Mike & Karen Ch. 29

"Just so," the countess agreed, smiling to Theresa as her glass got filled as well. There were no ready indications to her earlier activities either. She was sitting at the corner beside Karen, insisting on having no place of distinction when the meal was informal. As far as she was concerned, Mike and Karen sat at the table ends, as was proper, and the situation now. She liked feeling like she was just part of the gaggle. "Halfway between Lynton and Ilfracombe, there are a few tiny villages south of my estate, and most of our excitement consists of keeping the little boys from trying to poach quail from my grounds. Chased off more than a few myself, actually."

"That must've scared them, Aunt Jen," Alex mused. "They wouldn't be expecting you."

"Oh, I had to do something to make it amusing for myself," Jenny said, thinking back to an incident. "Since pursuing them constantly seemed time-consuming and pointless, I decided to set a trap."

"Well, I never heard about charges, so clearly nothing too catastrophic occurred," Karen sighed, shaking her head and settling in for a Jenny story. The staff members who were all present all went quiet, waiting to be transported. Mike was paying attention, and he nodded to her. "Please, countess, continue."

"So I happen to own a Victorian funeral carriage..." Jen began.

"Oh, Jen, no," Karen interjected, wrinkling her nose is distaste. "You don't still have that horrid thing, do you?"

Jenny smirked. "It was a gift from Vicky, Kat, to help us give my great-great grandfather Lucius Penrose a proper sendoff. And I know for a fact that the Blackwells still own the one that she gave them. What was that for?"

Karen rolled her eyes. "You know perfectly well it was for when Captain Thomas Blackwell got himself slaughtered during the Charge of the Light Brigade at Balaclava, Penrose. You never grew tired of making me recount the tale when we were younger."

"Is that his cavalry helmet that looks like it got flattened by a steamroller?" Alex asked. "The one in your Quebec office on your wall behind the glass plate."

"No, that's Aldous Blackwell, he was killed by a flying camel in the Anglo-Persian War at the Battle of Khushab. It's the cuirassier's jacket in the Wellington Study that is perforated with lance and bayonet tears that belongs to Thomas," Karen corrected, shaking her head. "Once he was unhorsed when the charge faltered, he stood up and fought against the Russians and the Uhlans amongst the artillery the Brigade had tried to take. He kept jumping and running around, laying about with his saber like Gulliver amongst the Lilliputians, until he bled to death, stuck like a pincushion. On the other hand, he was irritating the Russians so badly that Baron Raglan had a chance to retreat. The massacre could have been worse. The Queen gave my family the carriage as a tribute, since she couldn't give him the Victoria Cross posthumously the following year, because the charge had been a disastrous blunder. The Uhlans were so scared of him that they gave the Brigade back his body, uniform, and saber."

"Oh, that jacket," Alex said, grinning. He knew all this already, he just loved needling his mother. "I used to slip it off the mannequin bust when gramps and Jordan weren't looking and see which holes I could peek through."

"Is there any chance we're going to let Penrose talk about her terrorizing the children of Devonshire?" Karen groused. She got tired of talking about how the Blackwell men of days gone by would get themselves killed in spectacular or absurd ways.

"Thank you, Kat," Jenny said airily, enjoying her friend's grumbling. "As I was saying, I still have the funeral carriage Vicky gifted us."

"Is Lucifer still in it?" Jeanie asked, looking curious.

"Lucius, lovey, but close enough, so I'm told," Jenny replied, smiling warmly at the brunette. She adored Freja and Jeanie, they were completely nuts. "In any event, it was sitting near the edge of my property..."

***

Heatherly Hall, bordering the thorpe of Lickey End, Devonshire, 2012...

"There they are," one boy whispered to the others as they hid behind the bushes. "It's a whole platoon of 'em, too."

"I don' think they's called a platoom, Georgie," one of the other young rapscallions said, looking where the boy named Georgie had pointed. Sure enough, a rather large covey of quails could be seen on the grass not far away, on the other side of a stout row of trees, poplars and oaks. The trees formed the property line for the lady who lived in the big old mansion way up the hill. The land was all hers, she was a duchess or something.

"Shu'up and let's go get 'em," Georgie hissed.

"But she don' like it when we creeps up on her land," protested another. "She'll call alla 'em servants t'chase us off. They threatened to tell me mum."

"Then you stay b'hind, chicken," sneered Georgie, already pulling out his little slingshot. "Them quail's're braver'n you, Pete."

"Ain't not!" huffed the slighted boy, colouring at the statement. "I'll go!"

There were six of the little monsters, and they were planning to bag at least one bird each. They'd been told by the people in Lickey to stay off the lady's property, that the quails belonged to her. Georgie didn't care, he wanted 'em. The dumb birds had strayed off the property, that made 'em fair game. Just because they'd gone back onto it was irrelevant in his mind.

It didn't matter that it wasn't even quite dusk yet, the sun still westering. Nobody told Georgie Cobbledick what he could and couldn't do.

"Let's go..." he said quietly but firmly. He moved out from behind the row of bushes and began to creep forward, followed by another four young boys.

Some distance beyond the treeline, the property of the duchess stood over them, protected by a ha-ha embankment. Undeterred, Georgie and his comrades scurried forward, using the earthen wall to conceal themselves. After they gathered their nerves, they scaled the carved stones that braced the earthen wall, rolling onto the soft grass nearly two meters overhead. Twilight was falling, and the giant mansion and the other houses were still a long way away. They weren't afraid of being seen at this hour.

They kept low, creeping along in the direction they'd seen the quails go once they'd flown over the ha-ha. Then they saw a large black shape up ahead, sitting in the middle of the grass, and it gave them pause. They crowded near Georgie, staring at the wheeled thing.

"Wh- whassat, Georgie?" asked one boy quietly.

"It's a carriage, stupid," grunted the ringleader.

"It looks old and scary," the boy named Pete said. It was clearly a carriage, but it was all black and looked like a creepy death buggy he'd seen in one of his older brother's horror movies.

"Who cares?" Georgie said, shaking his head. "Look, the birds're underneath it, an' they're eating. This is our chance."

"What're they eatin' if it's under that thing?" asked another boy.

"It don't matter, they're sittin' still," Georgie hissed. "Lookit 'em go, I'll bet we can get right up to 'em and ping 'em off point-blank. Let's go..."

He crept forward, his comrades somewhat more reluctantly so, but not wanting to be left behind. The sky overhead was dark grey, and they weren't going to be spotted, but getting closer to the weird carriage made some of them uneasy. Undeterred, Georgie kept moving forward, his little homemade slingshot in his hand, just in case he needed to use it quickly.

As they approached the carriage, they could see it clearly now. It was indeed a four-wheeled carriage and wagon, made of wood painted black. It had carved figures around it, all of whom looked like they were in mourning, wearing shrouds. Each of the corners of the thing's roof had what looked like an urn fixed in place. Pete shivered, they reminded him of the urn on his family's mantle they kept his tima in.

It looked old. It looked creepy. But it was blessedly still. The quails just kept eating.

"Got 'em," Georgie said as he got close. He couldn't believe the stupid birds still hadn't noticed him, he was so close. He was maybe two or three feet from the carriage, hunkered low. The other boys gathered around him. "Get ready, we're only gonna get one shot at this."

The other boys pulled out their little slingshots or the smooth rocks they were holding, getting ready. Each of them quietly pointed at the bird they intended to kill. A cruel smile crept over Georgie's face as he watched his prey intently, inserting the rock into the pouch and drawing back on it. He wondered if the feathers would burst off or if he he'd see only blood when it hit the-

Suddenly the doors of the carriage flew open, and a pale figure in a tattered white bridal gown let loose an unholy screech as it leaned out, giving the boys a baleful glare.

The only thing that scattered faster than the quails were the boys.

The figure in white had leapt out of the carriage and rampaged around the manicured lawn, still wailing and chasing the boys, most of whom sped directly back the way they'd come, launching themselves off the ha-ha and plunging through the tree line. Other vengeful apparitions in white had followed the first horror out of the funeral carriage and were pursuing the boys, who had lost their sense of direction and running about madly in circles, screaming and crying.

"Give me back my hearrrrrrrrt!" an undead bride with dark hair wailed as she futilely grasped at one boy, who finally picked a direction to flee and used it.

Not more than twenty seconds had passed before all the boys were off the property, speeding back toward Lickey End, and the safety of their mothers' arms. It would be many months before any of them even contemplated looking in the direction of Heatherly again.

Laughter now dominated the endless sward of grass up behind the ha-ha wall, with the spooky apparitions all collapsing on the ground together as they tried to regain control of their diaphragms. The tallest apparition, the one that jumped out initially and had long blonde hair, fell down to her butt, leaning back against the one with the dark hair, both of them laughing.

"Oh, God, Jen!" wheezed the brunette, her undead mascara running from the tears she couldn't help shedding in mirth. "I can't believe we did that!"

"It had to be done, Mill," Jenny breathed, still elated with how well that had gone off. True, it might be some time before they saw the poor quails again, but hopefully they had shorter memories than the boys. "Those little sprogs had it coming. What if they kept killing my beautiful babies? They're not just for the hunting season revenue, you know."

"I was happy to play a part," Millie admitted, leaning her head back on her sister's shoulder and looking at the darkening sky. "Think there'll be any fallout about it?"

"Evelyn?" Jenny called over to one of her servant girls who had taken part. Evelyn was rather spirited and mischievous, so she was only too happy to take part. "Are there any broken and crippled children's bodies lying at the foot of the ha-ha?"

"No, my lady," the girl replied, walking back toward the Penrose girls, but wearing a displeased expression and waving her hand in front of her face. "But one of 'em seemed to lose his shorts in the jump. Shat himself, too."

Jenny shrugged. "I've asked the villagers repeatedly to keep the little wankers off my property, and I didn't want to involve the local constabulary."

She looked at another girl, who was kneeling nearby, trying to arrest her laughing. "Brenda, you rent a little flat in Lickey, what do you think?"

"Gotta admit, mum," the young woman said, clasping her hand to her chest. "Nobody'll feel bad for 'em, if they even believe 'em. You're right, the brats had that coming. I don't care if Reginald disapproves of this sport and gives us all shite for it, it was so worth it!"

"Just try not to smirk too much while he scolds you, ladies," Jenny said, finally standing and then pulling her sister to her feet. "It wouldn't do for him to begin worrying that he wasn't a source of moral authority around here, would it?"

The girls all laughed as they began the trek back to Heatherly Hall, flush with their triumph over the forces of Lickey evil. Jenny and Millie held hands as they walked.

"Are we in for a scolding from Reginald for doing this, Jen?" Millie asked quietly, with a smirk. "Not going to get my bum spanked, am I?"

"Alas, no, my love," Jenny sighed. "You and I are above the law in these matters, just a reproachful look."

"Bugger," Millie said, followed by a giggle. "Not that I've been on the receiving end of any since papa used to take me over his knee."

"And that used to happen precious little in any event, since you were always so well-behaved," Jenny pointed out, squeezing her younger sister's hand. "I seemed to always be getting the arse beatings, you may recall."

"That wouldn't have anything to do with you going out of your way to make him barking mad with your antics, would it?" Millie teased. "Like the time he caught you in the barn with the stable boy and ho-"

"Gods save us, it'll take forever to get all this ghastly ghostly makeup off," Jenny remarked, looking down at herself. Her skin had been powdered an unearthly white-blue, her eyes ringed with dark makeup, her lips painted almost black. She was wearing what looked like a long white wedding dress, tattered and torn, with a white shift beneath for modesty. She wanted to scare the little blighters, not corrupt them, after all.

"Yes, how terrible for you, sitting in a tub while several girls wash you clean," Millie sighed. "Your life is such a trial, Jennifer Penrose."

"Unless you're offering to wash me, that is," Jenny added, giving her a wink. "I'll happily accept that."

Millie laughed and hugged her sister's arm. "You have a deal, Lady Greymoor."

***

Blackwell Manor, the present...

Everyone in the room was still laughing as Jenny finished recounting her tale. Even Karen was tittering prettily behind her hand. Like Karen's husband, son, and baby sister, Jenny loved to make people laugh, just for the sake of it. She was something of a ham, it had always been one of the things Karen loved about her. Karen was droll, and she had a dry wit that made people laugh, but she wasn't a comical bard like the other members of their little family.

"I must admit, Michael, that sounds like something you would do behind my back," Karen suggested, smirking at her husband, sitting at the other end of the table. "Maybe you and Penrose were separated at birth."

"Would that make dad a Penrose, or Aunt Jen a DeBourne?" Alex asked, grinning.

"One dreads the thought either way," Karen sighed, shaking her head now. "Michael would be an absolute terror as a member of the British aristocracy, and your aunt as a DeBourne seems almost ludicrous."

"I could just marry into the clan," Jenny ventured, winking at Mike. "What do you say, wallah? Shall you, Kat, and I move to Salt Lake City?"

"Forget it, you harlot, you can share my son with Alli," Karen said, making Jenny burst out laughing while Alexa tried (and failed) to look offended. "Like we aren't annoying enough for our neighbours."

"Nuh-uh, Fre'n'me have dibs on being second wife if Alex is ever up for grabs," Jeanie pointed out. "We've earned it."

"You can't just skankadoodle your way to the top of the list, Jeanie," Alexa shot back, getting into the spirit of being contrary.

"I'll tell you what Kar doesn't miss from the old neighbourhood," Mike interjected, taking control of the conversation and getting it back on track. Everyone was reeled in again, knowing that the derailing shenanigans were over. Karen and Jordan both seemed thankful for that. "Even in Kleinburg, we still had garage sales."

"Oh, do not get me started on the garage sales," Karen sighed loudly, holding out her after-dinner coffee cup. Theresa filled it, but added a quick spot of brandy as well with the clotted cream. She could tell it was necessary, and it wasn't even time for the lady's nightcap yet. "Horrible things, rifling through people's secondhand disposables. You never know if they'd cleaned anything properly. What if they'd had bedbugs? What an appalling concept. Why do they think Sotheby's and estate auctions were created?"

"To be fair, every once in a while, someone has something that turns out to be an incredible treasure they didn't know about," Mike said, shrugging.

"Y'mean like Blong?" Alex asked.

"Oh, not Blong..." Jordan groaned, shaking his head.

"No, very specifically not Blong," Karen said firmly, giving her son a look. "Blong was the furthest thing from your father's mind when he meant treasures. He was alluding to what people thought was a tacky plaster bust turning out to be a Roman artifact, or someone had a priceless painting hidden behind a lithograph of dogs playing poker and didn't know it. Not Blong."

"What's a Blong?" Alexa asked, raising her eyebrow.

"I miss Blong," Alex sighed, looking wistful and slightly despondent.

There was silence at the table while Karen looked at Mike, some silent communication passing between them. With a look of resignation, Mike nodded.

"Alex," he said finally. "B3, Room Charlie, right corner, under about three billion heavy boxes."

"Really, dad?!" Alex exclaimed, shooting to his feet, his blue eyes flashing with excitement. He got up so quickly that Jeanie and Alexa both reared away, while Valentina jumped back, squeaking in alarm. "Aw, yes! Thanks!"

With that, the young man was out of the dining room like a bullet, his dinner forgotten. Theresa frowned at the plate and then out at the hallway he'd disappeared down. He was already out of sight.

"I didn't think anything except Alexa could pull that boy away from his food," she said, shaking her head. "Whatever this 'Blong' is, it's clearly more precious than life itself to him."

Jordan just stared at the table with a hint of despair. He thought this chapter was (b)long behind them all.

"I still don't know what a Blong is," Alexa insisted, looking confused. "Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?"

Karen sipped her spiked coffee, mentally washing her hands of what came next. "Best follow him then, Alli. And not to seem indelicate, but you should be ready to show him the goods, or you may never get him back up here..."

Still puzzled, Alexa stood and wandered off after her nephew-husband.

Jordan gave Mike and Karen both a sour look. "You kept that abomination?"

***

Sub-Basement 3, Room 3, the right corner of the room...

By the time Alexa got down there, Alex already seemed to have moved aside more boxes than the Chinese army might have managed. He was pulling yet more boxes aside eagerly, almost as if he meant to toss them over his shoulder. He showed no indication of noticing her arrival, so intent was his focus on the quest at hand.

"Oooffffff..." she grunted as she tried to move one of the boxes he'd seemed to discard so casually. They weighed a ton! She knew Alex was strong, she let him rag-doll her a lot during their sex, but he must have been on some kind of adrenaline rush at this point. The box she'd tried to move must have weighed at least forty kilograms.

What on earth was this Blong that had him so excited?

She tried to move in and look, but couldn't see if he had a hard-on.

Alexa looked at the labels of some of the proofed and sealed boxes he'd strewn about as he burrowed forward relentlessly. Neatly labeled, many were full of collections of vinyl records, all categorized and awaiting transfer to a new medium. She promised to make this a project of hers, she loved vinyl.

Other boxes were labeled as containing model kits, and still others indicated that they were full of books. There must have been thousands of books and records in this room! Alexa wanted to get Karen to come down here with her and begin exploring.