This story copyright © 2002, 2003, 2004 Mia McCroskey
The characters from The Avengers and Scarecrow and Mrs. King
are the property of those television series' respective owners.
[an error occurred while processing this directive] people have read this story since April 2004
Emma follows her heart
Steed goes for speed
Chapter 3
Steed jumped in to the passenger seat of Polk's Austin and they took off in the same direction as the car that had left from behind the pub. Polk sped along the country road at a reckless speed until they spotted taillights far ahead. The car led them along several roads, finally turning in on a private drive through a thick forest. Polk killed the headlights and followed slowly on the winding drive, staying at least one turn behind the other car until a large house surrounded by large, manicured lawns came into view. The driver of the other car parked along side an outbuilding. Steed and Polk slipped out of the Austin and crept on foot toward it, keeping in the sharp shadows cast by the bright moonlight.
As they moved they watched the driver of the other car summon another man out of the building. The two men pulled first one, then another limp body out of the back of the car and carried them awkwardly inside. Shortly they both came out, one getting in the car and driving away around the house, the other taking up a post on a bench near the door. The barrel of a shotgun resting across his knees glimmered in the moonlight.
"I'll get rid of him, then you bring the car close and we'll get Smythe and Stetson in it," Steed instructed Polk in a whisper.
"I've got a better idea," a voice said from behind them. Steed spun around, umbrella extended waist high to catch the speaker in the gut, noticing the revolver in the man's hand as he swung. Polk went low, and as he turned he found himself facing the legs of another assailant. He rolled forward, bowling the man over.
Steed's opponent stumbled backward, gun flying though the air and into the bushes. But he recovered in time to block Steed's next blow and deliver a clean punch to Steed's jaw. Steed rolled with it, then came back with the handle of his umbrella high, slamming it against the side of the other man's head.
Polk somersaulted and scrambled up, turning to face his man, who had rolled onto his back and aimed his gun at Polk, both arms extended to grip the weapon. Polk stopped, raising his arms away from his sides in a gesture of surrender. He wasn't sure whether Steed was aware of his predicament or not, but it didn't much matter. Steed grabbed his opponent's right wrist and flung him toward Polk's attacker. He stumbled over the recumbent man, knocking the gun out of his hands and landing in the brush on the other side of him. The man already on the ground scrambled to his feet, blocking a blow from Polk, and took off toward the house. Polk started to go after him, but Steed grabbed his shoulder. The other man took advantage of the distraction to get up and run as well.
"Hang on," Steed said between pants, "they're probably going for help. We need to know more before we go in."
"But Smythe's in there!"
"And if they wanted him dead they'd have already killed him," Steed said. "Let's go find out what Sir Roald's up to, and who owns this property."
"Mr. Steed," Amanda's voice carried through the doorway of the inn's downstairs parlor to the entry hall. Steed closed the front door and turned into the small, lushly decorated room. Mrs. King and Mrs. Peel were seated on a sofa, snifters of brandy on the table in front of it.
"Good evening, ladies," Steed said, crossing the room to an armchair adjacent to the sofa. "All quiet here, then?"
"Did you find Lee?" Amanda asked.
Steed raised his eyebrows at her abruptness, but wrote it off to worry. "Yes. He and Smythe are being held on an estate. We tried to get them out, but the place was most annoyingly guarded."
"They're alive?" Emma asked. Steed wasn't certain, but he thought she was less angry now than she'd been earlier that evening. He considered her question for a moment. He and Polk had assumed that the limp bodies of Stetson and Smythe were just unconscious. If they were dead, why guard them?
"Yes. Unconscious, but apparently worth guarding, so I'd guess they're alive."
"So how do we get them out?" Amanda asked.
"I've called in a team to watch the house and reconnoiter, Steed said. "We need to know what we're facing before barging in. Also, I have research finding out who owns the estate. There must be a connection to Sir roald." Steed had had Polk drive him to the motel near the highway and take care of these calls. Then they'd driven back by the house for another look. There was no name on the front gate -- not even an address. Steed had decided to leave the investigation to the team he'd called for. They'd have a report for him by the morning.
"Is this house about 15 miles east of here?" Emma asked.
"Yes, how did you know?"
"To answer your first question," Emma replied, glancing at Amanda, "All has not been quiet here. Sir Roald went for a little drive."
"To a country estate?"
"No," she said smugly, "to a meeting in the fields."
"He met? Damn!"
Steed picked up the brandy snifter nearest Emma and took a sip. She smiled indulgently.
"He did not. We interrupted him. Mrs. King here is a most effective distracter," she said.
"Well, I just --" Amanda shrugged.
"No really, you were very good," Emma went on. "We interrupted them and Sir Roald's contact took off. So we followed him. He went to the country estate. In through the front gate."
"But Sir Roald didn't have time for an exchange?"
"No. They both had satchels, but they had not traded them."
"And how did you explain your presence, Mrs. Peel?" Steed eyed her curiously.
"I didn't have to. Mrs. King hid me in plain sight."
Steed's eyebrows went up inquiringly, but he let it pass. "Do you know where Sir Roald is now?"
"Here, in the inn. He was over in the dining room until just a few minutes ago. He's just gone upstairs."
Steed took another sip of Emma's brandy.
"I need to make some calls. May I use your phone?" he asked, setting her glass down.
"Of course," she replied.
Steed dialed an unlisted ministry number from the phone in Emma's room. A cool, female voice related reports from several of Steed's field operatives, but the team on the house had not reported in yet. Emma settled in an armchair while Amanda paced through Steed's one-sided conversation. At last he hung up and turned to them.
"You weren't with Sir roald the whole time after the race, Mrs. Peel?" he asked.
"I was -- he insisted that we drink champagne downstairs. It wasn't very good," she grimaced. He frowned in sympathy, sensing a little of their old camaraderie returning.
"But he didn't stay the whole time," he clarified.
She frowned, thinking about it. "No. He excused himself -- I thought to use the toilet. Now that I think about it, he was gone for rather a long time. I chalked it up to the long drive."
"He met someone behind the garage. Gave them an envelope."
Mrs. Peel nodded, "I suppose he had time to go out to the garage and back," she said, returning Steed's intense stare.
Amanda felt increasingly uncomfortable. From what Mrs. Peel had told her, there was a great deal of communication going on in those stares.
"I think I should go get some rest," she said. "You'll wake me the moment there's any information, Mr. Steed?"
Steed turned away from Mrs. Peel, his expression softening as he looked at Amanda. "Of course, Mrs. King. I think we all could use some rest. Good night."
"Good night Emma," Amanda said, smiling at her new friend. Mrs. Peel turned her stare from Steed to Amanda and smiled.
"Good night Amanda," she said. Amanda beat a hasty retreat to her empty room.
As the door closed Steed turned back to Emma. She sat regally in the armchair, legs demurely crossed, hands folded in her lap.
"I thought you weren't working this weekend," she said coolly.
"I have regretted that small lie all day," he replied. "Technically, you're a civilian. It is ministry policy."
She shrugged it off. "Who did Sir Roald meet behind the garage?"
His calculating stare returned. "Sir Peter Peel," he said, standing directly in front of her and looking down.
She did not look shocked at this revelation, which disturbed him. "And did you know my husband was involved all along?" she asked, raising her chin to look up at him defiantly.
"No. Not until last night when you told me about his recent travels. They coincide with certain meetings we've been aware of among some of the suspects in this case, including Sir Roald."
"And do you think I'm involved?" she asked, the ice in her voice stinging. He hesitated just a little bit too long. In a single graceful movement she rose and slapped him, then slipped past him and walked to the small bar across the room.
"I deserved that," he said, a hand on his reddened cheek. She clinked crystal on crystal as she poured herself a shot of whiskey.
"Yes, you did," she said, not looking at him. Events of the last two days flash through his mind -- her opening up to him, Peter Peel's appearance and her aggressive response, her pursuit, with Amanda, of Wentworth and interrupting the exchange. He believed her. He knew in his heart that she would not lie to him.
She turned, drink in hand held high, near her mouth, her other arm wrapped around her chest below her bust. She looked vulnerable and defensive. He wanted to go to her and hold her, but he didn't dare. Then she surprised him
"Peter tried to involve me," she said.
"What?" he breathed.
"I didn't know about Sir Roald, or the meeting here -- it's a coincidence that I'm here. But I knew he was up to something. It's why he travels without me so much -- because I refuse to get involved. The other women hurt, but the real reason I want out of my marriage is because I believe he's a criminal." She had started shaking. Her lower lip pulled in on one side in an expression so familiar it made Steed's heart break
"Emma," he did cross the room to her now, taking the glass out of her hand and setting it on the bar, then wrapping his arms around her.
"I was afraid to mention it to you. You could easily suspect me," she said, allowing herself to sink into his embrace. The comfort she felt in his arms was overpowering. But the fact that he did not deny what she'd said -- did not assure her that he didn't suspect her -- was equally powerful.
"Come lie down," he said softly, slipping his arms from around her to guide her to the bed.
They lay down and Steed continued to hold her, stroking her hair absently as he pondered the situation. After a short while she rolled away from him. At first he thought she'd shifted in order to sleep, but he gradually realized that she was crying. He stared at the ceiling, wondering if her association with a known criminal would make it impossible for him to be involved with her. And hanging onto a shadow of doubt about her -- she's smart enough to deceive me. Does she love me more than her husband?
Emma let the tears seep from her closed eyes, breathing softly through her mouth as her nose dripped onto the pillow sham. I've played all my cards, she thought, and I may have lost both of the men in my life in one night.