This story copyright ฉ 2003 Mia McCroskey
The characters from The Avengers and other sources are the property of their respective owners.
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Steed is interested in demolition
Emma invests in real estate
Prologue
Emma Knight looked again at the box of odds and ends that she'd salvaged from the ruins of her Primrose Hill apartment. It had been sitting on the kitchen floor in her temporary flat for a month since she'd brought it in and put it there. That afternoon she'd not wanted to spend any more time thinking about the explosion or Matthew Stein, the man whose bomb had gone off too soon, killing him in her apartment while she was with Steed. That afternoon she'd taken a long shower and made herself a series of martinis that had neatly erased any thought of the things in the box from her head.
But it was time to face them the scant remains of her first thirty-odd years of life. She pried open the top flaps and peered inside. It was mostly kitchen items, as that was the only room that had not been almost entirely destroyed. Even after a month a strong burnt smell emanated from the box. She reached in and lifted out a broken teapot, frowning as she noticed a slip of paper tucked inside. She set the pot on the counter and pulled out the paper. Lettered on it in neat handwriting was a very familiar message: Mrs. Peel, we're needed.
Chapter 1
"Where," Emma asked, "is the body?"
"Over here, Mrs. Peel."
She had entered the ministry morgue to find herself confronted with a large, irregularly shaped block of cement. Ignoring the similarities it bore to the sculpture she'd carefully carved out of marble and left planted in the garden at the Peel estate, she walked around it to find Steed and Dr. Mildred Booth, the ministry coroner, studying a decayed hand that protruded from the concrete on that side.
"Dead about two years, I'd say," Dr. Booth was saying. "Somewhat preserved by the cement. Male, based on the bit of sleeve we see here. It will take some time to chip away the rest of the cement without damaging the remains."
"I'm mainly concerned with identity," Steed said. "His survivors, if he had any, have long since grieved for him. If we have to simply dispose of the remains, so be it."
"Steed!" Emma scolded, "his people might believe he is simply missing. You must turn over the body to them, when you're through with it!"
He studied her for a moment as if wondering if she'd gone soft. She glared at him.
"She's right, you know," Dr. Booth said. "It wouldn't be right."
"Work carefully," Steed said to her with a curt nod, then took Emma's arm and lead her out.
"What was that about?" he asked as they walked down the corridor toward the lifts that would take them to his office.
"I was going to ask you. You're not usually insensitive to the innocent victims. Some woman out there may be wondering what happened to her husband or brother or son. You'd let her keep wondering for the sake of a few hours of effort? What's so urgent about this one?"
The lift doors opened. Several other people were inside, so their conversation was suspended until they got out, and even after that, until they reached his office.
"This is the fourth body that's turned up encased in cement in the last three months," he said, sinking into his desk chair. Emma didn't sit down, but began pacing in the space between the door and the two guest chairs in front of the desk.
"Who were the others -- why do you think there's a connection?"
Steed pulled a file to the middle of his desk and opened it, spreading out several photographs. She stepped in between the guest chairs to look at them.
"Steven Pike," she said, picking up one of the pictures. The face was distorted, the skin oddly splotched, but Emma was accustomed to looking at pictures of dead people. "I met with him last week about a joint project," she glanced up at Steed, who was watching her carefully, "you didn't hear that," she added with an ironic little smile. "When was he found?"
Steed leaned back in his chair and watched her as he replied, "Two months ago."
She stared at Steed. "So either the man I met with, or this one," she waved the photograph, "is an imposter."
"Bingo!" he replied. "How long have you known him?"
"Only since I've returned to Knight," she said, setting the picture down. "I wouldn't know if there'd been a switch before that, and I don't know him well enough to have noticed in the last two months. So I could be negotiating with a fake."
She sank down into one of the chairs and folded her arms across her waist.
"More importantly, Mrs. Peel, all of these gentlemen could be imposters."
She leaned forward and looked at the rest. "I know him I mean I've seen him in the paper," she pointed at another of the men. "Standard Energy, isn't he?"
"He is Sir William Trent. Standard Energy is his company," Steed confirmed. "They're all business men in high positions with firms that specialize in non-petroleum based energy."
"What else do they have in common, besides their industry?"
Steed shrugged, looking at the rather thin report from the file. "All of the companies are publicly traded. All of the men have very little family widowers, no children, divorced. . ." his voice trailed off as he caught her smirking at him.
"I see. No survivors out there longing for their missing loved one," she said. "You might have explained sooner."
"I might have," he smiled triumphantly, "but I was enjoying your indignant display."
She glared at him for a moment, unable to maintain her annoyance when she knew she was being lovingly teased.
"What do you want me to do? And how much will it interfere with the plans for our wedding?" she asked.
The filling station where Steven Pike's remains had been discovered was in a small village about an hour outside of London.
"I've had nothing but trouble with the fuel tanks," Rodney Johnson, the owner, told her as they looked into the gaping hole at the side of his property. Emma discretely snapped a picture with the miniature camera she had mounted inside her shoulder bag, the lens peeking out of a small hole in the side.
"So you're having them replaced?"
"That's right. Expensive proposition, but it's my only option if I'm to stay licensed. I thought about selling, but what would I get with the leaky things down there?"
"Assuming you informed the buyer," she said. He looked shocked.
"Of course I'd tell the buyer, Mrs. Peel. That wouldn't be right!"
Emma nodded appreciatively. He was either a good performer or an honest man. It didn't really matter he'd only owned the filling station for about a year and had not even lived in the area when it was constructed. It was very unlikely he'd had anything to do with the buried body.
He guided her around the small property and she snapped pictures and asked the sort of questions that she thought a coroner's investigator would ask. It was a thin cover, but she figured it would do. The man knew a body had been collected from his property he'd reported it. He wanted his new tanks to be installed, so he'd cooperate with anyone who could speed the process.
Satisfied that there was no more to learn from the site at least not with him following her about she thanked him and eased back into her Lotus.
She was soon driving back toward town and lost in thought about wedding plans they were all she seemed to think about these days. A month had passed since Steed had recovered Knight's stolen money and arrested her ex-husband. At nearly the same moment a coincidence that had saved her life one of Peter's minions had blown up her apartment. Had Steed not returned that day, she would have been at home. As it was, Matthew Stein had killed only himself, and that probably by accident. She hadn't mourned him. He had previously tried to rape her.
All of these events piled on top of one another had brought her to an important realization. She loved Steed, she wanted to marry him, and she'd better get on with it because life was too unpredictable to wait for the perfect moment. So she'd set the wheels turning, first by informing a few close friends once they knew, there was no going back. Then by recruiting a general manager for Knight Industries. Emma wasn't going to give up her hard won position as CEO, but she was ready to admit that the company deserved a larger management team. She was gradually coming to understand that she did not have to prove herself in the boardroom. Anyone who doubted her ferociousness in business need only sit across from her in a meeting for a few minutes.
Faster than anyone would have thought possible she had approached, wooed, and hired Anthony Cruz, a naturalized Brit originally from Central America with a background in the technology-related industries that Emma wanted Knight to focus on. She had intentionally sought out someone with a non-British heritage to emphasize the international image she wanted Knight to develop. She was also contemplating a name change, to Knight International.
Despite all of these accomplishments over the last month, her primary focus was still her wedding. There was far more to do than she had ever guessed, and the hardest decision was still not settled: location. She was determined to have the reception in her own home a home that she did not yet own.
She had moved, after the explosion, into a furnished flat not far from Knight headquarters in Marlybone. Much as she had craved the safety and comfort of Steed's familiar mews apartment, it would not have been seemly for Knight's CEO to live in sin. In fact, Emma suspected, certain factions of the press would have thought it a very juicy story indeed. Fortunately, Steed had reached the same disappointing conclusion, so she'd taken the small temporary flat. And as her new life as part time CEO, part time wedding planner, and part time spy developed, she found that she needed the space and privacy it afforded her. She and Steed would have been on top of one another in his apartment. They both needed space. They needed a house.
The Peels had graciously offered the Peel Estate for the wedding party. It had recently opened as an inn and conference center. She hadn't declined it was a reasonable back-up plan, but she desperately wanted it to be in her own home. She had two real estate agents combing the countryside around London, but so far nothing had suited her or Steed. And until she knew where they would live, she could not drag Steed around to talk to parish priests.
Steed had returned to the ministry after his hiatus chasing Peter Peel and thrown himself into several small cases. He'd involved her, but they hadn't really been the sorts of challenges she excelled at. This case was the first one that he'd overtly recruited her help with. His "we're needed" note heaven knew how he'd known she would open that box this morning had sent a flash of excitement up and down her spine. She'd willingly rushed to his aid.
She was thinking about the wedding dress expedition that her friend Nancy one of the few friends "in the know" -- was dragging her on tomorrow when the "open house" sign flashed by in her peripheral vision. By the time it had registered in her consciousness she was a hundred yards further along the road, which was bordered by a low, old stone wall. She stopped the Lotus and rose up in her seat to look across the wall. A vast, unkempt lawn studded with shrubs and trees only partially blocked the view of a late-Georgian house. She slid back down, executed a u-turn, and returned to the open gate where a bunch of colorful balloons were tied above the "open house" sign.
She parked with the two other cars in front of the house and got out to wander back and forth in front discretely snapping pictures. It was symmetrically built, two stories with an attic above that. The front profile was not enormous, but from the road she'd noticed a wing extending to the rear. If the symmetry were complete there would be a matching one on the other side. Rather than explore from the outside, she climbed the four front steps and went in through the double doors that were standing open to the summer breezes.
The floor of the entry hall needed work. That was the first thing she noticed. Then she let her eyes follow the curve of a rather grand, if worn looking wooden staircase up on the left to a balcony above. Below the balcony an open doorway led into a large room, with French doors in the far wall providing a view of the back garden in between the two rear wings. To her right was a fireplace and another doorway. She poked her head inside and found a formal parlor with a fireplace backing the one in the entry hall. She was about to explore another door on the right when she heard voices at the top of the stairs. She moved to the center of the entry hall and looked up.
A middle-aged couple and a single man stepped down the stairs, which creaked loudly. He was chattering on in a well-mannered voice about the house's myriad qualities, not allowing the couple to speak. At the bottom of the stairs when he bid them farewell they seemed to be making a run for it. Emma groaned inwardly at the sales pitch she was about to endure.
"Welcome, madam," he said turning to her. "Is your husband outside?"
Emma bristled, but did her best to conceal it.
"My fianc้ is in London," she replied coolly. "I was driving by and saw the sign."
"Ah," his smile appeared to be painted on. He stepped over to a card table and retrieved his business card. "Barnstable. Elmer Barnstable, estates and properties. Miss ?"
He extended the card to her and she took it. "Knight. Miss Emma Knight," she replied, resisting the temptation to call herself Mrs. Peel just to confuse him.
"I take it then, that you and your fianc้ are seeking a marital home?" he asked obsequiously. "A love nest to be carefully feathered during your happy years together?"
Emma experienced a moment of de'ja vu and realized the man reminded her of certain villainous fellows she'd met on one of her very first cases with Steed involving a marriage broker.
"That's right," she replied. "Something near enough the city for his work, but with enough property for his play he wants to keep horses." She thought he wouldn't question her focus on her fianc้'s needs. She was right.
"Well then, you are in the right place, Miss Knight. Allow me to show you around." He gestured toward the open doorway across from the front door and she went through. His tour was quite thorough, and the house was quite large. Sometime in the past an owner had remodeled upstairs to create a master bedroom suite with its own bathroom. Emma eyed a small adjacent bedroom, thinking the doors could be rearranged to add it to the master suite as a walk-in clothes closet. Barnstable noticed her look and smiled knowingly.
"Yes, a perfect little nursery for when the need arises," he said. She elected not to disabuse him of his notion. There were, she thought, plenty of rooms that would make an excellent nursery just a little further away from the master bedroom, with room for nanny as well.
"The kitchen was remodeled just a few years ago," Barnstable announced as he followed her into the room. It was, in fact, well equipped with good quality appliances. Emma could easily imagine cozy breakfasts and suppers here. Next Barnstable led her through a mudroom and into a solarium with several cracked panes and evidence of leaking around the seams.
"I see you can tell that it was an addition," he said. "But nothing that a bit of caulk and some glazing won't fix. And imagine the plants you can grow here. Do you fancy orchids, Miss Knight."
"The fancier, the better," she replied absently, wondering if the glass panes were all of a standard size or required special cutting. Still, she was taken with the idea of a greenhouse.
Next Barnstable guided her out into the garden, where the summer heat was gentled by the shade of many old, established trees. There was a swimming pool empty of water and filling with drifts of leaves. He assured her that the mechanics were all in fine working order and she refrained from asking how he could possibly know with no water to pump, heat, or filter. A privacy hedge protected the pool and its decks from the larger grounds. He guided her out through a gate.
"The stable and garage are this way," he said, directing her along the back of the house. She glanced out across the grounds and saw a wooden structure behind a tall hedge. She paused to peer at it, and realized what it was.
"It's a hedge maze," Barnstable confirmed, "a previous owner's folly. It could be cut down easily enough and the center platform removed." Emma nodded, saddened by his obvious lack of appreciation for the fanciful.
The stables were big enough for two horses and included a paddock. The garage was big enough for two cars, although Emma suspected Steed's long Bentley might not fit inside. But there was an additional covered carport.
Barnstable's tour ended back at the front entrance, where Emma told him in a rather casual tone that her fianc้ might call to make an appointment to see the house another day. She could tell the agent did not expect any such call. She drove away quite satisfied with having left that impression. A house that big wasn't going to be snapped up in an afternoon, and she intended to do her best to get Steed out to it tomorrow or the next day.
Steed was not at his apartment, so Emma shut herself into his closet-sized darkroom and developed the film from her miniature camera. She was glad that Steed had not changed his own equipment since their earlier association he still had film holders and an enlarger to fit the tiny film that her camera used.
She was hanging up the last of the prints to dry when she heard him call out to her. Checking that the photographic paper was secure in the light-tight paper safe she switched from the red light to normal and opened the darkroom door.
"In here," she called.
"What did you find out?" he asked as he joined her, the two of them barely fitting in the room. But that had never bothered them before. He scanned the row of pictures hanging over the developing trays and frowned. "Mrs. Peel, unless I'm quite confused, this is not a filling station," he said.
"No. It's the house we're going to buy," she replied, an impish smile lighting her face. He resisted the urge to kiss it, sticking with the professional demeanor he'd assumed when he thought they were going to talk about the case. He reached out and turned one of the prints slightly to eliminate glare from the overhead fixture.
"That's the front entrance," she explained, "and this is the solarium," she touched another dripping print. "This is the dining room it's big enough for a ballroom, really. And the kitchen is actually quite modern, although it's hard to tell in this. The agent simply wouldn't get out of my way."
"Of course, he was unaware of your photographic needs," Steed said, looking at another print.
"Still, he was rather inconvenient," she sighed playfully. "That's the stable area. The garage is adjacent."
"That chicken coop will have to go," he said, studying the dilapidated structure.
"I think it could be repaired," she countered.
"Nonetheless, I hate the sound of chickens in the morning," he said firmly.
"Really? I had no idea."
"It hasn't come up, has it?" he asked, fingering another photograph. "Is this a hedge maze?"
"It is," she sighed. He looked down at her they were standing so close the small difference in their heights actually mattered and finally let his detachment evaporate.
"Mrs. Peel, I believe you've fallen in love," he purred. She cocked one eyebrow at him, then looked back at the photograph of the hedge maze.
"So you've learned to recognize it?" she asked archly.
He winced. "Don't be cruel, my dear," he said. She turned her face back to his with a look of mild contrition and he smiled, stroking her cheek with fingers that were damp from the photographs.
"How much are they asking for this decrepit pile?" he asked. She named the figure, which was higher than appropriate but not astronomical. And certainly not beyond their resources. "Well," he sighed, knowing that they'd have the house if she wished it and merely hoping the wiring was newer than the structure and the stable was in decent condition, "I suppose I shall have to go have a look. Now what about the filling station?"
She turned to the handful of photographs she'd taken there. They were nearly dry, so she took them down and they moved into the living room. He studied the images of the hole around the fuel tank where the body had been found, of the small building, and of its owner. He looked the very essence of a mechanic, a breed of man that Steed rather liked, given his penchant for antique motorcars.
"What's this?" he asked, shuffling a picture of junk behind the building to the top. He pointed to the corner of a sign lying amid the rubble. Emma frowned. "It looks like an English Petroleum sign," he said, leaning over the print.
"I didn't notice it when I took the picture," she admitted.
"Why would it be there?"
"I think we shall have to find out about the prior owner," she sighed. I should have noticed that.
"Not to worry," Steed said cheerfully, "since I'll be going out that way. You can check with the parish records office while I visit this house of yours."