This story copyright © 2003 Mia McCroskey
Characters from The Avengers and other sources are the property of their respective owners.
[an error occurred while processing this directive] people have read this story since April 2004
Steed follows a trail
Emma does the decorating
Act I
"Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas my boy. What would you like Santa to bring to you this year?"
John Steed felt himself stiffen at the sound of the toy store santa's jolly laugh from across the shop. For just an instant he was drawn back into the nightmares of a year ago when an evil St. Nicholas pursued him through a forest of gaudy Christmas trees to a ghoulish premonition of death. Squeezing his eyes shut against the faint pressure of a surprise headache he reached out to hold on to the shelf in front of him, knocking over several elaborately dressed dolls.
"Ho, ho, ho --."
"May I help you sir?"
A bright, concerned voice overrode the more distant, menacing laugh. Steed straightened and opened his eyes, focusing on regaining his composure. Then he turned a benevolent gaze on the shop girl.
"Yes. My niece is collecting these dolls. I would hate to get her a duplicate. Is there a ënew model' for this Christmas?"
"Why yes sir! This young lady is the new design for the season," the clerk picked up one of the toppled dolls. She was dressed in a white gown with green holly and red berries around the hem and dÈcolletage. She carried a tiny, bell-shaped handbag and wore perfect little dancing shoes. Steed thought she looked a little bit like Cathy Gale.
"She's exquisite," he said.
"Shall I have one wrapped for you -- I mean for your niece -- sir?"
"Yes please. And these as well," Steed handed the woman the other items he'd gathered from the shelves -- toys for his sister's other five children.
"Very good sir," she replied brightly, taking the toys into her arms. She smiled and turned toward the sales counter. Steed followed more slowly, St. Nicholas's laughter growing louder with each step.
"Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas," the rotund man chanted. He was seated near the cash registers -- unavoidable if Steed was to complete his shopping. He found himself unable to avoid looking at the man. Porcine eyes stared at him from under bushy white eyebrows. Full, bow-shaped lips surrounded by whiskers pursed for a moment, then parted in a smile that emphasized high, cherry red cheeks. A little girl darted away from her mother and approached St. Nick, breaking the spell of his stare so that Steed could turn away.
He stood with his back turned, listening to the little girl describe her dream pony. When the sales girl had wrapped his packages and began summing up his total he extracted his billfold from his pocket. She presented him with his bill and he paid, quickly counting out the bills onto the counter.
"Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas little one!"
Steed took his packages and turned, avoiding looking at the man again.
"John, you have been a very good boy," Santa said. Eyes narrowing in the slightest frown, Steed stopped, his head turning toward the man despite himself. "Very good indeed. Santa has a special surprise for you, John Steed."
By the time he got home Steed had decided that the Santa's words had been an invention of his imagination. The sudden memory of the nightmares combined with the stress of his most recent case had conspired to trick him into hearing something that had never been said. Somewhat reassured, he set his packages on the footman's chair just inside the front door of his apartment and slotted his umbrella into the rack. He hung his bowler on the handle at a jaunty angle and stepped into the sitting room. Just as he caught a whiff of something familiar he noticed a white card propped on the mantle. He recognized the scent as Emma's perfume and marveled at the comforting feeling imparted by the suggestion of her presence. If anyone else had been in his home while he was away he would feel that his privacy had been invaded -- not that anyone else had a key. He crossed the room and picked up the card. The message was written in Emma's clean, elegantly schooled handwriting:
A gentleman's hideaway is no
place for a dame,
But if you visit there you'll
find yours just the same.
"My dame," he smiled. There's only one person who fits that description. "I could do with a spot of lunch."
The city was busy with holiday shoppers and celebrants. Steed was forced to park several blocks away from his club. As he strode toward it he made a mental note to vote yes next year on the annual proposal to offer valet parking during the holiday season. He took the front steps two at a time, buoyed by a tingling sense of anticipation. He looked forward to lunch with Emma in the ladies dining room followed by an afternoon together engaged in some diverting activity. He could think of several that would suit.
They had completed an exhausting case a just a week before Christmas, but rather than seize a few days away together as they usually did, other commitments had drawn them apart. Emma was involved in a number of charity holiday activities and Steed had been asked to consult on another case. Now Christmas was just two days away. He'd concluded his involvement with the other case yesterday and telephoned Emma. She'd cheerfully described a gallery reception that he was not that sorry to have missed, and a dinner party he did regret having to be excused from. He told her that he'd gotten free of the new case and was going to devote the morning to shopping for presents for his nieces and nephews. He'd stopped short of suggesting they spend time together this afternoon when she did not bring it up herself. Something about her tone told him she was concealing something and he knew better than to pry. He was relieved to discover her secret now.
"Good afternoon Mr. Steed. Here for lunch sir?" Ralph, the porter, greeted him.
"With Mrs. Peel -- she is here, isn't she?"
"No sir. Shall I get you a table for two in the ladies?"
"She didn't telephone to reserve?" Steed asked. Strictly speaking, ladies were not allowed to make reservations since they were not members. However, secretaries regularly performed this task for their male employers, and Ralph and the other staff knew Emma Peel. She was most certainly not a secretary, nor was she a spouse to be avoided, nor a mistress to be served but not acknowledged. Her special status as the welcome associate of a long-time member, along with her charm and beauty, afforded her a special status. Steed had been astonished to discover it some months ago, and it only made him prouder of her to know that she had subtly conquered his male bastion.
"No sir," Ralph said. "I'll ask the others."
"Thank you Ralph. Meanwhile, I'll take that table."
A few minutes later Steed was trying to decide between the onion soup or green pea when Bill, the other porter, approached his table.
"I'm sorry Mr. Steed, I was upstairs when you came in. Mrs. Peel came by earlier and left this for you." He handed Steed a sealed envelope, bowed politely, and walked away. The waiter appeared on Steed's other side.
"I'll have the pea soup," Steed said, staring at the envelope and knowing without opening it that Emma would not be joining him. "And the grilled salmon," he added. He was hungry, after all.
"Very good sir."
Steed tore open the envelope and removed the white card, the mate to the one from his mantle. He expected an apology for being unable to meet him.
Your labors are performed in
many a venue,
Except for this one that's been set aside for you.
After lunch Steed decided to leave the car where it was and walked to Whitehall and into the ministry's unmarked headquarters building. He unlocked his office, pausing to crouch down and study the lock. She'd picked it, he knew, but there was no evidence of tampering. He wasn't surprised -- she was an artist with a half-rake.
The card was centered on his doodle-covered blotter.
We're snorting and stamping,
impatient to run,
If you come visit us you'll have
even more fun.
He smiled happily. A good gallop had been on his short list of ideas for the afternoon. And Emma was probably already enjoying the fresh air on horseback. Three clerks and a fellow agent wished him happy holidays as he hurried back out to the street and he returned their greetings with a wave of his umbrella.
"Mrs. Peel? Why yes sir, she was ëere this morning," Max the groom replied to Steed's inquiry.
"She went riding this morning?" he asked with a frown. What is she playing at?
"No sir. She didn't ride. She was in and out of here in a flash, sir. But she left an envelope. Said nobody was to touch it but Mr. Steed."
"Me."
"Yes sir. You sir," Max nodded enthusiastically.
"May I have it?"
"Oh!" Max looked chagrined and turned on his heel toward the tack room. Steed followed, stopping in the doorway. Max took the envelope off a shelf and handed it to him. "Here you are sir. Nobody's touched it, you can see."
Steed could see that the envelope, which was larger than the note cards, was sealed with a dab of red wax embossed with an intertwined EP.
"Thank you Max," Steed said, turning toward the Bentley.
"Will you be riding then, sir?" Max called after him. Steed stopped, his fingers under the flap of the envelope.
"I'm not sure, Max. I'll let you know when I've looked at this."
"Yes sir," the groom said, sounding puzzled.
It was a map. Steed unfolded it on the passenger seat and looked at the whole of southern England. She had clipped her face out of a photograph and celotaped it to the map, then drawn an arrow from her smile to a specific location in Suffolk that appeared to be in the middle of a forest.
Her detached face gave him a chill, and for the first time he wondered if this trail of riddles and clues was not her idea at all. But Max and Bill knew her, and neither had reported that she had behaved oddly when she'd left her notes. Of course, he had not actually asked. He got out of the car and returned to the stable where Max was harnessing a team of black horses to a sleigh. A group of children stood nearby singing snatches of Christmas carols directed by a man in a top hat and red scarf.
"Unusual?" Max repeated at Steed's question about Emma. He slipped a strap into a buckle and paused to look at Steed. "No sir. Just in a hurry is all."
"She was alone?"
"Far as I saw. She was driving that little car of hers."
"Thank you Max. I won't be riding, I'm afraid."
"Very good sir," Max nodded, then looked at the group of youngsters. "All right, it's ready for you," he called out to them. The children erupted in happy shouts and giggles as they approached the sleigh.
Steed got back into the car and refolded the map to focus on the marked area. She was alone here, and she had to have been alone to get into the ministry and his office. Unless she was accompanied by someone else with the proper identification. But even if she were being forced, he was sure she would have found a way to let him know by now. And what could possibly be the motive? To get me out of the way? From what? My apartment? They're welcome to it. I'm going to find Emma.
He realized as he studied the map that it was so large scale it only included major roads. The location marked in the forest was undoubtedly served by some sort of road. He needed a more detailed map. He could go back to the ministry for one, or he could just drive to Suffolk where he was sure he could find one