Chapter Five
Steed sighed in relief as the eighty female agents were escorted to their bedrooms. He ran into his own room before Charles and Mother could make a superficial remark on how well the Agent tests were going.
Steed had spent the remainder of the day talking to each of the respective spies. He had endured hours of suffering all for the cause, and now he felt tired and miserable. And only one test had been completed; there was still seven to go.
"I am going to die before then!" he proclaimed to the mirror reflection of himself. "Either from being badgered by these women, or because Mother and Charles take that long to give out the tests." He stared at his reflection until his eyes crossed. "Emma, why can't I have you?" he asked softly.
**********
When Emma came to, she and her clothes were drenched from the rain, but the downpour did not concern her as much as the blood on her head. Mrs. Peel gently touched her head until she discovered a gash in the back. She would need stitches, and she probably had a concussion. But she was alive; her heavily padded cap had saved her life.
Emma knew she could not wait in the woods until someone found her. She forced herself to stand up, and immediately a wave of dizziness passed over her. Emma Peel almost fell to the ground, but she grabbed unto a tree limb in time. Her stomach sloshed, and she vomited. Yes, she definitely had a concussion.
Emma slowly treaded through the woods, water pelting her from all sides. She gingerly held pressure to her head to stop the bleeding, while she clutched her stomach. Fortunately, the bleeding subsided. As she walked, she glanced down at the ground to make sure she didn't step in a rut and go plummeting.
It was at this time that she noticed blood, strawberry jam, and something else on her coat. The rain had almost washed out the stain, but there as still a tiny trace. On further investigation, Mrs. Peel discovered that the third stain was the champagne she'd selected for the picnic. Suddenly, she realised what had occurred. Trudy had smacked her from behind with the bottle of champagne. It had been an attempted murder, and if Emma hadn't thought of taking her hat, she would have died. Her spy instincts had saved her again.
Emma Peel, instead of being outraged at Trudy's behaviour, said dryly, "Really Trudy Peel, wasting that champagne-and it was such a good year, too."
Now Emma knew what she had to do. She had to get out of the forest, get medical assistance for her injuries, and then move far away from Trudy Peel. Emma had no conclusive evidence that Trudy had tried to murder her, so Mrs. Trudy could not be arrested. But how she wished she could place that demented woman in a jail cell!
Emma stumbled through the briar and the bramble, groping her way out, but it seemed in vain. She was growing exhausted, and her vision was blurring, partly from the sweat and rain that was pouring into her eyes, and partly because she was still dizzy. After what seemed an interminable duration, she found herself standing on the lawn of a large estate.
Trembling from exertion and excitement, she knocked on the door. "Please have someone live here, please, please!" Mrs. Peel prayed to whatever cosmic force would hear her.
A corpulent man in a wheelchair opened the door, took one look at her and, instead of ushering her in to seek medical aid, demanded to know what her business was.
Mrs. Peel was taken aback by this rude behaviour. "I-I need a doctor! I hit my head, and when I came to it was pouring. I got lost in the woods, trying to find my way out. I need stitches, so if you could let me come in . . ."
"This is highly irregular," the fat man began.
Another peculiar man with an amazingly sour expression on his face stepped up to the door. "Look, we don't know who you are, or what you want with us."
"I've stated my business!" Emma cried in despair. "I need to get stitches! I don't expect you two to perform the task, but if you could phone a doctor-"
"We have a doctor on the premises," the disagreeable looking man said. "I suppose he could see to it that you received the proper medical aid." He admitted Mrs. Peel into the manor.
Up in his bedroom, Steed heard the raised voices coming from the front hall. Afraid that it might be a deadly intruder, he hurried down the stairs. When he got to the first landing, he looked over the banister at the foyer below. He couldn't believe what he saw. Emma Peel was standing there, battered and bloodied but very much alive. To make certain he wasn't dreaming, Steed pinched himself with all the strength he could produce. A red mark and a throb in his arm indicated that he was not asleep.
As calmly as he could, he descended the rest of the stairway. He did not know why Mrs. Peel was at the secret ministry headquarters, but he did know that as soon as she failed one test, she would be out of his life forever.
"We'll have you stitched up and find you some new clothes," Mother was saying.
"Then we'll take you to the basement to rest. It's the only available room right now. We're having a business convention." Charles escorted Emma toward the infirmary.
Steed gasped as he realised that his superiors thought Emma was an enemy agent. He had to save her! "Mrs. Peel," he began loudly and cheerfully, "I'm so glad you could make it to the tests."
"What are you doing?" Mother hissed to Steed. "You're giving everything away, and to a compete stranger."
"Mrs. Peel is neither a stranger, nor an enemy agent, are you Mrs. Peel?" Steed replied.
Emma didn't have any notion as to what was going on, but she figured it would be best if she answered Steed. "No, I'm not . . . either of those things." She wondered what Mr. Steed was doing with these strange men.
"Mrs. Peel is just a little late, and must have run into some trouble," John Steed continued.
"Yes, that's what I was trying to tell these two men-" Emma was cut short by Mother.
"We have no Mrs. Peel on our lists." Mother was scanning the papers quickly and efficiently.
"That's because Mrs. Emma Peel is my pseudonym," Emma explained. "You know how it is when you're famous, or infamous, like me. You have to take precautions for your safety." She pointed to the gash on her head. "Just look what happened tonight while I was getting to your estate. Some hoodlum . . ."
"Probably an enemy spy," Steed added.
" . . . Jumped me and severely injured me."
Charles and Mother looked unconvinced until Steed finished the story with the comment, "Her real name is Ethel Huffy."
"Ethel Huffy?" Emma repeated in repulsion. She quickly changed her attitude and said, "Yes, Ethel Huffy is my name!" She flashed her winning smile, hoping it would have some effect on the sombre men in front of her.
"Ethel Huffy, the renowned woman of counter-counter espionage?" Charles' eyes grew round with astonishment.
Mother was not so easily convinced. Outwardly he declared, "We'll just have to make room for you, Ms. Huffy." Under his breath he muttered, "And if you aren't really a spy, you won't get through the tests. At least I know you're not an enemy agent. Steed would have never defended you if you were."
Mrs. Peel was soon stitched up and taken to a dressing room where she was measured "for new clothes." In reality, she was being measure to see if she was the perfect size and shape for John Steed. Naturally, she passed the first test with no difficulties.
Weary from the day's events, Emma Peel was almost dragged to her bed chamber. As soon as she was alone in her bed, she fell into a deep slumber. Unknown to her, a sleeping gas began seeping in through the air vents, part of the second test.
~*~ To Be Continued ~*~
Steed sighed in relief as the eighty female agents were escorted to their bedrooms. He ran into his own room before Charles and Mother could make a superficial remark on how well the Agent tests were going.
Steed had spent the remainder of the day talking to each of the respective spies. He had endured hours of suffering all for the cause, and now he felt tired and miserable. And only one test had been completed; there was still seven to go.
"I am going to die before then!" he proclaimed to the mirror reflection of himself. "Either from being badgered by these women, or because Mother and Charles take that long to give out the tests." He stared at his reflection until his eyes crossed. "Emma, why can't I have you?" he asked softly.
**********
When Emma came to, she and her clothes were drenched from the rain, but the downpour did not concern her as much as the blood on her head. Mrs. Peel gently touched her head until she discovered a gash in the back. She would need stitches, and she probably had a concussion. But she was alive; her heavily padded cap had saved her life.
Emma knew she could not wait in the woods until someone found her. She forced herself to stand up, and immediately a wave of dizziness passed over her. Emma Peel almost fell to the ground, but she grabbed unto a tree limb in time. Her stomach sloshed, and she vomited. Yes, she definitely had a concussion.
Emma slowly treaded through the woods, water pelting her from all sides. She gingerly held pressure to her head to stop the bleeding, while she clutched her stomach. Fortunately, the bleeding subsided. As she walked, she glanced down at the ground to make sure she didn't step in a rut and go plummeting.
It was at this time that she noticed blood, strawberry jam, and something else on her coat. The rain had almost washed out the stain, but there as still a tiny trace. On further investigation, Mrs. Peel discovered that the third stain was the champagne she'd selected for the picnic. Suddenly, she realised what had occurred. Trudy had smacked her from behind with the bottle of champagne. It had been an attempted murder, and if Emma hadn't thought of taking her hat, she would have died. Her spy instincts had saved her again.
Emma Peel, instead of being outraged at Trudy's behaviour, said dryly, "Really Trudy Peel, wasting that champagne-and it was such a good year, too."
Now Emma knew what she had to do. She had to get out of the forest, get medical assistance for her injuries, and then move far away from Trudy Peel. Emma had no conclusive evidence that Trudy had tried to murder her, so Mrs. Trudy could not be arrested. But how she wished she could place that demented woman in a jail cell!
Emma stumbled through the briar and the bramble, groping her way out, but it seemed in vain. She was growing exhausted, and her vision was blurring, partly from the sweat and rain that was pouring into her eyes, and partly because she was still dizzy. After what seemed an interminable duration, she found herself standing on the lawn of a large estate.
Trembling from exertion and excitement, she knocked on the door. "Please have someone live here, please, please!" Mrs. Peel prayed to whatever cosmic force would hear her.
A corpulent man in a wheelchair opened the door, took one look at her and, instead of ushering her in to seek medical aid, demanded to know what her business was.
Mrs. Peel was taken aback by this rude behaviour. "I-I need a doctor! I hit my head, and when I came to it was pouring. I got lost in the woods, trying to find my way out. I need stitches, so if you could let me come in . . ."
"This is highly irregular," the fat man began.
Another peculiar man with an amazingly sour expression on his face stepped up to the door. "Look, we don't know who you are, or what you want with us."
"I've stated my business!" Emma cried in despair. "I need to get stitches! I don't expect you two to perform the task, but if you could phone a doctor-"
"We have a doctor on the premises," the disagreeable looking man said. "I suppose he could see to it that you received the proper medical aid." He admitted Mrs. Peel into the manor.
Up in his bedroom, Steed heard the raised voices coming from the front hall. Afraid that it might be a deadly intruder, he hurried down the stairs. When he got to the first landing, he looked over the banister at the foyer below. He couldn't believe what he saw. Emma Peel was standing there, battered and bloodied but very much alive. To make certain he wasn't dreaming, Steed pinched himself with all the strength he could produce. A red mark and a throb in his arm indicated that he was not asleep.
As calmly as he could, he descended the rest of the stairway. He did not know why Mrs. Peel was at the secret ministry headquarters, but he did know that as soon as she failed one test, she would be out of his life forever.
"We'll have you stitched up and find you some new clothes," Mother was saying.
"Then we'll take you to the basement to rest. It's the only available room right now. We're having a business convention." Charles escorted Emma toward the infirmary.
Steed gasped as he realised that his superiors thought Emma was an enemy agent. He had to save her! "Mrs. Peel," he began loudly and cheerfully, "I'm so glad you could make it to the tests."
"What are you doing?" Mother hissed to Steed. "You're giving everything away, and to a compete stranger."
"Mrs. Peel is neither a stranger, nor an enemy agent, are you Mrs. Peel?" Steed replied.
Emma didn't have any notion as to what was going on, but she figured it would be best if she answered Steed. "No, I'm not . . . either of those things." She wondered what Mr. Steed was doing with these strange men.
"Mrs. Peel is just a little late, and must have run into some trouble," John Steed continued.
"Yes, that's what I was trying to tell these two men-" Emma was cut short by Mother.
"We have no Mrs. Peel on our lists." Mother was scanning the papers quickly and efficiently.
"That's because Mrs. Emma Peel is my pseudonym," Emma explained. "You know how it is when you're famous, or infamous, like me. You have to take precautions for your safety." She pointed to the gash on her head. "Just look what happened tonight while I was getting to your estate. Some hoodlum . . ."
"Probably an enemy spy," Steed added.
" . . . Jumped me and severely injured me."
Charles and Mother looked unconvinced until Steed finished the story with the comment, "Her real name is Ethel Huffy."
"Ethel Huffy?" Emma repeated in repulsion. She quickly changed her attitude and said, "Yes, Ethel Huffy is my name!" She flashed her winning smile, hoping it would have some effect on the sombre men in front of her.
"Ethel Huffy, the renowned woman of counter-counter espionage?" Charles' eyes grew round with astonishment.
Mother was not so easily convinced. Outwardly he declared, "We'll just have to make room for you, Ms. Huffy." Under his breath he muttered, "And if you aren't really a spy, you won't get through the tests. At least I know you're not an enemy agent. Steed would have never defended you if you were."
Mrs. Peel was soon stitched up and taken to a dressing room where she was measured "for new clothes." In reality, she was being measure to see if she was the perfect size and shape for John Steed. Naturally, she passed the first test with no difficulties.
Weary from the day's events, Emma Peel was almost dragged to her bed chamber. As soon as she was alone in her bed, she fell into a deep slumber. Unknown to her, a sleeping gas began seeping in through the air vents, part of the second test.
~*~ To Be Continued ~*~