First Night
Miss Emma Knight and Mr. John Steed spent an hour and a half in the wine cellar, tasting different brands, vintages, and grapes. The duo seemed more at ease with each other than they ever had been since their first meeting only several hours earlier. Steed's strange behaviour at lunch was forgotten as they discussed liquor, politics, and automobiles.
They were amazed at how often they agreed with each other. Of course there were the occasional differences, such as Emma wanting a modern sports car and Steed opting for a 1929 Bentley. But the two respected each other's preferences and never insulted the other because of it.
All too soon, Emma and Steed went their separate ways, promising to meet in the lobby at seven p.m. Mr. Steed was going to explore the golf course of which he had heard so much praise, while Miss Knight wanted to start reading an interesting textbook on physics and chemistry. Once in her hotel room, Emma became so immersed in her work that she didn't pay heed to the cautious footsteps outside her room, nor did she hear someone slipping a piece of paper under her door.
She only discovered the note when she got up from her uncomfortable chair to turn on a lamp that was shaped like a candelabra, since the illumination from the window was not enough. She gazed at the letter in surprise before picking it up. Gingerly, she peered at its contents and let out a gasp. There in chilling letters were the words:
Some grapes are red.
Some grapes are blue.
If you don't watch out,
I will murder you.
Miss Knight thought about Mr. John Steed and his vast knowledge of wine. Was he the writer of this hostile note, or was someone else behind this sinister plot? If Steed was the author, why was he threatening her? Was it because he was working for Mr. Putnam, and they had just pretended not to know each other? If he were the enemy, would she be risking her life just to spend an evening with him? She shuddered at the prospect of going out with such a depraved man.
Suddenly, her book on chemistry seemed inconsequential compared to the fate that could be hers. Sick at heart, Emma threw herself upon her carved, canopy bed. She stared at the red drapes of her bed and realised they reminded her of the blood red letters in the note. She turned over on her stomach, propping her chin up in her hands. I have to remain calm and collected if I want to come through this ordeal alive, she thought to herself. You've been threatened before by archrivals of Father. There is no difference, except you're alone now. Miss Knight just repeated these words until she lulled herself into an agitated sleep.
Emma Knight awoke at six to the sound of her phone ringing incessantly. She lazily stretched her left arm until it landed on the bedside table where the phone was situated. She grabbed the phone and, placing it to her head, garbled, "Allo, Emma Knight here."
"Miss Knight," came Mr. Steed's cheery voice, "I just wanted to remind you of your dinner appointment with me in an hour. I can't wait to see you!" Steed hung up the phone and began humming a breezy tune as he began to change into his black tuxedo.
In her room, Emma slowly stepped onto the cold, stone floor. She noticed with dismay that she had wrinkled her purple outfit. It didn't seem important in comparison to the chore that loomed over her head. "I'll just ask a few casual questions about poetry and the such," she told herself. "If Mr. Steed seems edgy about anything, I'll just politely end the date and retire to my room. Then, I'll quietly make my exit in the morning."
The idea seemed admirable, but Emma was still filled with apprehension. She sighed in exasperation as she began the tedious job of finding the proper dinner apparel.
Steed finished his dressing a half hour ahead of schedule. He seemed unfazed at this and merely ordered flowers from the resort's florist to be sent up to Miss Knight. Then, black brolly in hand, he ventured out into the car park.
All of the missing businessmen had disappeared on the drive out of Millbury Castle. Steed's plan was to have a look around the area where they vanished before returning to the hotel for his engagement. Casually, he hopped into his badly bent but still running car and drove the short distance down the private road. Soon Steed reached a section of the dirt road that was slightly different from the rest of the path. After a quick examination, he observed that the cattails to the right side of the road had been pushed or driven over.
Seeing that no one was nearby, Steed parked his car by the side of the road before entering the depths of the brush. He soon arrived at a spot that had numerous tyre tracks from several different vehicles imbedded in the dirt and grass. There were no footprints in the dirt to indicate which way the men must have gone after driving into the shrubs. He was about to return to his car when he spotted an almost unidentifiable footpath weaving through the overgrown weeds. He delicately followed the path for several feet, but he was interrupted by the sound of footsteps and voices. Quickly, he darted into the tall undergrowth and crouched low. He was suddenly very grateful that dusk had fallen, casting shadows on the entire outdoors, or his black tux would be extremely noticeable amidst the green and yellow plants.
Mr. Cunningham and a stranger stepped into view, muttering unpronounceable sentences to each other. As they passed Steed's hiding place, he could make out the words, "This Miss Knight won't set up a meeting with us like the other four entrepreneurs did."
Cunningham replied to the stranger, "Putnam doesn't care if she refuses to set up a conference with us here at Millbury Castle. If she doesn't cooperate, she's going to have the same fate as the other four."
The other man protested, "It's going to be much more conspicuous if we don't at least 'talk' to her. By the way, whose car was that by the side of the road . . ." Their voices were inaudible now as they continued down the manmade trail.
Steed was about to follow them when he happened to glance at his watch. To his utter consternation, he saw that it was five minutes to seven. He scurried as quickly as he could without being heard by the two men. Darting out of the cattails, he jumped into his auto. He sped down the road and into the car park. Fortunately, his parking space had not been taken, so he didn't have to search for a new one. In less than one minute, he was in the lobby, smiling congenially at the irritated Miss Knight.
She arched a dark eyebrow as she announced, "Mr. Steed, you are exactly ten minutes late. You are not making a very amiable impression on me." She wrapped her mink stole tightly around her black-gloved arms. She was adorned in a knee length, black cocktail dress with a tasseled hem. Spaghetti straps held the garment up, and unlike her sundress and bathing suit, the neckline was modestly cut.
"I'm sorry, but I was-" Steed noted that Emma Knight was staring quizzically at his attire. He glanced down at his outfit only to discover dirt and road dust smeared across his coat, pants, and small dress shoes. "Oh, I was going to fetch my umbrella from my car, and this vehicle came charging at me, spurting dust and filth all over me!"
Miss Knight was trying to no avail to suppress a smile. She already had forgiven the charming man, but she wasn't going to let him have that satisfaction of knowing that. "I should have guessed when I received those gorgeous flowers that you were trying to make up for your being tardy. It's just like a man to give a girl a present when he's trying to apologise."
"I hope you liked them," Steed began earnestly. "I thought the arrangement of roses and violets quite becoming. It reminds me of that little poem I learned as a boy."
"What poem are you speaking of?" Emma recalled her threatening letter, which was based on that poem. She prayed he was not referring to that particular piece.
"Don't tell me you've never heard, 'Roses are red; violets are blue; sugar is sweet, and so are you'?" When Emma didn't respond, Steed shook his head in incredulity, inferring that she was not familiar with the poem. "Well I won't carp over it. Shall we go to dinner, my dear?" He offered his arm like earlier, but Emma couldn't find it in herself to accept this time. She marched stiffly ahead of Steed, perplexing him greatly.
All the evidence seems to prove that Mr. John Steed is the author of that letter, Emma thought. She sighed, determined not to let her feelings show during the whole meal. She entered the restaurant where she had eaten breakfast that morning.
As the maitre'd showed them to their seats, Steed courteously allowed Miss Knight to walk ahead of him. Once they arrived at the table, the maitre d took Miss Knight's fur. When they were sitting at the elaborately decorated table, John Steed gazed at Miss Knight.
He found her entire body perfectly rigid. This mystified him, for this was not the serene woman he had grown accustomed to over the last several hours. This was a petrified and bemused woman he had not yet witness before. He wondered if something terrifying had occurred over the last hour.
The two chatted over trivial matters for the first half hour. Then their dinner arrived, and they became immersed in consuming their food. It was about halfway through supper when Emma Knight noticed that once again Mr. Cunningham, along with another one of his unknown friends, was complacently sitting several tables down from them.
She instantly thought of his threats to her and then that anonymous letter. Who was her nemesis and who was her ally? As she pondered over this, Mr. Cunningham turned to glare at her icily. In that one gaze, he seemed to represent all evil and misfortune. Impulsively, Miss Knight asked, "Are you afraid of death?"
Steed was startled at such an inquisition but after calmly chewing his piece of steak, answered, "I'm more afraid of the pain that might come before death. What made you think of such a morbid question? Is it because of your father, or is it something more sinister?"
"I'm being threatened by someone, I know not whom." The words tumbled out over Emma's red lips as she explained the whole situation to the concerned man. When she finished, she stared at her plate of seasoned lamb chops. She wasn't certain if Mr. Steed was behind all these threats, yet she was confiding in him!
"What you need is a bodyguard, and I know just the man to carry out such a task," Steed declared as he waved a green bean around on his fork. "I will gladly protect you for the remainder of your stay."
"When are you leaving?" Miss Knight asked.
"One or two weeks; it depends on what I feel like."
Emma's worst fears were confirmed in that reply. In an annoyed and accusatory voice, she proclaimed, "Secretaries do not have the ability to decide when and how long their holidays will be." She didn't wait for a feeble excuse before continuing, "Now who are you and what do you really do for a living?" She leaned across the table at Steed, giving him an ample view done her dress.
Mr. Steed fought the urge to stare at her exposure and replied swiftly, "I actually was commissioned by one of your dear friends to protect you while you were at Millbury Castle."
"Why didn't you just tell me you were here for my protection?"
"I knew what an independent woman you were and didn't want to insult you. You could very well defend yourself if the need arouse, so I pretended I was just an average secretary."
Emma had only one more question plaguing her mind. "Who hired you to watch over me-Mr. Lanier?"
Steed did not know any of Miss Knight's coworkers' names. Hesitantly, he replied, "Yes, it seems the old man was concerned over your safety because of this Mr. Putnam and his persistent men."
Evidently Steed had chosen the right words when describing Mr. Lanier, for Emma Knight smiled in satisfaction. "I suggest you not lie to me anymore, or you will find yourself sincerely wishing you hadn't."
"Are you threatening me, Miss Knight?" Steed asked in mock distress.
"I'm only giving you a fair warning, Mr. Steed."
"Please, just call me 'Steed'; the 'Mr.' is so formal."
"If I call you 'Steed' than you may address me as 'Emma.'"
Steed shook his head as he answered, "I will only feel comfortable if I call you 'Miss Knight.'"
"And why is that?"
"Because my mother brought me up properly." Steed smiled politely at the laughing Miss Knight. "What, pray tell, do you find so amusing?"
Emma played with some of her brown hair, which had been piled up on her head into little curly sections. "Tell me, Steed, was it your mother or father that taught you how to flirt with women?"
"It was my father, naturally, but we never referred to it as flirting. We called it, 'attracting members of the opposite sex.'"
*********
After dinner, Mr. John Steed and Miss Emma Knight ventured out onto the pool patio where an orchestra was playing lively dance tunes for a small assemblage. Emma smiled demurely at Steed as she asked, "Do you dance at all, Mr.-I'm mean-Steed?"
"I don't dance terribly well, but I haven't stepped on my partner's feet yet." Steed offered his hands to Miss Emma, and they stepped into the little throng of dancers. A love ballad began playing, and Steed couldn't help remarking, "They've saved the romantic music for us, very civil of them."
Miss Knight sighed in irritation as her white stole fell to the ground. "I'll have to place this somewhere safe so we can dance."
Mr. Cunningham seemed to appear from nowhere. "I'll hold on to that for you, Miss Knight," he offered, taking the mink wrap from her tentative hands.
As Cunningham went to sit on one of the lounge chairs, Emma inquired pettishly to Steed, "Have you ever had a stalker?"
"No, but from the look on your face, I can tell it's not a pleasant experience." Steed quickly distracted Emma by expertly dipping her. They spun around the stone patio, holding both of each other's hands, making sure their bodies were half an arm's length apart.
The twosome danced to three songs before taking glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. After resting for a few minutes, they began swinging to a jazzy tune. They looked quite ridiculous in their dinner apparel dancing to a song that was popular with the teenagers.
Steed was becoming winded, but he didn't want the evening to end so quickly. When another romantic ballad began playing, he pulled Miss Knight close to him for one last dance. Emma willingly let John Steed place a tender hand on her waist for the first time. With her hair cascading out of its hairdo from the strenuous exercise of the last few dances, she leaned her head on his brawny shoulder.
The two were quiet, each contemplating different matters. Mr. Steed wondered if he had ever met a woman quite as exquisite and smart as Emma Knight. Miss Knight thought of how Steed was her protector, and even though she didn't really need one, it was consoling to know that he was there for her.
All too soon, (by Steed's standards) the song ended. Emma and John clapped politely and wandered over to where Mr. Cunningham had been sitting. Much to their chagrin he was no longer there! "I think I see him over by the hedge maze," Emma commented. "I'll just run over and get my wrap from him." She dashed as quickly as she could in her black stiletto heels over to Cunningham.
He turned upon her with a frightened look in his eyes. Upon seeing that it was Miss Knight, he relaxed and smiled. "Here is your stole back, and if I can do anything else for you-"
"Thank you, but you've been so much help already." Emma was about to leave when a new, menacing tone came into Cunningham's voice.
"You don't like me, do you? But you know you should, or the consequences will be great."
"You wrote me that poem this afternoon, making it look like Steed was the author!" Emma accused him.
"I'm not saying that I did, and I'm not saying that I didn't," was the unfazed reply.
"Besides, he has several friends with him who could have written it." A stranger stepped out of the shadows, his green eyes glowing in the dim light that was coming from the pool area. He was the man who had eaten dinner with Mr. Cunningham.
"That's right; Henderson could have done it," Mr. Cunningham agreed more genially than he should have. He and Mr. Henderson backed Emma into green wall of the maze. The threesome was now completely enshrouded in darkness.
"I wouldn't come any farther, if I were you," Emma Knight warned them.
Not heeding her advice, the men grabbed both of her arms. Emma used her free legs to kick each man in the shins with her sharp stiletto shoes. As they let go of her to tend to their wounds, Emma ran into the maze. Henderson stopped rubbing his leg and sprinted after the escaping woman. Miss Knight looked behind her at the impressive man, losing her balance. She fell flat face on the dry grass, enabling Mr. Henderson to catch up with her.
He was about to attack her, but Emma quickly sprang to her feet and whacked him across the neck with one of her powerful karate chops. She continued to do so until Mr. Henderson toppled over in pain. As Cunningham came over to assist his friend, Emma used her mink stole to throw across his face, temporarily discombobulating him. In these few seconds of confusion, Emma scurried out of the hedge maze toward the pool.
Mr. Cunningham quickly recovered from being blinded by the fur wrap and followed her. He grabbed Emma by one of her spaghetti straps, dragging her backwards toward the shadows. "You have a partiality for shadows, don't you Mr. Cunningham?" Emma asked as she struggled out of his grasp.
Mr. Putnam arrived in this chaotic scene, crying, "What are you doing? Do you want us to be arrested on harassment charges?" Mr. Cunningham guiltily let go of Emma, sending her unceremoniously to the ground.
To make the situation even more confusing, John Steed stepped into view. Staring at the disgruntled Putnam, then at the indignant Emma Knight, he remarked earnestly, "I hope I'm interrupting something." He helped Miss Knight to her feet, grabbed her stole from the remorseful Cunningham, and escorted her back to the Castle.
"Thank you for coming to my rescue, but your help wasn't needed." Emma took her damaged wrap from Steed's large and capable hands. "My side is going to be in plenty of pain tomorrow," she predicted. "I think I'll just retire for the evening, if it's all right."
"You're going to go to bed at eleven? There are many more things to do before the night is over!" Steed tried to usher her into the bar for at least a nightcap, but Emma was insistent that she should return to her hotel room.
Reluctantly, Steed accompanied her to her room. "May I at least have a kiss goodnight?" he asked coaxingly.
Emma smiled beguilingly and, inching ever so close to the expectant man, placed a light kiss on his cheek. "I will see you tomorrow, Steed!" she exclaimed as she slipped into her room and bolted the door.
Despite his disappointment at the tiny peck, John Steed couldn't help but smile at the impish woman. Whistling cheerfully, Steed climbed the stairs to his room on the third floor.
To Be Continued!
Miss Emma Knight and Mr. John Steed spent an hour and a half in the wine cellar, tasting different brands, vintages, and grapes. The duo seemed more at ease with each other than they ever had been since their first meeting only several hours earlier. Steed's strange behaviour at lunch was forgotten as they discussed liquor, politics, and automobiles.
They were amazed at how often they agreed with each other. Of course there were the occasional differences, such as Emma wanting a modern sports car and Steed opting for a 1929 Bentley. But the two respected each other's preferences and never insulted the other because of it.
All too soon, Emma and Steed went their separate ways, promising to meet in the lobby at seven p.m. Mr. Steed was going to explore the golf course of which he had heard so much praise, while Miss Knight wanted to start reading an interesting textbook on physics and chemistry. Once in her hotel room, Emma became so immersed in her work that she didn't pay heed to the cautious footsteps outside her room, nor did she hear someone slipping a piece of paper under her door.
She only discovered the note when she got up from her uncomfortable chair to turn on a lamp that was shaped like a candelabra, since the illumination from the window was not enough. She gazed at the letter in surprise before picking it up. Gingerly, she peered at its contents and let out a gasp. There in chilling letters were the words:
Some grapes are red.
Some grapes are blue.
If you don't watch out,
I will murder you.
Miss Knight thought about Mr. John Steed and his vast knowledge of wine. Was he the writer of this hostile note, or was someone else behind this sinister plot? If Steed was the author, why was he threatening her? Was it because he was working for Mr. Putnam, and they had just pretended not to know each other? If he were the enemy, would she be risking her life just to spend an evening with him? She shuddered at the prospect of going out with such a depraved man.
Suddenly, her book on chemistry seemed inconsequential compared to the fate that could be hers. Sick at heart, Emma threw herself upon her carved, canopy bed. She stared at the red drapes of her bed and realised they reminded her of the blood red letters in the note. She turned over on her stomach, propping her chin up in her hands. I have to remain calm and collected if I want to come through this ordeal alive, she thought to herself. You've been threatened before by archrivals of Father. There is no difference, except you're alone now. Miss Knight just repeated these words until she lulled herself into an agitated sleep.
Emma Knight awoke at six to the sound of her phone ringing incessantly. She lazily stretched her left arm until it landed on the bedside table where the phone was situated. She grabbed the phone and, placing it to her head, garbled, "Allo, Emma Knight here."
"Miss Knight," came Mr. Steed's cheery voice, "I just wanted to remind you of your dinner appointment with me in an hour. I can't wait to see you!" Steed hung up the phone and began humming a breezy tune as he began to change into his black tuxedo.
In her room, Emma slowly stepped onto the cold, stone floor. She noticed with dismay that she had wrinkled her purple outfit. It didn't seem important in comparison to the chore that loomed over her head. "I'll just ask a few casual questions about poetry and the such," she told herself. "If Mr. Steed seems edgy about anything, I'll just politely end the date and retire to my room. Then, I'll quietly make my exit in the morning."
The idea seemed admirable, but Emma was still filled with apprehension. She sighed in exasperation as she began the tedious job of finding the proper dinner apparel.
Steed finished his dressing a half hour ahead of schedule. He seemed unfazed at this and merely ordered flowers from the resort's florist to be sent up to Miss Knight. Then, black brolly in hand, he ventured out into the car park.
All of the missing businessmen had disappeared on the drive out of Millbury Castle. Steed's plan was to have a look around the area where they vanished before returning to the hotel for his engagement. Casually, he hopped into his badly bent but still running car and drove the short distance down the private road. Soon Steed reached a section of the dirt road that was slightly different from the rest of the path. After a quick examination, he observed that the cattails to the right side of the road had been pushed or driven over.
Seeing that no one was nearby, Steed parked his car by the side of the road before entering the depths of the brush. He soon arrived at a spot that had numerous tyre tracks from several different vehicles imbedded in the dirt and grass. There were no footprints in the dirt to indicate which way the men must have gone after driving into the shrubs. He was about to return to his car when he spotted an almost unidentifiable footpath weaving through the overgrown weeds. He delicately followed the path for several feet, but he was interrupted by the sound of footsteps and voices. Quickly, he darted into the tall undergrowth and crouched low. He was suddenly very grateful that dusk had fallen, casting shadows on the entire outdoors, or his black tux would be extremely noticeable amidst the green and yellow plants.
Mr. Cunningham and a stranger stepped into view, muttering unpronounceable sentences to each other. As they passed Steed's hiding place, he could make out the words, "This Miss Knight won't set up a meeting with us like the other four entrepreneurs did."
Cunningham replied to the stranger, "Putnam doesn't care if she refuses to set up a conference with us here at Millbury Castle. If she doesn't cooperate, she's going to have the same fate as the other four."
The other man protested, "It's going to be much more conspicuous if we don't at least 'talk' to her. By the way, whose car was that by the side of the road . . ." Their voices were inaudible now as they continued down the manmade trail.
Steed was about to follow them when he happened to glance at his watch. To his utter consternation, he saw that it was five minutes to seven. He scurried as quickly as he could without being heard by the two men. Darting out of the cattails, he jumped into his auto. He sped down the road and into the car park. Fortunately, his parking space had not been taken, so he didn't have to search for a new one. In less than one minute, he was in the lobby, smiling congenially at the irritated Miss Knight.
She arched a dark eyebrow as she announced, "Mr. Steed, you are exactly ten minutes late. You are not making a very amiable impression on me." She wrapped her mink stole tightly around her black-gloved arms. She was adorned in a knee length, black cocktail dress with a tasseled hem. Spaghetti straps held the garment up, and unlike her sundress and bathing suit, the neckline was modestly cut.
"I'm sorry, but I was-" Steed noted that Emma Knight was staring quizzically at his attire. He glanced down at his outfit only to discover dirt and road dust smeared across his coat, pants, and small dress shoes. "Oh, I was going to fetch my umbrella from my car, and this vehicle came charging at me, spurting dust and filth all over me!"
Miss Knight was trying to no avail to suppress a smile. She already had forgiven the charming man, but she wasn't going to let him have that satisfaction of knowing that. "I should have guessed when I received those gorgeous flowers that you were trying to make up for your being tardy. It's just like a man to give a girl a present when he's trying to apologise."
"I hope you liked them," Steed began earnestly. "I thought the arrangement of roses and violets quite becoming. It reminds me of that little poem I learned as a boy."
"What poem are you speaking of?" Emma recalled her threatening letter, which was based on that poem. She prayed he was not referring to that particular piece.
"Don't tell me you've never heard, 'Roses are red; violets are blue; sugar is sweet, and so are you'?" When Emma didn't respond, Steed shook his head in incredulity, inferring that she was not familiar with the poem. "Well I won't carp over it. Shall we go to dinner, my dear?" He offered his arm like earlier, but Emma couldn't find it in herself to accept this time. She marched stiffly ahead of Steed, perplexing him greatly.
All the evidence seems to prove that Mr. John Steed is the author of that letter, Emma thought. She sighed, determined not to let her feelings show during the whole meal. She entered the restaurant where she had eaten breakfast that morning.
As the maitre'd showed them to their seats, Steed courteously allowed Miss Knight to walk ahead of him. Once they arrived at the table, the maitre d took Miss Knight's fur. When they were sitting at the elaborately decorated table, John Steed gazed at Miss Knight.
He found her entire body perfectly rigid. This mystified him, for this was not the serene woman he had grown accustomed to over the last several hours. This was a petrified and bemused woman he had not yet witness before. He wondered if something terrifying had occurred over the last hour.
The two chatted over trivial matters for the first half hour. Then their dinner arrived, and they became immersed in consuming their food. It was about halfway through supper when Emma Knight noticed that once again Mr. Cunningham, along with another one of his unknown friends, was complacently sitting several tables down from them.
She instantly thought of his threats to her and then that anonymous letter. Who was her nemesis and who was her ally? As she pondered over this, Mr. Cunningham turned to glare at her icily. In that one gaze, he seemed to represent all evil and misfortune. Impulsively, Miss Knight asked, "Are you afraid of death?"
Steed was startled at such an inquisition but after calmly chewing his piece of steak, answered, "I'm more afraid of the pain that might come before death. What made you think of such a morbid question? Is it because of your father, or is it something more sinister?"
"I'm being threatened by someone, I know not whom." The words tumbled out over Emma's red lips as she explained the whole situation to the concerned man. When she finished, she stared at her plate of seasoned lamb chops. She wasn't certain if Mr. Steed was behind all these threats, yet she was confiding in him!
"What you need is a bodyguard, and I know just the man to carry out such a task," Steed declared as he waved a green bean around on his fork. "I will gladly protect you for the remainder of your stay."
"When are you leaving?" Miss Knight asked.
"One or two weeks; it depends on what I feel like."
Emma's worst fears were confirmed in that reply. In an annoyed and accusatory voice, she proclaimed, "Secretaries do not have the ability to decide when and how long their holidays will be." She didn't wait for a feeble excuse before continuing, "Now who are you and what do you really do for a living?" She leaned across the table at Steed, giving him an ample view done her dress.
Mr. Steed fought the urge to stare at her exposure and replied swiftly, "I actually was commissioned by one of your dear friends to protect you while you were at Millbury Castle."
"Why didn't you just tell me you were here for my protection?"
"I knew what an independent woman you were and didn't want to insult you. You could very well defend yourself if the need arouse, so I pretended I was just an average secretary."
Emma had only one more question plaguing her mind. "Who hired you to watch over me-Mr. Lanier?"
Steed did not know any of Miss Knight's coworkers' names. Hesitantly, he replied, "Yes, it seems the old man was concerned over your safety because of this Mr. Putnam and his persistent men."
Evidently Steed had chosen the right words when describing Mr. Lanier, for Emma Knight smiled in satisfaction. "I suggest you not lie to me anymore, or you will find yourself sincerely wishing you hadn't."
"Are you threatening me, Miss Knight?" Steed asked in mock distress.
"I'm only giving you a fair warning, Mr. Steed."
"Please, just call me 'Steed'; the 'Mr.' is so formal."
"If I call you 'Steed' than you may address me as 'Emma.'"
Steed shook his head as he answered, "I will only feel comfortable if I call you 'Miss Knight.'"
"And why is that?"
"Because my mother brought me up properly." Steed smiled politely at the laughing Miss Knight. "What, pray tell, do you find so amusing?"
Emma played with some of her brown hair, which had been piled up on her head into little curly sections. "Tell me, Steed, was it your mother or father that taught you how to flirt with women?"
"It was my father, naturally, but we never referred to it as flirting. We called it, 'attracting members of the opposite sex.'"
*********
After dinner, Mr. John Steed and Miss Emma Knight ventured out onto the pool patio where an orchestra was playing lively dance tunes for a small assemblage. Emma smiled demurely at Steed as she asked, "Do you dance at all, Mr.-I'm mean-Steed?"
"I don't dance terribly well, but I haven't stepped on my partner's feet yet." Steed offered his hands to Miss Emma, and they stepped into the little throng of dancers. A love ballad began playing, and Steed couldn't help remarking, "They've saved the romantic music for us, very civil of them."
Miss Knight sighed in irritation as her white stole fell to the ground. "I'll have to place this somewhere safe so we can dance."
Mr. Cunningham seemed to appear from nowhere. "I'll hold on to that for you, Miss Knight," he offered, taking the mink wrap from her tentative hands.
As Cunningham went to sit on one of the lounge chairs, Emma inquired pettishly to Steed, "Have you ever had a stalker?"
"No, but from the look on your face, I can tell it's not a pleasant experience." Steed quickly distracted Emma by expertly dipping her. They spun around the stone patio, holding both of each other's hands, making sure their bodies were half an arm's length apart.
The twosome danced to three songs before taking glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. After resting for a few minutes, they began swinging to a jazzy tune. They looked quite ridiculous in their dinner apparel dancing to a song that was popular with the teenagers.
Steed was becoming winded, but he didn't want the evening to end so quickly. When another romantic ballad began playing, he pulled Miss Knight close to him for one last dance. Emma willingly let John Steed place a tender hand on her waist for the first time. With her hair cascading out of its hairdo from the strenuous exercise of the last few dances, she leaned her head on his brawny shoulder.
The two were quiet, each contemplating different matters. Mr. Steed wondered if he had ever met a woman quite as exquisite and smart as Emma Knight. Miss Knight thought of how Steed was her protector, and even though she didn't really need one, it was consoling to know that he was there for her.
All too soon, (by Steed's standards) the song ended. Emma and John clapped politely and wandered over to where Mr. Cunningham had been sitting. Much to their chagrin he was no longer there! "I think I see him over by the hedge maze," Emma commented. "I'll just run over and get my wrap from him." She dashed as quickly as she could in her black stiletto heels over to Cunningham.
He turned upon her with a frightened look in his eyes. Upon seeing that it was Miss Knight, he relaxed and smiled. "Here is your stole back, and if I can do anything else for you-"
"Thank you, but you've been so much help already." Emma was about to leave when a new, menacing tone came into Cunningham's voice.
"You don't like me, do you? But you know you should, or the consequences will be great."
"You wrote me that poem this afternoon, making it look like Steed was the author!" Emma accused him.
"I'm not saying that I did, and I'm not saying that I didn't," was the unfazed reply.
"Besides, he has several friends with him who could have written it." A stranger stepped out of the shadows, his green eyes glowing in the dim light that was coming from the pool area. He was the man who had eaten dinner with Mr. Cunningham.
"That's right; Henderson could have done it," Mr. Cunningham agreed more genially than he should have. He and Mr. Henderson backed Emma into green wall of the maze. The threesome was now completely enshrouded in darkness.
"I wouldn't come any farther, if I were you," Emma Knight warned them.
Not heeding her advice, the men grabbed both of her arms. Emma used her free legs to kick each man in the shins with her sharp stiletto shoes. As they let go of her to tend to their wounds, Emma ran into the maze. Henderson stopped rubbing his leg and sprinted after the escaping woman. Miss Knight looked behind her at the impressive man, losing her balance. She fell flat face on the dry grass, enabling Mr. Henderson to catch up with her.
He was about to attack her, but Emma quickly sprang to her feet and whacked him across the neck with one of her powerful karate chops. She continued to do so until Mr. Henderson toppled over in pain. As Cunningham came over to assist his friend, Emma used her mink stole to throw across his face, temporarily discombobulating him. In these few seconds of confusion, Emma scurried out of the hedge maze toward the pool.
Mr. Cunningham quickly recovered from being blinded by the fur wrap and followed her. He grabbed Emma by one of her spaghetti straps, dragging her backwards toward the shadows. "You have a partiality for shadows, don't you Mr. Cunningham?" Emma asked as she struggled out of his grasp.
Mr. Putnam arrived in this chaotic scene, crying, "What are you doing? Do you want us to be arrested on harassment charges?" Mr. Cunningham guiltily let go of Emma, sending her unceremoniously to the ground.
To make the situation even more confusing, John Steed stepped into view. Staring at the disgruntled Putnam, then at the indignant Emma Knight, he remarked earnestly, "I hope I'm interrupting something." He helped Miss Knight to her feet, grabbed her stole from the remorseful Cunningham, and escorted her back to the Castle.
"Thank you for coming to my rescue, but your help wasn't needed." Emma took her damaged wrap from Steed's large and capable hands. "My side is going to be in plenty of pain tomorrow," she predicted. "I think I'll just retire for the evening, if it's all right."
"You're going to go to bed at eleven? There are many more things to do before the night is over!" Steed tried to usher her into the bar for at least a nightcap, but Emma was insistent that she should return to her hotel room.
Reluctantly, Steed accompanied her to her room. "May I at least have a kiss goodnight?" he asked coaxingly.
Emma smiled beguilingly and, inching ever so close to the expectant man, placed a light kiss on his cheek. "I will see you tomorrow, Steed!" she exclaimed as she slipped into her room and bolted the door.
Despite his disappointment at the tiny peck, John Steed couldn't help but smile at the impish woman. Whistling cheerfully, Steed climbed the stairs to his room on the third floor.
To Be Continued!