A/N: Now, pay attention class! You at the back there, are you listening? Good. This chapter contains the loading and firing of flintlock pistols, which contain some components named 'cock' and 'ball'. I trust we're all mature enough to recognise that the early 19th century is not the 21st, and that words have different meanings? I assume we can all be mature about this? Jenkins? JENKINS ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?!
(I apologise if you actually are called Jenkins)
Chapter Thirteen—Progress
Diana was less than pleased when Bruce presented her with a pistol. Not because it seemed, at first glance, like hypocrisy—a good shot could wound without killing, after all—but because it was tiny. Tiny, and pearl-handled, and in every way dainty and delicate. The bullets that would go into said pistol were also absurdly small. Diana doubted they would even compare to bee stings.
"You expect me to do any kind of damage with this?" she asked. "Surely such a weapon as this is designed to be decorative more than destructive."
"Appearances can be deceptive. Believe me, Miss Prince, you put one of these," he held up one of the tiny silver balls, "into a man's knee, and he will know about it."
"I imagine he would know about that slightly faster," Diana countered, picking up the other pistol which lay on the table.
This one was larger, heavier, and felt more reassuring in her hand. It was also a man's pistol, but it was a handsome thing: walnut, polished handle, gold filigree on the barrel, formed into little bats, if she was not mistaken. In comparison to this, her weapon looked like a toy.
Her expression must have said as much, because Bruce explained further. "You will be practicing with flintlocks of all sizes, including rifles, but at pistol like this is the only one that will fit in anything you may be carrying."
She had to acknowledge the logic in that, though she could not see how Bruce had room in his clothing for the bigger pistol. Women often carried little bags with them, containing a few essentials. In the day these were mostly plain cotton, and finely beaded bags were taken into evening assemblies. The pearl-handled one would easily fit into either.
"How do you wear yours?" she asked. "I suppose not in your belt…"
"Indeed not. I've designed an apparatus for concealing it, albeit an imperfect one."
He began unbuttoning his jacket, then took it off altogether. Diana was a little startled—there was suddenly one less layer between them than there should have been. It was a social barrier removed. Diana mentally shook her head. Did she really believe such social barriers existed for her now? They could both be naked and it could hardly make any discernible difference. At that thought, however, her scruples reasserted themselves, and her cheeks were suddenly stained a brilliant vermillion. Suddenly requiring more distance between them, she strode over to the window.
"Miss Prince? Are you well?"
She cleared her throat. "Quite well, I thank you."
She waited one more moment before she turned around again and looked properly at whatever it was he wanted to show her. It looked like some sort of harness, worn over the shoulders and made of dark leather. Attached to it were two pouches, one on either side, obviously designed for pistols. He slid his flintlock into one of them, then replaced his jacket. Once it was done up, Diana had to admit that it was a good method of concealment for a weapon. She could detect the faint outline of the pistol, it was only faint. In a situation such as a crowded ballroom, she imagined it would be impossible to do so.
Less reluctantly now, Diana picked up her little weapon. Her method of concealment would be the air of fashion she would carry everywhere with her. "Very well," she said. "In that case, I imagine I will need to practice."
"You will. We'll start with rifles; they have a longer range and are better for a novice. I've instructed Alfred to set up some targets in the grounds."
"Away from the horses, I hope," Diana commented. "Unless you wish Perseus to kick his stall door down."
"Well away, do not fear. We will be taking two of my own mounts," he said, "but they have been conditioned not to react to the noise."
"Conditioned? How?"
"I have several cannon. Each time I acquire a new horse I fire the guns six times a day, every day, until that horse is no longer spooked by the sound."
"Is that not distressing for the animal?"
"Not overly so. And it is effective, and prevents them from panicking when they come across real battle."
"And is that likely?" she asked.
"Anything is likely in this occupation. The sooner you learn that the easier time you will have of it, Miss Prince."
Diana changed for riding—wondering if she might make something like this her normal attire, as it was so comfortable—and the two of them left the manor to go to the stables. Something that Diana had failed to fully realise before today was the lack of servants. There appeared to be only Alfred—no footmen, no grooms, and there had been no talk of a lady's maid for Diana, either. She had no objection on that score, as she was very capable of dressing, washing, generally coiffing herself, but she would need to speak to Bruce about having a maid on hand for special occasions. Those parties he had intimated would be held at some point would certainly require a full household. Or perhaps that would be her job? She glanced at Bruce, who walked to her left. Did he anticipate that she would be mistress of the house? That was a daunting prospect, she thought, looking back at the huge grey stone edifice behind them. And a potentially embarrassing topic to open a discussion on. Unexpectedly, she thought of Alfred. Alfred would be able to tell her. After all, she had the impression that it was the elderly gentleman, rather than the actual gentleman, who ran Wayne Manor.
When they reached the stables, Bruce gestured expansively. "Choose any of the horses you wish; apart from Perseus none of them should be any trouble."
Diana chose a bay mare with liquidly-black eyes, who seemed docile and placid. She was, of course, able to control flightier beasts, but as she was about to be trained in the use of pistols, Diana did not think it wise to attempt cleverness. At least no more than usual.
Unfortunately, Perseus was determined to cause trouble whether he was near a gunshot or nay. Seeing the mistress he had only just been reunited with riding another horse apparently did not sit well with the stallion. Diana had expected it, and taken the precaution of bringing an apple with her.
She walked over to him and he plucked it nimbly from her palm. "There, will that satisfy you, you brute?"
Bruce chuckled. "A brute, do you call him?"
"Well, yes. But then he is male, so one must not expect too much more," Diana teased.
Perseus placated, Diana and Bruce mounted and set off at a canter through the grounds, to the far end of the lake. The more Diana saw of this place, the more she admired its beauty and size. It had grandeur without pretension. She was not at home here...but she could at least see that there may come a day when she was.
They arrived at a practice range at the near end of the lake. There were archery targets set up, though Diana assumed they were to use them as shooting targets instead. They dismounting, leaving the horses to graze quietly on the grass. She believed Bruce (to an extent) that the horses would not bolt, but just in case she was glad they did not tether their mounts to a tree. She had seen tethered horses panic before, and it was never a pretty sight. Before letting his horse go, Bruce took the saddlebags from him, then faced Diana.
"Do you know how to load a flintlock?" She shook her head, and he beckoned her closer. "Loading and priming it is a fairly simple process, though it can take quite a while, for beginners. For now, observe my actions closely, and you may practice later. For the moment, firing with accuracy is the most important first step."
With that, he went through a series of quick movements of his hands. Diana had time to count the steps, and there appeared to be only three of them, but his fingers moved so swiftly and with such deftness that she missed most of the detail. It took him, all in all, no more than ten seconds. She had seen rifles being loaded before; hunting was a favourite pastime of gentlemen, and one her father had enjoyed. She had never seen him load a musket with quite that speed, although she had never known him to be a member—founder—of the 'Secret Service' either.
After he had finished, Bruce handed it to Diana. "Have you fired a gun before?"
"A few times. Though never with much skill," she admitted.
"Let me see."
She took a steady stance about fifteen yards from the target, rotating the cock to full and releasing the safety lock. That done, she raised the rifle to her shoulder, looking down the sights. She made sure her heart and breathing were calm, then she curled her finger around the trigger and squeezed. The recoil hit her shoulder hard, and while she did not miss, she only managed to hit the edge of the target. It still punched a sizable hole though, and Diana regarded the crescent of smoking straw unhappily.
She glanced at Bruce. "I suppose I'm to practice more?"
"You may practice all you wish, but firing like that you will not improve materially, Miss Prince."
"Oh? How am I deficient?"
He approached with such an air of professionalism it did not once occur to Diana he was probably far too close. He handed her a fresh rifle, and gestured for her to raise it. He took her hand and placed it further along the barrel, holding more of the rifle's weight. Then he moved the butt of the rifle slightly higher up her shoulder, in the hollow of the joint.
"Now try again."
She did as directed, delighted to find that, while she did not hit the bullseye, she had got her whole shot closer to the centre than it had been. Relatively speaking.
Bruce nodded. "Better." He handed her another one. "Now do it again."
She smiled wryly and did as he said. He continued handing her rifle after rifle until her arms ached with the sheer effort of keeping it held up. Her hands and arms were also blackened with powder and it was all she could smell. She was, however, significantly improved. A lot of the targets were totally shredded, splintered straw and wood.
Diana was heartily glad when Bruce did not hand her another rifle. In fact he was checking the time on his watch, so while his attention was elsewhere, she wiped a hand across her brow to clear it of the nervous sweat which had gathered there. As a man she did not find him intimidating, but as a tutor his intense scrutiny had made her a little uncomfortable. Still, she could reflect on this morning's progress with no small satisfaction; she now felt reasonably confident she could hit a target. If a target four feet wide. And fifteen yards away. And entirely stationary.
Bruce snapped the watch shut with a click sharp enough to draw Diana from her increasingly-melancholy reverie. "We shall leave it there for this morning," he said. "Your afternoon will be a busy one."
"Yes, I memorised the schedule you gave me. More Russian lessons."
"Indeed. How are you finding them?"
"You were correct; the alphabet is not so challenging as I had feared it would be, and I now know enough Russian to be able to say, 'I do not understand Russian', as well as my name. It is certainly easier than this was."
"You have done well at this too, Miss Prince."
"Have I? I rather suspect that was incredibly easy in comparison to all that is to come."
He smirked. "Well, that is true, but but I was attempting not to discourage progress. And you have progressed."
"Yes," she replied, "much as an infant may progress from crawling to toddling about on unsteady legs."
"Ah, but you forget. That is just the first step to something else."
"Enlighten me, Mr Wayne."
"Running on unsteady legs." Diana laughed.
When they arrived back at the manor, they stabled and groomed their own horses before going back inside. Alfred greeted them. "I trust your morning was successful, sir. Miss Prince, I have prepared a bath for you in your rooms."
"Thank you."
As she went upstairs, she heard Bruce ask, "Do I not warrant a bath, Alfred?"
"As always, there is a pitcher and bowl of cold water in your dressing room, Master Wayne."
Diana shook her head in wonderment. Never had she seen anyone with so informal a relationship to their butler. And as for allowing impudence from servants… But in their lessons so far, Alfred had been nothing but respectful to her, though respectful in the one way might treat an equal. Diana had found it strange only initially, but a skilled teacher always commanded respect, so she'd not treated him like a servant naturally, not only because of Bruce's previous warning. Yet she did not feel she knew anything about Alfred. And now that she knew the truth about Bruce's occupation, Mr Pennyworth seemed more enigmatic than his master.
A/N: Review please!