L&D, The German Affair, Part 6

 

#3 Penny Dreadful

The Life and Crimes of Lockhart and Doppler

An Illustrated journal of amusement, adventure and instruction

 

The German Affair part six

 

And so, dear reader, this is how I was obliged to leap from parapet, to balloon and off again. I did neglect to inform you that the uniforms on the parapet firing at me were Generalinspekeur Kutz’s Putzfrau, eight female combatants in the pay of Kutz. The hulky one that had attempted to arrest me in the tavern at the lead, before I leapt I had aimed the Llap-Goch Discombobulator Device at her – full power – and she had stopped in her tracks, dazed and confused. The tiny winking green light was flashing continuously. The balloon basket I had dropped into contained, of course, Herr Kutz…

“You are under arrest, Ms Lockhart.”

 

 I leapt from the basket, firing the Device as I went, the tiny light was winking red. I landed with an ‘oof’ on an enormously large, reflective cigar. Pulling my knife from my boot, I began to hack a hole in the treated cotton, just enough to squeeze through. I dropped onto a structural crossbeam then clambered down past a swollen gas cell onto a gantry. Maintenance staff could be seen at various positions and moving about, if I could just find my way to the passenger decks unseen. I moved carefully from upright to engine station, on one occasion utilising Sergeant Snooze to get past one point that a fellow would not leave. Written signs were shown to be in German, French, Italian as well as English, a mixed crew then. I saw one indicating the stairwell to the decks when a voice called out in German to stop, I kept moving.                                                                      

   Nearing the stairwell a figure stepped out suddenly onto the walkway before me, arms folded across his chest, I spotted the spanner in his hand. The rear male was closing in. I scanned about. Nothing to climb here and the forward fellow was blocking the way to the sides too. Aware that I must look a state with my sailors bag slung crossways over my back, my duster being dusty and probably my face too, I raised my hands, palms facing out to shoulder height, then making a fist of my right bent and fired, the engineer immediately went into ready stance, frowning at the apparently useless item. I shook it, then as he stepped towards me I abandoned the idea and instead punched him hard in the face.

The projecting part of the Device jabbed his cheek, gave a whistling twitter and fizzed. The man staggered, slightly surprised, under the impact of fist and fizz, rubbing his eyes then with curiosity, his cheek, he looked at the blood on his fingers puzzled. The rear fellow paused,

“Vat have you done to him?” he pushed by me to attend to his comrade. I dashed past and headed down the stairwell,

“Oi! You there, stop!” he began to follow.

I spiralled down the stairs and dashed aimlessly along a corridor, frantically inspecting notices and signs as the engineer pounded behind yelling. Ahead in the corridor, a young uniformed officer turned into the corridor, head down reading a roster or some such thing, he looked up at the sound of yelling and running feet,

“Hey!” he called in fey tones, “What’s…”

“Stop ‘er!” yelled the engineer.

I turned down a side corridor, leapt over a chap knelt down in the passageway tying his shoelace and skidded around another corner, careering into a middle aged couple and had to untangle myself from her stole before making another sprint leaving them to attempt to stop the engineer to enquire what the Devil was going on. I began reading the ornate name plates on the passenger cabin doors and finally found one that contained a single female; Ms. A. Marbles. I knocked, glancing impatiently along the corridor awaiting the pursuer, as the door opened hesitantly, I barged in slamming the door shut behind me. Leaning against it panting, I looked into the small, puzzled, wrinkled face of an elderly lady.

“Are you here to change the bedding dear?” she enquired

“That’s right Grandma. And we’re checking the guests’ wardrobes too.”

I moved toward the sleeping area and began searching her outfits.

“Oh, I say, is this a new thing? I’ve never heard of this before.” She quavered “Do you need to check what I’m wearing too?” she opened her arms wide.                                                                                                                                                                                            

 I turned to answer in the negative, when I noticed what she was wearing.

Half an hour later Ms Agatha Marbles stepped out, wearing a deep purple ensemble and sporting a hideous spoon bonnet, the advantage of it being that it hid ones’ face from the sides and had a veil. Some judiciously applied make-up and a silver topped cane assisted the overall effect of elegant elderly lady. I headed for the dining room. I had been on the move for some time and needed re-fuelling. The rest of the journey passed uneventfully. A couple who had boarded alongside the real Ms Marbles were pleasantly surprised by her sudden regaining of her mental faculties. Arriving in Paris, everyone disembarked, collected their luggage and took carriages, trains, automobiles and so forth to their final destinations. I found a fairly decent hotel and spent two days in my room ensuring my shoulder was better healed.

 Later I sent a Telegram to Doppler informing her of my impending homecoming, another to the Royal Academy about the location of the Nibelungen gold hoard and a third to a contact in the underworld regarding an item I would be interested in selling.                                                                             

On the day I was about to catch a private sailboat home, (I had met a charming mature Parisian gentleman about town, we dined, visited the theatre and I massaged his… ego, he was happy to assist), I had dressed practically, Pierre found a woman in pants and goggles exciting, the small crew was ready to shove off when a small, precise figure hurried towards us flanked by two gnarly women. I stood on the quayside, hands on hips. Pierre watched with curiosity.

“Frau Lockhart! You are under arrest!”

“Really Kutz? Don’t you ever give up?”

“Never!”

“Well that’s a shame, as you see, you have no jurisdiction here. This is not Saxe-Coburg in case you hadn’t noticed, in fact, you have no jurisdiction in Bavaria, Mecklenburg, Schleswig- Holstein, Prussia or any of the other twenty six constituent territories, and especially France.”

I watched his face turn from scarlet to puce to a sickly cheese white. Taking the hand proffered by Pierre, I stepped on board.

“Where is it?!” cried Kutz feebly.

 I shrugged. Pierre doffed his hat and turned to attend to business.

“Where. Is. It?!!” screamed the little fellow with his plastered hair lifting in a breeze.

I pulled my goggles down against the wind and glare of the sun, smiled and tipped a jaunty salute, leaving my finger resting on the lenses and magnifiers, where a small addition glinted teasingly. Kutz’s jaw dropped.

“Auf wiedersehen Generalinspekeur!”

 

The End

                                                                                                                 

L & D; The German Affair: Part Five

#3 Penny Dreadful

 

The Life and Crimes of Lockhart and Doppler

An Illustrated journal of amusement, adventure and instruction

 

The German Affair: Part Five

 

I ran the bath in the en suite bathroom and laid out a new outfit whilst awaiting my breakfast. I had brought very little in the way of clothing a small wardrobe trunk and a sailors travelling bag, I had left my luggage packed – well you never knew. After bathing came the stitching the ointment and bandaging. I was in my undergarments about to step into a burgundy skirt when there came the polite knock at the door. I bid the maid enter with the tray of food and place it on the dressing table by the window, she crossed the room, placed the tray down and turned to speak, her mouth froze. She was staring at me, or to be more accurate, she was staring at my shoulder. Glancing down I saw the camisole blossoming red. I was leaking.

“You are injured Fraulein Lockhart.” She began

“Oh, it’s er, nothing. I erm, I cut myself shaving.” I blethered.

“Shaving?” she said.

“Yes shaving.” I responded, getting into the swing of it now,

 “In England women folk shave their armpits, legs too sometimes. I even hear that Her Majesty shaves all of the hair from her body.” I added conspiratorially. “And of course, I had forgotten to bring my Lady Shaver with me, so borrowed off one of the chaps, these cut throat razors ain’t the same y’know, not got the manoeuvrability, the delicacy of a ladies shaver. Slip of the wrist, that’s all, a mere graze, be right as sixpence in an hour.”

I smiled genially and began ushering her to the door.

“But could you not have borrowed from one of the other ladies, one of the wives?”

Oh dear. I took my hand off the doorknob. Walked to the tray by the window and returned with a bread roll, which I shoved unceremoniously into her mouth, spun her about and had the napkin tied over it before she could say Schwarzwaelder Kruste. Grabbing both her wrists, I pulled her into the bathroom, plonked her into the wicker chair and tied her to it. The girl was terrified.

“I’m so sorry miss.” I began, “But if anyone found out, it’d be the worse for me don’t you see. So…I could toss you out of the window…” her eyes bulged, “…but you really don’t deserve that. I could have cracked you over the head, but…no. I could have asked you to keep quiet…” she nodded frantically, “…but d’you know what? I don’t believe you would. So, you can wait here until someone comes looking and I’m sure in a place this size that could take some time.”

She looked forlorn.                                                                                                      

It was time to leave…but first I wanted to pay a visit to the room of a certain man, a Welshman to be precise. After checking that Mr Lloyd was not in his chamber, I let myself in and began a swift but thorough search. The large room was decorated in a theme of forest greens with a wallpaper motif of stags and hinds carousing amidst blossom covered trees. The bedspread and canopy were also a lustrous green brocade, the walnut dressing table close by had green handles, perhaps jade (I briefly considered unscrewing them) the whole décor provided a pleasant backdrop to the mechanisms, cogs, tools, grease-pots, lenses, brass tubes, polishing cloths and other engineering miscellany that spilled from cases and trunks, were scattered across the polished table and bedspread. The air smelt like lubricant and polish, what had Lloyd been up to? I had an approximate idea of the size of the item I was searching for from the conversations I had had with Hywel Lloyd on the journey here. And then I had it in my hand, or more correctly, on my wrist. The Llap-Goch Discombobulator Device, I was not completely sure about what it did, so…I headed back to my bathroom and tried it out on the chambermaid. It was a fairly discreet device, a leather wrist guard with what looked like a brass compass or pocket watch attached, a kind of pointed nozzle projecting from it towards the knuckles. There were a number of black dots around the inner circumference getting incrementally larger, what I supposed were settings.

 I pointed it, setting ‘one’ and fired. No great jet came out, no flame, or ‘zap!’ it quite simply and quietly created a kind of hazy strip in the air between it and the maid, you probably wouldn’t see it if you weren’t looking for it, certainly not in daylight. I removed the napkin and soggy bread roll.

“Why did you tie me up?” she immediately demanded.

That wouldn’t do. I aimed again.

“What did you do then? Let me go!” Better.

I tried a third time, each time moving the dial up a notch.

“Who are you? Will you be wanting a bath madam? Have you brought your bathing suit?”                                             

I untied her, and made up a story for her that convinced her to hang about in these rooms. I did not know if the effect was permanent and if not, how long it lasted. I noticed that a tiny green light winked on the device after each use. I made a rope from sheets and lowered my carry bag to the ledge below. Advised the maid to untie it when I was there too. And so, by ledges and sheets, branches and inclines, I made my way to the foot of Schloss Hartundschnell mountain. Lugged my pack over my uninjured shoulder and headed for town. How I missed the Professor Selwyn, my balloon sphere, I could have been well away by now.

After hitching a ride from a local trader in his goods waggon, I entered a nearby tavern, ‘Das Fledermaus’, took a room, rested my weary body for most of the morning, then ordered a hot beverage and lunch. I was tucking into my second hot wiener when there was a brisk tap on my shoulder. I resisted the urge to punch the accoster to my pained anatomy and turned to look into a familiar face,

“Guten tag, Marianne Corday. I hope you are enjoying your wurst.”

Herr Kutz sneered, his black hair even slicker smooth across his forehead if that was possible. Beside him stood a large uniformed female looking like she could pop my head in her hands, she had a better moustache than Herr Kutz I noticed.

“Ah, Generalinspekeur.” I beamed, “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Please, Frau Lockhart” he chided, “Do not play the games with me, I know what you have done and what you are.”

“Pray, do tell.” I teased.

“You have sullied my name!” he snarled loudly. His face turning puce. “You have taken what is not yours!  A tick formed in his right eye. “And you have lied to the Count about your reason for being here.”

“Now look here...” I began, surreptitiously reaching into my pocket.

“No, Frau Lockhart! You look here. You are nothing but a cheap thief!”

“I say” I responded, affronted, “I may be a thief, but I am not cheap!”

“You” he leant into my face, “Are under arrest. Take her!”

As his Rottweiler reached for me, I flung a large handful of coins in her face, shouting;

 “Drinks for all!” loudly.

She automatically shielded herself from the coinage, the drinkers nearby cheered and swarmed to us as I dropped to the floor and crawled between legs. As I exited and began racing towards a large building across the way, I could hear the apoplectic screaming of Generalinspekeur Kutz.

 

To be continued…

Lockhart & Doppler; The German Affair Part Four

#3 Penny Dreadful

 

The Life and Crimes of Lockhart and Doppler

An Illustrated journal of amusement, adventure and instruction

 

The German Affair: Part Four

 

The mole digger man pointed his pistol, a small, regular percussion type with some odd casing around the barrel. I imagined this was to prevent it exploding in mining conditions – you never knew what gases leaked this far underground. I raised my hands slowly. He waggled the pistol indicating I should remove the cloth covering my lower face. As I pulled it down and smiled as innocently as I could I noticed his nonplussed expression – a female, in mining attire, roaming about the private stores, what was going on?

“Who are you and why are you here? Who do you work for?!” he barked.

 What, I can’t be working for myself I thought!  I allowed a moment to pass in which I made like I didn’t want to tell then oh what the heck, the game’s up…

“My name is Marianne Corday, I am the lover of Generalinspekeur Herr Kutz – and I think you know what he wants.”

“Der Ring” he smirked.

As he was about to continue questioning me, a riot of shouting drew our attention. Mole man’s eyes darted to one of the many windows and back. Taking a deep breath he indicated for me to proceed in front of him. I could hear some whooping and cheering, shouts to fetch Albert. Out in the dusty, gritty cavern, grey men crowded and craned about something. Keeping me on the platform with the weapon still aimed, mole man shouted to the workers. A scrubby, beardy one trotted over, wringing his hands excitedly,

“General, they think they have found it! They have something! This could be the prize! We will be rich!” he trilled.

“Send for Albert.” He ordered, and the dusty minion headed off down the tunnel.

General mole man pushed me forwards with the pistol. We descended the steps and moved towards the gathering. Babbling and chattering dropped to hushed whisperings and muted murmurings. A small package was being passed around and gazed at with wonderment. A tiny wink of light peeped out as the item passed from hand to grubby hand. The General, momentarily drawn to the find, forgot his detainee and shouldered into the group. Looking over my shoulder I could see others were approaching hastily to see for themselves. I grabbed a passing oldie by his lapel and hissed,

“The ancestral ghosts will come.”

 I repeated this to another three or four, my eyes wide in feigned terror. The General, a good head taller than most of the miners, span around, hand raised clutching a small, sparkling ring of gold between finger and thumb, his face glowed with covetousness, the miners faces were a mixture of rapture and fear.

“The spirits are here! The spirits are come!” I yelled suddenly.

 It was like dropping a stink bomb in the chambers of the Royal Academy – pandemonium. I snatched the ring from the drooping hand and ran! Dashing between wailing, running and aimless figures.

“Halt!” came the scream.

 A shot was fired. All about me ducked or flinched automatically, I kept my speed up. En route, I dashed for the mammoth digger, rounded its screw tip and clambered up into the cabin eight feet above the ground, barely pausing, I hit the starter switch and clambered down out of the opposite side. The masterless beast began grinding and trundling forwards into the hodgepodge of humanity. I could see the lift shaft ahead and it was descending – presumably with the head honcho, Albert inside. Behind me the General was screaming orders to stop the machine, to stop that thief, how he was going to rip me apart. He began firing.

A figure to my near right fell in a heap, a support beam splintered as I ran past, wood spraying. I ducked and dived between the last of the miners causing more to be shot down in the mayhem.  A hot burning sensation blossomed about my left shoulder –I had been hit. Ahead the door of the lift opened and the short figure excited, with accompanying armed guard behind. I pulled a coin from my pocket and hurled it at Albert’s feet, as he bent to discover what I had flung I sped up and, using him as a springboard, I leapt onto his back, kicked the astonished man behind him full in the jaw and tumbled into the wooden box. I hurriedly pulled my knife from my boot, slashed at the taught rope and shot aloft.

Having nothing to restrain it, the wooden box careered upwards into the surrounding structure, I was flung aside, rolling through pans of gruel and firewood. The lift smashed apart causing the few minions left up top to retreat. I staggered upright, trying to ignore the dull aching in my shoulder, I dusted myself down, turned to face the gawping faces, bowed slightly, bid them a good evening and walked off attempting nonchalance.

 

The solemn tones of a distant church announced midnight. A strange mist had descended across the lake. A feint peal of thunder was heard far off in the distance. As I floated across the water I lay back, extended my legs and looked at the rent in the fabric over my left shoulder. The bullet had not entered but sliced through the muscle leaving a pinkie wide channel in my flesh. Why oh why had I left Doppler at home? I really could do with her medical skills right now.

 I must have fallen asleep as I awoke to the sound of angelic singing. Perhaps a local choir was rehearsing – at night time? I realised the singing was not coming from the shore but from close by. Heaving myself up, I peered through the misty morn. Was that a figure in the water? Who goes swimming in a freezing lake in the early hours? I asked myself. The boat made a sudden but gently tip to one side and a pale moist hand appeared over the side.                                                                           

I stared in horrid fascination as another, then another clung gently to my stolen craft, rising from the still surface of the lake came the heads of three females, their skins like alabaster, their hair like liquid jet, and their smiles like those of the sweetest lover. Their eyes were white. 

I drew my gun and fired point blank into the face of the first, caught the second on the side of the skull whilst the third retreated thrashing and shrieking at a pitch that made me cover my ears. Naiads, or nymphs if you prefer, are not what all those Pre-Raphaelites think they are, they’re not winsome and pretty, they are ravenous, flesh eating monsters. They don’t even have the bonus of having saleable body parts. I left the slowly sinking corpses without a backward glance and headed to shore.

After returning the vessel, clambering back up the scented, snowy hillside to the schloss and stealing my way back in, I fell fully clothed onto my bed and remained in a profound sleep until knocking at my chamber door dragged me griping and grumbling awake. Pain did the rest. As I rolled sideways to check my pocket watch on a side table, I rolled onto last night’s damage,

“Aarrgh!” I yelped, pushing my face into fat, snowy white pillow.

“Fraulein Lockhart, are you quite well?” a maids voice enquired.

I gritted my teeth,

“Absolutely. Tip top, thank you.”

Then stuffed the pillow into my mouth.

“Would you like me to bring your breakfast to your room Fraulein Lockhart?” she annoyingly continued.

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

I heard her rustle off down the passage. I needed to get myself in order. I pulled the little treasure from my deep pocket – what a lot of fuss and expense over such small thing, I mused, and then hid it somewhere no-one would look.

 

To be continued…

 

 

 

 

 

L & D: The German Affair. Part 3

#3 Penny Dreadful

 

The Life and Crimes of Lockhart and Doppler

 
                         An Illustrated journal of amusement, adventure and instruction

 

                                     The German Affair (Teil drei)

 

It was chilly to say the least, out here on the broad window ledge with only my underwear to protect me from the elements. I could hear the conversation coming from the open window just six feet above my head – oh my schatzi! You are ill? Hilde my darling, I feel terrible. My little liebe hase - and so on and so sickeningly forth. But, I reflected, I did now have my passport to travel and open archaeological sites (assuming little ‘love bunny’ kept his promise.)                                                                                                     

  Schloss Hartundschnell was situated on a rather stunningly forested mountainside, the descent from the window ledge would incorporate the twenty feet or so to the base of the building then another few hundred should I fall. Pulling on my shoes, then shimmying back into my dress I surveyed the surrounding vista. Balloons, dirigibles and airships dotted the sky above the town. Behind us the mountain rose into snowy pine forest, splitting in two the expansive lake, I could only see one half to my right, down below a toy village with twinkling lights. Before the schloss was the bridge with the private rail track of the Count. Approximately half a mile away, across the lake, an indistinct, uneven plume of dark smoke ascended from amidst the trees. Now that I noticed it and focused, I could feel a gentle, almost imperceptible vibration. In the chilly, silent dusk, hidden amidst the forest, someone was busy.

Having made my way along the ledge to another window and being lucky enough to discover it occupied by Hywel Lloyd, the startled engineer hastily brought me inside. I asked the Welshman about his various engineering projects, leading him to explain about noise variability in underground mining, different equipment, equipment location, mine opening geometry, and mining activity. Noise variability during haulage unit loading as well as other operations like drilling, bolting, and coal transporting with haulage equipment…and so I had what I required.

I left the schloss attired in my regular clothes; sturdy boots, twill pants, duster style coat with deep pockets and accessories. My accessories usually consisted of at least one shooter and throwing knives amongst other personal items. It was night time yet the clear sky allowed for moonlight to cause the snowy ground to illuminate and show the way. I wended my way downhill, through the scented pines towards the jetty. The commercial steam boats were moored like tethered metal beasts, small rowboats bobbed nearby like their offspring. A couple of boat men were leaving for home having secured their vessel, nets hung like ragged laundry on huge wooden frames. From a hut at the far end came a yellow glow, the night watchman I presumed. I snuck closer, hearing a hummed ditty I gauged him to be mature. A hacking cough broke the sigh and susurration of the lapping water. I edged up to the door that stood ajar, removed a small police cosh (that I affectionately called Sergeant Snooze) out of an inner pocket and silently edged towards the figure. One well aimed strike and he toppled before he could light his roll-up. I propped the slumbering figure in his chair, poured a small amount of whiskey between his lips and down his front, left the bottle on his meagre table and stole out into the dark to procure a powered vessel.

 

It took a mere twenty minutes to get the eighteen foot steam launch across the lake. After tethering the boat I took my bearings; standing in silence for some minutes, listening, sensing vibrations and smelling the air. I headed off. The incline was steep to begin with, especially as I was avoiding any paths and my calves and thighs soon began to ache. Above me I espied a chap with a rifle resting casually across his forearm, a cigarette hung limply from his lips. I must be close. I circled around the lone figure and eventually encountered a vast hole surrounded by winches, pulleys, bracers and so forth, it was as if a ship had run aground. 

Milling about this assemblage was a variety of men; most were wheeling carts of earth away from the vicinity along a short stretch of track. Some were sat around smoking, eating or napping. They also looked pretty downtrodden, grubby and weary. From the fissure beneath the earth emerged a wooden box the size of a bathing hut and from this emerged a short, stout angry looking fellow. The dwarfen sized being began to berate the men who sat at rest, they evidently feared him and set to work. I left the gathering to follow where the carts had gone and came across the slag heap of mined earth and rock, the sad men tipping and turning back to continue. I bid my time. Eventually a young ‘un dawdled for a sneaky smoke. I introduced him to Sergeant Snooze and donning his clothing, shuffled back to the mine entrance pushing the empty cart.

Beneath the mountain they were like ants. Goliath machinery churned and thrummed away, chewing at the earth and reducing it to rubble. I had found the source of the vibrations I had sensed earlier. Smoke billowed up to a vent, yet it was still smoky and the kerchief across my nose and mouth did little to alleviate the choking at the back of my throat. I skirted the tunnel walls, slouching from cart to crate to rubble pile. Picking up a shovel to ‘work’ when I felt observed, although there was little in the way of security, the men just scraped and cleared. However, the massive screw- tipped mole was operated by a person who appeared to be dressed the same as the outside guard – and he was alert. I estimated that I was practically under the lake at this point when I noticed a constructed platform some fifty feet in length with an erection on top. Steps led up to it from both ends. A kind of underground warehouse I supposed, and headed in that direction. I took my time, traversing from work team to work team, picking up snippets of conversation then adding my own...It was a great treasure they were after. All they had found so far was nothing as compared to what Albert was after. Albert it turned out was the geezer in charge of the whole operation, the angry miniature up top. It was said that a huge serpent lived beneath the lake. No it was a foul tempered giant.

“But the curse isn’t true” I interjected.

“What curse?!” came the superstitious cry.

“Oh, it is simply stories to frighten children, you have not heard? Digging for treasure beneath the mountain will bring the wrath of the Old Ones down on whoever it is.”

 I watched over my smutty kerchief. Tightened lips, wary glances.                                                                               

 “But it is all nonsense of course.” I said and moved off to the next team.

Before I had reached the foot of the wooden steps, the gossip of the curse had overtaken me.

“Have you heard about the curse laid by the Graf’s ancestors?”

No I hadn’t,

 “His dead ancestors will arise if a certain item is removed from beneath the land of his forefathers.” 

I feigned terror but smiled beneath my mucky mask and wondered what this mysterious treasure was that Albert was after. I stole up the steps, pressed tight to the shadows. The door to the unit was locked. I blew on my fingertips and bent to the task. It was a mere trifle. I dodged inside. There were a number of shelves and crates with tarp covering most of it. I passed along the rows curiously. A glow drawing me to the farther end. A small table with a lit oil lamp illuminated books, sheaves of paper and a diagram that made me glance up quickly. I pulled the tarp off the nearest shelf and almost choked.

Gold! 

A click behind caused me to turn. The mole digger man was pointing a pistol at me.

“Ja, das gold der Nibelungen”

“Scheisser.”

To be continued…

 

The German Affair; Part Two

#3 Penny Dreadful

 

 The Life and Crimes of Lockhart and Doppler

An Illustrated journal of amusement, adventure and instruction

 

The German Affair (Part two)

 

I won’t bore you with the details of the evening; the dancing, oh how these German types like to dance, the drinking, even if I say so myself, I did hold my own against even the most august soldiers there (to the disapproval of several ladies. (Rule #2: approval is not required)). Needless to say, I drank too much, sang too loud, smoked too hard and showed too much ankle, amongst other things – according to reports later. But, I had secured an invite to Graf Frederik von Saxe-Coburg’s castle, or schloss as the square-heads called them.

And so here I was, on a spectacularly glorious day, speeding my way through Bavaria on the Counts private steam train. The sun striking the verdant forests and distant snowy peaks. On board were a number of English, Prussian, Austrian and French. Nobility, merchants, myself and a Welsh engineer. Hywel Lloyd was the inventor of the Llap-Goch Discombobulator Device or as he called it “LGDD, the good lady wife.” He would not disclose anything other than its name, he would not make an acknowledgement when I tried to guess as to its application and definitely would not show it to me. He was hoping the Count would become his patron, Count Frederik apparently had a taste for the bizarre and eclectic.

 Lloyd’s luggage consisted of huge rolls of paper plans, boxes of loose parts, a crate with a working device and miscellaneous trunks and wardrobes. All the while we talked, he tinkered with pieces of mechanisms, a jeweller’s loupe in one eye and a miniature screw driver in his hand, adjusting diminutive screws, assembling intricate parts and polishing with a moleskin. Lloyd became excited when I told him of the Professor Selwyn, he was a great admirer of the work of Cavor and solicited an invitation to Lancashire in the near future with a promise of a ride in the balloon sphere.

Schloss Hartundschnell was quite magnificent. Not one of those tall, white, castles with icing-like filigree and fairy tale charm. This was more manor house come functional castle. It was pale to be sure, but a stolid, masculine sandstone without the limestone covering. Resembling its current owner. We were assigned rooms and given ample time to bathe and dress for dinner. I didn’t, as a rule, go in for extravagant dresses or dresses at all usually, but I had deigned to buy a peacock blue silk jacket and skirt, decorated with, silk ribbon and silk covered buttons, the front had a military influence with a Medici style collar. It also had a deep, concealed pocket where I stashed a small pistol – well you never know! The dinner was a very formal affair. Afterwards the ladies, trailing Count Frederik’s wife, Hildegard, drifted into the withdrawing room. Seeing the snow sparkling on the gardens outside I couldn’t resist, and invited Hywel Lloyd to partake in a snowball fight. Looks of scorn soon turned to envy as we laughed and frolicked amongst the white powder and soon we had ourselves a jolly battle – the men had become young boys again, dodging behind topiaried shrubs and dashing from icy projectiles. A figure in the open double doorway drew my eye, the Count smoking a fine cigar, detached, staid and dry. I couldn’t resist. The tightly packed ammunition sped unerringly to its target. He glanced down at his shirt front, looked at me from beneath a raised eyebrow then indicated for me to join him indoors. The gentlemen followed me indoors, heads bowed as before their headmaster.

“Fraulein Lockhart, I would like to speak to you about your proposition.” I searched my memory, I didn’t remember making any proposition, and so I merely presented an expectant expression.

“Your plans and the possibility of my financing such a venture.”

“Ah…yes, of course.” What on earth had I said to him? I must have been drunk! I drew a blank when I attempted to recall the conversations at Lord and Lady Wendover’s party.

“Gentlemen” he addressed the room, “I will speak later, please, avail yourselves of the Pool Room, Library and do help yourselves to cigars. Ms Lockhart, follow me please.” And with that he sailed out of the room, I hurried after him taking in the various doorways we passed (always know your routes out), staircases ascended and finally arrived at a door in duck egg blue. He opened it, bid me enter and as I stepped in I heard the door close behind me. I spun around and was seized about the waist.

“Oh fraulein, Ich mochte sie. Kuss mich.”

His nostrils flared, his pupils were hugely dilated in his ice blue eyes and he was breathing heavily. Pressed close to him I inhaled his aroma of cigar, pine trees and wurst, his black hair remained perfectly styled, his handlebar was perfectly waxed and, I reminded myself, his wallet was inordinately large – in for a penny in for deutschmark, I resolved.                               

   The ice king melted…

 Amidst the tangle of snow white sheets, lolling in the crook of his arm, Frederik and I smoked cigars. I now took in how small this room actually was, beautifully furnished, but definitely not the bedroom of a couple.

“I suffer migraines” Frederik explained “I hate to disturb Hildegard, and so I come to sleep here.”

I was about to voice my doubt when a distant voice made the Count sit bolt upright.

“Quick! Leave!” he burst out

“What? Where? There is only one door Fre…”

Footsteps approaching…

“Nein, nein, nein,” he moaned, as we scrabbled around for stockings, boots, corsets and so forth,

“You don’t understand, I love my wife, I don’t want to do anything to hurt my schatzi.”

“Count!” I interjected “Calm down, what do you expect me to do, there is only one door and one…oh no, you have to be kidding”

“Ja mein Lucy, please, I’m begging you.” He began hustling me to the one window in the room.

“Its two stories up!”

 Pulling on items in any order.

“No!”

“I will do anything Lucy, but please go, my wife, she is coming.”

I began to clamber over the threshold, a ledge below looked promising.

 “Anything?” Tapping at the door…

“Ja, Yes! Yes!”

And so I dropped from the window…

To be continued…

 

#3Penny Dreadful: The German Affair

 
 

 #3 Penny Dreadful

 

               The Life and Crimes of Lockhart and Doppler

               An Illustrated journal of amusement, adventure and instruction

 

The German Affair Part One

I raced towards the edge of the parapet, shouted demands, exclamations and the occasional warning shot gave my feet the extra impetus needed. I came to a slewing halt, craned to see over the edge and quickly took the measure of the oncoming pursuers two of whom were levelling rifles.

“You are under arrest fraulein!” screamed a sweaty, purple blotched face.

An explosion of masonry beside me made my mind up. I pulled down my goggles, gave a small bow then leapt over the side.

 The speeding air robbed me of my breath momentarily, the goggles pressed against my skin, my jacket flapped, my legs lifted. I was tipping upside-down, but the target was imminent.

I smashed into the silk with some astonishing force, it is quite amazing how hard fabric can be when filled with air. The top of the balloon bowed and quivered. For a short moment I was enveloped in fabric and rope then released like a seed popping free of its pod, I rose in the air like a spider on the wind then returned to the space where the balloon had been and scrabbled frantically for the webbing down its side. My fingers caught hold, my shoulder yanked painfully. It had all happened in a matter of seconds. I arched my neck to see the schloss parapet lined with figures, a guard, aiming, was roughly shoved, making the shot fly awry, after all, they couldn’t go shooting private air balloons out of the sky – no matter who was hitching a ride. Hooking my feet into the rope webbing lower down, I waved a cheery ‘so long suckers’ and proceeded downwards.

I did not however account for who owned this vessel I was escaping on. Clinging tightly, I made my way past the mouth onto the upright and into the basket.

“Guten tag…” I began, brushing myself down, then found myself staring into the wrong end of a pistol. “Ah.”

“You are under arrest, Ms Lockhart.”

Wondering what in Gods’ names I was thinking and asking myself how did I get in this pickle and how was I going to extrapolate myself legally (or perhaps not legally), I leapt from the basket…

 

Earlier that month.

I was at a party held by Lord and Lady Wendover for various dignitaries of the Germanic States and Kingdoms; Dukes, Counts, minor Princes and representatives of Bavaria, Saxony, Hessen-Kassel and so on. Not normally the sort of gathering I would attend, but I was the guest of Lady Celia Fox, an occasional employer and somewhat friend who did have these connections and it was something I needed to do if I was to get the authorisation required to fly over or travel through the Germanic and Austrian Kingdoms and Principalities to Bohemia. There was some political shenanigans afoot at the moment, something about Unification, borders were closed or having tolls put on them. It simply got in the way of where I wanted to go and what I wanted to do. And so Lady C had got me through the door, it was up to me to get the papers.

There was a general din of chatter and laughter, deep conversation and tinkling of glassware. I had spoken to a number of persons in smart attire, military uniform and the usual executive attire, getting nowhere when I was directed to a slight, officious looking individual with black hair slicked across his forehead and a sash of office brightening an otherwise dour ensemble. Herr Kutz was one of those self-important, bigoted little jobsworths. He enjoyed the power of denying.  I smiled politely through clenched jaw whilst envisioning him naked, tied to the underside of the Professor Selwyn as we flew low over a thorny forest.

“…and so Fraulein Lockhart, it is with deepest regret that I must turn down your application. And,” he paused for effect, “as Generalinspekeur, (he pronounced his G hard as in goolie) there is no-one higher than myself to grant you the authority, my apologies.” He clicked his heels smartly, bowed and departed. I resisted the urge to kick his skinny backside.   

Music flowed from the ballroom yonder, I made my way through the chattering masses, smiling occasional acknowledgement until I reached the huge, open double doorway.

“May I offer you a fresh glass ma’am?” came the mechanical voice of the automated flunky as it proffered a silver platter replete with tall stemmed champagne glasses. I took two, immediately downed the first and carried the remainder with me into the noise-some, sweaty masses. Skirting the edge of the dance floor I spotted Lady Celia twirling with evident joy, with an elderly gent bent almost double with the weight of platinum, gold, silver and tin on his chest. A possible future husband –albeit briefly- for the two times widow. When the polonaise ended she gently drew the ancient with her to where I stood and introduced Field Marshall Marmaduke M. Pettiford. OBE. Informed of my failure to acquire travel and digging authorisation, Lady Celia suggested I take a turn around the floor with the gent over there with the rigid expression. From the relatively small principality of Saxe-Gotha, Graf Frederik was immensely wealthy and known to patronise enterprising persons who impressed him. I prepared to impress.

Graf Frederik von Saxe-Coburg clicked his heels smartly, inclined his head ever so slightly whilst his lips brushed the back of my hand ever so briefly. He looked like he had had his suit ironed with him inside.

“Fraulein.”

“Count.”

“Would you care to dance?” His English was almost perfect, clipped with a hint of Prussian or Bavarian, unlike the guttural accents of Herr Kutz. Lady C smiled as I was led off, she winked cheekily. The Count danced very well, but without feeling, formal like his speech. His hand rested on my waist rather than held it, my hand in his cool one felt like it was resting on one of those fake ones for soldiers who had theirs blown off in the wars. I had to double check – no, it was real. We chatted in a limited way about our lives, mine being that of an ‘extricater of valuables’ in the employ of the Royal Geographic Society, and Lady Celia on occasion, and his being that of an inordinately wealthy, privileged stuffed shirt. When we separated and he had bid farewell with an annoying click of his highly polished, knee length leather boots, I sought out Lady Celia.

“He’s married.” I declared.

“So?” Lady Celia smiled.

“Happily!” I stated.

“Well? You’ve never let it stop you before.”

She did have a point.

 

 

To be continued…