Chapter Eight

The dirt track stretched in both directions, bisecting farmland that extended as far as the eye could see.

“Do you have any idea where we are or where we’re going?” I had to ask.

“West, like I told you,” said Miss Pepper. “That’s where we’re headed. As to where we are right now, gee...” She sucked in air. “I can’t say for sure.”

“Brilliant. Are we anywhere near Boston?”

“Will you forget about Boston? Your - Cuthbert is in peril.”

“Madam, I have an obligation-”

“You have an obligation to your man!”

“Madam, do not presume-”

“Oh, blow it out your ass! Look, you know and I know you want to get him back. And I want to clear my name and get my invention the recognition it deserves - that I deserve, goddamn it.”

“It appears we are bound together then, in a figurative sense.”

“Well, I don’t like it no more than you do. Come on, then, bucko. This way.”

“Why not that way?”

“The sun, dummy! I don’t know where you come from but around here it rises in the east, so therefore, we keep it at our backs in the morning, if we want to go west.”

“I suppose that’s aviator talk.”

“It’s just common sense. Now, button your lip and walk in front of me. You’re dressed as a servant; you must act like one.”

I was appalled. “Madam - I-”

“That’s quite enough, Hector,” she used my first name with relish. “You will do as I say or you may never see your man alive again.”

Man alive, indeed!

* * *

We made an unpleasant discovery at the side of the track: the body of a man in a chequered shirt and grubby dungarees. The farmer.

“Your employer really is a murderer,” I observed.

“No, he’s not,” snapped Miss Pepper. “Not my employer, I mean. I wish I had never met the scoundrel.”

“But then you would still be struggling with your contraption.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I would have come across another backer.”

“Madam, how you raise funds is none of my business.”

“Damn it! I should have held out. I should have approached someone else. Have you never been tempted by the devil, Mr Mortlake?”

“I can happily say I have never encountered the blighter. And, if I did, I would sit him down to tea and crumpets and advise him not to be such a bad egg.”

“That should put him in his place,” she muttered. “Look, I want to get my plans and papers back. I can’t apply for a patent without them.”

“Can’t you just draw up some more?”

Her face fell. “Don’t you think I’ve tried? But the calculations - I don’t remember them.”

“Then you must endeavour to rebuild your contraption from scratch.”

Her shoulders slumped. “Have you ever lost a manuscript and had to rewrite a story from scratch? I don’t have the resources to start over. And time is against me now. There’s these two guys out in Ohio. Brothers. They’re not far off making heavier-than-air flight possible.”

“But you got there first.”

Her lower lip protruded. “And nobody knows it. And there’ll be no point once those guys get airborne.”

“I can appreciate your frustration, Miss Pepper; I really can. I once had an idea for a novel about a man who changes his personality by imbibing a potion of his own concoction.”

“His what now?”

“His own making. I was mortified when my publisher pointed out that some Johnny-come-lately by the name of Stevenson had already written the thing. And made quite a success of it, thank you very much. But come on, you must admit... it’s not quite the done thing, is it?”

“What isn’t?”

“Well... Lady inventors. Aviatrixes or whatever you call yourself. It’s not cricket.”

“You’re right!” she snarled. “It ain’t cricket. What I know about cricket is it’s the most boring game in the world, played by stuffed shirts and chauvinists. Don’t you talk to me about cricket, Mr Mortlake! I’m going to get back my papers and I’m going to fly and all the world is going to know that a woman did it first.”

She stormed off ahead. One-Eyed Helen’s skirts hampered her progress somewhat. After a few yards, she stopped.

“Ain’t you going to follow me, you dumb shmuck? Ain’t you going to save your little boyfriend?”

I hurried to her side, gesturing for her to keep her voice down. My eyes darted in all directions. There didn’t seem to be anyone for miles around but one can never be too careful.

We resumed our walking in a charged silence. The track led us between the perimeter fences of two fields. To our right wheat was growing - or barley, or something - while to our left, it was barley - or wheat, or something else. I am no agricultural expert. Whatever it was, was waving prettily in a breeze, rippling like an inviting golden sea... There’s a simile without ducks in it, Miss Pepper, especially for you.

Inevitably, she was compelled to speak again.

“You don’t like women very much, do you?”

An outrageous accusation! I find the other sex perfectly tolerable - on occasion and from a distance.

I bristled and blustered. “Madam, just because I may take exception to one particular specimen,” I gave her a hard stare, “does not mean I am averse to the entire kit and caboodle.”

“You take exception to me, then?”

“I did not say that,” I forced myself not to back away. “But you have embroiled my valet and I in some dangerous business and you shall receive no thanks for that.”

She shook her incredulous head. “I got you embroiled?”

“You are gracious to acknowledge it.”

“Listen, Mister. I saved your ass. I unembroiled you or disembroiled you or whatever the fancy pants word for it is. You were already involved. Your boyf - your valet knew the boy in the box, didn’t he?”

Ah.

I conceded she had a point.

“Like it or don’t but we’re in this together, Mortlake. We can help each other rescue what we need and then go our separate ways. Let’s not make things tougher than they already are by being snide and crotchety.”

“Very well.” I bowed.

“And you can cut the sarcasm too!”

“With pleasure.”

“I’m serious, Mortlake!”

We continued on. At length, the track opened out onto a lane, and the lane gave out onto a road and, about five miles along the road, we came to a small settlement by no means large enough to be deemed a town and nothing like the picturesque country hamlets that dear England does so prettily.

A haphazard group of shacks and shabby business premises lined the road. There was a ‘feed store’ and a ‘general mercantile’ and heaven knows what else. Honestly, what these people do to the English language on a widespread and daily basis is enough to curdle one’s milk of human kindness. There was also a hostelry, which, Miss Pepper informed me, was called a ‘road house’. It made me pine for a good old English pub in the Cotswolds perhaps or even the wilds of Oxfordshire.

“Quit daydreaming!” she swatted at me with the back of her hand. “We’ll stop here for a bit for refreshments. Use the rest room.”

“Madam, this is not time for lying down.”

“I mean, the bathroom.”

“Aren’t we already in enough hot water?”

She growled. She actually growled. It reminded me of dog-headed Tommy. I pointed out that even here in Hicksville, Sticks County, it might not be seemly for a - a - woman to be seen in a bar.

“Hogwash!” she scorned, and then her expression changed. “I’ve got another idea. You go in and get the drinks: there’s something I want to check out.”

I pointed out that I had no cash and my chequebook was in a hotel room in New York City.

Shaking her fiery locks yet again, she stepped toward me and without warning delved her fingers into the pocket of my - that is to say, Cuthbert’s - waistcoat. She withdrew a leather object: Cuthbert’s coin purse. She slapped it into my hand and without another word, disappeared around the rear of the unsavoury tavern. I was dumbfounded.

It occurred to me to see how well off for funds we were. I opened the purse. American banknotes and coins are alien to me. The currency is like toy money but the people readily accept it as though it is worth something. There was not enough to, say, finance a flying machine, but there was ample for a round of drinks and a spot of luncheon - although what manner of fare might be served in an establishment as squalid as this, I hesitated to imagine.