She's quietly singing to herself as she transfers her wet clothes from the washer to the dryer when she hears the shutting of a far off door. She goes completely still and listens. She barely breaths for several minutes as she waits for some small sound too indicate if V is still around.
When no other sound but that of her pounding heart and her own breathing reach her ears, she very cautiously creeps out of the laundry room and searches the Shadow Gallery for any other signs of life. She doesn't find so much as a spider, much less another human being in the place and she can feel a cold chill run down her spine. She takes several deep breaths to try and calm herself as she reminds herself of what V said. No one can find her here, she is safe.
It takes her nearly ten minutes of just concentrating on her breathing to stave off a panic attack, but in the end it's worth it. She's still a bundle of nerves, but now she's not about to go hide under the furniture. She turns to go back to the laundry room and to her ears the sound of her foot step loudly echoes off of the walls.
She stands still again for a minute before turning back to the main area of the gallery. She quickly heads towards the jukebox and looks down at the small selection of songs. There are only fifty-four songs, twenty-seven forty-five records are in there, not a lot, but it's going to have to do.
Starting with the first selection, she starts pushing buttons. By the time she's done selecting every single song in the jukebox, the first song is about half way done. She gives a sigh of relief for now she doesn't feel so alone.
She goes back to the laundry room and returns to her previous task, still a bit jumpy, but not terrified out of her wits. Once she's got the washer and dryer going, she returns to the main part of the gallery and looks around. She's filled with nervous energy and she needs to do something with it or she's going to go crazy, she knows it.
She's used to cleaning up after a master and two boys that don't seem to know how to return dishes to the kitchen or what a hamper is for, so living with V has been an experience. The man is neat to the point of being more neurotic than her, but she needs to do something with this energy. Finally, her gaze falls onto an object that seems to be a bit out of place and she goes to take a closer look.
Just as she thought, the item is scuffed and dirty as if someone has been beating on the poor thing. She circles it, looking it up and down until she's satisfied with what she sees. She goes off to find the items she'll need and returns shortly, ready to give that old suit of armor the polishing of its metallic life.
In an older part of London called the Hatton Garden area is a small pub nestled into a hole-in-the-wall spot that if one is not careful, is easily missed. An elderly man wearing a nice suit even if it is slightly out of fashion with elegant brown leather gloves covering his hands comes limping into the Olde Mitre Tavern, the silver tip of the cane he uses to help him walk makes a loud enough 'thunk' on the hardwood floor to be heard over the general mummer of voices in the establishment. Heads turn towards the new comer, taking in the old man with the full beard, bushy white hair and wearing a fedora and dark sunglasses, they turn back towards their drinks and return to their previous activities.
The old man steps up to the bar, orders himself a pint and then after paying the barkeep, finds a nice dark quiet corner to sit in. From his spot, the old man can see the front bar, the bar in the back and the stairs that leads up to an overflow area. He relaxes into his seat with his hat pushed down to cover his forehead casting him further into the shadows. He nurses his drink and he seems to sink into his own little world.
An hour later, the old man seems to have fallen asleep in his seat, but since the table isn't in demand yet, the barkeep leaves him be for now. Shortly before tea time, a group of six men enters the pub, pass by the bar and head for the stairs. As they pass by the old man's table, one of the men accidentally jostles it, startling the man awake.
With a snort, the old man suddenly sits up, pushes his hat back and looks around, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He seems to be disoriented for a few moments as the group of men moves on up the stairs. Shortly after they disappear up the steps, the old man staggers to his feet and begins to wander off.
The barkeep is too busy with filling a pitcher with ale to notice the confused man wandering up the stairs. Stumbling a few times up the steps, the old man finally makes it to the top to find himself in another room filled with chairs and tables and the six men already making themselves to home at a large table in the middle of the room. When they see the stranger invading their turf, the two largest ones quickly move to intercept the interloper.
Before the old man can even blink, the thugs grab him and slam him against a wall. Instinctively, the man throws one arm up to protect his face and the other back against the wall for balance.
"What's going on?" the man sitting at the head of the table demands from his seat.
"We've got ourselves a party crasher, boss," one of the obvious body guards replies.
"I'm just trying to find the bathroom," a feeble old voice says from behind the wall of muscle.
"Let him go, boys," the boss orders and the body guards back off, but not far. "The bathroom's downstairs, old man."
"Yes, thank you," the gentleman replies as he regains his balance and quickly retrieves his dropped cane. "Sorry to disturb you."
The old man beats a hasty retreat down the stairs as a pretty young server comes up with a tray of glasses and a couple pitchers of ale. Behind her is another young woman with another tray filled with finger foods. When the first girl sees the gentleman coming down the stairs, she stops dead in her tracks nearly causing the young lady behind her to plow into her back and drop the food.
"Oh, sir, you're not allowed up there," the gal gasps as the man gets closer.
"Yes, I was able to figure that out for myself, thank you," the old man nearly growls as he squeezes past the young lovelies while he goes down the stairs as fast as his old legs will carry him.
Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, the man quickly looks around and finds the sign for the restrooms. As swiftly as possible, he heads in that direction and disappears through the men's room door, locking it behind him.
Once he's through, he takes his hat off and fiddles with the band for a moment until he can hear the faint buzz of voices emanating from the hat. He puts the accessory back on and his very sensitive hearing can clearly pick up the voices in the room he was just forced out of. He makes a couple minor adjustments to the receiver and then leaves the bathroom.
He slowly limps his way through the tavern, giving only a passing glance at the table that he had recently vacated. His glass is long gone and three gentlemen now occupy the space, which is fine with the man since he has completed his task. With great purpose, V leaves the pub and makes his way to a nearby park where he takes a seat on a bench.
He pretends to people watch, when in fact he's listening to one Mr. Thomas Percy and associates of Shire Stables. His bug so cleverly hidden in plane sight in that upstairs room, a lesson well learned from his guest. The tiny little instrument is no bigger than a fly and in fact, it even looks like one, stuck to the wall when V was slammed against it earlier. It brings a whole new meaning to being a 'fly on the wall.'
V settles into his new seat and listens as the men prattle on about nothing interesting at first. After listening for an hour of them going on about their girlfriends and families and their favorite sports teams, V is beginning to wonder if maybe this night will be a bust. Not that it matters really since he has plans on returning to the pub after hours and adding a bit to the décor with a hidden camera.
"Well, well, well," Percy chuckles, V can practically hear the smirk on the man's face. "Look what the cat dragged in."
"G-g-g-good evening, Mr. Percy," a nervous voice greets.
"Well, Bobby, what have you got for me?" Percy demands.
"Nothing I'm afraid, sir," Bobby answers, his voice shaking.
"Nothing? NOTHING?" Percy yells and V hears something slam down on the table causing the plates and glasses to clink and clatter, probably a fist. "What do you mean you've got nothing? It's been three bloody weeks it has and you still haven't found the little bint. How the hell is that possible?"
"I don't know, sir," Bobby quails. "It's almost as if she's vanished into thin air."
"Don't give me that load of bollocks, ya git," Percy snarls. "Has she gotten out of London?"
"No, sir," Bobby quickly replies with some measure of relief. "Of that I'm sure of. There's no way out of London that we don't know about, but she could be anywhere in London."
"Who the hell would take her in?" Percy growls. "We know she's not with the brats' aunt. She doesn't have any friends, Jones made sure of that."
"Maybe the bloke who did Jones in still has her," another man's voice suggests. "Maybe that's why he killed Jones in the first place. He heard what a sweet ride that girl was and wanted a piece for himself. Maybe he heard of some of some of the tricks her first handlers had taught her."
"Then why wait for when she was leaving on a trip to see the aunt?" Percy snaps. "Besides, Jones never sampled her wares. He wasn't into that sort of thing. No, the man who killed Jones had another reason for killing him, not that I blame him. Jones was a prat and a complete ass to boot. But I want that girl found and I want her found now!"
"Y-y-y-yes, sir," Bobby stammers and V can almost hear the man sweating.
"This is your last chance, Bobby," Percy warns with a growl. "Fail me again and it'll be the last mistake you make."
"I won't fail you again, sir," Bobby swears and the sound of foot steps quickly retreating fills V's ear.
"Bloody git," Percy softly snarls and the others chuckle.
The conversation returns to trivial things and V considers returning home when the sound of a man's footsteps interrupts the men talking.
"Well, Jack, what brings you all the way out here?" Percy asks, the sound of pleasure filling his voice.
"Great news, Mr. Percy," Jack answers happily. "I just got word that the agency that gets fillies for the bishop is looking for a new supplier. It seems the old supplier can't keep up with demand."
"That is good news," Percy purrs. "This may be our big chance to be protected by the big man himself. If we can get that contract, we'll be living the really sweet life. No more worries about the coppers or the Finger getting into our business. How many young fillies do we have in the stables right now, Tommy?"
"We sold the last lot, but we have at least three that are about to go into training," Tommy replies. "Though, they were going to be trained for general purposes. Would you like them to be specially trained, sir?"
"Any of them wild caught?" Percy questions.
"One wild caught, the other two were bred in our stables," Tommy answers.
"Leave the wild one to the normal training and special train the other two," Percy decides after a moment. "I know the bishop likes his fillies with a little spunk, but he doesn't want them to have too much fight in them. He likes to ride them rough, but he hates to get bucked off."
"I'll see to it first thing in the morning, sir," Tommy assures his boss. "Would you like me to go about acquiring any more fillies?"
"No, we don't want the competition to know that we're trying to get that contract," Percy replies. "How many fillies do we have that are almost old enough to start training?"
"By the end of the year we'll have four more," Tommy responds. "There will be at least six more by the middle of next year."
"How are the mares doing?" Percy inquires.
"They're doing great," Tommy replies. "We've got three more confirmed pregnancies, five that will be giving birth within the next month and six that are just about ready to be bred."
"Excellent," Percy sighs happily. "Now if Bobby would just find that little bitch that got away, everything will be perfect."
V has heard enough for now. With a pounding heart and trembling hands, he carefully gets up from the bench, barely remembering the role he's supposed to be playing. He leaves the receiver on while he makes his slow way back home, wanting nothing more than to go back into that pub and end the existence of those miserable curs. However, he knows that won't solve his problem with Audrey, so with deliberate care, he makes his way back to the underground.
Before he even opens the door, V can hear music coming from his home. He's slightly annoyed at first but then remembers that he gave her permission to do as she likes. Without another thought to the jukebox, he quietly opens the door and enters his home, locking the door behind him.
He takes off his hat, absently turning off the receiver as he looks around the main part of the gallery trying to find his guest. His gaze lands on the suit of armor and stares at it stunned. It shines to the point where it nearly glows and he carefully approaches one of his favorite opponents.
"She did a beautiful job on you, didn't she, Mondego?" he softly asks as he carefully examines the polished metal.
As he's circling his fat metal friend, a most delightful smell wafts past his nose. He inhales deeply and turns towards the kitchen. He silently enters the room, there's a large pan on the stove with what appears to be pork chops simmering in some type of sauce that smells of rosemary and lemon with slices of lemon on top of each chop. Audrey doesn't hear him enter as she has her back to the door and she's too busy mashing the potatoes to be paying attention.
"It smells wonderful," he states as he steps up behind her.
She lets out a startled shriek and the masher goes flying through the air, hitting V square in the chest on its way down as she nearly jumps straight out of her skin. One look over her shoulder and she sees a stranger staring down at the glob of partially mashed potato on his front. She screams and quickly back peddles herself into a corner.
"This isn't exactly the homecoming I was expecting," the man states as he scoops up the white glob on his tie onto his fingertip and sticks it into his mouth. "But I guess it's better than you throwing my own knives at me. It could use a bit more salt."
"V?" she finally manages to squeak out as he picks up the masher off of the floor.
"Were you expecting someone else?" he counters with an all too familiar head tilt.
"Good heavens, you about scared the livin' daylights out of me," she admonishes as she starts to get her body to move again.
"My apologies, it was not my intention to startle you," he replies as he hands her the masher and slightly tilts his body forward.
She says nothing but takes the device being handed to her and goes to the sink to wash it. He cleans up the mess on the floor and then watches her intently. After observing her clean the masher, he notices the muscles in her jaw working, but she remains quiet and he lets out a frustrated puff of air.
"Say it," he orders.
"Say what?" she asks as she finishes rinsing the item in her hand.
"You want to say something, so say it," he retorts and she looks at his chin for a good thirty seconds before turning back to her potatoes.
"I want to put a big bell around your neck so you can't be sneakin' up on me any more," she mumbles into the pot, turning nearly as red as the roots of her hair.
He chuckles at her comment and leans against the counter.
"Are you talking about a round jiggle bell, like a cat wears or a cow bell?" he asks, amusement coloring his voice.
"I guess it would depend on which one would look better with black," she jokes back, a small smile gracing her lips though she's still blushing furiously.
Before he can respond to that, the timer on the stove goes off and she turns to deal with the pork chops, leaving the masher in the potatoes. He picks up where she left off on the spuds, adding a pinch of salt as she transfers the meat onto a platter. By the time she's done getting the heavy plate over onto the table, he has finished the potatoes and is scooping them into a bowl that had been sitting nearby.
"You didn't have to do that," she tells him when she sees what he's doing.
"It's the least I could do," he replies as he puts the bowl down next to the platter. "Do I smell bread?"
"Oh, jeez, the rolls!" she nearly panics and swiftly turns back to the oven, yanking the door open. "Thank heavens they didn't burn."
She grabs a pair of oven mitts and quickly slips them on before pulling out a pan of homemade rolls, she then dumps them into a basket lined with a towel and puts it on the table. Meanwhile, he takes out a casserole dish with broccoli and cauliflower smothered in a thick cheese sauce and places it on a waiting trivet on the table. V looks at the food laid out before him and smells their delicious aromas while his stomach not so subtly reminds him that it's been quite some time since he's eaten.
"May I join you in your repast?" he asks politely, not wishing to intrude on her supper.
"Please do," she answers as she waves at a spot on the table near where he's standing. "That's why I put out two place settings. I know you don't normally eat with me, but I do so hate eating alone and quite frankly the stove isn't a very good conversationalist."
"Then I would be delighted to break bread with you," he states as he pulls out a chair for her to sit on before taking his own. "As I stated before, it smells wonderful. May I ask what this dish is called?"
"San Francisco Style Pork Chops," she replies as she begins to serve herself. "My grandmother taught me that recipe when I was living with her."
"What are these strange dark bits in the potatoes?" he inquires as he puts a spoon full onto his plate.
"It's either the pepper or chives," she states as she adds butter to her roll. "You know, with all those wonderful vegetables you have in your garden, I'm surprised you don't have any herbs."
"I have all the herbs you could possibly need in the cupboard," he replies as he waves his hand towards the aforementioned place.
"Yes, I know, but those are all dried," she points out while she starts to cut into her meat. "Fresh herbs taste so much better than the dried stuff. You should try it some time."
"I will keep that in mind," he states just before he takes his first bite. "This is very good. Would you be willing to share the recipe with me?"
"If you like," she agrees, smiling that he likes what she made.
"You're a very good cook, Audrey," he states after they have eaten for a few minutes in silence.
"Thank you," she replies shyly, slightly blushing from the compliment. "Michael didn't think so, but he usually liked his food bland."
"Speaking of the unlamented Major Jones, may I ask you a personal question?" he inquires.
"I suppose so," she answers.
"I was listening in on a conversation between the owner of Shire Stables and one of his lackeys," he starts to explain and she nervously drops her fork making a loud clattering noise as it hits her plate. "From what they were saying I was given the impression you and the major never had coital relations."
"We never had what?" she asks in confusion.
"To put it bluntly, you never had sex," he states and her eyes get wider as her face turns bright red. "I did state it was a personal question."
"I didn't think it would be that personal," she mutters as a shiver runs through her body. "You're right, Michael never required me to use that part of my training. I suppose I should be thankful that I never had to endure his attentions in the bedroom."
"Yet the night I removed Jones from this Earthly realm, he was preparing your home for a clandestine meeting," he says as she shakily picks up her fork and takes another bite. "The police are currently looking for his mistress."
"His mistress?" she laughs, nearly spitting food across the table. "Someone better tell them they're lookin' in the wrong half of the human population."
"Wait, do you mean that Jones was…," he starts.
"As queer as a three dollar bill?" she finishes for him. "You can bet your sweet bippy on that one."
"But he was married," he states.
"And you think he's the only homosexual to get married to save his or her own skin?" she questions with a raised eyebrow.
"So you knew about the meeting that night?" he inquires.
"Not only did I know about it, Michael made sure that I knew every lurid detail of what they planned to do in the bed we slept in," she nearly snarls. "Maybe I'm a prude, but I just do not enjoy hearing about other peoples sexual exploits."
"I understand," he says softly, tilting his chin downwards. "I'm sorry if I upset you."
She nods her acceptance and they continue eating for a while in silence.
"I must thank you for polishing Mondego," he suddenly states, startling her out of her thoughts.
"Who?" she asks, confused.
"The suit of armor," he clarifies. "You did a lovely job. I must confess that I haven't done it in some time."
"You named the suit of armor Mondego?" she questions, not sure whether or not she should laugh.
"Yes, I did," he responds in a tone that states laughing might not be a good idea.
"It took quite a bit of time to get him cleaned up," she tells him. "He was covered with all manner of scuffs and scrapes. It's like someone wailed on the poor thing with something."
"Oh really?" he questions, glad that the latex mask hides his embarrassment.
"But you know that wasn't the strangest thing about cleaning Mondego?" she asks as she pushes away from the table and picks up her empty plate.
"And what was the strangest thing about cleaning him?" he questions back as he takes his last bite of food.
"I found a Watchmen comic book stuffed down one the legs," she answers and V chokes.
Author's notes: Sorry this took a while. I was on vacation and I was trying to write a chapter for another story. Unfortunately for that story and fortunately for you dear readers, my muse decided she wanted to work on this story instead. If anyone is interested in the recipe for San Francisco Style Pork Chops, please let me know and I'll send it to you or if enough people express an interest, I'll just post it on my author's page. Thanks for reading and please feed the muse with a review.
