This story copyright © 2002, 2003, 2004 Mia McCroskey
Characters from The Avengers and Scarecrow and Mrs. King 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
Many thanks to Pat for correcting my French and offering some other useful advice!
Steed Feels the Pressure Mounting
Emma Goes for a Ride
Chapter 1
Charles Pinechester, World Cup champion, was riding Harpsichord to a sure victory. His nearest competition was two lengths behind and the last three obstacles were a breeze for the big, chestnut stallion. They plunged around a blind turn, horse and rider a perfect team. Charles crouched over Harpsichord's neck, communicating with his horse through tiny movements of his hands holding the reins and weight shifts. Harpsichord focused on the racecourse just ahead, trusting his rider to signal him in time for the next jump and to guide him to victory. Neither team member had time to react to the unexpected obstacle on the track as they rounded the turn. A huge black and white animal charged at them, powerful hooves tearing up the turf, head lowered, short horns angled at Harpsichord's heaving chest.
Horse and cow slammed into one another, the cow driving the horse down onto his side. The tremendous impact threw Charles twenty feet away where he lay dazed, shoulder aching, watching the cow gore at his horse's ribs over and over again until the animal's face dripped with blood.
* * *
Just as he did every morning, Carl Moore was fantasizing about the beach house he was going to retire to as he strode across the farmyard to the barn. He slid aside the simple bar on the barn door and swung open one side.
He was knocked to the ground before he could react. A heavy brown milk cow thundered past him, then swung around faster than seemed possible and charged back at him. His last sight was of the beast's dripping nostrils as she trampled his legs and gored his chest with her short, hooked horns.
* * *
Gerald Finch, a man of means, finished his steak dinner and set his fork at the edge of his plate. Then he leaped up, stepped from his chair to the table and ran its length, lunging at his wife with his steak knife raised.
Screaming, she deflected him with her dinner plate. Gerald soared past her and landed on the floor with a thump. His wife fled from the dining room still holding the shards of broken dinner plate.
* * *
Emma Peel stood in a dusty, dim attic holding a clipboard. She flipped through the pages clipped to the board and checked off an item, then bent down to grab the edge of a drop cloth covering a rectangular object that was probably a painting. She drew off the cloth to reveal an ornate frame, but instead of an old master the canvas was painted with a simple phrase: "Mrs. Peel, we're needed."
On cue, John Steed stepped out from behind a huge chest-on-chest. Emma grinned and walked toward him. He grinned back, tipping his hat to her as she approached. She set her clipboard on a box and stopped in front of Steed, her hands reaching up to slide around his neck. His own arms slipped around her instinctively.
"It's been weeks!" she said, bringing her face close to his.
"I've been traveling. And it appears," he glanced around, then back at her, "you have been busy."
"Very," she acknowledged, "but not too busy for you. What's happening?"
* * *
"My editor at Horse and Hound asked me to look into this incident," Emma said, closing one of the reports that Steed had brought. They had moved to Emma's office on the second floor of the big, old Peel house. Steed sat in one of a pair of padded leather chairs, Emma rose from the one across from him and strode over to her desk, which sat adjacent to a second, neater desk. She hunted around in the papers on her desk, found what she was after and returned to her chair.
"There were two similar incidents. In this one," she tapped the report covering Charles Pinechester and Harpsichord, then looked at the draft of her article. Her expression turned sad. She glanced up at Steed, "champion horse and rider. They had to put him down."
"The rider?" Steed's eyebrows raised in mock alarm. Emma smiled.
"The horse. In the other one both were saved and the cow was shot by a course monitor. But that's just the tip of the iceberg. I wasn't thrilled about pursuing this for H&H, but I needed a break from all this," she gestured around the room, meaning the entire estate. Steed nodded understanding, so she went on. "I found seven other incidents, involving other farm animals, both on the tracks and at farms and ranches. Not including these," she held up the other files he'd brought.
"So you agree that it's peculiar?"
"Very."
* * *
The green Bentley sped along a country lane with a high hedge on one side and plowed field on the other. Steed glanced at his companion and smiled. The ends of Emma's auburn hair fluttered out from beneath the colorful scarf she'd tied over her head.
"Sixteen of the eighteen farms where the incidents have occurred get some of their feed from this distributor," he told her, slowing as they approached an intersection.
"They checked out -- everything above board with permits and insurance," she said. She'd read the ministry report on Twill and Merchant Quality Feeds that morning over coffee in Steed's flat.
The previous afternoon he'd waited while she packed a few things and gave instructions to the staff. Then they'd returned to London and the ministry where they'd compared her research to Steed's and made some calls to fill in the holes. The name of Twill and Merchant had come up over and over, so they'd set the ministry's researchers on it. Then they'd stepped out to a quiet supper and ended up back at Steed's flat. And they'd talked. They'd reminisced about past cases that this reminded them of, then they'd remembered parties they'd been to, and trips they'd taken together. Early in the morning Steed had lead her up the spiral staircase and bundled her into his bed where they giggled over non-sensical memories until they both drifted off to sleep.
Today Emma felt as if she was starting over. Second chances were rare, and she intended to make the right choices in her relationship with Steed this time. But first there was the case to be solved.
Steed pulled into a sizeable parking area and parked the Bentley far from the Twill and Merchant building. It was a warehouse-like structure with one undersized door near the left end. There were two cars, three pickup trucks, and a Rover parked near the building. There were several smaller buildings -- storage sheds from the look of them -- along the right side of the parking area. The buildings were surrounded by fields, and a grain elevator rose like a giraffe behind the warehouse.
"Well?" Emma asked, watching Steed study the buildings from the driver's seat. He raised one hand to silence her, turning to look at the driveway. A van turned into the lot and drove toward one of the storage sheds. The van's sides were decorated with a cartoonish farmyard image and writing in French. The driver got out of the left side and walked around to the back.
"Delivery from the continent," Steed said. "Can you make out the writing?"
"It looks like ëAgricultural Technologies,'" she replied, "en franÁais, of course."
The driver of the van unloaded three tall metal canisters onto a hand truck and wheeled them into the nearest storage shed. Then he drove the van over near the door in the warehouse and went inside.
"After he leaves, you go see what you can find out about what he delivered. I'll see what I can learn inside."
"Check," Emma said, winking at him when he glanced at her.
The van driver came out of the building, got in the van, and drove out of the lot. As it disappeared, Steed and Emma both climbed out of the Bentley.
* * *
Emma skirted the parking area, hoping that her deep green cat suit blended in with the hedge that separated it from the road. The shed where the van had unloaded had a small sign on it that said "Additives." The door was locked, but with a simple locking handle. Emma put her back to the door and glanced around the quiet parking area.
"Foolish of them not to have a few windows," she muttered as she looked at the vast warehouse wall. Smiling to herself, she raised her right leg and slammed the heel of her green leather boot into the door just below the handle. Without turning, she reached behind herself and twisted the handle again. The door opened, and she slipped through and closed it behind herself.
The interior of the shed was gloomy, lit from above by a dirty skylight. Emma spotted the new canisters at the near end of a row along one wall. She stooped to examine them, reading the French label that identified the contents as a vitamin supplement. She unscrewed the lid on one canister and sniffed the contents. It smelled somewhere between rotting vegetation and yeast. Emma had no idea what vitamin supplement should smell like. She pulled a small vial out from where she'd tucked it into her wide belt and sank it into the viscous fluid to fill it. She capped it, capped the canister, and slipped back out of the shed. She checked the parking area to be sure she was unobserved, then closed the shed door. She paused near the thick hedge to wipe her hands on some leaves, then returned to the Bentley. She had just climbed in when Steed emerged from the warehouse.
* * *
"There was a receptionist," Steed explained as he drove them back toward London. "I told her I was an inspector and demanded to see the man in charge."
"Person."
"Humm?"
"How do you know there's a man in charge?"
Steed frowned at her, "Now look here, Mrs. Peel. In the farm business, there aren't many women in charge."
"All right, all right, go on."
"So the receptionist, quite a lovely thing, actually ñ ."
"Ahem."
"My job, you know, does sometimes require -- that is, I sometimes find it easiest to achieve -- ."
"Oh go on. You flirted with her. She was charmed and scampered off to find the boss for you."
He sighed. "I convinced her of my authenticity. While she was away, I got a look at the manifest from the van," he reached into his breast pocket and took out a slip of paper. "Here's the address of Agricultural Technologies."
Emma took the paper and read the address. "Oh goodie!" she said, smiling at Steed. He nodded and smiled back.
"Do you have everything you'll need for Paris?"