—OOO—
Summary:— Miss Emily Jenkins takes a holiday from her duties as an assistant behind a shop counter in Tarron Bay, Devon, and goes on a day-trip eventually encompassing further reaches of Fantasy, including several earlier incarnations of herself, than she had ever imagined possible, or indeed could afterwards recall.
Note:— Plot structure taken from a concept originated by Philip K. Dick.
Disclaimer:— MCA/Universal/RenPics own all copyrights to everything related to ‘Xena: Warrior Princess’ and I have no rights to them.
—O—
Saturday, July 14, 1951, dawned bright and sunny over the small seaside resort of Tarron Bay, Devon. For Miss Emily Jenkins, now finishing dressing in her small room in the quaint but comfortable boarding-house in a quiet side-street where she had resided for the last four years, this omen was doubly well received as this was the first day of her week’s holiday from her rather boring job in an insignificant store in the town. A whole five days, and the following week-end, all to herself. Miss Jenkins, to her embarrassment, found she was gloating over this good fortune and quickly finished attiring herself in her best dress for the occasion.
This consisted of a severely cut business suit of straight knee-length skirt, white blouse, and short waist-length jacket of the same plain light-gray wool and design as the skirt, unembellished with any form of decoration or fol-de-rol. Miss Jenkins having a slight aversion to fol-de-rol-ing herself up, like a common shop-girl; she herself having been in charge of ‘Rankine’s the Chemists’ Lending Library section for the past two years.
But now, for a few days at least, she was free to take her own course; to follow her own inclinations; to make her own decisions and plans. The first of which had been to sign-on for a coach trip this very morning. The local coach company, like almost all others of their ilk in the county, laid on day-trips and mystery tours covering every day of the week and all weekends; thus catering to the masses of tourists and holiday-makers who swamped the region during the summer months. Miss Jenkins, rather daringly for her, she being a spinster of twenty-five summers with no known or discovered boy-friend, had put her name down for the Saturday Mystery Tour with Bolitho’s Coaches, and paid the two shillings and sixpence fare with an air of being made of money—this being, after all, her only major holiday.
“Here you are then, Miss Emily.” Mrs Cardley, owner of the boarding-house, fussing over her as if she was her own daughter; she being of that nature. “Here’s the packet of sandwiches I’ve made-up for you; a nice bit of lamb. And a small bottle of water. All set? I do wish you’d taken an ordinary Tour, Miss Emily; these Mysteries fair give me a shiver, you know. Especially as yesterday was the thirteenth, of all things. Fancy not knowing where the bus’s taking you till you get there. And what if you don’t like the place, then; as I used to say to Mr Cardley, before he had his accident, bless his memory.”
“Yes, Mrs Cardley, thank you very much; I’m sure I shall enjoy them when the coach stops for lunch, er, wherever.” Miss Jenkins’ years of experience dealing with the kind-hearted woman now coming to the fore. “It’s really too good of you. Well, I must be off; the coach waits for no man, you know; or woman, come to that, eh?”
“Are you well in time, Miss?” It was in Mrs Cardley’s nature to worry more over the little things than any greater form of disturbance that might be waiting in the wings. “Got your money? Your handkerchief? Handbag? Yes, of course, I see it there. Well, hurry along now; when’s the bus stopping at the pick-up place?”
“Another fifteen minutes, Mrs Cardley, and it’s only an eight minute walk from here.” Miss Jenkins smiled at her helper and made firmly for the front door. “Goodbye, Mrs Cardley, see you around six o’clock this evening. ’Bye.”
—O—
The coach was one of those new single-decker AEC Regal III Harrington types; the one’s with the curious bulge rising from the back of the roof, looking for all the world like a fish’s dorsal fin or aircraft’s tailplane—the whole certainly giving the coach the appearance of some kind of aerial craft rather than a mundane omnibus. The seating though, when Miss Jenkins climbed aboard and found her reserved place at the extreme rear just ahead of the axle, was more comfortable than she had expected—perhaps the long mysterious journey wasn’t going to be as much of a chore as she had feared.
It took only a few minutes for the vehicle to pass through the old winding streets of the town and reach the wide free green fields beyond. In this part of Devon there were a multitude of orchards, mostly for apples, and the clumps of tightly packed trees, in their old square-walled enclosures, gave a beautiful aspect to the changing scenery as the bus coasted through the winding hedge-lined lanes like a liner thrusting through the green waves of the ocean.
She felt comfortable seated beside another woman, even if this temporary companion was a motherly matron well past middle age, dressed in a dark green wool coat.
“Hallo, I’m Mrs Tompkinson. I expect you’re wondering about my heavy coat? It’s because I’ve been on many of these Mystery tours and I’ve found that a warm coat is a blessing, dear.”
Finding no answer to this statement Emily smiled, turning to the window to study the passing hedgerows again, wondering if she was seated beside an insipient bore.
Five minutes later, the bus moved onto a larger road and picked up speed, while Mrs Tompkinson returned to the fray.
“Oh, we’re on the B205, we must be going north, probably to Penzance, don’t you think? Such a nice place, Penzance!”
Emily raised her eyebrows at this Sherlockian assumption.
“There are many stopping-off places between here and Penzance. We could still be going almost anywhere.”
“No, I think you’ll find I’m right, all the same.” Mrs Tompkinson nodding as one who knew. “Penzance is our destination, it simply can’t be anywhere else, you’ll see.”
Emily wondered whether she could gain much further from examining the passing view, or whether engaging with her obstinate fellow traveler would be the easiest answer in the long run.
“Well, we must just wait and see; anyway, I intend to enjoy the journey to wherever we finally end up.”
Everything was so comfortable, so invigorating, so peaceful, even at this early stage of her journey that Emily, unbeknownst to herself,—she having closed her eyes for a moment’s refreshment—passed easily through first the preliminary stage of quiet relaxation, then that of composed tranquility, before finally arriving at the terminus of sleep itself; all so pleasantly calculated she had no memory of the journey from wakefulness to sleep, as the coach’s wheels hummed over the metaled roads and lanes.
—O—
Once she woke, as the coach went over a particularly uneven surface—only to be expected on these wild roads—the six horses pulling the stage-coach heaving in their reins to haul the heavy coach with its six passengers along. Emilia had by good chance gained one of the corner, window, seats so was rather better placed than the middle passengers—she could at least lean against the window and relax somewhat; even though slightly disoriented at first before her mind cleared the last clouds of sleep. With three seats to each side, and the passengers facing each other the whole time such a long journey as she was now undertaking, on this bright morning in 1801 near Norwich, was never going to be of the most comfortable; but all the same there were advantages; she would reach her destination in record time using this the fastest mode of transport presently available; and the other travelers seemed pleasant enough.
The only drawback, she found, was the lamentable state of the coach’s springs—supposing it had any at all. Every undulation in the road surface; every bump; every pot-hole; every deep-cut wheel-rut, took it’s toll on the comfort of the passengers inside the narrow vehicle. And each stage of the journey being timed to a nicety against Company orders, there was never a chance for a stop to refresh oneself except at officially appointed Inns set some twelve miles apart or less. Altogether the journey required steadfast endurance rather than a dream of easy comfort and pleasure.
The other five inside passengers were a motley group; three men of varying ages and two other women, both young; no roughly spoken or ill-behaved outsides sitting on the roof benches exposed to the elements on this exclusive coach. It was, of course, the middle-aged man in a Navy Captain’s uniform, minus hat, who initiated general conversation; rather impetuously, many of his companions thinking to themselves, as far as the rather formal etiquette in these circumstances usually demanded.
“Country’s goin’ to the dogs, of course. Excuse my language, ladies.” He puffing his cheeks out and going rather red in the face. “Just come from Their Lords of the Admiralty, and what a day it was, I assure you. Can’t explain, State secrets, you know; but, all the same, country goin’ t’the dogs, I assure you. Boney’ll prove victorious yet, if things go on as they are.”
This bald statement caused a frisson of reaction between the other passengers.
“Poppycock!” The thin curate in the centre of the opposite bench waving his hands in disagreement. “Surely we must stand firm in our power to defeat anarchy and rebellion? Our military is doing a fine job in all parts of the Empire, and on the Oceans.”
By chance one of the other male passengers, a strongly built grey haired fellow, was dressed in the uniform of an Army Major and took up the cudgels of this argument with gusto.
“Clements, Major, Thirty-second Infantry. Don’t believe a word of it. Wellington doing great things in Spain, soon have that bunch of brigands an’ spaghetti-eaters runnin’ for their lives! You on the Channel Patrol, I take it?”
“Yes, Nelson’s flotilla; perhaps I’m exaggerating a trifle, I admit; but still the Frenchies are such a amateur bunch one cannot see any other result, against an Empire such as our own mighty example, but abject defeat for the Frogs in short order.”
“Of course, I agree wholeheartedly.” The major nodding vigorously. “Everything goin’ our way at the moment; won’t be more’n a year at the latest before we can signal complete success, an’ ol’ Boney’ll coolin’ his heels in Newgate Clink countin’ his losses before the rope cuts off his complaints—ha-ha!”
The curate, here thinking it wise to direct the conversation into more settled topics made an exclamation, rather pointedly, about the excellent weather at the moment, to which both military men merely sniffed without remark; the women coming in, though, to have a comprehensive discussion on the subject, entirely clearing away the martial atmosphere in doing so.
Having exhausted the general topics of conversation so common to travelers who were making their first, perhaps only, acquaintance with each other,—the appalling nature of the weather, the sad state of the Government, the declining state of the Navy, and the likelihood of further exorbitant taxes, Emilia took that well-known recourse of the tired adventurer and closed her eyes, rather to put a barrier between herself and her companions, than to court sleep itself. But, as in so many of our plans on Earth, the thought was Father, or Mother, to the act; to put it bluntly Emilia fell fast asleep, head bouncing gently against the padded side of the coach as they bowled along through the lanes at the unheard of, and certainly dangerous, speed of fully nine miles an hour.
—O—
The cart, though expensively designed by local craftsmen for private use and exhibiting an almost Senatorial level of luxurious fittings, was still a trial of endurance to Lady Aemilia, matron of the House of Aegeon this Spring morning of 325AD in South-eastern Britannia,. She had decided to take this, the most private and supposedly comfortable means of transport, to go on her latest voyage through the broken lanes and muddy rutted local roads, but was already having misgivings about her decision. The six horses were, as usual, making heavy weather of the whole situation; while the wide breadth and weight of the vehicle, not to mention the unsprung wheels and axles, made every bump a nightmare—and this was still on what was generally regarded as the best stretch of the local road. Aemilia sat back, resting her head on a thick cushion, accepting the fact it was going to be a long uncomfortable journey.
Then the coach slowed quite markedly and a call from the coachman above and in front came through the frosty air.
“Nearly there, ma’am.”
Aemilia sat forward, aware they were about to change from the dirt surface of the local road, with all its inbuilt ruts and areas of deep mud, to that of the main Roman-built road with its permanent stone surface allowing any coach a free run without difficulties—and of much greater comfort to the travelers thereby.
True to the coachman’s word the vehicle gave a preliminary lurch, wheels scrabbled uncertainly for a moment as it clambered from dirt and mud onto hard stone, then it took a fresh grip, advancing once more with renewed vigor and speed.
“My, it surely makes a vast difference, ma’am.” Selenia, Aemilia’s maid, perking-up by her side.
“Yes, we shall be in Venta Icenorum in no time now, only another three hours or so. Do you have the list for the cloth I wish to buy?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Selenia patting the leather pouch held at her waist by a red and gold leather belt with a fine metal buckle. “All here; do you have your money safe to hand?”
“Yes, here in my bag. Do you think we’ll have the same trouble as last time we went shopping? Those three stall-owners, and the market clerk in charge, all declined to accept the older Roman coins I offered, even though they were gold.”
”Getting far too much above themselves, in my opinion, ma’am.” Selenia pursing critical lips at this offence to her Mistress. “Just because the Iceni tribe are allowed to mint their own coins now they think they can rule it over regular Roman Ladies! The idea!”
“Never mind, I’ve taken pains to garner a hoard of modern, more or less, sestertii and denarii, enough to allay their worries, I hope. Do you think Antoninus will have those rolls of Chin silks he said would arrive shortly?”
“The Silk Road’s fearfully long, ma’am, so I understand.” Selenia shaking her head doubtfully. “Almost all the way round the known world! Anybody’s guess what finds its way through or not. I shouldn’t stake my hopes too high, ma’am.”
“We’ll see.” Aemilia still full of confidence. “Goodness, this is a much better surface to ride on! Thank goodness for the Roman road-builders; where would we be without such perfect roads?”
“Axle deep in a bog somewhere, for sure, ma’am.” Selenia letting her native Iceni personality have full sway.
“Hand me over that small cushion, please.” Aemilia yawning comfortably but genteelly. “I feel like a short nap; wake me if anything of note occurs.”
“Yes, ma’am, certainly, ma’am. Here you are.”
—O—
67AD, a balmy Summer’s morning, as Xena rode down the road at her usual steady pace, neither barging through the other traffic on the old but still well-maintained Roman road, nor going so slowly she lost time in her journey. It was only four parasangs from the small village she had left that morning to the local seaside town of Castinium Magna on this the South-eastern coast of Britannia. She had been offered the use of her hostess’s carriage but declined out of habit, being more comfortable on horseback. Gabrielle had elected to stay behind, wanting to explore the vast estate and nearby beaches on Lady Theodora’s, her hostess’s, land. Xena, on the other hand, was eager to reach the nearby small town close by to visit a couple of local armorers shops she had spotted on her last visit. But first she had to battle the traffic on the road leading there, not an easy activity by any means.
It was a Roman road, certainly, but an old badly maintained one of its type. Theodora had been pestering the local Council, made up of Romans and a smattering of Iceni natives, for the last year about resurfacing the troublesome route but nothing had as yet come of her entreaties.
Castinium Magna being placed well inland, and a number of small villages sitting in a string along the nearby coastline, the road had become something of a major route for traffic coming and going, transporting mainly fish to and fro. And if there was one thing the local Romans dearly loved it was fish dishes and sauces of all types and in the greatest available bulk at all seasons.
The end result being that, although just over a mere 120 years old, the road had rapidly deteriorated to its present condition of being pretty poor to say the least. This lowering of standards being not only so much from material decline as the increasing amount of traffic using the route all day long, all year long.
Most people hardly thought about the fact, but there were a multitude of wagon types running on the roads; light chariots, heavy chariots, light one-horse wagons, sturdier two-horse vehicles, larger four-horse carts, even heavier drays necessitating six or so horses, and finally fearfully large wains with wheels fully a short person’s height in diameter with rims and tires nearly half an arms-length wide creating an enormous noise and deleterious effect on the road surface as they passed over it.
This, combined with the lesser traffic; smaller wagons and carts, and single horses, not to mention ordinary foot traffic, which sometimes when Fairs were on could consist of large crowds of travelers weighed down with heavy bags and small herds of everything from ducks, goats, to full sized cattle, did nothing to allow of fast passage. Often travelling along the road could be an exercise only suited to the traveler of greatest constitution and steadfast character. Xena was having no fun at all, as was only to be expected.
“Get out’ta my way, will ya!”
The driver of the massive wain in front, taking up almost the full width of the road, had other ideas, though.
“Can’t ma’am; verges are bogs on either hand, as ya easy sees; can’t go off the road. Gim’me another stadia or so an’ there’s a passin’ place, if ya can hold yer waters so long.”
Xena, harboring dark thoughts of evisceration that warmed her blood, thought of Gabrielle and controlled her baser instincts.
“Great Ares!”
Fii—iizle!
“Present and correct, Mi’dim!”
Xena growled low in her throat, a Greek God on horseback appearing in a flash of light at her side being the furthest thing from her mind.
“Ares! Rrrr! Don’t call me that. Go away!”
Ares, giving her that wide-lipped teeth gleaming sneer for which he was world-famous, merely cackled quietly like a mad witch.
“Your wish, my command, darling!”
Phoo-woomph!
And he was gone again.
“Great—Athena!” Xena taking no chances. “What a dam’ day!”
But it wasn’t over yet; a small clepsydra’s time later another hold-up appeared on the road ahead.
“Oh, no!”
This exclamation, coming directly from the heart of a fully p-ssed-off warrior woman, was in reaction to a herd of geese taking the full width of the road with high tight hedges allowing no leeway for passing traffic—she was cornered as she well knew for the next three stadia at least.
“Move along there, can’t ya!”
A young girl trudging at the rear of the flock gave her a glance, with rather more of amusement than Xena preferred to see, then shouted to a man at the head of the geese. He turned, took in the situation swiftly, and clumped heavily back through the unperturbed geese to engage the woman on horseback.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Can ya get them t’part, so’s I can ride through?” Xena using up all her polite capacity in one go.
“No!” He shaking his head in absolute certainty. “Road’s too narrow here, hedges too thick, no place for ‘em t’go. Wait a while an’ you’ll pass further along a mite or so.”
“I don’t want a mite or so, I want now!” She letting her intemperate nature have full sway.
“Hinky-dinky-doo, ma’am!” The man not put-out in the least. “Try’n ride through my geese an’ I’ll have the Town Council on yer in a flash, ma’am. An’ they, fer yer information, don’t take prisoners, no way. Heavy fine an’ cell-time in the local fortress on grits an’ that Gods’-awful garum fish sauce they adore so. Want that?”
“Great Artemis, Demeter, an’ Hestia!”
But there was nothing to be done but accept Fate and roll with the punches.
“By the time I get t’the town it’ll be time t’go home again! Should’a stayed with Gabrielle, like she offered!”
Another six stadii along the route she came on that other pet hate of hers, a full Roman Legion on the march, with full officer ranks attending.
“Oh, no!”
“Step aside, madam, Romans coming through.” A young equerry, in full flashy uniform, riding up close to her side waving an impervious arm.
“Why?” The Warrior Woman out for a spot of fun.
“What?” The youthful Roman taken aback by this brazen opposition.
“Tell your officers t’order the entire Legion into the muddy verges, so’s I can be on my way.”
“What!” This time his squeal sounding like a young boy on the verge of manhood, glancing from Xena to his officers behind in consternation.
Xena grinned evilly, well-knowing if Gabrielle had been beside her none of this would have been allowed to see the light of day—Oh, the pleasures of Freedom!
“We got us a problem here, boy.” She in her element. “Your Legion, goin’ one way; me, goin’ the other! Who’s gon’na come out smellin’ of roses, d’ya think?”
Before the young Equerry could formulate any kind of useful answer another officer rode up to join them, he grinning widely when he saw who the traveler was.
“Ho, Xena, well met! Gabrielle not with you today?”
“No, Tribune Berthinus, she’s on holiday; you know her lazy nature. So, what’s up, where ya goin’, so informally?”
He laughed in reply.
“Can I tell you, it bein’ a military secret? We’re goin’ t’the coast, actually, for exercises an’ bathin’. Y’know, some of these Legionnaires only take a bath once a year, an’ that’s only when some of their mates throw them in a harbor dock themselves!”
“I can well imagine.” Xena nodding as one fully comprehending of this aspect of Romano-Britannia hygiene. “Well, don’t let me stop ya on your charitable mission; lem’me just get aside a little here, an’ your lads can be on their way. Is this the first time a full Roman Legion’s been stopped in its tracks by a lone woman, d’ya suppose. Think Seneca’ll write this up in his latest History?”
“By the Gods, hope not; wouldn’t show the Roman military in much of a good light, would it?” He laughing at this witticism. “Now, if Gabrielle had been with you that’d have been an entirely different scenario; we being outnumbered as a result, y’see!”
“Har!” Xena sniggering herself at this repartee. “On your way, Berthinus, and good luck t’you. Hope not too many of your Legionnaires drown in the surf!”
“Hah!”
—O—
“What’s the trouble? Why have we stopped?” Lady Aemilia glancing around the wide confines of the private carriage.
“A Roman officer on horseback, ma’am.” Selenia, lady’s-maid peering ahead out her side window, shutter open. “Here he comes. Not a centurion, I think, somebody of higher rank.”
The rider, resplendent in full uniform, red cloak and plume on his shining bright silver helmet, paused beside the carriage door to raise a hand in greeting.
“Tribune Linus at your service, ladies; ah, Lady Aemilia, greetings.”
“Hallo, Linus.” Aemilia nodding her own greeting in return. “Is there a problem, at all?”
“The Senator Titus is on a formal visit to the city, I’m afraid.” Linus shaking his head, as one overstretched in his resources. “A deal of trouble, all round. We need to keep the road clear for his movements for most of the early afternoon; can’t let you continue along, I’m afraid. Does your coachman know the surrounding roads and lanes? Perhaps he could take you into town via some by-way?”
Before Aemilia could reply there was a peal of trumpets in the far distance and an advancing cloud of dust heralded the approach of the important visitor in person. Suddenly a double rank of Legionnaires on horseback rode past in fine order. Behind came a resplendent private coach obviously fitted-out in the most affluent style, its window shutters firmly closed against the unwanted visual inroads of the common person. Another double row of Legionnaires riding behind and the group had passed on.
“That was earlier than expected!” Linus frowning over the bad timing. “Look, I have to get on—you may carry on along the road after all, but be aware he may return in double-quick time, he being a man of sudden decisions. You must just take your chance. Goodbye, madam.”
A matter of only a few breaths later and the road had returned to its more normal relatively quiet aspect.
“We may reach the town, ma’am; but will we be able to return in good order?”
“Who knows, Selenia.” Aemilia not viewing the incident as particularly dramatic or annoying. “Even so it will only take a short clepsydra or two longer in our journey. We will still be able to return to the villa before nightfall, don’t worry. I know how afraid you are of bogles and banshees, but you won’t need to be scared of the dark, dear. After all, I’m here, and you know how good I am with this short Roman gladius I always carry for just that sort of eventuality; or against something even more physical!”
Having seen her Mistress at practice Selenia knew very well just how expert the Lady was, allowing her to sit back in some relief and peace of mind. Half a clepsydra later this proved all to the good when, along a wide open stretch of the road as it traversed a wide barren heath, a group of horsemen appeared from the city direction obviously intent on stopping the coach.
“Brigands, ma’am! Do I stop?” From the unseen coachman, shouting down from his high seat in front.
“No, keep going—stop for no-one!” Aemilia intent on watching the approaching villains. “A sorry, disheveled bunch they look; if they get ahead drive over them, Actinus! I’ll take care of those who attempt to storm the coach!”
“Madam!”
“Get down on the floor, Selenia, let me see to this. Don’t worry.”
An instant later the attack was in full swing, but not quite as the thieves had planned. One rider pulled his horse to a halt in the middle or the road, deserted at this point, in the clear supposition the coach would by necessity stop before him. Nothing was further from the coachman’s mind. Knowing the weight and impetus of his six horses and coach, as well as having been trained himself in this very maneouvre by the ever resourceful Lady Aemilia, he drove his coach and horses hard at the stationary steed and unknowing rider. There was a mighty crash, loud neighs from several of the horses, and the coach ran over the victim hardly missing a beat in either the horses’ canter or machine’s speed.
Meantime, on the left side, a brigand had ridden close leaning an arm across in an attempt to grasp the door handle and make entry that way, moving coach or not. Aemilia waited for the opportune moment when the man was closest, leaning his weight on the sill of the door window, then she darted forward sticking him in the chest nearly full blade deep with her gladius. Without a sound, except for a fleeting expression of infinite shock, the man disappeared, falling from his steed to the roadway behind the rushing coach as it sped on its way; the rest of the villains halting in confusion behind amongst the bushes by the roadside. Then they were well past and the danger over as Actinus kept his team at full speed for several more stadia just to be certain of having outrun the survivors of the group of attackers.
“We’re safe now, Selenia.” Aemilia gasping for breath slightly after her extreme exertion. “”When we return to the villa I shall ask my Father to send out a body of men to patrol the road there to stop any further attacks—inform the City Militia too. We’ll make sure between us that sort of thing never happens again to any other traveler. You’re weeping, Selenia! Here, take a swig from this small amphora of white wine; it’ll calm your nerves. What a day, eh!”
—O—
Emilia awoke with a jerk, suddenly. The coach was coming to a halt, rather impetuously, throwing the passengers against each other in a higglety-pigglety manner for a few seconds before order was restored.
“What’s ha—”
“A Highwayman!” Major Clements growling angrily. “In fact, two!”
Indeed this was the case, one heavily coated rider, a scarf concealing his features, had stopped in mid-road halting the coach in the recognised manner, while his confederate rode to the left-hand door, waving an enormous pistol threateningly.
“Stand and Deli—”
But that was as far as the thief got in his well-known order. Emilia producing from her capacious leather covered receptacle a small pistol in her own right which she proceeded to point out the window and discharge right into the centre of the thief’s chest, his face covered by another dark thick bandana.
As fast as Emilia had moved her compatriots, the other men anyway, had reacted just as quickly. The Navy Captain, seated on that side, leaned out and thrust his long sword directly into the man’s chest himself before pulling the now stained blade out as he sat back. Meanwhile the curate and Major Clements were attending to the fellow seated astride his mount directly in front of the coach. Producing their own pistols from goodness knows where they set up a fusillade between them that hit the thief fifteen yards off like a hurricane in the Caribbean; he going down from his steed like a lead weight in a cloud of dust. The single, already wounded, villain by the coach’s side door now following suit, penetrated by Emilia’s shot, the Navy Captain’s sword and a further ball from the double-barreled weapon of the till then apparently meek and mild curate. Then the drama had reached its conclusion.
“Everybody alright? No-one hurt, I hope?” From Major Clements, grinning broadly. “Excellent!”
“Fine shot, madam!” The curate obviously in awe of his fellow female passenger. “Couldn’t have done better myself, I assure you!”
“Driver, you alright?” The Navy Captain leaning out his window to ascertain this.
“Yes, sir, no injuries. Shall I set down t’identify the rogues, sir?”
“Why not?” The Captain nodding agreement. “Can’t do any harm, and I doubt there’re any further dam’ fools about t’harm us. Let us see who it is has tried to hold us up so pitifully.”
Emilia jumped down, taking no note of her long ankle length skirts in the damp grass and mud, along with the Captain; she not discomposed in the slightest, bending to examine the body lying by the coach. The man seemed of the late thirties in age, thin features, white skin and a sallow complexion with dark hair. The Captain pulled aside the bandana allowing his features to be clearly seen for the first time.
“By Gad! It’s Brocade Billy Sampson, none other! You’ve helped to do a mighty good deed in this, madam! Sampson is, or was, one of the heartiest, baddest, boldest, cold-bloodiest villains on the Road, till now.”
Emilia shrugged, somewhat disgusted by the whole business.
“He took his chances, and took the consequences at last! Shall we get on? I see a group of pedestrians coming up behind us; we can ask them to return to town to make public the news. I have some spare cash in my receptacle, to make up for any inconvenience caused to them, I’m sure.”
“Very heartedly said, madam!” The Captain mighty impressed by the character of his young passenger. “Let it be so, in all order.”
—O—
The Mystery Tour had indeed, as Mrs Tompkinson had prophesied, ended at Penzance; a coastal resort which Emily, thankfully, liked tremendously so found much to interest and take her attention during the two and a half hours the bus’s passengers were allowed to roam free around its environs. Now, well on the return journey in the latish afternoon, Emily was comfortably settled in her seat going over in memory the various sights and scenes she had seen.
The AEC Regal III Harrington was a capacious vehicle, giving much room for the passengers to sit comfortably without squashing their legs in narrow confines or rubbing elbows with neighbour passengers seated too close. Mrs Tompkinson, being overcome with tiredness herself after her own afternoon’s gallivanting round Penzance, had remained silent; the tires running over the smooth tarmac had created a smooth singing note which soothed Emily’s tired brain, and without any trouble at all she was soon asleep once more.
Scre-eech!
The vehicle came to a grinding halt that jerked everyone to instant attention the length of the bus, Emily not least among them.
“What’s away!” A male enquiry from further up the aisle.
A scraping noise as the driver slid the small window behind his seat wide to address his passengers.
“Crash! Two cars hit each other in the middle of the road. Seems t’have happened just a short while since, meb’be just a few minutes.”
“We’ll get out and see what can be done, driver.” Mrs Tompkinson taking sudden charge with an authoritative tone. “Come, Miss Jenkins, let us see what help can be provided; do you have any experience—”
“I’ve had a couple of nursing courses, yes.”
“Ideal! Driver, your First-Aid box, if you please. You other people, kindly clear the aisle so Miss Emily and I can go to the poor folk’s assistance out there. Thank you. Come along, Emily.”
Within a shorter time than she thought possible Emily found herself kneeling by the worst damaged vehicle, a 2-door sedan, where at least one inmate was trapped and motionless. The other car, an open 2-seater, seemed to have come off least damaged, though the driver, a young woman, was slumped in the driver’s seat nursing what to Emily looked suspiciously like a broken nose. Mrs Tompkinson went to her assistance while Emily stayed by the wrecked sedan, trying to open the near-side door to reach the person inside.
A touch on her shoulder and a sturdy young man built like a circus strong-man leaned over to grasp the door-handle.
“Hold on, give me a moment!”
A hearty wrench and the door gave way with a sickening squeal of tortured metal, the man then standing aside to let Emily do what she could.
The unconscious form turned out to be that of a middle-aged man in a tweed suit, his hat having fallen at his feet in the car. Emily quickly asserted that he had banged his head on the now fractured windscreen, causing his unconsciousness, but seemed otherwise not badly injured.
“Help me get him out, be careful of his head.”
A minute later, with the assistance of the young man, the victim lay on the grassy verge under Emily’s expert attention.
“Fancy he’ll be alright in the long term, no broken bones that I can find, but his head’ll need examination at the Hospital when he gets there. Thanks for your help.”
“Oh, think nothing of it.” The youth slightly embarrassed by this acknowledgement. “Can I do anything else?”
At this moment Mrs Tompkinson returned from her own administrations to join them.
“Lady over there’s got a busted nose, but not too bad, she’ll live an’ be as beautiful afterwards as before. How’s this gentleman?”
“Unconscious, as you see, maybe some level of concussion; have to let the Hospital people take care of that.” Emily professional and precise in her explanation.
“Good-good!” Mrs Tompkinson as relieved as her companion that there were no more serious injuries. “Well, our driver tells me a man in a Ford’s just taken-off back to the town to inform the authorities and get the Police and ambulances on the move. Shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes before we, hopefully, can be on our way again.”
In fact it was a bare thirty-five minutes later that, names and addresses being taken for official purposes, the bus and its passengers were allowed to continue their journey. As they pulled away from the scene of the accident Mrs Tompkinson heaved a deep sigh of relief.
“Always glad to get away from these things; seen a lot of such in my time, y’know. Used t’be a Hospital Matron; what a life, dear! If you take my advice, never join the Nursing profession, too much of a harassment altogether, you’ll quickly find; and paid at about the same low level as a household tweeny maid, too!”
Much as she wanted to Emily found it impossible to fall back into any level of slumber or mere nap; the excitement, as was only to be expected, having played merry hell with her emotions. But soon Tarron Bay once more hove into view in the far distance and the passengers began that uncomfortable and messy activity known as getting ready to leave the sinking ship; or in this case the rapidly about to arrive at its destination bus!
Five minutes later, after a friendly goodbye to her companion passenger, Emily was on her way along the well-known streets back to her lodgings again.
—O—
Mrs Cardley at the boarding-house, kind-hearted by nature as she was, awaited her lodger’s return with a full supper prepared in the kitchen for her strayed waif.
“Aah, and did you enjoy your trip, Miss?”
“Most enjoyable, Mrs Cardley; a very nice run indeed, what with one thing and another.”
“Well, you just sit down here now, and get stuck into your supper, dear. Do you want a mug of Ovaltine when you retire?”
“That’d be wonderful, thanks.”
Later, as she prepared for bed in her comfortable warm room upstairs Emily recalled in memory the past day’s events.
“All told not a bad day out, altogether! Ah, well, a full week’s holiday still to come before I need to go back to work on Monday next, heigh-ho!”
The End