ic Earth Victoriana: Music Hall Mystery!

[Tiffany Korta]

Annice was careful to ask lots of important question about how everything worked as each layer of clothing went one. Madam Redpowder was a tantamount professional, but Annice could tell that she was getting frustrated answer questions that anyone her age so know. But it was important to know in case she had to stay a couple of days or had to redress in a hurry. Well you never knew!

But damn looking at her reflection she did look good. She couldn’t help but smile.

“Practically perfect in every way! You do a wicked makeover Madam Redpowder.†She waved at M “Okay I’m ready to start let go see where the gig is being held.â€

[Supercape]

GM

"Excellent!" replied M.

Later that evening...

There would be no show that day, but the director of the Music Hall, Mr. Bill Rattlepike, a thin man with a Faustian beard, beret, and affected manner, strode out to meet Annice at the Royal Median Music Hall, located in Greenwich bang on the median time line.

"Delighted to meet you" he said, his manner indicating quite the opposite.

"I do so hope you can carry a tune..." he said stiffly. "I have the reputation of the Royal Median Music Hall to consider. And the good name of Rattlepike" he showed her into the rather magnificent hall, full of push red curtains and seats in the upper galleries and boxes, and a pit of wooden stalls in the bottom.

"We cater for everyone here. And Ms. Wheatley was very popular, bless her. I am most concerned about her. I only agreed to this because it does offer some...remote...possibility of her recovery..."

[Tiffany Korta]

She stood on the stage looking out at all he seats feeling like she was six playing dressing up. It reminded her of when she first auditioned to be a star standing there looking nervously, until she had to open her mouth to sing.

What a lot of people forgot through all the vocoder and manufactured sound was that little Agnes could actually sing.

A song came to her there a personal favourite of her mother. She took a deep breath and began to sing.

“Baby, you understand me now

if sometimes you see that I'm mad.

Don't you know that no one alive can always be an angel?

When everything goes wrong, you see some bad.

But I'm just a soul whose intentions are good;

oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood.â€

[Supercape]

GM

"Rubbish! Absolute rubbish!" shouted Mr. Rattlepike. "What a dreadful racket! what a ghastly melody! augh! it insults my delicate ears. Where on earth did you here that awful song... I've never heard such atrocious piddle-paddle in my life. Oh! check my ears... are they bleeding? are they bleeding? I'm sure I can feel them bleeding!"

Mr. Rattlepike theatrically poked around in his ears and examined his finger tips.

"Well, I suppose you can just about hold a tune. But my gods, why did it have to be that one? By Apollo, why that one? something more jolly, something for the stage my dear, something uptempo, something...something gay godaamit!"

"tralalalala!" he sang, dancing his way to the stage.

"Anyway, I am sure Iris, our piano mistress, can surely provide you with something that actually entertains people. And of course, you must move, like so, and smile, like so", he said, making theatrical and exaggerated gestures. "Get the people to laugh with you...have presence..."

He sighed.

"Well, you aren't Ms. Wheatley, but then, who is, bless her heart. And you aren't any rouge or rapscallion of the street, either. Just a little rough around the egde's, that's all..."

[Tiffany Korta]

Not one of her best, but she was happy that she had done it. She listened with her best game face as Mr Rattlepike tore apart he entire performance. She had however been insulted and criticized by professionals; he had nothing on the undiluted bile of the red top critics at full steam.

Cause the fact she could launch him into orbit if she wanted help soften the blow.

She smiled sweetly.

“I’m not sure I can be quite as gay as you Mr Rattlepike, but I’ll try my best.†She tried to keep the ice out of her voice. “I feel sorry for your loss, I feel in some small way I understand the angelic Ms Wheatley.â€

[Supercape]

GM

Annice' platitudes seem to worm their way into Rattlepike. "Ah yes, my dear, but of course, who can replace Ms. Wheatly! if you have any chance of returning her safe and sound then you must do your utmost - and for that I applaud you. Now, I leave you in the hands of Iris, our pianist, whilst I attend to the details of the morrows show. I am sure M will attend to all the other fiddly non theatrical tediosities!"

He sang himself off, stage left.

"Tralalalala! ah do try an be more gay Ms. Annice!" his voice trailed off.

"Interesting character isn't he?" commentated M coughing gently. "A good director though. 'Rattlepike' my behind of course, his real name is William Smith. He just named himself after Shakespeare. Hahaha. Very funny" he added dryly without laughing. "Still, his success speaks for itself. "

"I have arranged board and lodgings for you at the Fat Goose Pub over the road. Not the best, not the worst. Its breakfast's are rather splendid, I am told, and the nights are rather raucous. Drunken actors, both working and between work, and associated patrons are known to frequent it. Fighting and singing are commonplace. I fancy you might enjoy it. Just don't turn up to the rehearsals tomorrow with a black eye or Madam Redpowder will blow a gasket. On that matter, I will send her round tommorow morning for a touch up. "

[Tiffany Korta]

Annice smiled as a thought crossed her mind.

“M… I assume that Ada was the kind of woman that would have been seen around town? If so wouldn’t it be a good idea for her to be seen in one of her old haunts? See if it shakes anything, or anyone, loose.â€

She gave one of her most charming smiles.

“Of cause I’ll need some spending money, I double they take US dollars around here. I assume that this job has some kind of expense account?â€

Just to settle the thing she gave her best puppy dog eyes and hoped that M was that kind of father who couldn’t read his daughters wishes, and couldn’t say no to them.

[Supercape]

GM

"A spiffing Idea" agreed M affably "and yes, I am sure the ministry can supply you with all expenses" he continued, reaching into his pocket for a purse jangling with the sound of pounds and shillings.

"Reasonable expenses that is..." he added.

Later, at the Fat Goose

The Fat Goose was indeed a good publican house, with good food and good lodgings. The publican and hotelier, wrapped into one, Mr. Peabody, was anything but, given the robustness of his physique and the roundness of his belly that had been cultivated by many years of beer consumption.

"And this is your bedroom, Ms. Wheatley. Just as you like it. I mus' say, nice to have you here again. I know you don't stay 'ere that orften, but you always bring in good custom when you stay. 'Opin to see you at the bar tonight, of course. I'll make sure the ruffians behave themselves..."

[Tiffany Korta]

It had been a while since she had been waited on hand and foot and she was going to enjoy it for all it was worth.

“Of cause Mr Peabody. With your fine food and drink I may even be inclined to join in a sing song. If you don’t mind me doing so of cause. And I’m sure no one will give me any trouble.â€

She gathered up her outdoor clothing and her umbrella, know the vagaries of the London weather.

“Before I partake of your fine establishment, I believe I shall take in the air and enjoy the sights of the fair city.â€

With that she left the Fat Goose to the cool early evening air of the city.

[Tiffany Korta]

The street looked like every Victorian street scene she ever seen, well apart from the few steam cars which chugged along the streets. And of cause the Airships lazily floating across the sky, but then what parallel world would be complete without Airships?

She considered a wander down towards the Thames to see if the river was as bad as she had read about during the Victorian age. A river in name only that resembled more unfortunate brown slurry, defiantly not something you’d want to swim down.

She considered just changing and flying around the city, enough of the city would be similar enough she could navigate it quite comfortably. But thought better of it, you didn’t want to face Madam Redpowder withering stare if she ruined her makeup job.

Instead she looked at the carefully written notes of Mr Peabody of the suitors who had requested to dine with Ada Wheatley, who look interesting enough to take luncheon with…

[Supercape]

GM

At Massala Mary's

TIme was short, but apparently one of Ms. Wheatley's favourite haunts, and favourite companions, was a Mr. Hector Trowel, an international entertainment organiser, who was big in developing wireless shows across the British Empire. Ms. Wheatley was more of a stage entertainer, but Mr. Trowel had pushed her in front of the microphone more than a few times.

Massala Mary's was nearby, the finest Indian restaurant in London apparently. Since the Indian continent was almost completely within the British Empire in this dimension, and more importantly actually got to vote for parliament (albeit in a weighted system that put them at a disadvantage), London in Earth Victoriana was even riper and more full of Indian culture than in Earth Prime.

And the food was excellent.

Mr. Trowel, a tall man with a mop of unruly black hair, of average build and dressed very well, approached Annice and offered his hand, whilst simultaneously adjusting his monocle.

"A pleasure to see you again, Ms. Wheatley, you look spiffing, as always!" he smiled.

[Tiffany Korta]

She had been worried that like Freedom City she wouldn’t be able to find decent curry in this version of London. Actually she been craving curry more since the change, she guess it had something to do with it being Britain’s favourite dish.

Looking at his face she tried to pitch the level of friendliest as she lightly took his hand.

“It’s a pleasure Mr Trowel. I’m so sorry I’ve been away for a while, I been a little under the weather.†She hoped the blank he was filling in would cover for any differences in her voice.

[Supercape]

GM

"Ah my Poor Ms. Wheatley, yes, your voice does sound a little...off..." he said, clicking his fingers at a turban wearing waiter who was dressed in an immaculate indian style suit.

"Chicken Tikka Massala, and a Gin and Tonic.." he ordered.

"Well, its been a rum old time..." he said, whittering on, and sipping his Gin rather generously. He ordered another, and another, in order to "aid the digestion". He waxed lyrical about the America's, the rowdy business he had had with the Texan free state. The problems with the Vatican censoring everything left right and centre in South America, and of grumbling revolution in Russia. He was closing down all business there.

"And how are you, my dear" he said, finally coming around to noticing his dining partner, as he tucked into what was a delicious curry. "I hope that voice of yours can hold up for today's performance. I quite fancied popping along to see you myself..."

[Tiffany Korta]

She wanted to just dive into her meal remembering she hadn’t had anything to eat all day. However she was sure that ladies didn’t wolf down there food. So she tried to eat the food as demurely as possible.

“I didn’t understand exactly what the good Doctor said. But a few more days rest and my voice should be as good as new. It may even improve my singing voice.â€

She waved he fork in the air.

“Of cause you must come to the first show, I insist. I’ll arrange for Mr Peabody have some tickets on the door.â€

She was looking forwards to seeing his face when she told him she had given away tickets.

“Oh say you’ll come?â€

[Supercape]

“Of cause you must come to the first show, I insist. I’ll arrange for Mr Peabody have some tickets on the door.â€

“Oh say you’ll come?â€

"Well, if you put it like that..." replied Trowell, smiling broadly and patting away the last vestiges of Chicken Tikka Massalla from his mouth with an immaculate napkin. His smile was charismatic and had the faintest hint of debauchery and lust in it.

"...how could I say no?"

He snapped his fingers and ordered another Gin and Tonic.

"And for you? Rum Totty, as normal?" he asked "good for the throat, I should imagine, if you are feeling a bit below the weather, opens the airways and all that. "

He ordered one anyway, without waiting for her reply, and then opened an ornate silver cigarillo box, lit up an outrageously long cigarette in an equally outrageously long cigarello, and again offered one to his companion with assurances that it would "open the airways".

[Tiffany Korta]

Ah she expected some of this pure culture clash, but what could she do? Saying anything would arouse suspicion. She’d just had to play along and hope he didn’t notice her discomfort.

She have to deal with the smoking too.

“Why Mr Trowel I’d love a Rum Totty. But just a small one.â€

Never having started the habit she had been spared the joys of standing out in cold enjoying a ciggie. But her it was as natural as breathing she guessed.

But it would be rude to just refuse out of hand. She put on her best pained face.

“I’m afraid my good doctor had forbid me cigarettes. Some mad cap idea from the Americas I’m afraid. But it does seem to be working.â€

[Supercape]

GM

"Really?" replied Trowell, stubbing out his cigarette with a mumbled apology. "Damn odd, those colonials. Still, all part of the Empire I suppose. Funny idea's all the same. And of course the less said about those trigger happy Texan's and their little free state the better. Mind you, money to be made there, of course. "

Trowell finished off what must have been his fifth double Gin and Tonic, and stood up with a slight wobble.

"Still, if it preserves those enchanted vocal chords of yours my dear, then I shall be glad to be of assistance. And I do pray my ears will be honeyed by those very organs later on this evening. I shall be in the royal box, as usual. "

He reached over to kiss Annice politely on the hand, and waddled off, signing a handsome cheque for the meal on the way out, and hailing a steam powered black cab.

[Tiffany Korta]

Agnes sat for a few minutes replaying the conversation for any clues of his possible guilt. Damn Columbo made this all seem so simple, then again you see the murderer at the start. And it should really be Holmes considering the London she was in.

As she though she called over the waiter.

“Excuse me, sorry I didn't get your name, but could I have a glass of water?â€

Wait this was his favourite restaurant, when the waiter returned she gave her best smile.

“Does Mr Trowell come here often?â€

[Supercape]

GM

"Why yes maam..." said the neat waiter, in what Annice' could swear was an affected Punjabi accent. "Very regular customer. Very valued customer of Massala Mary's, purveyor of finest Indian cuisine and delicacies in heart of Empire, maam".

The spiel was spieled at every oppurtunity, it seemed.

"Mr. Trowell was here only last night!" he smiled helpfully.

[Tiffany Korta]

She pulled out a hankie and dabbed at her eyes.

“Oh I’m sorry to intrude, it was rude of me but…†she threw herself to the table and sob loudly.

“It is just that he’s my betrothed, but he keeps going out at odd hour to see people. I think… I think he’s seeing another woman.â€

Was she over doing this, oh well lets go for broke. She grabbed his hand and stared at him with her red rimmed eyes.

“If only you could avert my fears about my poor Jack.â€

Well she was no Irene Adler, but hopefully her amateur dramatic would be enough to fool the poor waiter.

[Supercape]

GM

The poor waiter looked left and right uncomfortably, and then patted the woman gently.

Was his accent dropping to a London one slightly.

"Fear not, madam. He was not here with a woman of the fairer sex! no, no, far from it. It was man of the cloth that was his guest. If I am not mistaken, a member of the Vatican! I remember well enough. They rarely visit Britain. So, console yourself, madam, perhaps your bethrothed was merely inquiring about ceremonial procedings? although I must say I would be surprised if a man and woman of your standing would be having a Catholic wedding in Britain. Rather irregular..."

[Tiffany Korta]

The Vatican didn’t someone mention some problems between them and the Empire? Out o habit she bought out her phone to call someone for help, until she remembered it was probably outside her service provider.

And roaming charges must be a bitch between dimensions!

Pretending the glass front was a very fancy and weird mirror she touched up her makeup before returning it to her drawstring purse. She made sure to thank the poor waiter for everything on the way out.

Finally back on the street she hailed a Hansom back to the pub whilst trying to remember some of those east end sing along tunes.

[Supercape]

GM

Back at the Fat Goose

"Ah, there you are!" smiled Mr. Peabody. The sun was setting low, and the Fat Goose was getting warm from fire and ale.

"The food is warm, as is the beer" he smiled "here, let me pull you a pint..." he said, guiding Annice into the Pub.

"Ladies, Gents, and the Regulars who pretend to be such noblefolk...may I present Ms. Wheatley!" he announced to the crowd to a cheer and many a raised glass.

[Tiffany Korta]

She raised the beer and presented it to the assembled pub goers.

“Welcome one and all to this wonderful establishment. And well enjoy yourself.â€

She then sat down at the bar and allowed people to cluster in around her, something she got use to as her brief career as a star. It had also taught her another skill, she allowed herself to go on automatic listen and answering question in a polite yet polite manner. But mainly she was listening to the buzz of conversation going on around her, trying to hear anything useful.

Oh and she was enjoying the pint, even if she was nursing it just a little.

[Supercape]

GM

"Here you go, missy!" said Peabody, bringing her over another Pint, and another, a kidney and apple pie (which was rather good) with mashed potatoes and carrots.

"And here's one on the house - good for the singing voice..." he said, bringing over yet another Pint.

From the other corner of the pint, a group of sailors had started to sing rowdy songs.

"Two and twenty lay-deez,

lined up in a row,

lips as red as apples,

and bosoms full on show... "

One considerably refreshed* sailor came up to Annice's table and stumbled slightly at the last hurdle, his arm missing the table as he tried to lean his head in one hand. He gazed into her eyes.

"Gizza song, luv" he slurred.

*Drunk