In which dinner is cooked and eaten, the upcoming case is contracted, and the details thereof discussed
In the pantry, Jenny went through a number of the cupboards, looking for something suitable for a silurian who was going to be working after her meal. That more or less ruled out red meat, as that put Vastra into a self-induced coma as fast as hot chocolate did, leaving her asleep for most of the evening, which would not be optimal, if she was any judge.
Fortunately, she had a supply laid on for such occasions.
Pigeons.
Grinning at her early memories of Vastra, she removed two of the plucked birds from the poultry rack, before using her knife set, crafted by a Japanese master swordsmith, to fillet them. The first time she'd served pigeon to Vastra, she'd thrown a handful of carrots, a diced green potato, and half an onion into the small iron pot, before simply boiling the contents for half an hour.
This time, she put a far larger helping of carrots, four potatoes at the peak of their ediblity, two large onions, a handful of walnuts, which contained a chemical compound which had an effect on silurians similar to caffeine, into the same pot, along with two cubes of chicken stock. She also added a pair of spring onions, and an apple, sliced into sixteenths.
The results of giving Vastra coffee, the one time she'd done so, had been memorable, not least of which because they had been picking carpet fibres out of Jenny's back for the next week, once she'd come around from the doses of venom Vastra had accidentally given her. Tea made her suggestable. Coffee... no. Not unless they were on holiday and had a large bed. And were within reach of a UNIT associated trauma centre.
With the full resources of her own kitchen to take advantage of, Jenny sauteed the pigeon fillets with a mixture of brandy, walnut oil, and spinach. The combination of flavours worked surprisingly well, and kept Vastra awake easily, so long as she didn't get all the jus.
Carefully, she boiled the vegetables until they were almost dry, before scooping the resultant food onto a plate, and sprinkling Vastra's with a small amount of cod liver oil, which she knew would slow down her eating, thanks to the flavour, which, for some reason, she liked to savour.
Vastra's table manners, when the food was served, were fairly typical. Her tongue gathered the bits she wanted to eat, while pushing aside the vegetables, which were reluctantly siphoned up as well when she found there was no more meat.
The first time she'd allowed Vastra to go out alone for food had been just after a holiday spent in the 21st century, in a slightly touristy area of the east of England. Vastra had enjoyed the walking, while Jenny focused on people watching and making sure Vastra behaved herself. Foolishly, or perhaps hoping that after six years of education on human behaviour, Jenny had sent her out "to get a Chinese."
Predictably, the unsupervised Silurian had returned with a Chinese gang member, who, in her defence, had attacked her, rather than the other way around. Unfortunately, Jenny had been expecting, somewhat optimistically, a meal of Chinese food. Vastra had gone to bed without dinner, while Jenny had extracted an item from her latest day trip. She'd been taken, mostly by Vastra, into a large shop, smelling of bacon, and left with a large, wheeled mesh cart full of items Vastra thought smelt nice.
She hadn't been exactly sure about the jar of "Sweet and Sour sauce." Letting her uncle Benjamin cook, on the rare occasions when the family had cooked their food, had been a sure-fire way of ending up with a kitchen full of smoke. Vastra had been brought her own apron on their sojourn, for the same reason. It carried the legend "Dinner is ready when the smoke alarm goes off."
That said, when it was poured over her chicken fillets, it had tasted very pleasant. Although she wasn't exactly sure about the vegetables which were contained by the sauce actually being fresh enough to contain any form of nutrients.
She knew, from experience, that Vastra could use the cutlery she had been provided with. With proper coercion, she might even not simply use it to move food into the immediate vicinity of her tongue, and use the cutlery to insert food into her mouth as well. She almost always refused to demonstrate that ability, but she was capable of doing so.
Today, Vastra was on form. Without even pausing, she downed her meal, before chasing the sauce around the bowl with her tongue. Jenny didn't even need to chastise her once for drinking the wine, a fairly simple red, out of the bottle. That was unusual behaviour for Vastra, to say the least.
Jenny put the unusually good behaviour down to the fact she looked suspiciously hyped up, and was focusing most of her attention on the promised amusement to come in the evening.
Then it was time to clear the table, and throw Vastra out of the dining room.
"Out." She brusquely instructed the Silurian. She could see Vastra making eyes at the sideboard, on which, in accordance with the layout of the house since before Vastra had moved in, there was an array of spirits and fortified beverages, none of which she wanted Vastra to drink before she met with her German visitor tonight. Not after her gin habit.
The table was very straightforward to clear. Two plates, earthenware, not the fancy porcelain service that they trotted out if they were entertaining the locals. Two straightforward goblets, in sterling silver. Vastra had vetoed the pewter ware after discovering that it contained lead. The cutlery was also silver, simply because the stainless steel industry was about fifty years away. She dropped it all into the wash basin, and added several dabs of 21st century washing up liquid. It took her about five minutes to do one human and one silurian's worth of cutlery, even when she included the pots and cutlery she'd used when cooking. It was the great advantage of the one cauldron stew.
Vastra, she knew, would be in her consulting room, surrounded by her collection of late-cretaceous flowering plants. For a pre-arranged consultation, it was her favourite haunt. Jenny had finally managed to dispose of her wife's nest of pollinators without being caught, as she suspected that very few of her fellow humans would accept the presence of totally alien looking pollinators without some kind of intrusive explanation. Vastra had blamed the cold when Jenny brought the nest in, having smoked the occupants at night, then stashed them in the icebox for a week.
That said, it was now time to join her, with a lot of tea. And bourbon biscuits, her wife's current food fetish. Fortunately, they contained as much cacao powder as the average stream next to a teahouse, so they weren't as anaesthetising as hot chocolate.
Vastra was sitting in her armchair. Gratefully, Jenny took a seat across from her, once she'd served the tea.
"What is a German?" Vastra asked, once her wife was seated. "Other than an ape from somewhere known as German."
"It's Germany, ma'am." Jenny informed her. "As for what they are, they're logical. Their language is very structured, following set rules all the time. He'll speak clearly enough, but the word choice will be a bit different. It'll sound like any of the neighbour's accent, but more formal."
"Interesting." Vastra replied.
"Also, he'll be wearing an opera mask."
"Why?" Vastra asked.
"Because humans largely rely on sight to identify a stranger, and to recognise them subsequently until they are more familiar with them. If you can't see his face, according to his logic, you can't identify him later if he has given you a false name, which he almost certainly will have done."
Vastra was giving Jenny her sceptical look.
"I know. You're a smell-predator, as well as a sight predator. It won't work on you, but I won't be able to recognise his face."
"How likely is it that this is your uncle Bill?" Vastra asked.
"Not very." Jenny said. "He doesn't travel much."
"It'd have been nice to meet a member of your clan." Vastra said.
"I'd be pleased to as well." Jenny commented.
Then the doorbell went, at the far end of the hall.
A few moments later, Strax opened the door.
"May I take your coat?" She heard.
"Danke." She heard, in reply. "I habe an appointment wit Madame Vastra."
"Madame is in her consulting room." Straw replied. "Follow me, please."
A few moments later, the man was shown in, preceded by his booming footsteps on the hollow wooden floor. He was large, muscular, with the build of a weightlifter, perhaps topping two metres in height. To Vastra, he seemed almost bafflingly dressed. There was none of the reserve she associated with apes from this part of the world. His dress was rich, with bands of tightly curled wool on the sleeves and front of his double-breasted coat. Over his shoulders, he was wearing a richly coloured blue cloak, lined with yellow silk, and fastened at the throat with a broach, set with a single, brilliantly coloured garnet. Even the boots were something Vastra had rarely seen before. They came not to the ankle, but to mid-calf, trimmed with brown fur.
A slightly florid face, visible under the large mask he was wearing, was the only sign he outwardly showed that the consulting room was ten degrees hotter than the rest of the house, and perhaps fifteen hotter than the exterior. Vastra hissed softly.
"Madame Vastra?" He asked. "I am your client. In London, I am known as the Graf von Kramm. I habe an appointment wit you. It was my understanding that this would be a private meeting, unless you can vouch for the discretion of your servants."
"They have both been with me long enough that I consider them intimates I trust explicitly." Vastra replied. "Would you like some tea?" At least this ape wasn't going to start an argument about who poured the tea.
"Pliss." He replied. "Der journey hast been most tiring."
Jenny stepped forward, with an elegant porcelain cup and saucer, supplemented by a pair of biscuits. She presented them with an elegant curtsey, before doing the same for Vastra.
"Thank you, Jenny." Vastra said, as her wife retreated behind the serving table.
What happened next was her worst nightmare.
"Yenny?" He asked. "Your full name est Yennifer?"
"Yes." She replied, looking at the ground, in the proper manner for a servant being addressed by a foreign nobleman.
"Look at me, fraulein." He said.
Jenny very reluctantly looked up.
"Can I trust you, Yennifer, with my honour, as much as I can trust your mistress?"
"You can, sir." She replied, surprised to the extreme that such a man would address her personally.
Then I must begin," He said, looking first Jenny, then Strax, and finally Vastra herself, in the eyes. "By binding you all to absolute secrecy for two years; at the end of that time the matter will be of no importance. At present it is not too much to say that it is of such weight it may have an influence upon European history."
Vastra audibly hissed. To Jenny's surprise, the C-96 Mauser sidearm riding in one of the pockets of his coat remained untouched or even moved towards.
"I see." She responded. "You have my word that I will not speak of this to anyone who would be capable of misusing it until the time limit you have set has expired."
He hasn't noticed the phrasing, there. Jenny thought. It's as subtle as she normally is, though. Perhaps that is why he hasn't objected to it.
"You vill take the case?"
"Even I must eat." She replied. "Besides, I quickly grow bored with the humdrum nature of my everyday life."
"Then I will state my case to you, Madame Vastra." The german accent, combined with the lack of french stresses, made the word sound almost painfully routine, pronouncing it "Ma-Dam", without the usual flourish on the last syllable. "The facts are briefly these: Some five years ago, during a lengthy visit to Warsaw, I made the acquaintance of the well-known adventuress, Irene Adler. The name is no doubt familiar to you." Vastra nodded, behind her veil. "We grew close, over that visit. She even visited mine schloss." Jenny was impressed. As he spoke English, the man's accent seemed to improve, clearly a credit to his language instructor.
"You corresponded, afterwards?" Vastra asked. Jenny had trained her vigorously for cases such as this.
"We did."
"So, now, she threatens to produce those letters?" Vastra asked. "Why now?"
"Because I am to be married. The newspapers will carry the betrothal notice on Monday. It is a political match with the family of one of the local barons, but the family is very pious. Any suggestions that my conviction and probity are in doubt would drive them to break off the match."
"What do you wish me to do?" Vastra asked.
"Recover the photograph and the letters, before the betrothal notice is published."
"Err... my Lord." Jenny said, timorously. "Why would these letters be accepted as genuine?"
"They are on my notepaper."
"They could have stolen it."
"The contents are... energetic."
"Faked."
"It's my handwriting and signature."
"Forged. Easy enough to do." She picked up a pad, sized up the man, and dashed off a short note.
"How...?" He gasped, slightly. "I printed the note I sent you earlier."
Jenny glanced at Vastra, hopefully.
"My maid assessed your body-language and personality. You're assertive. Dominant. You rarely back down. You have a flamboyant streak, from your clothing. Hence..." she gestured to the note. "I didn't do your signature. I'd need a sample and a few hours to practice signing your name."
"I see." He growled, somewhat intrigued by the forwardness of the serving girl, despite the vast gulf in class between the two of them. "How would you explain my photograph?"
"Bought from a shop."
"We are both in it. Looking into the camera together."
"Ah." Jenny said. "That could be... a tricky one."
"Madame, what is your advice?"
"Pay her. Require the photo in exchange."
"She has not set a price."
"Did you marry her?"
"No."
"Did you propose to her, or offer any contract beyond company?"
"No."
"But if your proposed wife's family saw the letters and photograph?"
"They would consider the match unviable."
"I assume that you have tried to recover the incriminating evidence?" Vastra asked. Burglary was a pastime she was very familiar with during her investigations.
""Five attempts have been made. Twice burglars in my pay ransacked her house. Once we diverted her luggage when she travelled. Twice she has been waylaid. There has been no result."
"But you've never found the photograph?"
"There has been no sign of it."
"I see. Very well, sir. I will take your case."
"How much do you want?" He asked. "I have three hundred pounds in gold in my carriage, along with seven hundred in notes."
"It will do for present expenses." Vastra said. "Jenny, give the gentleman a receipt, once his man has delivered the money"
"Yes, ma'am." Jenny replied. "My lord, will you be staying in London?"
"Certainly. You will find me at the Langham under the name that I have given you."
"What is the address you believe the photograph to be kept at?"
"Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John's Wood."
Jenny made a note of it, using one of her many notebooks. "How big was the photograph?"
"It was a cabinet card." He replied. Jenny noted that down as well, before signalling to Vastra.
"Then, good-night, your Lordship, and I trust that we shall soon have some good news for you." Vastra said, as Strax returned to the door to show out the Count.
Once the room was empty, excepting the two of them, Jenny poured herself a cup of tea, selecting one of the larger capacity bone-china mugs, and then promptly sat down on Vastra's lap, curling her legs up to fit as neatly as possible.
"So." Vastra asked. "How will you gather information about our objective?" She leant over, and began gently nibbling her wife's ear, careful, as always, not to draw blood.
"I'll be heading to the pub, most likely. An area like that will have a public house catering to servants, which is likely to be a good place to gather gossip. It's never the fault of servants that people treat them like items of furniture." Smiling, she turned her head, leaning slightly backwards, before kissing her wife just below the tympanic membrane. There was a rattle as Vastra reached down beside her chair, and the two began one of their many mating rituals.
Well, as you might guess, I've been borrowing dialogue from the original, particularly for the Graf. The stakes are a bit lower here, than the original, but still could have severe implications within the German empire. A cabinet card photograph measures 4 ½ by 6 ½ inches.
An explanation for the amount of private time that Vastra and Jenny have: I'm basing this element of Vastra's character on owls, from species that mate for life. Their usual greeting to their partner, on a return to their nesting place, is to mate. Without researchable information on their behaviour in this regard, I'm assuming that "Regular, often several times per day" is their default position.
While I was writing this chapter, PC David Phillips, of Merseyside Police, was killed in a hit-and-run while attempting to stop a vehicle that was being pursued by his colleagues after being stolen from outside an address. It is being treated as murder.
