TITLE: The Case Of The Missing Bullet
AUTHOR: Talepiece
RATING: 12 cert.
PAIRING: Vastra/Jenny
SERIES: The Casebook Of Madame Vastra
CONTINUITY: This is the first in a series of Vastra/Jenny stories (well, there will certainly be three as I've already written the first drafts of the other two).
SUMMARY: Vastra and Jenny meet and solve their first crime.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, please don't sue me.
CREDITS: This story is based on Anna Katherine Green's Violet Strange short story, The Problem Of The Second Bullet.
NOTE: I started writing this story before the Series 7b finale so now I'm willfully ignoring the implication that the Doctor was present when Vastra and Jenny first met. (I choose to think that the Doctor saved Jenny's life when he first met them.)
While readers of The Strand enjoyed the adventures of one Sherlock Holmes and his trusted companion and chronicler, Dr Watson, London fell under the protection of the true Great Detective, Madame Vastra, the fabled Lizard Woman of Paternoster Row, and her beloved companion and wife, Jenny Flint.
The tales I hereby dictate to my own beloved companion may seem as strange as any that Sir Arthur penned before me but, as his famous creation would have it, what is improbable remains once that which is impossible is eliminated. I begin, then, at the beginning, with the tale - oft recounted by my adored parents - of how these two remarkable women came to meet.
Jennifer Strax Vastra-Flint.
London, 1948.
Jenny Flint peered through the flickering candlelight into the cracked piece of glass that served as a mirror in her room. She tried to ignore the endless cries of a child nearby and the unusually stifling heat of the summer's night. Instead, she studied her face intently. The bruise remained livid, taunting her as it blazed on the left side of her face. Her finger gently circled her eye and down her cheek, tracing the path of the damage along the bone.
How she'd ever managed to stay upright she'd never know. Her father had certainly been shocked when she stood her ground. Jenny doubted if he'd ever understand that his violence only bolstered her resolve. Her pride - a fault in her father's eyes - would never allow her to show weakness again in the face of his bullying. But then, she would never have to.
She prodded carefully at the tender skin and hissed in a breath at the pain that flared across her face. Damn that man, damn him to hell and back. How could a man who had always claimed to love his child do such a thing? And for nothing but love. Well, Jenny smiled to herself, maybe not love exactly. She grinned at her reflection as a flicker of lust chased away the pain from her eyes.
It was done now, she told herself firmly. And the bruise would be gone soon enough. The only thing she regretted was buying that meat. Everyone said that raw meat would bring the bruising down. Her own brother - the thought of him made her wince again - had sworn by it in his prizefighting days. It hadn't helped though; a sticky face and bloodied hair was the only outcome. And she'd spent money that she couldn't afford to waste.
Though she'd eaten well, Jenny reminded herself. The meal had seen her through the past day and a half. Her stomach rumbled on cue and she glared down at her belly. She needed to find work. Needed somewhere to stay. Needed a new life, safe from the ignorance and hatred that even her own kin embodied.
First thing tomorrow that was exactly what she was going to do, Jenny told her reflection with a firm nod. The eyes in the mirror widened at the strange noise that punctured the London night air. The candlelight flickered as she turned to look out of the opened window.
It had been a gunshot, Jenny realised. But a strange one. An odd popping sound, almost an echo of itself. She'd never heard anything like it but she didn't know much about guns. She'd always thought blades were far more civilised weapons.
Jenny waited. It was then that she realised what was missing. The crying. The child had stopped crying. That bloomin' baby from two doors down who cried all night, every night was finally silent. Jenny had begged and pleaded with that child to shut up but now, the night feeling unnaturally still, she felt her panic rising. Dear God, could someone have shot the poor child?
The lone Silurian slid around the back alleys of London, pausing occassionally to taste the air. It stank of apes, of their waste and their wants. How could these creatures call themselves civilised?
And that incessant noise, that mewling infant's endless cries. Her sense of hearing might not be as acute as some on this planet but it was at least as good as a human's senses. Surely they could hear it too?
Vastra paused in the shadow of a doorway, waiting while a couple of the stinking creatures wobbled by. They reeked of alcohol, tobacco and a desperation that left a trail behind them. Though even they seemed to be affected by the endless noise, one of them glancing vaguely in that direction and slurring, "Poor lil blighter."
Vastra was ready to say much more than that. She had been forced to remind herself more than once this night that she did not kill infants. It was barbaric and would make her no better than the putrid creatures who filled the surface as if they owned the place.
Endless noise below, with their infernal contraptions boring through the earth and waking innocent Silurians from their slumber. Endless noise above, with their drunken prattle and their crying offspring. A plague on them all!
Vastra edged closer to the source of the noise. She didn't know why, simply slipped through the night in search of nothing but an answer. She barely knew to what question. She was close now. A densely packed, poorly kempt little cluster of homes. Not the hovels that so many of these creatures lived in but a little larger and a little better maintained. A very little.
She looked up, hoping to identify the source of the child's cries. Not this one, she realised. She clung to the shadows of the twisting alley, aware that she was deep in the heart of the apes' domain. Her skin began to itch, her tongue going numb from the constant assault of their stench.
Somewhere near. She stopped, head tilted as she considered. And snapping around as she heard it. A gunshot, the crack of one of those ridiculous little toys that the apes called weapons. Or was it? Something wasn't right about the sound, something off about its retort.
And silence. Blessed silence. Deep, unnatural silence, Vastra thought an instant before she realised that the infant was silent too. Had the shot startled it as much as it had Vastra herself? No, she shook the thought away, the child should be screaming even louder by now.
"Barbarians," Vastra hissed.
Animals! To murder your own offspring. The disgust welled up in her but her curiosity was peaked again by a movement nearby. A hurried, stumbling shuffle moving away from the source of the gunshot. There was a new taste in the air, the black powder that these creatures prized so much. And a rush of scents following it, triumph and fear, the sweat of a hasty retreat and more of that black powder.
Vastra's head snapped around as she caught the combination of scents on her tongue and hurried to follow.