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"The Bookworms"
An Avengers Fanfiction
The first of a series of adventures bridging the year and a half between broadcast episode 3.26, "Lobster Quadrille" (Cathy Gale, March 1964) and episode 4.01, "The Town Of No Return" (Emma Peel, September 1965). At the end of the broadcast of 3.26, Steed phones an unnamed person for assistance. My story proposes the possibility that the voice at the other end was Venus Smith, and that Steed had yet to experience the events that led to his meeting with Emma Peel.
Disclaimer: Some copyrighted characters have been borrowed
May 1964
Steed is at loose ends. A Fox joins the hunt.
John Steed approached an older man leaning on a railing that overlooked the Thames. The man had his back to the river, nose buried in the newspaper he was holding. Steed walked past, then took up a position on the railing about six feet away. One-Ten got directly to the point.
"Blackpoole's been found dead."
Steed directed his attention towards the river. "What was he working on?"
"The location of some of our most secret installations suddenly no longer seems to be a secret. We need you to take over his investigation."
"I'm a bit worried," Steed said. "Mrs. Gale isn't in her apartment."
One-Ten didn't hide his irritation. "She doesn't work with you any more. Why are you checking her flat?"
"I heard she was back from the Bahamas. No longer on the beach, so to speak."
"We planted that story. Wanted to see who would come around to see her."
"Look, what's it all about?" Steed asked. "I just want to have a talk with her."
"Maybe charm her into helping you out on this Blackpoole affair, eh? Can't be done, old man. She's incommunicado. Mrs. Gale's gone to the States."
"What?"
"Some sort of hush-hush thing with MI6 and their CIA. She may be gone for some time."
"But she's an amateur! No connection with the Ministry..." There was clear disappointment in Steed's voice.
"Not any more. She's shown she has all the qualities of a top field agent, and there was a high-up chap in America who requested Mrs. Gale specifically. Have to keep up our relationship with the Colonies, you know. I'm sure she'll drop you a postcard when she has the time."
Steed said nothing. He gazed at the river.
"Look, we'll find you some other amateur to take her place, one with talent," One-Ten said sternly. "We have a few candidates already. In the meantime, I'll assign you an assistant from the Ministry."
"No, thank you," Steed retorted. "The last thing I need is some Ministry clerk demanding I fill out forms in triplicate. I'll talk to Venus."
"Miss Smith? You know I don't approve of that." One-Ten rustled the newspaper to cover the fact that he had raised his voice. "You use that poor girl terribly. She has no hand-to-hand training; you're going to get her killed some day. Last thing we need is for you to draw attention to yourself."
"She was useful enough in the Bahamas," Steed reminisced with a smile. "Quite dashing in a bikini, as well."
One-Ten ignored him.
"The girls from the Ministry have all the pre-requisite training; most of them would give anything for some field time, a chance to advance to professional status. Or I could assign you an active agent. The Minister has been thinking it's about time we paired a professional with you."
Steed frowned.
"I prefer to work with amateurs. They're pristine, can get into places where an agent could never go. I'll get Venus."
"You may find that difficult, Steed," One-Ten responded. He folded the newspaper, straightened his derby, and turned to leave. "She should be performing on a cruise ship in the Atlantic just about now."
-oOo-
Steed was studying a series of photographs of Blackpoole's body when he heard the knock. He crossed the floor of his apartment and opened the door, admiring the unexpected visitor.
A young woman of medium height was standing there. She wore brown leather calf boots, a knee-length plaid flannel skirt, and a freshly starched white blouse buttoned tightly up to the collar with a ribbon at the neck. In her right hand she clutched a black leather satchel, and a purse dangled from her left shoulder. But all of these sights faded in the light of her crowning glory, a sumptuous furl of red hair swirled into a bun and held in place with two cloisonne clips.
"My name is Rita Fox," she began.
"Penny for the Old Guy?" Steed grinned.
"Not Fawkes. Fox, F-O-X."
"Tally-ho!"
"The Ministry sent me. I'm to be your new assistant."
"Nonsense, dear girl," Steed said with a smile. "They must have given you the wrong address."
"But I was told, Mr. Steed—you are Mr. Steed? It says John W. Steed on the box—that you needed some help with—"
"Oh, not a bit of it! I'm perfectly fine on my own."
"Look, Mr. Steed. I'm the Ministry's top literature research expert. I assure you, if there's any information you're hunting for, I can find it."
"Oh, a bookworm, eh?" Steed teased.
"Literature research expert," Miss Fox tersely pronounced the words, with special emphasis on the last. She fidgeted with her satchel and pressed it close to her chest in a gesture of impatience.
"Well, the next time I need help with the library, I'll be sure to look you up. Goodbye!" Steed said cheerily, making a move to close the door.
"But what will I tell the Head of Operations?" Rita asked with exasperation. "He specifically came to me, ordered me over here."
"Charles?" Steed feigned seriousness. "Yes, that will be a problem. Come in and have a brandy, Miss Fox, and we'll come up with up a story."
"I don't usually drink, Mr. Steed."
"Call me Steed."
"As I was saying, Mr.—I mean, Steed. I'm no tippler."
"Avoid the demon rum! Well, this vintage won't bring Old Scratch to the door." Steed led her into the apartment, his hand on her arm.
Rita sat on the couch as Steed took a bottle from the bar and filled a pair of snifters. He handed one to Rita, their fingers brushing briefly during the pass. Rita was nervous; her hand trembled slightly, and she downed too much brandy on the first gulp.
"Now, tell me," Steed began, "why would the home office send you around?"
"Blackpoole had a book in his pocket when he died."
"Hence my need for a bookworm—I mean, literary expert," Steed corrected himself gracefully.
Rita ignored the barb. "It was a rather obscure book. They sent for me because I specialize in nineteenth century literature."
Steed leaned over casually and refilled Rita's snifter.
"I say, this is rather fruity tasting," Rita added loosely.
"Armagnac Eau De Vie from France," Steed explained. "Guaranteed to make life's troubles look a little less troubling. What book was it?"
"Dr. Posthlewaite's Druidic Rites Of The Salisbury Gorset," she answered. "Published in 1873."
"Hardly the light reading one would expect in Blackpoole's free time," Steed commented.
Rita was starting to get a red flush in her cheeks, in a hue that complemented her hair. "Do you think it's a clue?" she asked.
"Could just be a coincidence." Steed changed the subject. "How did you get started at the Ministry?"
"Well, I spent five years at Oxford," Rita began. "I majored in medieval and modern languages, so I learned French, German, Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, Celtic, and Greek. Some chaps from the Ministry contacted me about being a translator, but I didn't feel ready for so much international travel."
Steed smiled, feigning interest, and refilled her glass.
"So I continued my postgraduate work in European Literature. After I completed my M-Litt, I went to Cambridge to work for a small research group and finished my Ph.D."
"Do tell." Steed wanted to keep her talking. He kept her glass filled.
"We were part of a government-funded project to archive documentation from the Crimean War and the events that eventually led to World War I. When the project ended, my contact at the Ministry offered me a job. That was two years ago, when I was 26, and I've been in Civil Service ever since."
"Someone must have thought you had the potential to eventually become an agent for the Ministry," Steed suggested.
"I suppose so. They put me through some elementary physical and martial arts training to prepare me for 'action in the field', but I much prefer to spend time in the library."
"Well, you certainly seem eminently qualified for research," Steed smiled pleasantly. "Would you like some more brandy?"
"I don't really drink, but I suppose I could have a little more." Rita's eyes wandered about Steed's apartment, taking in the equestrian trophies to one side of the couch. She noticed the model ship on the other side.
"Is that a model of the H.M.S. Victory?"
"Indeed. You know a little about naval history?"
"If it happened in the nineteenth century, I know it," she boasted. "Did you know Hardy was going to dismantle the Victory until his wife talked him out of it?"
"So it's been said," Steed agreed pleasantly, refilling her glass. He had no idea what she was talking about.
"How many glasses have I had?" Rita asked. She unconsciously undid the collar button of her blouse and loosened the ribbon.
"A half bottle."
"Is that too much? How much does one typically drink?"
"Why, it's customary to finish the bottle, Miss Fox. Goes bad otherwise," Steed lied with a smile.
"You've hardly had any, Mr. Steed."
"Just Steed. It's also customary for the host to defer to the guest," he added politely.
"Well, then I'll have another," Rita agreed. Her hand was no longer shaking as she extended the snifter for a refill.
-oOo-
It was starting to turn dark when Steed hoisted the snoring form of Rita into his arms and kicked the door of his flat shut on the way out. As he had predicted, she was unfamiliar with the effects of brandy. She had just managed to finish the bottle before settling down for a nap. Rita stirred slightly. She wrapped her arms around Steed's neck, pressed her head to his chest, smacked her lips a few times, and then continued dozing.
The Bentley was waiting, parked at the curb. He eased Rita into the passenger seat, disengaging her arms. Grabbing a blanket that he kept in the rear seat for just such emergencies, Steed covered her up; she stirred again, took hold of the blanket, and snuggled. Steed rummaged through her purse, noted her address from her Ministry ID, and fished out her key ring. He then stowed the purse and satchel next to her.
He pulled out past Rita's bright red '62 Austin Mini. She probably bought it as a new car two years ago when she was first hired at the Ministry. She would have to come by and fetch it next morning; Steed judged it wise that he not be around when that occurred. Miss Fox would still be trying to find a way to worm into his investigation, in order to keep the home office happy.
A few minutes later he was tucking her into a four-poster bed in her small flat. He carefully set her brown leather calf boots next to the nightstand. Steed turned to leave; then with a playful grin, he removed the carnation from his lapel, and placed the flower in Rita's hand.
Steed locked the door behind him as he exited.
-oOo-