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Fic (unfinished) Doctor Who: Not of the Yard Chapter One; Ada Gillyflower
Disclaimer: not mine
Rating: PG13? Reference to murders, eviscerated corpses, Victorian values.
Fandom: Doctor Who
Character: Ada Gillyflower
Length: 2800+
Summary: Ada aids in an investigation (part one of lord knows) of the strange and disturbing
Notes: written for the Disability Challenge at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
womenverse and thoroughly unbeta'd and unfinished, seeing as it has developed the inklings of a plot. Also part of personal fanon that Vastra and Jenny co-adopted her, in a manner of speaking (and use her as a detective when another pair of legs are required)
Not of the Yard
Chapter One: In Which There are Dead Bodies and Intrigue
by ALC Punk!
"It's raining," said the man who had come to collect her.
Ada tilted her head, listening to the patter of the drops as they splashed into the road outside of her half-open window. There was the distant hustle and bustle of people, too busy to pause for a mere rainstorm, splashing through puddles as they hurried on their way. Water on dirt and stonework was a distinctive smell that washed away the perpetual stench of London. As a child, she used to love the rain. Always sneaking out and whirling round until she was dizzy and wet, tangling her bare feet in the mud churned up, as she held her hands to the sky.
"Yes," she replied, standing and avoiding the hand he was probably holding out. They always worried that she wouldn't be able to find her way. Her stick tapped lightly against his boot, then she strode towards the door, confident as ever. "I can hear it."
She was used to this, of course. People always saw her lack of eyes before the woman behind them. Only her Monster had seen through to who she was. Her own Mama--but she wasn't going to think of her Mama. Ada had promised herself that, when she stood in the rocket silo the stench of death and smoke around her.
Mama would have called her weak for even grieving.
I do not miss you.
Not a lie, if one didn't think too hard about it.
"The people you need to talk to, they're in the room as you requested." He might have been panting for how fast his words tumbled over themselves as he tried to keep up with her.
"Good. I shall need your arm for the stairs, please." Pausing at the top, she crooked her arm and waited.
If he were a better man than she was giving him credit for--his fingers touched her elbow, hesitant, then more sure when she did not turn into something unexpected or push a knife through his ribs. Too fanciful a thought, she ought to rein herself in. "The steps are not even."
Her lips twitched up on one side, but she didn't point out that she would have remembered this from her ascent. She merely allowed him to steady her as she moved from step to step, the stick in her free hand tapping a quick staccato as she built the picture of the un-carpeted stairs in her mind.
When they reached the bottom, she turned to the left, stick sweeping out and catching the fabric of a skirt.
"Oh!" The woman sounded more startled than offended.
"My apologies," Ada murmured, inclining her head and turning slightly to move around her.
The hand on her arm pulled her gently to the right, directing without forcing. Perhaps he wasn't as idiotic as she'd first thought. Ada allowed the movement and quickened her pace ever-so-slightly.
"Are there many people in the lobby?" She asked as they neared the end of the corridor. To cross the lobby would be more difficult if she had to be steered further. She wondered if these people were allowed to use the lushly carpeted stair in the center that led up to the grand ballroom she had only heard of but never seen.
"Merely a few reading papers and conversing," he responded quietly. "A few gawkers were there earlier, but they've been ejected as bad for hotel publicity."
"Quite."
"May I ask--" pulling her to a halt, he murmured. "It is not my place, miss, but--"
"You are correct." There were many things she hated about being reliant on others. But her ability to keep herself in one piece was not one of them. Ada stepped forward onto the brushed wood flooring of the lobby with its runner (her stick warned her of that a moment later) of what was probably a dark red carpet, bringing him with her. "You are owed little explanation."
The imperiousness would almost have impressed Mama. Ada flushed at the thought, wondering if this man had a name. It wasn't entirely his fault that he was saddled with her company. Like so many, he was at the beck and call of another. Mama would have called him weak for such a position.
"Perhaps--"
Whatever he had planned to say was interrupted as the police inspector came across to meet them, the scent of tobacco and sweat rolling before him. Ada did not wrinkle her nose. "Inspector."
"Miss Gillyflower." The sound of hair brushing silk told her he'd taken off his hat and inclined his head. "Are you sure about this?"
Her mouth quirked up to one side again, and she tapped the floor between his feet. "You know of my interests in this matter, Inspector."
A sigh escaped him, bringing with it onions and stale beer. "I do, miss. And you've been recommended by none better than Madame Vastra."
Though she would always be grateful to Vastra and Jenny, Ada could sometimes wish Vastra didn't cause such peculiar awe in men such as the inspector. Still, it was only a small cross to bear, and perhaps there were other women who caused such awe in him. Ada simply hadn't met them while in his company.
She squared her shoulders. "Take me to them, please."
Silent until now, her escort shifted and murmured, "One step up, miss, in about five paces. Then a turn to the left."
"Thank you. I'm sorry, I don't believe we've been introduced." It was rather rude after all, to not at least acknowledge him as a person in his own right.
"Jenkins, miss. Gerald Jenkins."
The step up wasn't anymore difficult than the stairs down had been and Ada concentrated on the turn, stick sweeping in front of her and catching on the leg of what must have been a table or chair before she pulled it back a bit to free it. "You won't be needed beyond the threshold, Mr. Jenkins," she said as they reached the door to the ballroom. If the inspector were trying to bar her from what lay beyond, this young man most certainly didn't need to be exposed to it.
"Quite right," announced the inspector, and she wondered if he were looking at her hand on Gerald Jenkins' arm, or possibly blocking the way. The smell of onions was perceptibly stronger. "This is police business, young man."
The fingers lightly resting upon her arm stiffened, but Mr. Jenkins merely lifted her hand and set it on the frame of the door. "You will ring if you need anything, miss."
Not a question. She felt that smile again, half-quirked lips, and turned her head to give the impression of gazing upon him. "You have my word."
Then the inspector had her other arm, tangling in her stick and she was moved beyond the threshold and onto the ringing clicks of the parquet and the stench of fear and blood. She pulled free of him and drew in a breath. "Please, tell me what is before me in detail."
The first time Ada had followed Vastra to a scene of crime, she'd felt revolted without having to see a thing. The smell of blood had caught at the back of her throat, reminding her of the scars on her face when they were new, the taste of defeat. It had been something Ada had to push past, to overcome. Just as her lack of eyesight was an obstacle, as her gender made those around her defer in the wrong ways, so was this one more thing to box up and rise above.
Mama would have been proud. She didn't feel the urge to heave anymore as the scent of blood thickened with that undercurrent of urine, bile and intestine. Someone had, more than one, had been torn to shreds.
As he narrated, the inspector confirmed her initial impression.
Three men lay dead in the room, their innards scattered with no care. One was missing his head, another his hands. The third seemed to be intact, but Ada wondered which of his insides would turn up missing when the coroner ran his catalogue. She would have to remember to ask.
"One of the maids described a screaming, grinding noise. She has been sedated due to hysteria." The inspector finally concluded.
Ada shifted her stick, and the end caught in something. Prodding, she frowned. "I am unsurprised. Nevertheless, I will speak with her at a later date." The tip of her stick sunk further into the object and she shook it free after realizing it was part of one of the unfortunates' innards. "I would suggest the coroner review all items belonging to the men--there will be something missing from the last one, something that isn't immediately apparent."
"Yes, miss."
Drawing in a deeper breath was almost a mistake, but Ada had noticed something, some trace... The blood and bowel stench were overwhelming, almost enough to send her from the room, retching.
And then she caught it. Just a hint.
Swinging around, she drew in another breath. There, stronger.
Perhaps a hound would have been able to follow it as well, but Ada found herself picking her way across the dead men until she reached one of the windows. "Has this been opened recently?"
The inspector made a noise, then replied. "No. It's been closed since this room was found, correct sergeant?"
Another male voice, this one almost resentful-sounding, and Ada wondered if her being there was a thorn in the man's side or if he just didn't like being trapped in a room with three mangled corpses. "Correct, sir."
Leaning into the curtains, she drew in one last deep breath and held it, trying to place the elusive thread of scent that was tickling at the back of her brain. Almost jasmine, yet not rich enough. Too soft for rose, too perfumed for a daisy--
Hyacinth.
Ada's eyes flew open, though she could see nothing and the lashes clicked against each other when she closed them again.
Someone had been in and out of the window, and the scent was dissipating, so it had been recent. "The killer came and left through this window."
"It's locked. From the inside." Definitely resentment against her, then. The sergeant didn't sound particularly polite as he continued, "Which you'd be able to see, if you weren't--"
"That's enough, Tompkins." The inspector snapped, cutting across the man's words.
"No, he's right. I would have noticed." Reaching out, Ada traced careful fingers over the sill, the top and sides and bottom, then onto the glass. She touched with even more care until the pads of her fingers found what she was looking for. She swept them along the line, then around the corner and down the side. "However, this window has been cut open and replaced."
And she wondered why. Such a delicate operation for someone intent on heinous murder.
Dropping her hand and stepping back carefully, she allowed the inspector to view the window and its square-cut opening. Just large enough for a small man or a normal-sized woman.
Why replace the window? Ada wondered that as she began making her way back to the door of the room. Halfway there, she paused, stick brushing against some part of one the corpses, and bent. Her fingers touched matted hair, blood-slick and sticky, and then skin. She found the man's eyes gaping open and his mouth closed, moved on to his neck and stopped.
Her fingers pressed over the column of his throat, feeling the torn and gaping edges of the wound there. And what wasn't.
She straightened, rubbing her fingers absently against the handkerchief tucked into her wristband. "Inspector, I think you'll find this man is missing his voice-box."
With that, mild pronouncement, she continued to the door without stopping.
"Miss--" the youngest man in the room, voice rusty with that raw edge that told her he'd lost his lunch, breakfast and supper of the night before. "Let me get the porter--"
"It's all right, lad. I shall find my way easily."
Her fingertips were still slightly sticky with blood when she touched the doorknob. She ignored the sensation and pulled on the latch, slipping through the small gap quickly and closing it behind her.
The stench of blood was still too-close, and she took in a steadying breath of the rather more perfumed and dusty air of the corridor. There was someone else there, shuffling from foot to foot. The sound steadied her almost more than the fresh air. her fingers tightened on her stick before she identified the slight scent of sweat, boot-polish and off-brand Bay Rum.
"Mr. Jenkins?" Ada knew he was still there, though she doubted he'd realized that. "I should like a pot of tea sent to my room. And some of those buns the kitchen is so good at, if you please."
His feet stilled. "Will you require an escort, miss?"
"No, I think I shall be fine. But thank you." She started forward, then stilled as his fingers brushed her arm. "Mr. Jenkins?"
"Your skirt, miss." Quickly, he mumbled, "It's streaked with blood. I don't think you should go through the lobby in such a state."
Blast. And she thought she'd avoided most of the blood. She drew in another breath, then gave a swift nod, "Take me the back way, if you please."
"This way--" he took her arm again, as gently as before.
He went up slightly in her estimation, that he didn't flinch at the scars she felt daily upon her face nor push and prod her as though she were a recalcitrant bolster to be shoved into the correct configuration. Perhaps it was merely good manners on his part. Then again, she decided as they stepped into a corridor that didn't lead the right direction, he could easily have been leading her somewhere improper.
"Mr. Jenkins," she murmured as he paused and she could hear a key in a lock. "Just where are we going?"
"It's not safe in your room." The words were quiet, the hand on her arm shifting, as though he were considering gripping it tightly. "Couldn't say so before. We've got to get out of the hotel, get round the corner before they suspect--"
There was a footstep behind them, and Ada tilted her head. The scrape of a boot, the scratch of a match being lit heralded the stench of a cigar a moment later. "Jenkins."
"Mr. Denton, sir." His voice all deference, Jenkins' hand was shaking on her arm now. "What can I do for you?"
"You can start," purred the voice. Oily, unctuous, the way it rolled reminded Ada of some of the priests Mama had listened to before striking out upon her own. "You can start, dear boy, by explaining yourself."
Ada straightened her back and pasted a serene smile upon her face as she stepped forward towards the scent of a back alley that had probably seen better days. "Mr. Jenkins, once you have escorted me you may return to your duties here. I'm sure the hotel will understand. I am a guest, after all."
Refusing to acknowledge this Denton character who clearly thought too much of himself, she tapped her stick ahead, gauging the distance and height of the door jamb before stepping forward. She brought Jenkins with her, perforce, as though it were natural.
She felt him half-bow and he mumbled, "I shall return soon, sir."
Then they were in the alley, the cobbles twisting beneath Ada's feet, though she kept herself mostly dignified as she strode forward, stick swinging quickly from side to side.
Neither of them spoke until they'd reached the crossing into the open street and turned away from the hotel. Ada waited a half-block before murmuring, "Check carefully--try not to look as though you are--is there someone following us?" For some reason, she felt the terrible urge to ask if there was "something" following them, but she wouldn't give in to such hysteria.
Really, her imagination was simply being fanciful.
She felt Jenkins shift, and he replied. "Can't tell. Don't think so, though."
"Good man. Now, Gerald--I do hope you don't find me forward to use your given name--we must make haste to the residence of Madame Vastra." Ada quickened her steps as they crossed a street.
"She'll help us, then?"
It wasn't the moment to tell him that Vastra was currently out of town on another investigation. Besides, the house was very well-maintained. There were weapons as well as locks to keep out any unsavory characters. "Quite. In a manner of speaking. If you hail a cab, I believe I shall have sufficient funds to get us there."
"Faster than walkin', at least."
"Yes." Amused, she paused as he hailed their conveyance. Time would come to discover if there was more to this man who didn't cavil at leaving his job nor in smuggling someone out of his place of work.
But for now, the puzzle of Mr. Denton.
As they settled on the worn upholstery of the carriage, she considered her approach and decided upon the direct. "Tell me about Mr. Denton, Gerald."
-tbc-
Rating: PG13? Reference to murders, eviscerated corpses, Victorian values.
Fandom: Doctor Who
Character: Ada Gillyflower
Length: 2800+
Summary: Ada aids in an investigation (part one of lord knows) of the strange and disturbing
Notes: written for the Disability Challenge at
womenverse and thoroughly unbeta'd and unfinished, seeing as it has developed the inklings of a plot. Also part of personal fanon that Vastra and Jenny co-adopted her, in a manner of speaking (and use her as a detective when another pair of legs are required)Not of the Yard
Chapter One: In Which There are Dead Bodies and Intrigue
by ALC Punk!
"It's raining," said the man who had come to collect her.
Ada tilted her head, listening to the patter of the drops as they splashed into the road outside of her half-open window. There was the distant hustle and bustle of people, too busy to pause for a mere rainstorm, splashing through puddles as they hurried on their way. Water on dirt and stonework was a distinctive smell that washed away the perpetual stench of London. As a child, she used to love the rain. Always sneaking out and whirling round until she was dizzy and wet, tangling her bare feet in the mud churned up, as she held her hands to the sky.
"Yes," she replied, standing and avoiding the hand he was probably holding out. They always worried that she wouldn't be able to find her way. Her stick tapped lightly against his boot, then she strode towards the door, confident as ever. "I can hear it."
She was used to this, of course. People always saw her lack of eyes before the woman behind them. Only her Monster had seen through to who she was. Her own Mama--but she wasn't going to think of her Mama. Ada had promised herself that, when she stood in the rocket silo the stench of death and smoke around her.
Mama would have called her weak for even grieving.
I do not miss you.
Not a lie, if one didn't think too hard about it.
"The people you need to talk to, they're in the room as you requested." He might have been panting for how fast his words tumbled over themselves as he tried to keep up with her.
"Good. I shall need your arm for the stairs, please." Pausing at the top, she crooked her arm and waited.
If he were a better man than she was giving him credit for--his fingers touched her elbow, hesitant, then more sure when she did not turn into something unexpected or push a knife through his ribs. Too fanciful a thought, she ought to rein herself in. "The steps are not even."
Her lips twitched up on one side, but she didn't point out that she would have remembered this from her ascent. She merely allowed him to steady her as she moved from step to step, the stick in her free hand tapping a quick staccato as she built the picture of the un-carpeted stairs in her mind.
When they reached the bottom, she turned to the left, stick sweeping out and catching the fabric of a skirt.
"Oh!" The woman sounded more startled than offended.
"My apologies," Ada murmured, inclining her head and turning slightly to move around her.
The hand on her arm pulled her gently to the right, directing without forcing. Perhaps he wasn't as idiotic as she'd first thought. Ada allowed the movement and quickened her pace ever-so-slightly.
"Are there many people in the lobby?" She asked as they neared the end of the corridor. To cross the lobby would be more difficult if she had to be steered further. She wondered if these people were allowed to use the lushly carpeted stair in the center that led up to the grand ballroom she had only heard of but never seen.
"Merely a few reading papers and conversing," he responded quietly. "A few gawkers were there earlier, but they've been ejected as bad for hotel publicity."
"Quite."
"May I ask--" pulling her to a halt, he murmured. "It is not my place, miss, but--"
"You are correct." There were many things she hated about being reliant on others. But her ability to keep herself in one piece was not one of them. Ada stepped forward onto the brushed wood flooring of the lobby with its runner (her stick warned her of that a moment later) of what was probably a dark red carpet, bringing him with her. "You are owed little explanation."
The imperiousness would almost have impressed Mama. Ada flushed at the thought, wondering if this man had a name. It wasn't entirely his fault that he was saddled with her company. Like so many, he was at the beck and call of another. Mama would have called him weak for such a position.
"Perhaps--"
Whatever he had planned to say was interrupted as the police inspector came across to meet them, the scent of tobacco and sweat rolling before him. Ada did not wrinkle her nose. "Inspector."
"Miss Gillyflower." The sound of hair brushing silk told her he'd taken off his hat and inclined his head. "Are you sure about this?"
Her mouth quirked up to one side again, and she tapped the floor between his feet. "You know of my interests in this matter, Inspector."
A sigh escaped him, bringing with it onions and stale beer. "I do, miss. And you've been recommended by none better than Madame Vastra."
Though she would always be grateful to Vastra and Jenny, Ada could sometimes wish Vastra didn't cause such peculiar awe in men such as the inspector. Still, it was only a small cross to bear, and perhaps there were other women who caused such awe in him. Ada simply hadn't met them while in his company.
She squared her shoulders. "Take me to them, please."
Silent until now, her escort shifted and murmured, "One step up, miss, in about five paces. Then a turn to the left."
"Thank you. I'm sorry, I don't believe we've been introduced." It was rather rude after all, to not at least acknowledge him as a person in his own right.
"Jenkins, miss. Gerald Jenkins."
The step up wasn't anymore difficult than the stairs down had been and Ada concentrated on the turn, stick sweeping in front of her and catching on the leg of what must have been a table or chair before she pulled it back a bit to free it. "You won't be needed beyond the threshold, Mr. Jenkins," she said as they reached the door to the ballroom. If the inspector were trying to bar her from what lay beyond, this young man most certainly didn't need to be exposed to it.
"Quite right," announced the inspector, and she wondered if he were looking at her hand on Gerald Jenkins' arm, or possibly blocking the way. The smell of onions was perceptibly stronger. "This is police business, young man."
The fingers lightly resting upon her arm stiffened, but Mr. Jenkins merely lifted her hand and set it on the frame of the door. "You will ring if you need anything, miss."
Not a question. She felt that smile again, half-quirked lips, and turned her head to give the impression of gazing upon him. "You have my word."
Then the inspector had her other arm, tangling in her stick and she was moved beyond the threshold and onto the ringing clicks of the parquet and the stench of fear and blood. She pulled free of him and drew in a breath. "Please, tell me what is before me in detail."
The first time Ada had followed Vastra to a scene of crime, she'd felt revolted without having to see a thing. The smell of blood had caught at the back of her throat, reminding her of the scars on her face when they were new, the taste of defeat. It had been something Ada had to push past, to overcome. Just as her lack of eyesight was an obstacle, as her gender made those around her defer in the wrong ways, so was this one more thing to box up and rise above.
Mama would have been proud. She didn't feel the urge to heave anymore as the scent of blood thickened with that undercurrent of urine, bile and intestine. Someone had, more than one, had been torn to shreds.
As he narrated, the inspector confirmed her initial impression.
Three men lay dead in the room, their innards scattered with no care. One was missing his head, another his hands. The third seemed to be intact, but Ada wondered which of his insides would turn up missing when the coroner ran his catalogue. She would have to remember to ask.
"One of the maids described a screaming, grinding noise. She has been sedated due to hysteria." The inspector finally concluded.
Ada shifted her stick, and the end caught in something. Prodding, she frowned. "I am unsurprised. Nevertheless, I will speak with her at a later date." The tip of her stick sunk further into the object and she shook it free after realizing it was part of one of the unfortunates' innards. "I would suggest the coroner review all items belonging to the men--there will be something missing from the last one, something that isn't immediately apparent."
"Yes, miss."
Drawing in a deeper breath was almost a mistake, but Ada had noticed something, some trace... The blood and bowel stench were overwhelming, almost enough to send her from the room, retching.
And then she caught it. Just a hint.
Swinging around, she drew in another breath. There, stronger.
Perhaps a hound would have been able to follow it as well, but Ada found herself picking her way across the dead men until she reached one of the windows. "Has this been opened recently?"
The inspector made a noise, then replied. "No. It's been closed since this room was found, correct sergeant?"
Another male voice, this one almost resentful-sounding, and Ada wondered if her being there was a thorn in the man's side or if he just didn't like being trapped in a room with three mangled corpses. "Correct, sir."
Leaning into the curtains, she drew in one last deep breath and held it, trying to place the elusive thread of scent that was tickling at the back of her brain. Almost jasmine, yet not rich enough. Too soft for rose, too perfumed for a daisy--
Hyacinth.
Ada's eyes flew open, though she could see nothing and the lashes clicked against each other when she closed them again.
Someone had been in and out of the window, and the scent was dissipating, so it had been recent. "The killer came and left through this window."
"It's locked. From the inside." Definitely resentment against her, then. The sergeant didn't sound particularly polite as he continued, "Which you'd be able to see, if you weren't--"
"That's enough, Tompkins." The inspector snapped, cutting across the man's words.
"No, he's right. I would have noticed." Reaching out, Ada traced careful fingers over the sill, the top and sides and bottom, then onto the glass. She touched with even more care until the pads of her fingers found what she was looking for. She swept them along the line, then around the corner and down the side. "However, this window has been cut open and replaced."
And she wondered why. Such a delicate operation for someone intent on heinous murder.
Dropping her hand and stepping back carefully, she allowed the inspector to view the window and its square-cut opening. Just large enough for a small man or a normal-sized woman.
Why replace the window? Ada wondered that as she began making her way back to the door of the room. Halfway there, she paused, stick brushing against some part of one the corpses, and bent. Her fingers touched matted hair, blood-slick and sticky, and then skin. She found the man's eyes gaping open and his mouth closed, moved on to his neck and stopped.
Her fingers pressed over the column of his throat, feeling the torn and gaping edges of the wound there. And what wasn't.
She straightened, rubbing her fingers absently against the handkerchief tucked into her wristband. "Inspector, I think you'll find this man is missing his voice-box."
With that, mild pronouncement, she continued to the door without stopping.
"Miss--" the youngest man in the room, voice rusty with that raw edge that told her he'd lost his lunch, breakfast and supper of the night before. "Let me get the porter--"
"It's all right, lad. I shall find my way easily."
Her fingertips were still slightly sticky with blood when she touched the doorknob. She ignored the sensation and pulled on the latch, slipping through the small gap quickly and closing it behind her.
The stench of blood was still too-close, and she took in a steadying breath of the rather more perfumed and dusty air of the corridor. There was someone else there, shuffling from foot to foot. The sound steadied her almost more than the fresh air. her fingers tightened on her stick before she identified the slight scent of sweat, boot-polish and off-brand Bay Rum.
"Mr. Jenkins?" Ada knew he was still there, though she doubted he'd realized that. "I should like a pot of tea sent to my room. And some of those buns the kitchen is so good at, if you please."
His feet stilled. "Will you require an escort, miss?"
"No, I think I shall be fine. But thank you." She started forward, then stilled as his fingers brushed her arm. "Mr. Jenkins?"
"Your skirt, miss." Quickly, he mumbled, "It's streaked with blood. I don't think you should go through the lobby in such a state."
Blast. And she thought she'd avoided most of the blood. She drew in another breath, then gave a swift nod, "Take me the back way, if you please."
"This way--" he took her arm again, as gently as before.
He went up slightly in her estimation, that he didn't flinch at the scars she felt daily upon her face nor push and prod her as though she were a recalcitrant bolster to be shoved into the correct configuration. Perhaps it was merely good manners on his part. Then again, she decided as they stepped into a corridor that didn't lead the right direction, he could easily have been leading her somewhere improper.
"Mr. Jenkins," she murmured as he paused and she could hear a key in a lock. "Just where are we going?"
"It's not safe in your room." The words were quiet, the hand on her arm shifting, as though he were considering gripping it tightly. "Couldn't say so before. We've got to get out of the hotel, get round the corner before they suspect--"
There was a footstep behind them, and Ada tilted her head. The scrape of a boot, the scratch of a match being lit heralded the stench of a cigar a moment later. "Jenkins."
"Mr. Denton, sir." His voice all deference, Jenkins' hand was shaking on her arm now. "What can I do for you?"
"You can start," purred the voice. Oily, unctuous, the way it rolled reminded Ada of some of the priests Mama had listened to before striking out upon her own. "You can start, dear boy, by explaining yourself."
Ada straightened her back and pasted a serene smile upon her face as she stepped forward towards the scent of a back alley that had probably seen better days. "Mr. Jenkins, once you have escorted me you may return to your duties here. I'm sure the hotel will understand. I am a guest, after all."
Refusing to acknowledge this Denton character who clearly thought too much of himself, she tapped her stick ahead, gauging the distance and height of the door jamb before stepping forward. She brought Jenkins with her, perforce, as though it were natural.
She felt him half-bow and he mumbled, "I shall return soon, sir."
Then they were in the alley, the cobbles twisting beneath Ada's feet, though she kept herself mostly dignified as she strode forward, stick swinging quickly from side to side.
Neither of them spoke until they'd reached the crossing into the open street and turned away from the hotel. Ada waited a half-block before murmuring, "Check carefully--try not to look as though you are--is there someone following us?" For some reason, she felt the terrible urge to ask if there was "something" following them, but she wouldn't give in to such hysteria.
Really, her imagination was simply being fanciful.
She felt Jenkins shift, and he replied. "Can't tell. Don't think so, though."
"Good man. Now, Gerald--I do hope you don't find me forward to use your given name--we must make haste to the residence of Madame Vastra." Ada quickened her steps as they crossed a street.
"She'll help us, then?"
It wasn't the moment to tell him that Vastra was currently out of town on another investigation. Besides, the house was very well-maintained. There were weapons as well as locks to keep out any unsavory characters. "Quite. In a manner of speaking. If you hail a cab, I believe I shall have sufficient funds to get us there."
"Faster than walkin', at least."
"Yes." Amused, she paused as he hailed their conveyance. Time would come to discover if there was more to this man who didn't cavil at leaving his job nor in smuggling someone out of his place of work.
But for now, the puzzle of Mr. Denton.
As they settled on the worn upholstery of the carriage, she considered her approach and decided upon the direct. "Tell me about Mr. Denton, Gerald."
-tbc-
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My fingers are very much crossed that I'll manage to plot out something with a decent resolution and pacing (all this Poirot watching may help).
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