Chapter Text
The sun was beating down as they walked, and Mulder was beginning to really wish for the sunglasses he’d left in the car. Bringing up a hand to rub the back of his too-warm neck, he stopped suddenly, hearing the distinct sound of horse's hooves from up the way behind them. He shot Scully a grin, seeing his relief mirrored in the bright flash of her blue eyes.
As the sound drew nearer, they could hear with it the crunching roll of wheels passing over the track. A moment later, the welcome sight of a horse and cart came into view. Mulder stepped out into the road and began waving immediately, giving the driver plenty of time to see him and slow down.
A little charmed at getting to see a farmer still using a horse and cart in rural England, Mulder and Scully approached with friendly smiles.
"Sorry to bother you, sir," Scully called up to the driver, a craggy-faced older man in a tweed flatcap and brown, work-stained overalls. "We need your help. We're lost, and we need you to take us to the nearest town, or a house where we can use a phone, please."
Twisting the reins in his hands, the man gawped down at her as if she'd just asked him to fly them to the moon.
He squinted back and forth between Scully and Mulder, suspicion written large across his face, and looked Scully up and down several times in a way that put Mulder on edge.
"I don't want any trouble," the driver said gruffly, already gathering up his reins to move on. His grey mare huffed through her nose, ears flicking.
"No! No trouble," Mulder said, surprised. "I'm sorry if we're on your land, sir. We really are lost, and we just need to get to the nearest house to call for some help. Are we anywhere near Highglade?"
"Highglade?" the man asked, half-gesturing back over his left shoulder. "No houses there. You're not far from Braceley now though. I suppose I can take you along a little ways."
He was still staring oddly at them, reluctance visible on his face, but he gave a nod towards the back of the simple wooden cart. Reaching behind his seat, he pulled on something that made the tailgate release. It swung down, opening up the back.
Grinning, Mulder turned to Scully as they stepped in behind the cart. "May I?" he asked gallantly, tilting his head towards the open back. The cart's wooden floor sat high enough above the track that it would take some undignified scrambling on Scully's part to get up to it, so she nodded, smiling back at Mulder as he put his hands to her waist. In an easy movement, he lifted her, and Scully felt herself flushing a little at the feel of his hands upon her, his ready strength.
A moment later, he followed her up, both sitting with their lower legs hanging over the back of the cart, facing out to the road behind. The farmer, peering over his shoulder to check they were settled, clicked to his horse and moved off.
"What did he mean, that there were no houses at Highglade?" Scully whispered to Mulder.
"I don't know. And he was staring at you like you'd just popped out of the ground," Mulder murmured back. He kept his tone light, but the way the old farmer had glared disapprovingly down at his partner had unsettled him. Feeling protective, he turned to check the man still had his eyes on the road, Scully’s shoulder bumping softly against his upper arm with the gentle rock of the cart.
The track rolled away beneath them, the horse's tack jingling over the sedate clop of her hooves. Now that they were on their way back to civilisation, the agents found themselves enjoying the view of the beautiful fields, with meadow flowers nodding in the light breeze. It all looked so natural and untouched, in stark contrast to the faraway concrete clutter of DC. Somewhere high overhead, a skylark was singing, its sweet voice rippling through the warm air.
The cart wheels creaked as the farmer pulled up his horse outside a large stone gate, formed by two fluted grey pillars, each topped with a stone ball. "Braceley," he said.
Mulder jumped down from the cart, and gave his hand to Scully as she hopped down to land at his side. They walked around the high cart wheel. "Thank you so much for helping us," Scully said to their impassive rescuer. "Could you just tell us..."
But the farmer, merely giving a curt nod to Mulder, was already rolling on, leaving them at the stone gate without a further glance.
Mulder and Scully shared a grin, suddenly seeing the funny side of how awkwardly the man had behaved.
"I was only going to ask how far we are from the nearest town," Scully said, turning up her palms with a resigned smile.
“So much for a welcome wagon," Mulder joked.
Scully looked down at the gritty ground beneath her feet. The driveway to Braceley was no more than another dirt track running off the one they stood upon. "Mulder - I thought we were on farmland all this time! This can't be the main road?"
"I guess we're just further out into the country than we knew," Mulder said. "Come on, let's get up to the house and get a police car out here."
Already feeling dubious over how long it might take a car to inch its way up such a rough narrow road, Scully sighed and followed Mulder up the drive.
Braceley was even more striking than Highglade. It rose before them on an expanse of manicured grass, the sand-pale stone walls inset with alternating sash and diamond-paned windows that caught the light of the sun. A double row of pruned hedges made a neat green band around the perimeter of the house, with a little collection of what looked like barns and stables off the right. Behind a line of trees to the left of the house, there appeared to be a large garden.
Mulder and Scully looked at each other, impressed. “Was Braceley one of the places Gwen mentioned?” Scully asked as they ascended the flight of stone stairs up to the front of the house.
“I don’t recall that name,” Mulder said. “But she told me these old homes are nearly all open to the public now - they’re just too expensive to run as private residences anymore.”
They had reached the top of the steps. Not seeing any obvious visitor’s entrance, Mulder took hold of the enormous brass ring on the huge wooden front door, and struck three booming raps. A moment later, the door opened, and a grey-haired man came forth, his rigid shoulders square in a long black suit jacket. A grey waistcoat and crisp white shirt and cravat completed his old-fashioned butler’s outfit.
Appreciating the authenticity, Mulder grinned at him. "Hi. I'm glad you're open. Would it be alright if we came in to use your phone? We uh, got a bit lost while exploring the area."
The man at the door was staring at him, his expression so very similar to that of the farmer that Scully felt uneasy. Were people really so unwelcoming out here in the countryside?
"If you are looking for work," the butler said, his voice ice cold, "you may enquire at the back of the house. But I fear we currently have no requirements for any..." - his eyes scathed over Mulder's clothes and boots - "...labourers."
"Labourers? No... we're not looking for work!" Mulder said. "Like I said, we just need to use your phone please, sir?"
The butler, a sneer on his face, was beginning to push the door closed, and Mulder, in angry surprise, put out his foot to block him. "Hey, come on! We've walked a long way and we just need a little help, alright?"
A light female voice came from behind the door. "Eldon? What is it, who's there?"
"Vagrants, here seeking work, my lady," the man replied frostily, not taking his eyes from Mulder and Scully. "I'm sending them off."
"We are not vagrants!" Scully cried. "We are American travellers, and we're lost! Would you just give us a moment to explain, please?"
The door opened wider, and a slight blonde woman with a young face and a sunny expression wriggled past the butler and into the doorway. "Miss Beaumont!" he said to her warningly, lifting a hand as if to take her by the arm, but only going so far as to hover.
"You're really from America?" she asked Scully, her eyes shining.
"Yes. We're here on vaca... on holiday," Scully corrected herself, anxious that there be no more misunderstandings in this utterly bewildering conversation.
The woman seemed to glow with delight. "How exotic! It is my dearest wish to travel, to see anything of the world at all, but most especially America."
Just as the farmer and the butler had done, she swept her eyes over Scully's clothing, but her expression was more curiosity than disdain. "And this is how women dress in America?” She wrinkled her nose in puzzlement. “Like.... like men?"
Scully looked at the woman's dress. Like the butler's, it was an outfit from another time. Her long, dusky pink dress was gathered in just under her breasts in the empire-line style, the neck dipping low, with little cap sleeves at the shoulders.
"Uhh... yes," Scully said, knowing that what women wore in the US was no different to what they wore in the UK. Was this some gimmick for tourists visiting Braceley, sticking to character as if they were in a period drama? Or had they wandered into some rich country lady's private fantasy world?
"Miss Beaumont!" the butler implored again, in a tense undertone.
In no mood to play along with either scenario, Scully moved to bring the conversation back to reality.
"Miss Beaumont, my partner and I were drugged, taken against our will and left in the forest up the road earlier today. We're tired, and we could really use..."
"Oh, how dreadful! There are brigands at every turn," Miss Beaumont gasped, her clear blue eyes going round with shock and pity. “What an unhappy welcome you have received to Wiltshire, I am sorry to hear of it.” She looked from Scully to Mulder, seeming to be making a decision. “You must come in and rest for a moment.”
Miss Beaumont turned to her butler, whose mouth was opening and closing in silent protest. “Eldon, escort our visitors to the drawing room and call for refreshments."
Eldon’s face was a picture of disapproval. But at Miss Beaumont’s glare, he turned to do as he was bid. Scully shot a relieved look up at Mulder, and was surprised to see a guardedness in his expression, more caution than relief.
Well, we’re out of options for now, Scully thought, discreetly patting her sleeve along her damp hairline.
They were entering the unknown with these two eccentrics, clearly. But with a glass of water and hopefully a cup of coffee hanging in the balance, she was ready to take her chances.