He was waiting when she drove up, the perfect Englishman in his brown coat and bowler. Leaning on his broody, he tipped his hat and gave her a smile.
"As requested," he noted. "Where first we met. It was right at this same spot when I came to aid a damsel in distress. You were a joy to behold, a veritable feast for the mind and heart."
She wryly smiled at him, arms across her chest, leaning back against her dust-blue Elan. The air was brisk, and the arms across her chest was only partly to project an air of patience. She buttoned her coat as he came up to her. She gave him a Doctor's card to place behind his windscreen. She produced a similar National Health's Sister's Card from the Elan and similarly displayed that before her steering wheel. Steed held his peace until she had come up to him.
"And what event prompts this to-ing and fro-ing and rendezvous-ing on this sunny day? You've got my curiosity bump practically frothing at the bit to know why we had to meet in these circumstances...."
"Did you happen to notice if you were followed?"
"Second nature, my charming Mrs. Peel. Second nature. Also, your conspiratorial tone, what with your vague directions, prompted every cell in my body to go into Secret Agent Man mode."
"A la mode?"
"With a slink and a scurry, the better to defeat the nefarious schemes of diabolical masterminds."
She looked at him for a long moment, some faint quavers twitching her lips as she successfully fought the impulse to laugh.
"Is that covered by National Health?", she asked.
A question in his eyes and she continued. "You certainly must poke the odd hole in your cheek, considering the determined way you put your tongue into it, and then there's the devil to pay if it's not covered by the National Health."
She was looking at him with a faint smile when she reached up with one smooth hand and caressed his cheek. She enjoyed the feel of his male skin, the hint of new stubble already seen through that touch. He did not seem to know what to do next.
A large, noisy and licensed London cabbie drove towards them on the curving lane, slow, and not at all sure he was in the right place at the right time. She raised one hand to him as he neared and finally stopped. He leaned across the front of his near-antique to look at her, smiling when he realized how pretty she was. Men did that a lot, smiled when they looked at her.
"Smith?", he asked her.
"Smythe," she replied. "Come along, dear. Our carriage awaits."
Gesturing with his brolly, Steed said; "Of course, Daphne, my dear crumpet. Whatever you say. I shall go with thee to the ends of the earth." She did smile at him this time.
"And where are we off to on this loverly day, eh?", the cabbie asked as he turned his flag down and looked back at them.
He stared at Steed, until Steed turned to Mrs. Peel. "Why don't you be the one to tell the gentleman where we're off to, Daphne, my tea-cake?"
"Speakers Corner," she said.
"Going to listen to the balmies, are we? Should see them all in rare form today. Saturday as sunny as it is today should bring out the hecklers in fair droves as well, and that always prompts them into a fine state."
As he got the Taxi into gear and rolled down past the rows of Edwardian housing, he continued; "Mind you, I've nothing against them, no, me and the Missus used to spend the odd nice day going from one to the other, and plenty of them made quite good sense.
"Still, it is a smashing show, and all for free."
Negotiating light traffic the driver aimed north by east, into the heart of the City. "We listened to one marvelous sort, tremendous voice, could hear him yards away, fair marvelous and clear. He was going on about free love, no need for marriages, and the repeal of the sodomy laws and such. A fair wonder. Someone said he was in the Assizes, so he probably knew a tad about laws, I should imagine.
"In my younger, I used to hear the Red Canterbury Bishop go on, he had a quieter voice, he did. Talked a bit about free love as well. l felt a bit odd hearing a prelate state you didn't need nought but love." He looked back at his rides.
"There you go, Daphne, maybe he'll be out today and we can get a legal opinion on whether or not we should see a prelate. Maybe we don't need a marriage."
Emma gave him the fiercest look, and he quietly stood down, vaguely smiling as the Cabbie rambled on.
At the corner of Hyde Park where the soap-box orators gathered, they paid off their ride, and burrowed into the multitudes listening to the reefs of speakers. She held his hand tight, pulling him straight through the crowds towards the Serpentine and a faint glint of Buckingham Palace. In the process of negotiating the loose clumps of humanity, she removed her coat and her tammy cap, reversing it so the tule silk lining was exposed, holding them in front of her. In the same instant Steed swept off his coat and bowler, presenting a gray velvet to the world. Holding his reversed coat over one arm, bowler and brolly in that hand, he responded to Emma's tug, making an oblique cant to the southwest.
From a distance they could have fallen off the edge of the earth. Him from bowler and light brown to dark brown and bare-headed. She from target cap and black-white to blue of dress and uninhibited auburn hair.
Once they were hundreds of yards away from anyone else, she stopped, then began to idly stroll with Steed. He put his arm around her at one point and kissed the side of her neck, provoking giggles in return.
"Not a soul," Steed ventured.
"Nor on this side either," she added.
"I am presuming there's a purpose to all this," he whispered against her skin, inhaling the clean scent of woman, and enjoying it.
She stopped, stared in his eyes, trying to find some answers or questions within him.
"Steed," she began, holding his cheeks. "Do you love me?"
He said nothing for a moment, serious, staring for his own answers. "Mrs. Peel," he began; "We have had this conversation before and I cannot allow my feelings to override my sense of duty, my sense......what I must do."
"Yes, I know that, you'd never leave, and you'll stay in harness until a lightning bolt or a deranged inventor finishes it for you.
"But that isn't what I asked you.
"Do you love me?"
Holding her hand, somehow keeping bowler, coat and brolly to his side, they innocently strolled for the far end of the Serpentine. As if Marble Arch was their ultimate destination. Just another couple enjoying a sunny weekend day. They circled each other a number of times on their trip, noticing possible shadows.
"Mrs. Peel....," he began, "...More than life itself. And if there were some way I could remain in the work I hold, and go live with you...."
"I've a reason for asking," she said. "Do you fancy laying a bit right here? I should enjoy taking shoes off and rubbing the grass with my feet." She caressed his arm, seeking something unsaid. She kept the touch as they both lay full length alongside each other. The air was nippy, but the sun was glorious, and they both settled down on their laid-out coats. Steed noticed she had an entire new rash of her delightful freckles. On her bare legs as well. He imagined she might have been seeing her Naturalist friends again.
Facing each other, she reached over and pulled herself to his face, kissing him, lips open, searching with her eyes.
"I have to tell you about me and Roger Rabbit, but first...
"You know I never, absolutely never, ever, question you or anyone else in the Ministry about anything we've ever done together. You know that, don't you?"
"Anything?," he asked, reaching one hand slowly to one of her breasts. Her hand immediately seized his, stopping him, smirking at him. Then, amazingly, her face melted into something warmer, and she laid his questing hand on her breast, holding it to her. It was that sort of a day. Surprises. It had been some time since last he had had the luxury of noting the springiness of her breasts.
"I need to ask you a few things, the sort of things you aren't supposed to know the answers to, and I'm not supposed to ask. Especially with my not being officially in the Ministry.
"It has to do with something a few months ago..." She hesitated. "Do you recall how you felt confused, unsure of yourself, beside yourself...."
He thought a few moments, deciphering her hints. "Lola!"
"Basil," she returned.
"Who?", he asked. "Never heard of either one. Figments of an overheated imagination, my dear Mrs. Peel. You should avoid too much sun."
"In Blighty?," she teased.
"Many things, improbable things, happen in Mighty Britannia. One can achieve sunstroke, machines can become hopelessly mangled and turned into scrap metal, and people...."
"People can disappear?" She laid back, a forced smile on her face. "Too bad. I should have had a few questions for them both."
Steed and Emma adjusted until they could kiss again, and as they did; "Still nothing this side. Yours?"
"The same."
"Which brings us to Roger Rabbit." She frowned; "And who killed him." They kissed again, soft, fleeting.
"I killed Roger Rabbit, my dear Steed.
"After I missed two periods, I went for a check, and at the end of it I discovered I'd killed Roger Rabbit.
"Poor Roger," she whispered. It took a few moments for Steed to grasp what she'd said. Then:
"You were...."
"Had a bun in the oven beyond any doubt."
Pause. Then; "But...."
"Our dead friends."
"Basil and Lola."
"Basil and Lola," she agreed. He looked at her quizzically, then she had to laugh as his eyes got big.
"Me?"
"Some things you have to be exposed to, to get it, and there is absolutely no other possibility," she answered.
"Prendergast...."
"We never achieved a return to that little orgy we enjoyed in Berlin, so long ago."
"Today?", he questioned. "You should be showing, especially in that delightfully short blue dress...."
"Do you recall our Treasure Hunt?"
"Electrifying," he grinned. Then his face turned gray.
"The wired seat in that racer...."
"Exactly. By twelve that night I was having a delightful D&C, wishing the anesthesia worked better on me."
"You never told me...."
"And I wouldn't have. It was my problem, and I meant to handle it in my own fashion. It was a form of rape to use MY body that way, and I would not countenance it. I had an appointment with a rather bored physician who would have taken care of my still small problem for twenty-four guineas, due to be solved that coming Friday."
"Why tell me now?"
"I'm leaving."
A pause. "Soon?," he asked, a soft note in his voice. Looked at her face for a minute, then lost whatever remained of his smile.
"You're walking away from the Ministry."
"Galloping, more the proper term. Fleeing as fast as my legs can carry me away from that entire bunch of sods. Fair flying, I intend to do. Afterburners full on. To Hell the lot of them."
"Mother shan't approve.'
"Mother can sod off."
"And...."
"Father? She can damned well sod off too.
"This entire....this entire game.... It's more than I can endure any more. It's all a bunch of cod's wallop, all of it, every bit of it. I'm sick of it. All their little understated patriotisms, stiff upper lip, you know, and their authority games, and.... And.... All of it. I'm done with it.
"I've never been officially part of your Ministry, for all your very official recruiting of me. There's the Secrecy Act, but I've no intention of admitting I know anything at all about any other group in gouvernement besides the Exciseman and the Bobby who loves to put parking tickets on my auto. Im done with it. And do you know why I'm done with it?
"I'm done with it because I'll reach thirty next year, and I can't raise a child in this lunatic menagerie."
"Child?," Steed asked. "I thought that your....my....our child was, well. lost?"
"That one was."
Pause. "Oh."
"OH!"
"That's right, my little egotistical steeplechaser, 'Oh!'.
"Losing a baby in that manner pointed out to me a number of changes of heart I've had over the past....nearly three years.
"I understood, after the fact, that I wanted my own baby. All my heart, these past two months since, all I could think on was raising my own child, me, independent forceful domineering me. I wanted to be a Mother.
"And I can't have a child and be dashing about the countryside saving English civilization.
"That, my dear, I leave in your quite capable hands.
"For myself I wish an obscenely large belly followed by pain, buckets of baby naps, and carriages in the park, upon which I shall commence purchasing all the Paddington Bear's and Narnia's."
"If the Ministry is unwilling...."
"I leave and never say a word, not a golden phrase. Never. Canada might be nice, and I hear they've gorgeous mountains in New Zealand, and in Sikkim."
"Where?"
"My point exactly. Without a trace. Just like my husband."
"My dear.... Why.... What of myself?"
"Do you want children, Steed? Deep in your most recessing recesses, does the thought of striving childhood bring tears of joy to your eyes?"
"Hadn't given it much thought...."
"Exactly. Give me two names, one female, one male, and if you wish you'll occasionally find a photo in the post. That's all. All I need from you...."
"If I should object?"
She rolled over on him suddenly, laughing as she surprised him. She placed his hands on her bare thighs under her dress' fringe, giggling now.
"I've retained all my wardrobe," she breathed at him. "You remember that bustier shown off at the Hellfire Club? The bottom of that item slips right off. Feels ever so wicked, naked and in that thing one and the same time".
She sat up, straddling him, touching his chest, gnawing on her lower lip. As she began scooting herself on his lap, she stuck an inch of tongue out.
"Oooh, Steed, won't you help me make a baby? I want it to be yours.
"I'll make you like it."
Smiling evilly; "Id wager I could still tickle your ears with my toes. Would you like that? You always compared the way I could twist around to that Russian gymnast in Tokio...."
"I shouldn't."
"Because Mother might not approve?" Disdain yellowed her words.
"Do it for me, Steed. We owe each other the other's life, you owe me and I owe you, and it's time to add something to the world."
"As always your logic is overpowering, but still..."
"Then I shall have to seduce you." She lifted the edges of her dress, tongue once more showing. Rocking, rubbing herself on his body.
"You've noticed by now I'm sans knickers today, haven't you? And we both know you're sporting a sturdy one.
"You've got zippers, and I could have the snake out in a flash. God knows it's stiff enough right now." She slowly looked about them, continuing to rub herself into his lap.
"Not a Bobby in sight, at least two couples doing the same thing...the Park is celebrating life today, I see. Have you ever considered having sex in public? Such as right here? Id do all the work, you could just enjoy yourself." Steed groaned, raising welts on her thighs, then relaxing and folding both hands under his head. His eyes remained closed.
"I've continued my exercises, Steed. All of them. Would you like me to flex some of my muscles for you? You once adored my muscles, well, some of them.... You once considered one set of them capable of holding you like a velvet fist... She leaned forward to kiss him, then sat back again.
"Consider this a form of rape, Steed. I'm forcing you against your will, your better judgment."
Carefully not looking about, Steed felt hands on his pants, himself, a brush of cool air, he saw himself exposed for a quarter second. Then.... Then she sat down again. A groan whispered from Steed's lips, Emma chewed on her lower lip and her hips snaked in place. She looked about again, then groaned....
------------------------------
It was a colder day, Steed had on a sweater when he answered the phone, smiled as he identified the voice.
"Why, Mrs. Peel! How nice to hear from you again! It's been almost four days. How are you?"
"Well enough, do you have anything laid on for tonight?"
"Nothing whatsoever. Do come over and we can always find someplace to go, something to see."
"In twenty minutes, I've the Triumph with the sidecar," she replied. "Though you might need to console me. There's been a death".
"Oh dear! Anyone close?"
"Roger Rabbit died yesterday. Again. Poor Roger never stood a prayer. I thought you might like to know."
"A pity. Yet we all have to dottle off this vale of tears eventually. Shall I wear black?"
"No need, I'm entirely in black, that black leather set I once wore to our little adventures, remember? Quite enough black for the both of us."
"Indeed!"
"If you don't wish to go out tonight, with the tragedy and all hanging heavily on me, maybe we might phone out for some nosh. That Chinese restaurant still deliver?"
"Yes, and they probably fight duels for the honor of delivering your won-ton. You really must stop answering my doorbell in the altogether, you're giving me quite a wonderfully degenerate reputation."
"Meow. I shall wear something next time, then. Boots ample?"
"Oh, and Mrs. Peel?" Pause.
"Do let us drink one in memorium to Roger Rabbit."
"I'll bring the Hock."
----------------------------------- It hadn't worked out the way she'd hoped, had planned, but maybe it was better this way.
She felt her husband's eyes on her as she kept her eyes turned towards Steed's window, then street. Another turn, another, and her past was just that now. Peter knew, had to know from her reactions that her and Steed had been much more than friends. He had to guess, and shortly she would tell Mr. Peel much - but not all - of what her life had been these past years. The adventures, no, never, there was the Secrecy Act after all. But other things, who the father of her child was, yes. Peter had been away for years, but he was now her future. Steed was, in most ways, now her past. She hoped Peter would understand, but it was not a necessity. Her future was now behind the wheel of this rental Rolls convertible, but there could be other futures.
Hi-ho the future.
She was amazed to find she still loved this once-familiar man, or wanted very much to do so. Too much had happened for her to feel exactly the same, and she shouldn't be surprised if he was reserved with her now. They were two strangers waiting to evolve back into a couple, and their lives shouldn't be thought of as merely interrupted. They were changed inside.
She touched his arm, hesitated, then caressed the long scars on the side of his face, old scars, scars he made fun of. He had lost so much weight, he had the waxy skin tone of old diseases, the touchiness, the abruptness, the twitch he now had at loud noises. He was no more the man he once was than a veteran of four years in the trenches.
He said he had been getting along, for the most part. Getting lost, my own fault he said, not much of a lark, but manageable, not all that adventurous, not a Sunday picnic, no. But he was well enough now. Marvelous stories to tell, he said. Some day. Not now. It was a struggle, not a catastrophe. She cried inside to see the scars, the yellowness of his skin.
Her heart bled, and she debated enveloping him right now. Right this instant, stop the Rolls, holding him with all her soul. Healing him, woman's duty.
She didn't know what words she would use to tell him of what sat in her womb, but the words would come today, they must. Now, tell him to pull over. Cry, several years of crying, the tears first.
"Peter...," she began, "could you stop, now, right now?"
That was when she noticed one of the scars was peeling.
She looked at it, hair blowing about her head, not understanding immediately.
She laid a fingertip on it and lifted it to expose fresh, untroubled skin underneath.
The man beside her said; "SHIT!", as he felt her nail lift his make-up scar. He slammed the brakes as hard as possible, car skidding across the road on this quiet Sunday road.
"I TOLD them, dammit!", he cursed. "It wouldn't hang together," he screamed. One finger touched his coat and instantly thick clouds of yellowish-green gas flooded them both.
In the same instant she gave the impostor a desperate elbow in the head, throwing him hard against the convertible's door with a thud. It was becoming difficult for her to see, to think, to move. Yet she held her breath, rolling out of the car as they slammed against a parked lorry. Gas thinned about her, but it was still impossible to see, to think, to move.
The scent was of new-mown grass, she could still note. She wondered if it was Phosgene, and if she was already dead. She crawled, fell, crawled again, fell again, then continued to crawl.
She was still crawling when she realized hands were on her.
"Damn!", a voice complained. "She's a right proper piece of work, she is. Still moving. Amazing."
"Fair tough bird, that she is," someone else agreed.
"Well?", he said. "She should be entirely under, I've seen this stuff put strong men under at a whiff, just a whiff. Well, just you hold there, Missy. This'll do for you, it will."
When she felt more than smelled more gas, she felt ashamed. For her bowels and bladder gave way, and her last thoughts were of how undignified she would appear.
-------------------------------------
The first thing she was aware of was that she was lying on her side. She felt fit but dull, she kept her eyes closed, feigning repose. There were machine noises, as thought returned. She was inside, and her body was slumped, prone, on her side, she realized. Echoes told her she was in a large space. A person, man, coughed; another walked nearby.
"She's awake now?" A muffled voice.
"She's awake," a voice from further away. "Just shamming a little.
She opened her eyes, saw she was inside a....dome? Auditorium? She rose to a sitting position, adrenaline fairly screaming in her blood. Fight. Flight. She sat poised, seemingly at ease, estimating the size of the building she was in. The high curve above that of a dome, dark blue ceiling, an unknown machine with two operators revolving on the far side.
She was on a couch, a copy, early Regency she noted. In front of her an egg-shaped something revolved and resolved itself into a chair, Inside a small man sat, no, normal, the chair was large.
Antique glasses, dark blue blazer, white piping, something on its front. A scarf bearing the Trinity colors was wrapped about his throat, but she was positive it was not genuine Trinity, not really.
"Who are you?", she demanded, edging to the verge of the couch. She didn't realize her hands were crossed protectively in front of her lower abdomen, but she could tell herself and her yellow capesuit had evidently been cleaned. As she sighed in thankfulness, she also snarled inside to think of them....cleaning her like a newborn babe.
"Where am I? What do you want?"
"I am number Two," he smiled.
"You are in the Village."
THE END