A Study in Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 4) Read online

  “Yes, Ma’am! Gee, getting to lightly hold your hand in this manner as you step to the pier is a true honour, Ma’am!”

  “How sweet, Mr. Temperance.”

  “Uh, oh, Miss Plumtartt, there ain’t hardly enough docking platforms to accommodate all the various aircraft in the sky overhead, Ma’am.”

  “No Mr. Temperance. As collisions happen overhead with alarming frequency these days, the public is asked to be aware of aerial debris.”

  “Gosh!”

  “Mr. Temperance, please close your mouth and look to where I indicate. A commotion of sorts is moving in our direction.”

  “Yes, Ma’am, it appears to be a photographer. I can tell by his big, clunky camera and tripod that he rudely bangs into people with.”

  “Excuse me, pardon me, coming through, make way for the press.”

  “I say, might we be of assistance, young man, eh hem?”

  “Is this the world famous Persephone Plumtartt making her return to England after her many thrilling adventures from around the globe? Please forgive my forward behavior and allow me to introduce myself. My name is Parker Peters. I remember pictures of you in the papers and your receiving quite a bit of notoriety. I am a free lance photographer and I was hoping to capture a picture Miss Plumtartt for our readers if you don’t mind. Many quarters will be very happy to know that you are back on British soil.”

  “Why, of course, Mr. Peters. We shall pose for you thusly, eh hem?”

  “Oh, yes, that’s perfect Miss. Just ehhh, turn a bit like this... yes, … now tilt your head down a bit, that’s it. Now if your Beau could see to not hold onto you quite so tightly, yes, that’s almost it. Now sir if you could scoot back a tad, yes, that’s it. Now sir, a smidge to your right, yes, that’s good. Now just one more giant side step will clear you from my image completely.”

  “I think that I prefer to be pictured with Mr. Temperance, Mr. Peters.”

  “Ah, that’s okay, Miss Plumtartt. There ain’t no need to inflict my mug on an unsuspecting London readership.”

  “That’s it! I didn’t want to say the wrong thing and upset the little American chap, eh? Now Miss Plumtartt, if you could just bring yourself to scowl a bit...”

  “I beg your pardon, Mr. Peters?”

  “Scowl a bit. Oi’m sorry, you’ve been out of the country. See it’s the latest thing, roight? Instead of being happy, sad, serious, delirious or stern, this season, everyone’s going in for the extreme scowl.”

  “If it’s the trendy thing, you might oughter to do it, Ma’am.”

  “I am not sure I agree with this, but I do not wish to be difficult. How is this, then?”

  “That’s a pretty convincing scowl, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am, but I don’t think it really suits you.”

  In a puff of magnesium and potassium chlorate, Miss Plumtart is brilliantly, if starkly, illuminated for the photographer’s dry collodion plate.

  “Gee, Miss Plumtartt, you really are such a pretty girl, I know I’d sure like to get a copy of that photograph. Hey, Mr. Peters is already hurrying away through the crowds of the wharf without so much as a thank you.”

  “Oh, yoo, hoo, Parker Peters! For just what paper did you say you worked? We wish to see that picture in your paper!”

  “Hunh? Oh. Roight. Um. Oh! Yeah! It’ll sure to be in the sunrise edition of the Nightly Trumpet.”

  “The sunrise edition of the Nightly Trumpet? That doesn’t sound right to me, Miss Plumtartt.”

  Miss Plumtartt narrows her brows. “Nor to me, Mr. Temperance.”

  “Hey! Mr. Peters! Sorry, Miss Plumtartt, but the fellow has already disappeared amid the London throngs.”

  “I see.”

  “Oh, well, as a freelance photographer, he probably gets mixed up as to what paper he is actually taking pictures for, Ma’am.”

  “Eh hem, I am not satisfied with that explanation, Mr. Temperance.”

  “Well, maybe we oughtta just go on ahead and get ourselves to the hotel and then into some good eats at one of them British restaurants that you are always bragging about, Ma’am.”

  “Quite right, Mr. Temperance. We shall put the incident behind us as we travel by four wheel carriage to the Queen’s Hotel, located about halfway between St. James Park and Westminster Abbey. After registering and securing our separate rooms we may then go to dinner at one of London’s finest restaurants.”

  - - -

  “This here is the fanciest restaurant that I’ve ever been to, Ma’am. The Royal Baboon is a very upper crust establishment. Only the snobbiest of waiting staff are employed here. They take great delight in their haughty ridicule of the best of patrons. They’re having a field day with me.”

  “I believe their contempt to be a part of the ambiance, sir. I am not one for fancy fare, Mr. Temperance, just good, basic, wholesome British cooking for me. The Baboon name is synonymous with fine cuisine. We are sure to enjoy the very best of my country’s culinary delights.”

  “Why that sounds really nice, Miss Plumtartt. What do you recommend?”

  Beaming with good humor to be back on her own native soil, Miss Plumtartt happily helps to guide me on my gastronomic journey into what is sure to be the finest treat in cooking of my life.

  “Let us whet our appetite with a nice bowl of ‘Cullen Skink’. I know from personal experience that this chef serves the most handsome ‘Toad in Hole’ on this side of the river. I confess though, I intend to eat my fill of the Scottish dish, Haggis. They serve up great bags of it on lovely beds of neeps and tatties. Perhaps you hold out for Black Pudding served with Bubble and Squeak?”

  “That Black Pudding sounds pretty good. I sure like desserts! Are you okay, Miss Plumtartt? You just snorted your tea out your nose and back into your cup.”

  “I apologize, Mr. Temperance.”

  “Oh, that’s all right. You know, it’s been over a year since we were last in England, Miss Plumtartt. This city sure has changed a lot.”

  “Indeed, Mr. Temperance. From our home in Elderberry Pond, Father would often take me on excursions into London. There never seemed to be much change until the coming of the Revelatory Comet. My word, I suppose it has been a full seven years now since our planet had its astral encounter.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. The summer of 1869 and this world’s meeting of the Revelatory Comet was coming to a close about this time of August, seven years ago. When that Comet entered the solar system, circled the Sun and shot back around towards the Earth, I thought our number was up and that was gonna be it for this big beautiful world of ours.”

  “How very fortunate for our planet that the visitor from the voids missed our humble home. Instead, we traversed the magical tail of the Celestial Snowball. I am constantly amazed at the changes wrought by that fateful encounter. Sprinklings of genius touched so many lives. Certainly you, my dear Mr. Temperance, are among the many influenced by the Revelatory Comet’s pass. Your inventive genius astounds me; your modest blush endears me.”

  “Aw, shucks, Ma’am, I mean, gee whiz, thanks, Miss Plumtartt. Coming from you that sure is a fine and high compliment.”

  “Yet I must agree with you in your observations of the changes in the city of London. From what I can see of it through the thick clouds of coal smoke and soot, the confluence of spring, steam, and electric device now fill home and street.”

  “It’s an exciting time to be alive, and that’s for sure, Ma’am, but I am looking forward to seeing Plumtartt Manor again, and working to get her in top shape. When I visited before, the house had been mostly abandoned for some time. It was dark and we were harried by a horrible monster. Hopefully this will be a more pleasant visit.”

  “We can only hope so, Mr. Temperance, but I certainly foresee nothing more than a pleasant visit to the English countryside. I engaged an employment firm here in the city to send out a complete staff to prepare the house and help bring it back into order. A staff of perhaps fifteen, give or take, have come to us under the highest of recommendations. This actua
lly promises to be a most relaxing and soothing holiday after our own forays into unforeseen adventures.”

  “A little vacation to a fine old English mansion and estate sounds like a lot of fun, Miss Plumtartt.”

  - - -

  “After our brave journey into the dark heart of English cuisine, this here warm London night makes me feel as content as a cat in a butter cocoon, Ma’am.”

  “Indeed, Mr. Temperance, as we exit the Baboon, we are greeted with an uncharacteristically clear London sky.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “I say, as she twinkles with merry lights, I have never seen this busy city look more inviting.”

  “Yes, Ma’am, this here is as fine a city as there ever could be. Gosh, that is a fine and stately doorman this establishment has. Just look at all the gold ropes and shiny buttons on his coat! Listen to how authoritative he is.”

  “Snap to, snap to, driver! Let’s ’ave that carriage up ’ere at once!”

  ~ Clip-Clop. Clip-Clop. Clip-Clop. Clip-Clop. ~

  “I enjoy the hollow echo of the horses shoes on the cobblestones, Miss Plumtartt. The sound of the horses’ hooves on the pavement makes me think there is a magic pumpkin trotting forward to whisk me away with my enchanted princess.”

  “An endearing sentiment, Mr. Temperance, but I feel impelled to inform you that we do not reside in a Fairy Tale. This is the modern era, sir. The days of valiant knights on rampaging chargers, rescuing their damsels of distress is a thing from the far bygone era of chivalry.”

  “Yes, Ma’am, I reckon you’re right. Oh well, maybe this here doorman will at least let me open the door of the carriage. Excuse me, sir, I sure do like your ostrich feather commodore’s hat! Um, would it be okay if I opened the carriage door for Miss Plumtartt?”

  “I suhtainly caun’t blames ye for wanting to do that, suh, but if you allow me the privilege of holding the door, you then shall enjoy the privilege of assisting the beautiful young woman into the carriage with your own lucky hands then, eh?”

  “Gee, that sounds just swell, sir, thanks!”

  “Thank you gentlemen, now then, entering the carriage is simply a matter of getting my fashionable, if enormous, wide brimmed hat through the aperture, eh hem? Oh! My word, our doorman friend suddenly has a shocked look upon his face. His jaw drops open and his eyes grow as large as tea saucers.”

  An itchy tingling just inside the base of my skull tells my body to drop and duck. My instincts have already asserted themselves upon my body of their own free will before there is a chance for a thought to pass between my ears.

  That is fortunate; otherwise, a giant blade of steel would have passed between my ears as it cleaved my head a’twain.

  A tremendous, broad-bladed scimitar smashes into the carriage where my head was innocently awaiting.

  Who is trying to give me a cranial bifurcation?

  From here on the ground I can see he wears the split-toed moccasins of an Auriental secret assassin. He complements this with the voluminous pants one might associate with the Arabian Peninsula, the shirt of the buccaneer and the war paint of the American Indian. It is an India Indian head-dress that adorns his head. This is a wound up pile of shiny yellow cloth. I think it is referred to as a “Ture-bahn.”

  At this moment, he is trying to free his big Eastern weapon from where it has become stuck in the woodwork of our rented Landau.

  This boy tried to kill me! I better do something!

  My uppercut starts from the cobbles and does not end until it is well past the point of contact with my fashion flaunting friend’s chin.

  “Ow!”

  Punching baggy pants did not stop his mate from kicking me in the ear. As I am spun away from the carriage by the blow I see that my first intruder has several mates. They are all dressed in the same manner as the first, or at least to a certain extent. One wears the over the knee boots of some idealized fantasy pyrate below his Nipponese armor and Cherokee Indian head dress. Their chum has his head wrapped in black cloth but for a thin strip of exposure along the eye line.

  “Hear, hear! Behave yourself, you rascal!” insists my doorman friend as he clobbers one Bucca-neenja with a stout clout.

  “Shaddap, you old coot!” ~punch!~

  I try to cover up and roll with the punches and kicks that rain down upon me.

  “I say, that is uncalled for, you ruffians! It’s the business end of my parasol for you, you costumed bandits! Take that! And that! Here’s one for...glulgh!”

  Another of the bandits has entered from the opposite side of the carriage and roughly forces a folded handkerchief over Miss Plumtartt’s face. I surmise that hanky is soaked in chloroform because Miss Plumtartt’s long-lashed eyes immediately begin a furious fluttering and then close altogether as she slumps and is pulled back into the buggy.

  Another devilish dervish has mounted to the box.

  With a hysterical war cry, “Yee! Yip! Yip! Yip!” he callously flings the poor cabman from his perch, “Aieee!..Unh!” and takes up the reins. The fresh chauffeur whips the brace of horses that rear up in fear and panic and then break into an immediate gallop. The ruthless kidnap gang, one with a parting kick in the face to me, quickly board their stolen carriage and fly away down High Holbern, headed into London’s fashionable Western districts.

  They haven’t got far before I am up and making pursuit. They’ve got Pers... I mean, they’ve got Miss Plumtartt!

  “Golly, I ain’t never gonna catch those frightened horses on foot. I got to procure me some alternative transport, pronto!”

  There, across the street, I think I spy what I require. A Hansom cab driver is just finishing the rewinding process for the spring of his mechanical horse. He has just completed the last few clicks of a final rotation on the winding peg and is in the process of removing the shaft of this long key from the upper intersection of the creature’s hind quarters.

  The cabbie is facing away as I tip him out of the traces.

  “Sorry mister, I gotta commandeer your wagon!”

  Lowering the tail and disengaging the safety lock, I pull the release lever on the fresh-wound spring.

  I always wanted to try driving one of these, but not under these circumstances.

  “You dirty little American punk, what do you think you’re doing?”

  “As a guest in y’all’s country, I hate to be unfriendly but this is an emergency; therefore I am going to brandish this pistol at you in a threatening manner, sir.”

  Climbing up on the driver’s platform behind the cart, I take up the reins and work out the mechanics of engagement. Two hand levers present themselves with linkage traveling down and under the cab to either side of my spring-loaded Palomino. The one on my right extends down into the coachman’s platform through a metal plate. This plate has channels fashioned in the shape of a capital ‘H’. At this time, the rod that extends through is in the center beam. I’m thinking the opposite handle controls the spring’s ‘grip’, so I push this lever forward and then follow by maneuvering the right side lever to the left and forward into the top of the ‘H’’s high left position. Easing my left hand ‘grip’ back, I allow the mechanics to accept the engagement of the springs. The horse accepts the command and moves into a walk.

  Clink. . Clonk. . Clink. . Clonk. . Clink. . Clonk. .

  “C’mon Bessie, pick it up a little. We’re in a hurry,”

  My pleas of a faster pace fall on deaf, brass ears.

  The dastards are getting away with Miss Plumtartt! I need to quickly work out the controls of this engineered equine.

  Perhaps a pull directly downward upon the ratio engagement lever in conjunction with the left lever will encourage the golden girl into a trot.

  Clink-Clonk-Clink-Clonk-Clink-Clonk-Clink-Clonk

  That’s a little better, but I need a lot more.

  So far my mechanical instincts are working pretty well. My next move will be to push the spring’s ‘holder’ that clutches the sliding engagement mechanism with my left whi
le I shove the spring engagement ratio rod forward halfway, across the bar and then forward again to the top of the ‘H’’s high right quadrant.

  With the engagement of this mechanism, the cadence of my steed takes on a three part synchronization and a dramatic increase in speed.

  Clinkety-Clonk! Clinkety-Clonk! Clinkety-Clonk!

  Now that my friend Flicker is moving with a purpose, I concentrate on how to control her directions. The regular pull of the reins to the left and right seems to do the trick.

  We’re making better time, but it ain’t enough by a long shot. I have one more stage of increasing my pace to work through. I hope I can control this brass beauty. We are already moving faster than the rest of London’s traffic and it is all I can do to control this clockwork charger, but I gotta do, what I gotta do.

  I engage the next acceleration level. TinBiscuit achieves full gallop stage.

  Clinkety!-Clonkety! Clinkety!-Clonkety!

  Clinkety!-Clonkety! Clinkety!-Clonkety!

  ~CRISH! CRASH! CRUSH!~

  “Sorry, y’all! Oh, Iron Horsie, you’re a handful. I’m a visitor here and I shouldn’t oughtta be wrecking all these carriages and carts with the wheels and axles of this here fancy two-wheeler!”

  I fight to keep this steel stallion from smashing my fellow London traffickers, but I ain’t having much luck in this regard. Other carriages seem to be standing still as I fly past, with Scout’s hooves kicking up sparks from her steel moccasins’ fleeting contact with the London cobblestones. Women scream, “Eek!” and men look on disapprovingly “Burbity!” as blue helmeted bobbies blow their whistles ~Tweet!~ and shake their truncheons at my reckless passage.

  Now I can see the pirate infested kidnap carriage! Uh, oh, they see me too. Now they are increasing their speed.

  ~SMASH!~

  “Oh my Goodness, I sure am sorry, y’all! These dang ol’ axles are gonna get me and some innocent bystander killed!”

  { !} {I think I’ve got an idea!}

  I wonder if I would do any better if I abandoned the cab and rode the horse itself?

  “Wish me luck, Miss Daisy, I am ditching the wagon and jumping off of it and onto you. Here I come! Unh! I made it, girl! I’m gonna kick the linkages loose from either side of your flanks. I reckon controlling your speed might be a touch more difficult, now, but I ain’t worried none about slowing down.”