The Complete Adventures of Victoria Neaves & Romney Read online

  The Adventures of

  Victoria Neaves and Romney

  Michael White

  Copyright © 2016 by Michael White / EDP. All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this publication may be replicated, redistributed, or given away in any form without the prior written consent of the author/publisher or the terms relayed to you herein.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or generally lurking around a steam funnel is completely coincidental.

  The author can be contacted via the links below.

  Website: www.mikewhiteauthor.co.uk

  Email: [email protected]

  Twitter: @mikewhiteauthor

  Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B006Y7JHCK

  By The Same Author

  Paul McCartney’s Coat and Other Stories

  Liverpool

  Anyone

  A Challenging Game of Crumble

  Into the Light

  Book One: Lost in Translation

  Into the Light

  Book Two: The Road of the Sun

  Back to The Light

  Book One: The Shadow Lords of Old

  A Bad Case of Sigbins

  Bee’s Knees

  The Adventures of Victoria Neaves and Romney:

  Book One: Victoriana

  Book Two: The Strange Case of the Denwick Beauchamp Fairies

  Book Three: The Vanished Man

  Book Four: The Clockwork Thief of Crickenden Broadwick

  Book Five: Romney’s Day Off (June 2016)

  Book Six: The Abbot Bowthorpe Dependables (July 2016)

  Scrapbook

  The Waiting Room (August 2016)

  Overboard! (September 2016)

  To my sister Lisa,

  (Who saw a series when I didn’t have a clue…)

  To whom I shall now have to be especially nice as she

  Seems to have a never ending supply of pictures of

  Me as a child…

  Contents

  Victoriana

  The strange Case of the Denwick Beauchamp Fairies

  The Vanished Man

  The Cinder Path

  The Clockwork Thief of Crickenden Broadwick

  Romney’s Day Off

  The Abbot Bowthorpe Dependables

  Victoriana

  Widdengham Manor, Buckinghamshire

  London 1883

  “To the casual observer, the age of steam and the subsequent industrial revolution was to revolutionise the structure of Great Britain in almost every fundamental way. This time saw the rise of the middle class and the entrenchment of the upper class. The working class moved from rural employment to factories and mills. Towns and docks and harbours grew around the industries that the steam engine created to cater for them, and there it could have stopped.

  The Difference engine however created by Sir Charles Babbage was the first indication that the industrial revolution could head beyond industry, and with the completion of the Analytical Engine in 1834 a new revolution began to take place: this was the age of the technocrat, and the computational engines began to proliferate and become more commonplace. Machines that could think and make decisions, driven by steam and mechanisms of wood and brass, the likes of which had never been seen before. This was a very British revolution however. Queen Victoria sat upon her throne and saw her country grow to dominate the world, her trade and technology so advanced beyond any other that computational devices were common and in most well to do homes. Yet the workforce was needed even more, and outstripped the supply. By the middle of the nineteenth century drastic measures had to be taken by her majesty’s government and the working classes were placed in designated areas, their currency being their availability for work in the factories and mills, the computational engines and the data sheds that they produced. The poor house was the start of this process, but with the new technology it was greatly expanded, and now all of the working classes were under the jurisdiction of the local mill and factory owners, the true drivers of this data fed industrial age. In the skies above London, Zeppelins filled the air, swollen with lighter than air gas and flame, and on the ground even the most trivial of items were gathered and improved upon by the computational engines. This was the age of steam, yes, but it was also the age of the analytical engines, and they made Britain the greatest power that the world has ever known.”

  (Taken from “Great Britain - A History”

  by William Rothschild)

  ***

  Victoria Neaves stood in the ballroom of the great hall in Widdengham Manor, staring at the vast array of people gathered there, the floor being filled with dancers parading about in their finest, the small orchestra nearby loud but not overly so, the room being large enough to absorb the sound relatively easily.

  Yet all of these people made the room stuffy, the air clinging. It was a warm July evening and the doors that led out to the balconies around the outside of the manor hall were wide open, revealing lit gas lamps illuminating the open areas, the darkness held at bay by the lanterns therein.

  “Canape?” said a brass clad butler as he wandered past, waving a tray to her.

  “No thank you.” she said politely, moving within the throng towards the windows. As she did so she caught a view of herself in one of the mirrors at either end of the hall. She was not so tall as such, five foot one or so, and slim. She had long blonde hair that currently was pinned in a bun on her head but she knew that if she released it then it would come half way down her back. At her neck hung a short tiger's eye necklace, the large orange stone inert but not overly ostentatious. Her ball gown was long and a dark shade of lilac, her cosmetics matching perfectly. The gown was ruffled high at her neck and pooled about her ankles, covering her small but well-rounded figure completely. She smiled at herself, realising just how attractive she was, which was useful.

  “Ah. Victoria. There you are.” said a voice nearby and she smiled, recognising her suitor who had accompanied her to the ball, George Rushden.

  “George.” she smiled, half apologetically, “We seemed to have become separated.”

  “Indeed.” said George stiffly, failing to keep the edge of annoyance out of his voice. “Still. You are here now.” She smiled, and linking arms with him began to move towards the balconies outside, taking him with her. “Fresh air.” she smiled, and George responded in kind, being dragged along as they went.

  “George!” called a voice as they exited the ballroom and went out onto the gas lit balcony. “George!” repeated the voice, more insistently this time and Victoria saw George colour somewhat as a tall, handlebar mustached young man came pushing through the crowds of people towards them, brandishing what appeared to be a bread roll. Victoria assessed him quickly. He was red cheeked, eyes bright and wide. Either it was laudanum or he had taken too much to drink already.

  “Rupert.” said George flatly, as Victoria hung to his arm, smiling widely at the newcomer.

  “George, old chap!” said Rupert, clapping George rather roughly on the back. “Fancy seeing you here! Rather dull so far though, don’t you think?”

  “Oh I don’t know! It all seems to be going quite well.” said George, trying to push his way past the man who was not having any of it at all.

  “Perhaps you should introduce us?” said Victoria, smiling sweetly at Rupert who, noticing her for the first time, beamed a smile at her.

  “I say.” he spluttered, “Things are looking up! Where did you find such
a filly, George you old dog?”

  “Quite.” said George, his lips white and closed firmly. “Victoria. This is Rupert Widdengham, the son and I should point out, heir to these fine premises.” Rupert gave a deep mock bow and Victoria giggled. “Rupert, this is Victoria Neaves. She is a secretary from the guild of Steam operatives. My father’s guild if you recall.”

  “Quite.” said Rupert. “A secretary eh?” He looked down his nose at Victoria, sneering almost as he did so. “Quite a well-connected group of people you are mingling with tonight I would hasten to suggest.”

  “Oh yes sir.” said Victoria. “Quite a privilege I would say.”

  “Of that there is no doubt.” said Rupert, winking at George as he did so. “So is she a marvelous cook or just good between the sheets then old man?” he smiled. George blushed, but Victoria looked at her feet as if in recognition that here she had no say and was just really part of the furniture as far as these two men - or indeed most of the men in the room - would attest.

  “Well I needed a partner for this evening and Miss Neaves was available. She was very obliged to attend.”

  “Well no doubt you will see just how obliged later George.” laughed Rupert, leering at Victoria. “Perhaps you could go to the tables and bring us a sandwich or two from the buffet miss Neaves? We have man’s talk to attend to, if you will.”

  “Certainly sir.” said Victoria, and bowing to both George and Rupert, made her way to the table.

  “Give her one for me old man.” she heard Rupert laugh as she walked away, and George laughed too.

  “She seems a bit of a cold fish really.” she heard George say before concluding, “I will see if I can warm her up later perhaps.”

  Once at the banqueting table she selected two plates, piling several sandwiches onto each, arranging them nicely and then slowly and carefully returning to the two men who were leaning in close, deep in conversation. She stood beside them with the plates for a moment or two and then she gave a small polite cough, the two men startling as she did so. Rupert at least seemed to have forgotten that she had been there at all, but nevertheless he snatched a plate off her and examined the sandwiches carefully, peeling back the bread to inspect their contents.

  “No ham?” he tutted loudly and sighed, “Perhaps I should go look myself. Never set a woman to do a man's job.” he sneered, and George smiled at him as if this was the funniest thing he had ever heard.

  “I didn’t see any.” said Victoria quietly, a tremor in her voice. “Shall I go and look again? Perhaps there is someone I could ask?”

  “No matter.” said George loudly. “These will suffice.”

  “If I may be excused I need to powder my nose.” she said, sounding as if she was about to burst into tears.

  “Very well.” said George through a mouth full of food. “Just don’t be long. I will need your services sooner rather than later.”

  “Oh I should say so!” roared Rupert from behind Victoria as she crossed the veranda and entered the ballroom once again. It was very hot in here she thought, and so skirted around the edge of the room, avoiding the dancers as she did so. She exited the ballroom and saw a small line of ladies and gentlemen walking off to her right towards the east wing and no doubt the location of the nearest water closets. She looked at them to check nobody was watching her, and then walked left instead, opening a large set of double doors and slipping inside the west wing, closing the doors behind her.

  She was standing in a small wainscot corridor, lined with portraits of frowning no doubt Widdengham ancestors, and she walked quickly past them, exiting the corridor through another set of doors, and sure that nobody was about, entered the next room.

  This room was enormous. It was dome shaped and rose she estimated hastily a good ninety feet above her head, a skylight allowing moonlight through the glass that puddled on the floor before her. There were a few gas lights around the circular edges of the huge room but the analytical engine that ran the house was no doubt tuned to keep them at a low level.

  She walked towards the centre of the room. It had no discernible purpose that she could determine. It was empty of furniture, though there were several bookcases and sculptures dotted around the edge of the room.

  She walked forward and as she did so touched a small clasp at the top of her gown, and as she did so the dress fell from her, falling to the floor. She was clad underneath in a black steel lined jumpsuit; lightly armoured but lightweight. Easy to move in. At her waist was a wide belt and she pulled from it now a set of thin black gloves and put them on, an audible click being apparent as they fitted into place.

  Next from her belt she removed a small glass phial, and uncorking it she threw the contents over the gown that lay at her feet, moving carefully back from it as she did so. The gown was specially treated, and as the chemical hit it dark smoke rose from the cloth and it quickly disintegrated until there was nothing left of her dress at all, not even ash.

  She pulled at the necklace at her neck and the orange stone changed colour, turning a deep crimson colour, almost the colour of blood.

  “All those damnable weeks in the typing pool.” she said out loud, “Trying to get noticed. All of that bloody typing and rolling eyes. Dear gods of the seventh level. I thought I was going to go insane!”

  She touched a small almost invisible switch on her glove and a small rope on a line shot into the air as if stirred by a rifle, landing in the roof high above her, just below the skylight, embedding itself into the masonry and brickwork easily.

  “Hold on Romney.” she said, clutching the amulet about her neck, and with a rapid movement

  the wire lodged in the roof began to shrink and as it did so she shot up into the air, winched above the room by the wire, and as she reached the roof she was travelling at quite a speed, and pressing another concealed button on her glove she swung up, shattering the glass and exiting onto the roof.

  “Nice work.” said a voice from the amulet, chuckling softly to itself. “I knew you were too good to be a bloody typist.”

  “Oh god shut up Romney.” she said, and began to run across the roof, completely unseen; as silent as a shadow.

  ***

  “The Licensing of Séance’s and the Rise of Demonology”

  “The rise of interest in matters occult and arcane was at first scoffed at by the engineers of Great Britain's new technocracy, but like most scientists, the engineer’s curiosity was peaked and so studies began into the multitude of séances that were running like wild fire throughout the country. The discoveries made were astounding, the future of the country changed forever. It was discovered that the seven circles of demonology were real, and that was power there that could be used; harnessed. Thus the establishment threw itself with great fervour into capitalising on this new area of science. The arrival of the first demonological powered computational engine was in itself astounding. That it was also completely sentient was beyond the wildest hopes of an emerging science. The higher circles of demonology were as would be expected aloof and unreachable, but at the lower circles of seven through to five the demons encountered there were malleable; of distinct use. Soon it was discovered how to bind them, to combine them with current science, and so demon driven clocks and timers were suddenly commonplace. This though was just the tip of the iceberg, for the demons seemed to enjoy being bound, to be of use, and used they were, from common household appliances to weapons and methods of warfare. The evolution of these devices when it came was sudden and expansive. There were rumours of certain professional societies conducting experiments with demons from the higher circles, but that was never confirmed by any of them, for to do so would force the other societies to concur that they were lagging behind in some way. It came as no surprise in 1861 then that the government passed a law that all séance’s were to be licensed, and this law was conducted with great expedience. No exceptions were allowed at all under pain of death.”

  (Taken from “Great Britain - A History”

  by
William Rothschild)

  Victoria raced along the apex of the roof in the moonlight, heading west along the very top of the great manor towards the single highest tower that was now a mere hundred yards ahead of her, bright lights shining from within.

  “Got to give it to them guv.” said the amulet, its voice heard only by Victoria, not because she was alone on the roof, but because the demon inside the amulet was bound to her and her alone. “They’re not taking any chances with whatever they’ve got hidden in that ruddy tower.”

  “Guards?” she said.

  “Two by the door and three guarding a plinth in the centre of the room. There’s a small wooden brass box there.”

  ‘What’s in it?” she asked, slowing her pace as she reached the tower, the windows of which were just ten feet or so above her now.

  “It’s hidden.” said the demon Romney from inside the amulet. “It’s giving me a bloody headache too, I can tell you if I try and have a gander.”

  “Okay.” she said. “Leave it then. None of our business really. We just need to get the box. Whatever is in it is the business of the steelworker’s society and nobody else’s.”

  “Okay.” said the demon as Victoria reached into her belt and pulled out a small round object, and with a swing threw it deftly towards the window. It hit the frosted glass and smashed it easily, dropping into the room below. There was a brief sound of commotion from within the tower and then silence.

  Victoria flicked her glove again and the grapnel hook shot from her glove and hit the roof, and she allowed it to pull her from the tiles and towards the window, where she stuck her legs out before her, arrow-like, and upon hitting the glass the window smashed completely and she somersaulted into the room, landing deftly on the floor inside besides the plinth on which stood a small carefully engraved box.