robert Jukes, the question is, do you feel lucky? Or are you going to get up and leave in one piece?”

Robert Jukes muttered and left. A moment later Fitz came back.

“Problem?” he asked.

“No, no problem,” Bea replied. “He decided he didn’t want to sit here after all.”

The rather gaudily dressed, possibly middle aged, woman sitting opposite raised an eyebrow.

“Where’s Amanda?” Bea went on.

“I left her outside,” replied Fitz, picking up his newspaper and sitting down.

Bea picked up her bag. “I’ll join her,” she told him.

As she came through the door onto the veranda Bea could see that Amanda was already in trouble with Robert Jukes who was attempting to kiss her.

She took her derringer out of her bag.

“Leave my companion alone, Mr Jukes.”

Jukes looked at her and his eyes widened as he realised that she had a gun pointing at him. She reached past him and slipped the hook of the safety chain out of the eye that held it in place. As she did so he looked to see what she was doing, and as he turned back to her with a question on his face she stamped on his toes. Hard. His reaction was to raise his foot putting him off balance. Bea pushed him, and the scream from his injury turned into one of fear as he fell. He rolled down the stony ballast that the track sat on and into the river that they were running alongside. The last they saw of him was standing in the shallow water shaking his fist.

Bea took a rather shaken Amanda back to their seats. The woman sitting opposite looked at Bea and cocked her head in silent question.

“Mr Jukes left the train,” Bea told her.

Fitz looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t notice that we stopped,” he said.

“No,” Bea smiled. “I don’t think we did.”

Once again Fitz wondered about Bea. If the Navy were to admit women like her, he thought, it wouldn’t just be the best in the world, no one would ever dare challenge it.

On arrival in San Francisco they booked into a hotel. Fitz’s intention was to visit the ’Rigel’ the next morning, and find out what the state of things was. But tonight they celebrated their arrival in California.

Victoria was somewhat later than usual arriving in her office, morning sickness, she thought, was something she could well do without. She was greeted by her secretary, Andrew Chard.

“Good Morning, Lady Kingswood,” he greeted her. “There is a parcel on your desk. It was delivered not an hour ago.”

“Thank you, Andrew. Could I trouble you to get me coffee?”

Andrew acknowledged her request, and Victoria went into her office.

A few minutes later: “Andrew!” Victoria yelled.

Andrew appeared almost immediately, he had worked for Victoria long enough to know her moods.

“Are Doone and McCavity in the studio?”

“I believe so, Lady Kingswood,” Andrew replied.

“Would you ask them to kindly join me?”

A few minutes later, in response to the summons, both the artists arrived in Victoria’s office having hastily donned their jackets.

“Gentlemen, good morning. I have just received a parcel of sketches that Lady Harmsworth and her companion have sent me from Paris. They obviously stopped on their way through. We’ll go and talk to Josephine and Myfanwy. I think they are sensational, but we’ll look at them together and see what we all think.”

After a short walk to the workshop they found the two girls in the cutting room. When they were all together in the girls’ studio Victoria opened the parcel. Brigitte was, of course, not a professional artist, but she had nevertheless produced sketches that were good enough to elicit sharp intakes of breath from Josephine and Myfanwy, and obvious signs of excitement.

Victoria grinned: “Yes, that’s was my reaction! I think we have the basis for a sensational new collection. I’d like to see some proposals by the end of today. Can you do that for me?”

“Of course patronne,” said Josephine, copying the form of address she had learnt in France. “We’ll take these and see how we each interpret them and then Myfanwy and I will turn them into patterns.”

The four of them gathered around and Victoria was amused that she had been effectively dismissed by her employees. She returned to her office to see what the rest of the day would require of her.

“Right,” said Hermione, “We’ll take a cab and have a look at our target.”

“Reconnoitre,” said Susan.

“Pardon?”

“Reconnoitre,” Susan repeated. “It’s what my father would have said. You always get as much information about your target as you can before you attack.”

“Well ... yes, that’s what I meant,” replied Hermione, slightly miffed. “So, we shall reconnoitre our target, and then work out our plan of attack. Myrtle, would you mind braving the hotel doorman again and find a cab?”

“Yes, milady,” said Myrtle, and left to brave another encounter with the doorman.

An hour later the three women were in a cab driving past the Marqués house. The property was set on a corner where a side road met the main road. The house itself was hidden behind a high wall with an arched opening opposite the main entrance. The opening was quite wide, with an intricately patterned gate set between two side panels. There was a guard standing by the gate with a look of utter boredom. After driving a little way past Hermione stopped the cab and had the driver turn around. Her intention was to drive past again and turn into the side road. As they approached the house again a coach with a coat of arms on the door turned into the side road. As they turned in themselves they could see that the coach had turned into a gate that would take it into what they assumed was the stable yard to the house. After a hundred metres Hermione commanded the driver to stop.

“Myrtle,” Hermione began, “you will go around to the front and walk as if to pass the guard. Engage him in conversation, but make sure his back is turned to the corner. Susan and I will creep up and deal with him.”

“Yes, milady,” Myrtle giggled.

Between them they managed to make the driver understand that he should wait there, and then they set off. When Myrtle walked around the corner Hermione and Susan stopped. After a couple of minutes Hermione peeped to see how Myrtle was getting on. She could see that her maid was having some success and she and Susan set off walking noiselessly. Myrtle was enjoying herself engaging the guard, who had turned out to be a handsome dragoon who clearly fancied his chances with a pretty girl. Up to the point when Hermione jammed her pistol into his ribs.

“Raise your hands slowly,” she told him.

As he did so Myrtle reached forward and relieved him of his gun. A moment later Susan drew his sword. She stepped over to the gate and opened it.

Hermione was contemplating hitting the trooper on his head to knock him out, although in truth she had no idea how much force that would entail, when there was the sound of the front door opening.

Before Susan could step back out of sight an officer strode out.

Catching sight of Susan he called out: “Mendez! What the hell is going on?”

“Oh shit!” muttered Mendez, “Captain Diaz.”

The captain drew his sword as Susan decided that the best thing she could do was confront the officer, and stepped forward raising her weapon. He in turn drew his sword and prepared to counter her attack, a look of amusement on his face, for what danger could a mere slip of a girl present? He discovered a moment later when he was forced to take a pace backwards.

With Myrtle covering the Mendez, Hermione watched the developing fight. Against a fit young man who should be used to sword practice she couldn’t imagine that Susan would last long.

The same thought was in Captain Diaz mind as he pressed, effectively into the trap that Susan had laid for him. A second later the captain’s sword flew out of his hand and his face took on a look that mixed shock with a frisson of fear as the point of Susan’s sword was at his throat.

There was a a loud ‘Ahem’ as another figure appeared at the front door. Hermione looked to see an immaculately dressed butler waiting for an acknowledgement.

Hermione cocked her head and raised an eyebrow in question.

“Lady White?” the butler questioned

Hermione nodded.

“The Marqués wondered whether perhaps you would join him and Sir Jacob. Your friends are invited too, and Miss Susan,” the butler correctly guessed the identity of the woman holding the sword, “would you let Captain Diaz go?”

“Thank you,” said Hermione. “Susan!” Susan lowered her sword and smiled at the captain whose face showed his displeasure. “Myrtle!” Hermione called. “Put that soldier down.”

“Shall I give him his gun, milady?” said Myrtle, amusement clear in her voice.

“Not yet,” Hermione replied.

Susan waited whilst the captain picked up his sword. He hesitated for a moment, looked daggers at her, then sheathed it and strode past the butler back into he house.