A well-thumbed Baedeker

[Jacob Swainswick]

"Ruffians! Take that!"

Verity sprang forward, brandishing his cane like a foil. Behind him, Valentina shrank in horror, as the three sharp-toothed assailants fell upon her companion.

"Mr. Verity! Oh no! Oh my!" the poor woman cried; but to no avail. Verity fell beneath their talons, his exquisitely-tailored suit no armour against their savage ferocity.

Face even paler than usual, Valentina took a step backwards; picking up her skirts to run. Alas! Another of the blackguards emerged from the shadows behind her, grinning evilly in anticipation of an unspeakable victory.

The seamstress looked around in terror. "My G-d!" cried she, "will nobody save me?"

The fiends approached, encircling her slowly.

"That's enough."

A voice from the alleyway - five heads turn as one - a look of shock on four monstrous faces - a look of disbelief and wonderment on hers.

Swainswick strode from the darkness, arm held before him. In his hand blazed a cross; he held it before him like a shield, interposing himself between Miss Audley and the three attackers who had made such short work of Mr. Verity.

"Enough of this unpleasantness," he intoned, the righteous light in his eye promising naught but death for the scoundrels. They shrank back into the tenebrous mists from whence they had come.

"Jacob! Behind you!"

He whirled, scooping Miss Audley into the safety of his right arm, shielding her as he held out his left, the crucifix feeling almost alive in his hand. To his amazement, the creature shimmered, dissolving into a smoky haze before their eyes.

"Oh, Jacob," her voice wavered. Their eyes locked: hers, beautiful limpid pools; his, fired with a manly intensity. She seemed reluctant to disentangle herself. "Er, darling..."

Realising in an instant the impediment, he pocketed the cross in a suave motion. "No need to fear, Miss Audley," he promised.

She was still in his arms, leaning lightly against him.

"You saved me," she whispered, as though seeing his true potential for the first time. "Oh, my darling Jacob -"



"-arling," cooed a familiar voice. She did not sound enamoured.

Jacob looked up from the jacket he was relining, startled. "I beg your pardon, Miss Audley?"

[Valentina Audley]

Valentina rolls her eyes. Jacob's clearly been wool gathering again and it involved her if she was any judge of the glazed eyes staring foolishly at her. Ghouls were all very well and there was no doubt opening the shop in daylight was helpful and yet at times like this she wanted to shake him! Biting back her irritation she gives him an arch smile on and repeats herself.

"I said will you pass me the latest copy of Myra's Journal of Dress and Fashion please darling?" She looks down at the little black notebook in front of her and bites her lip. "I think there's a problem..."

Please, oh please let the dates not match up...

[Jacob Swainswick]

"Of course, Miss Audley. At once."

He sat up straighter, spending the couple of necessary seconds to secure his line of stitches.

Myra's was a lively journal, quite chatty in style, and remarkably cosmopolitan in its outlook; its illustrations of uniformly high quality. Some derided Martha Browne's monthly as a trifle jejune; but Swainswick considered that criticism to be born largely from a suspicion of the young metropolitan woman to whom the periodical was addressed. As for himself, he found such company exceedingly lively; the small but growing cadre of ladies who would gather in the Thimble to take morning coffee and debate the important feminine topics of the day had opened his eyes to the broad gamut that such creatures were capable of turning their minds to. Even the perennial question of suffrage was not out of bounds. Indeed, thus outnumbered, he had found himself relegated from his position of natural authority: such an experience (albeit initially disturbing, he was prepared to admit to himself) had led him to hold the Modern Woman in higher regard.

All of which, however, was by-the-by; he handed the latest copy in its protective folio to his mistress.

"A problem, Miss Audley?"

[Valentina Audley]

"Mmm."

Valentina says no more for a moment, instead she flicks anxiously through the magazine to the page she wanted. No. The dates matched. Well damn! She gives a groan of disappointment.

"Tomorrow darling, please cancel the white satin order. It appears I shall not need a new ballgown after all." The regret in her voice is sincere and heartfelt.

"I cannot attend the prince's soiree." She pauses to look up at Jacob. "We are going to Paris darling. I simply cannot miss Fashion Week and it will be good experience for you."

She tilts her head, smiling a trifle sadly at him. "How good is your French?"

[Jacob Swainswick]

He paused a moment, lips pursed, to prepare an accurate answer.

A ballgown? A prince? Paris?! Swainswick's head swam with possibilities. He knew, from tid-bits gleaned and small hints dropped, that Miss Audley moved amongst elevated circles. He knew, also, that she took her devotion to her arts incredibly seriously.

"I can read and write it well enough," he said. True enough; aside from Le Monde Elegante and other periodicals necessary to keep his knowledge a la mode, he'd had a boyish passion for Dumas as a lad. "I regret that I've had no real conversational experience for a few years. I've never been to France."

Better, of course, to admit that shortcoming now. It suddenly occurred to him the enormity of his mistress' suggestion: to chose a trip to Paris - with him in attendance! - over a soiree with a prince. He did not dare ask if she was certain, lest she come to her senses and decide against the venture.

[Valentina Audley]

Jacob knowing french was a huge plus. One of these days she'd have to learn, but clearly not now. She pulls one of the many notebooks over to her and beckons for him to take a nearer seat.

"Alas I am not even slightly familiar with french, so you may have to act as chief translator on our little jaunt. I think you will enjoy Paris, it's a charming city, although" she pauses to laugh ruefully, "be prepared to feel woefully under-dressed and distinctly shabby next to her denizens."

She writes Paris, at the top of a fresh page in the notebook and underlines it.

"I will need you to book the tickets and make the arrangements, during the next few days. Take the money from the shops petty cash. Are there any orders due in the first week of October?"

[Jacob Swainswick]

"There are, yes. Here, let me show you..." He relished these small chances to display his accomplishments.

The journal contained several columns, arranged by date the work had been undertaken, with a plan of materials required and indication of the due date, all laid out in Swainswick's neat copperplate. "Nothing that cannot be completed, without stinting on the expected quality." He'd have to rise an hour earlier for the next few days to see that done, and work late; but it seemed a small price to pay - and the reputation of his mistress' establishment rested upon it.

"I will deal with the arrangements tomorrow, and telegram ahead for lodgings as necessary," he promised. "There is - well, there are some things that it would be otherwise indelicate to speak of. If you'll permit me to be so bold. Will we be traveling - after sunset?"

[Valentina Audley]

A catlike smile touches Valentina's lips for a brief moment.

"Naturally darling. I shall write a list of places I have stayed before, for you to check in with. It has been some few years since I last travelled, so it may be best to say that I am the great-niece of the Miss Audley they knew, but that I suffer the same malaise and so have the same requirements. That should smooth most of the difficulties."

She leans close to him as she considers the list. "Yes, I rather think that can all be completed. You will need to delay any new orders slightly, but a mention of your trip should help with that." She tilts her head in thought. It must be pure chance that this brings her head closer to him.

"It will be better I think, if you do not mention that I am going as well. Lesser people could well be consider it scandalous and I would prefer that no such stain come upon either of us."

Not to mention less chance of other Kindred hearing through rumours that she too was away, if he made out that he was being sent on behalf of the business.

[Jacob Swainswick]

"Your reputation shall be - oh!" Swainswick turned to face her, startled slightly to find her so close. "Shall be my first concern, of course," he continued, more softly. The moment stretched out a little longer than decorum might otherwise have dictated, before he pulled back to a more respectable distance. A thought occurred to him. "If you'll excuse me for a moment - something I saw in the paper -"

Where had he left it? Both this day's and the previous paper were folded, neatly, upon the kitchen table.

"Ah, here it is," he announced, striding quickly back to place the opened paper upon the table before them. "I thought I'd seen something about that. Night services suspended - as far as Oxford, for another three weeks at the least. We can hardly take a post-train!" He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the paper. "We'll have to travel by road until Oxford. We could pick up a train there I imagine - I'll check the time-tables.

"I'll have an itinerary completed by tomorrow evening, for your approval," he promised. He couldn't keep the enthusiasm from his voice; his blue eyes shining at the very prospect of such an adventure. Not only that: the weight of responsibility Miss Audley was placing upon him swelled in his breast. He felt, quite simply, warm, and joyous.

[Valentina Audley]

Valentina nods. "The local trains are a chancy business at the moment, so the road to Oxford is probably the wisest course."

She makes a note in her book 'locate French hotel details and give to Jacob'. Then looks over and smiles at him.

"The shop has done rather well of late I think. Book everything first class darling. For both of us." She smiles at him, waiting to see his reaction to that little announcement.