Valedictoria Scott and the Scotian Adventure

By Patricia A. Leslie

Now a professional secretarialist, Valedictoria begins her first office job with Barkingmede Ventures Ltd., Finest Tea Importers. Almost at once, the work takes her to a remote island in the west of Anglia's mysterious northern neighbor Scotia. It's a land where romance, jeopardy, and bearded men in scratchy, checked woolen cloth abound! Join Valedictoria and her beau Sir Anthony Harrow, for her second plucky adventure, in a world of many wonders - slightly mad science, amazing and surprising mechanical inventions, pirates of the air, and monsters of the deep! This brave new 19th Century world isn’t dystopian, nor utopian ... just alternatopian!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patricia A. Leslie
• Release date: Sep 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005862343

Patricia A. Leslie

Patricia A. Leslie is left-handed, and a Virgo. She loves dogs (and cats are her least favorite animal - which is a departure for a writer of speculative paranormal fiction). Her degree from UC Berkeley is in cultural anthropology. An interesting fact is that her admiration for Ursula K. LeGuin is what finally led her to studying anthropology in her forties (since Ms. LeGuin's work is all very deeply informed by anthropological ideas). And when Patricia did get an opportunity to go to college to study anthro, she in fact got her degree in the very anthro department that was founded and developed by Ms. LeGuin's father, Alfred Kroeber.The Arts have always been close to Patricia's heart. Although her life up through high school provided nearly no opportunities to enjoy the Arts or express herself through them, once she got out of school and away from her parents, the Arts did become central to her life. At various times she has studied and/or participated in: Scottish and English Country Dance, Ladies' Solo Scottish Dance, theatrical costuming, crochet, Balkan folk dance, Hawaiian dance ('Auwane and Kahiko), swing dance, folk siniging, classical style voice training, watercolor painting, sumi-e brush painting, drawing in ink or pastels, and ceramic sculpture. She has performed as an improv actor, directed stage plays, written, adapted, and translated for the stage, written poetry, songs, and parody lyrics, been an opera supernumerary, written and doctored screenplays, made a 20 minute documentary film about Neopaganism, and -- last but most gratifying of all -- in 2009, plunged deeply into writing fiction. She has, to date, written 7 novels, 4 novellas, 3 novelettes, a dozen short stories, and a variety of uncategorizable humor pieces.Other oddities include: still married to the same man after 41 years... she is a Second Degree Reiki initiate... she's a very good dog trainer... in addition to the BA in anthro at Cal, she has a certificate in museum studies, a cert in teaching ESL, has attended training in the use of Bach and North American flower remedies (essences), and has a mail-order MS in metaphysics. She started teaching herself French at about age eight, by means of Berlitz records. She spent her elementary school years in upstate New York, where she delighted in playing with toads, turtles, salamanders, frogs, and garter snakes. During two of those years (age 9-10) her family lived in a house with a poltergeist.

Book preview

VALEDICTORIA SCOTT and THE SCOTIAN ADVENTURE

Patricia A. Leslie

Published by Quailcottage Books at Smashwords

Copyright 2017 by Patricia A. Leslie

This ebook is licensed for the purchaser’s enjoyment. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. To share this book with others, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. To anyone reading this book who did not purchase it or receive it as a gift, please purchase a copy from your favorite ebook retailer. Thank you for supporting the author’s effort to bring you entertainment and delight.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be commercially reproduced or transmitted in any manner whatsoever, without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Table of Contents

About Patricia A. Leslie

Follow or contact author

Other works by author

Read a sample of the next Valedictoria adventure

VALEDICTORIA SCOTT AND THE SCOTIAN ADVENTURE

Morriconia, Anglia

April, 1871

WHERE THE devil can she have got to?! muttered Sir Anthony S. Harrow. He was not normally the sort of man who talked aloud to himself, when alone. Or, he had not used to be. There was something about Miss Valedictoria Scott that was seeming to bring it out in him, more and more, over the half-year or so that she had been his mistress. Or, he corrected himself – silently, this time – that they had been each other’s paramours. Ria, as he called her affectionately, was quite adamant on that point.

It was a delightful little private game they were playing. Objections, he had none. Indeed, more than half their assignations were at Ria’s instigation. Of course, polite Anglian society never would countenance the possibility that a gentleman could be as much at the beck of a woman (at least, one to whom he was not married, and of common birth), as a mistress was expected to be, at that of a man. (If she hoped to hold onto her protector’s favour and monetary support.) But, in defiance of an inherited baronetcy (which he had done nothing to earn, and therefore, valued hardly at all, except it was convenient in effecting social entrée when there was somewhere he wished to be), Anthony considered his own natural habitat to be rather far outside polite society.

This meant the two of them were eminently compatible, since Ria, he had soon discovered, set polite society even further at nought than he did. For example, she’d seduced him (while cunningly allowing him to think he was seducing her). Right there, one might detect a defiant, levelling attitude, and an untypical boldness (for a woman). Then, when he’d proposed making an honest woman of her, she’d refused on the grounds of not wishing to jeopardise her autonomy … informing him that she would, instead, be his paramour. And he, hers. Dead set against the idea of being kept (whether by husband or lover), she was determined to make her own way in the world, a wage-earner in her own right.

And indeed, promptly upon his installing her in a comfortable (if modest) semi-detached in a reasonably decent (though not overly-particular) district of his home city of Morriconia, she’d made good on her stated intention of considering his present financial support as a loan, only, which she would begin to repay within the year. Off she’d gone, and signed herself up at Mrs. Tinthwaite’s Secretarialist Academy, for a comprehensive course in how to use a print-writing machine (with elective studies in brevi-writing, correspondence composition, advanced cross-filing methodology, and introductory accounts-keeping).

Just the past Friday, she’d graduated the five-months intensive course. Not surprising for a lass of such forceful will, she had received Purple Rosettes – Mrs. Tinthwaite’s highest evaluation – in all five subjects, resulting in a C.M.E.S. (Certificate of Maximally Employable Secretarialism).

Even more impressive, she had achieved those distinctions, whilst carrying on an almost nightly (and weekendly) affair with Anthony himself. Of course, she was the earlier riser. As near as he could tell, she dashed off those provocative little vanilla-scented invitational notes to come and enjoy my company tonight around six in the morning, when he was still blissful in the arms of Morpheus. Not that he was complaining. Ria’s enthusiasm for boudoir exercise with himself had, so far, not flagged in the least. Nor had his, for her. A remarkably uninhibited girl was Ria, which made her infallibly intriguing, to his mind.

He did feel proud of her academic achievement, and pleased for her, and had not been at all reluctant to attend the Academy’s Commencement Rites (supper, and dancing to all hours) at Ponchiello’s Assembly Rooms in the evening. There’d been but few occasions to go out partying since starting the affair, and the weekend had turned out to be rather a capital one, all around. Possibly, one of the best times they’d yet had. In the first place, Anthony was not at all surprised to find that Ria was just as good a dancer as himself. But an even more pleasant discovery was that dancing (and, perhaps, the liberal flow of wine, brandy and absinthe) had a stimulating effect on Ria’s erotic affections.

So, after a rather long debauch back at her house (which lasted well into Saturday’s wee hours), and then some sleep, on impulse he took her off to Aquasulia by train, where they checked into the many-starred Hotel Aphrodisia. The proprietress, the Marchioness Aphrodisia Huntlybank de la Roquefort, kept a pleasantly un-inquisitive establishment, when it came to patrons’ private arrangements. Anthony was able to trade on long-standing acquaintance with her Ladyship, to get one of the premium spa rooms, which boasted a hot-spring pool and cool fountain en suite. The get-away had proved a fine opportunity for discovering new areas of compatibility between himself and Ria.

Everything had been perfectly dandy, right up until arriving outside her house late Sunday night, in an automaton-guided Horseless Hansom. (Morriconia was one of the first towns in Anglia to have invested civic funds in these remarkably efficient and sanitary conveyances, thanks in part to Anthony’s own lobbying efforts, and his providing – for reasonable royalties – several key electrical components.)

He hinted that it might be pleasant to round off such an enjoyable weekend by staying the night. However, as happened on occasion, affectionate but firm, his mistress sent him on his way. Between farewell kisses, she expressed her views thus: Well, it would be, of course, but you know, Sid, tomorrow being Monday! One needs must get a good night’s sleep. Cannot have dark circles! Professional secretarialist now! Strike while the iron is hot! As Mrs. Tinthwaite says! Early bird gets the worm! As she often goes on to say! No leaving grass to grow beneath one’s feet! As-

Yes, yes, I’m sure the Widow is a veritable fount of wise advice, but really, my sweet–

"But really, Sid darling, one absolutely must be off first thing, to begin making applications for respectable employment! One has appointments! And– with an arch grin, a bit of a loan to begin repaying!"

Though knowing that once his mistress’s mind was made up, trying to change it was utterly futile, yet for form’s sake he’d still made a small effort to convince her, promising only one round of bed-sporting, and thereafter, plenty of time for sleeping. However, the minx only giggled and said "Once? Hum! Pull the other one, laddie! Now honestly, Sid, one does sometimes need one’s beauty sleep! Off you go then! Come collect me Tuesday evening about half-six – no, better seven. Working women must always anticipate the unanticipated, Mrs. Tinthwaite says! Take me out for a good supper, and I’ll tell you all about my employment-searching adventures. And if you’re a very good, very polite listener, after supper we can come back and I’ll let you try something new from that naughty book. Twice, if you like!"

Book? He tried to look innocently puzzled.

Hum! Did you actually imagine I wouldn’t know about you buying it in the hotel gift shop? She giggled. I found it in your bag, and skimmed it this afternoon in the train, when you were dozing. It did look most intriguing.

This was too advantageous a negotiation to pass up, so after a final, pleasant engagement of lips, tongues and hands, he compliantly walked Ria to the door, saw her inside, waited to hear the tumblers fall in the lock, and a moment later, was introducing a new set of directions into the cab’s array of dials (and feeding its meter-slot two more shillings), for it to convey him back to his town-house. Throughout the quarter-hour’s ride, he reflected – not for the first time – how remarkably deep the treacherous wild roots of fondness seemed to have already embedded themselves in the carefully-fenced garden of his affections. He was beginning to worry that he might actually be falling in love.

And now, here he stood, upon Valedictoria’s doorstep, at ten past seven on Tuesday evening, feeling awkwardly exposed, and worrying whether something untoward might have befallen her, whilst she traipsed all over town unaccompanied, on that damned, utterly unnecessary job-quest. The modest adjoining house exhibited one of those twitchings of the front curtains that he found particularly irritating. He shifted his weight to twist farther out of direct view, pulling his coat collar up, and the brim of his short topper (Synthi-Silk by Rondollo™) low over his brow.

*

VALEDICTORIA SCOTT WAS feeling more chuffed than she could remember ever feeling, at least since about mid-day Sunday, when Anthony had got her into a thoroughly chuffed state. Diploma’d only four days since! And already, today, she was finishing up her first full day of actual employment as a professional secretarialist. She was all the more gratified, that her new employer was a woman (no need to worry about having to fend off unwelcome advances).

Female employers, of the sort who required secretarialist skills, were fewer than one in sixteen, averaged nationwide; the odds were somewhat the worse out here in the provinces, than in Londinia. She had learnt all this, in a lecture given by Mrs. Tinthwaite, on Employment Prospects for the New Secretarialist. However, that lady, being proud of Valedictoria (her star pupil she often said) had gone out of her way to give recommendations to half a dozen prospective employers, including two who were women.

This new job was the result of the second of four interviews undergone on Monday. About three, she returned by omnibus, footsore but optimistic, to find a sealed, telegrammatic note already slid under her door, offering this job. It contained a statement that if Miss Scott were prepared to accept the employment and all terms, she could do no better than to present herself promptly at nine the following morning, ready to begin her first day at Barkingmede Ventures Ltd., Finest Tea Importers. It was signed by Mrs. Rudolpha Barkingmede, owner and proprietress.

What great good luck! Of all four appointments that day, this was the very employer which she was most hoping would make her an offer. She could not help but feel extreme gratitude towards Mrs. Tinthwaite, being quite certain that such prompt success must be owing to that estimable woman’s professional recommendation. (Not, of course, to under-value one’s own share: a leaving-certificate confirming highest honours, as well as the admirable way Valedictoria believed she had acquitted herself, in the personal interview.) And she could only thank a well-aspected astrological chart, that the first offer had not come from Grabbas and Humpal, Intimate Apparel Purveyors. She had not liked the speculating gaze of Mr. Humpal, during her interview with him.

Nevertheless, pleased as she was with the outcome of her application to Barkingmede Ltd., this first day had made itself felt to be a very long one. The morning was taken up entirely in being told about the office’s many unfamiliar systems, and unfamiliar machines such as the Pavlovitch Electro-Samovar (pat. pend.). Even starting at nine instead of the official half-eight, it seemed a long journey to the thirty-minute dinner break at one (which in turn flew past like a startled hummingbird). After that short respite, she began her duties in earnest. Quite a lot of filing work was piled up (the previous secretarialist having left several weeks earlier, to get married and have a baby). Valedictoria understood now, why Mrs. Barkingmede (or, Mrs. B; a permitted abbreviation, she’d been told by Miss Fanglie, the office manageress) had enquired so closely about her marital status, her courtship status, her arrangements for prevention of pregnancy, and her general level of enthusiasm for any future prospect of motherhood.

So, the entire afternoon passed in a buzz of busyness, in between being twice required to go and brevi-write, to Mrs. B’s dictation of urgent correspondences; each time, she was required to print-write the dictated letter forthwith (with double carbonic copies!) for perusal and signing. After which, each time, the foreign-bound letter had to be carried, personally, to the nearest Posting Office. Filling in all the rest of the time very solidly around those two efforts, had been the filing. Clearly, the previous girl had not been at all keen on keeping up with it, and at most indifferent in her respect for the alphabet. At six, the departing Mrs. B advised Valedictoria to make all speed in finishing up her day’s tasks. Following her out the door at a respectable few paces, Miss Fanglie helpfully added that there was never any additional pay for extra time necessarily worked.

Hum. Not so very different, it seems then, from being a scullery-maid, Valedictoria observed silently, as the tall, astrakhan-coated figure of her new employer, and the shorter, slighter, tweed-coated figure of the manager, were each in turn swallowed by the near-darkness of the general-use corridor beyond the office doorway. The other three office-women (whose names she could not quite remember at the moment) trickled out of the office in rapid succession of status. By the time she managed to get the last of the invoices, letters, bills of lading, certificates of tariff, and other assorted ephemera, inserted into all the proper folders in all the proper drawers, it lacked about twelve minutes of seven.

Finally having a moment to glance at the big octagonal bronze-rimmed clock on the wall, she exclaimed, Damn it all to Hades! Only the cleaning-lady was here now; the grey-haired woman looked rather startled, but Valedictoria felt no particular compunction about swearing in her presence. How frustrating! she appended silently. Home is a good thirty minutes away. Anthony will be arriving to take me to supper long before I can get there! She liked thinking of him as Anthony, although she insisted on calling him Sid, ever since he’d accidentally given away the secret of his middle name being ‘Siddhartha’.

She caught up her cloak, hat, and business-carryall in a quick mad sweep of her little eight-by-eight-by-eight-foot room at one side of the glass-windowed door (the same one by which the rest had made their own exits, near an hour since), banged it aside, to thump back into its jamb on its own by the time she was halfway to the building’s ornate brass-fitted front entryway. At least the office was on the ground floor, so she didn’t have to risk her neck on a set of stairs, nor wait for a worrisome Lifting Chamber to winch its way up and down again. And the cleaner being still present, she needn’t stay and fiddle with some recalcitrant lock and key.

*

SEEING VALEDICTORIA HOP, with her usual sprightliness, off the omnibus before it was completely stopped, Anthony knew instant delight. Moreover, a growing inner tension of worry departed his bosom upon a heartfelt sigh of relief. Whilst she traversed the intervening half-block with a light-footed grace which reminded him of a racing boat sculling over calm waters, he conscientiously readjusted his features, replacing the expression of anxious distress which had settled there, with one of simple annoyance at her dilatory arrival. She disliked him fussing and worrying about her, being quite vocally insistent that she was