A/N: Hey everybody! Ooooh, there's been some stirrings and rumblings about
this one... apparently many people share my penchant for low brow humour!
Bachy A: You hang on in there, mate- the secret underground P.L.F.P.I.P.C.W.T.S.B (People's Liberation Front of People Imprisoned in Pringles Cans When They Shouldn't Be- yeah, good at liberation but crap at acronyms) are at this moment coming up with an alternative modus operandi. With any luck you should be out in time for Christmas (2047).
Lauren: Awww, my dear little African Foster child! Let me just say your emails continue to bring warmth to my dull middle aged life...
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Chapter 12
********************************************
"The old buzzard has not snuffed it," came a ghostly rasping sound from somewhere beyond the head rest of the batwing armchair. "The old buzzard was just waiting to see how long it would take you all to say 'oh look, the old buzzard's snuffed it'. Imbeciles."
"And we couldn't be happier to hear it! Welcome back to the land of the living, Callum!" Dickie slurred in a jolly tone, raising his glass and sloshing cognac into his lap.
"And I will thank you not to address me in such an impertinent manner, young man," the Earl shot back at him, "this is not a 'skirt', as you put it, it is a kilt!" he said defensively.
With that a sparse grey head rose over the back of the chair, followed by a sunken pair of shoulders. Then the rest of the black dinner jacket slowly followed, until the Earl's entire upper body, bent over and frail, appeared on the other side of the room. As he stepped out from behind the chair, a thin pair of white legs and two knobbly knees became visible sticking out from beneath a deep green tartan kilt.
"Charles, my dear boy, would you be so good as to lend me your elbow- I fear my back is indeed giving me a little trouble this evening."
With a gracious smile Charlie jumped up to oblige, and gently took the Earl's arm and steered him to the table. The Earl favoured him with an extremely rare smile, although it could have been a grimace from the painful effort of walking, and gratefully lowered himself into the chair that Charlie had thoughtfully placed a cushion on for him.
"Thank you, my boy. Would you now be so kind as to fetch me my blanket from the armchair? It's a little chilly this close to the window." Charlie did as he was asked, and immediately returned with a thick woolly blanket and tucked it around the Earl's bare, shivering legs. The Earl nodded, and gave him a barely discernable wink of one watery grey eye.
Jonathan was mildly astonished. He had never heard so much as a gentle word from Callum in all the years he had been Dickie's friend, but he was suddenly seeing a new side to the old grouch in the fondness he displayed towards Charlie.
"That's better. Why couldn't my son-in-law be more like you?" the Earl said to his helper, while making sure everyone noticed the acerbic glance he directed at Dickie.
"Because, Pops, not everyone is that lucky!" Dickie blurted, accidentally spitting out his cigar, which landed in Rupert's gin and tonic with an audible hiss. Jonathan sniggered as the table burst into amused chatter and laughter, with Rupert's whining rising above it all. The Earl was the only silent figure at the table, eyeing each of them from beneath his shady brow.
The game finally commenced. Rupert finally shut up and stopped flapping about, so that the others could surreptitiously glance across at his cards in the window reflection, and the Earl proved to be on top form, winning the first two hands.
That was particularly bad luck for Jonathan. He was going to be the first to go out at this rate, having only begun with a hundred pounds in the first place, and with Rupert flashing his cash as ever, the stakes were rising more rapidly than his pocket could keep up with. If he didn't win soon, he was going to spend the rest of the evening watching a very interesting card game from the sidelines.
"I do hope Wilkins is alright," Hugh said suddenly, with a pointed glance at Jonathan.
"Oh, why? Has something happened to him?" was Jonathan's deceptively calm reply, as he took a nonchalant drag on his King Edward's. Hugh was baiting him, and he knew it. He also knew that Hugh knew he knew, and that made the whole situation much more dangerous.
"It's just that he didn't report back at the barracks last night, and he should have been on police duty today. We could have done with an extra man, what with all the hoo-hah."
"Hoo-hah?" Jonathan inquired casually, with a dreadful sense of foreboding.
"Two of the local constabulary blundered into something last night. One's being held at the station, the other is currently sampling the delights of modern Egyptian embalming practices," Hugh said, with a snort of grim amusement.
"What?!"
"He's dead, Johnny," Hugh stated evenly. Jonathan's face froze, while his mind erupted into panic.
"My goodness!" whispered Charlie, who having listened with one ear, now leant over and took an interest in the conversation from a comfortably detached perspective. "What happened?"
"Well, it would appear to have been a random attack by a member of the Wafd party, but for the fact that there were two white men involved. One of the perpetrators, an Egyptian, was apprehended, but unhappily beaten to death before an auxiliary force could arrive on the scene. Hence the second officer is being held for questioning."
"Sweet Jesus..." Lord Toby muttered. Now every single eye and ear was fixed upon the Major, and he commanded their attention like officers at a briefing.
"So anyway, when it got back that two white men were involved in the murder of a police officer, you can guess what happened next."
"No...?" Charlie murmured, completely enrapt by the story beginning to unfold.
"A witch hunt, that's what. The city police poured out onto the streets, and another incident in Bulaq almost resulted in a riot- until the peace keeping troops got there. I'm rather surprised none of you has heard of it, actually," Hugh paused, waiting to see their reactions, but particularly Jonathan's.
"Well, it is Sunday- day of rest and everything," Walter piped up, slightly irked that he should be accused of not keeping abreast of current affairs. "I'm not usually one to be the last in the loop. When I was attaché to the governor of India-"
"Yes yes, we know Wally- you had your finger on the pulse, you were there when news of the massacre at Amritsar reached the administration in Deli, etc etc... Can we just get back to the game now?" Rupert said impatiently, not wanting to hear yet another boring old 'when I was attaché to the governor of India' story. Walter's enormous ginger moustache twitched in irritation, as he gave a slight huff and went back to scrutinising his cards.
Jonathan let his breath out, not realising he had been holding it for so long. He was tentatively hoping that the whole business with Stephen, and the reason for the outbreak of this pointless conversation, might now have been forgotten. He was hoping in vain.
"So," Hugh continued, "you see why it might have raised the Brigadier General's eyebrows that one of his petty officers didn't report for duty. Are you sure you haven't seen him, Johnny?"
Jonathan frowned and thought very hard for a moment, trying to recall the last time he and Stephen hadn't got into trouble. Damn it all if he could remember when the two of them had done anything that wasn't mildly criminal, but this was the first time they had ever been implicated in a murder.
"I think Monday week was the last time I saw him, up at the fort- you remember Hugh, you warned us for playing strip chess with that strumpet," Jonathan winked at him, hoping his candour might convince Hugh he had not been with Stephen last night. So much for the 'corroborating witness' he had promised Stephen he would be; in the event he had turned out to be something of faithless disciple, denying his friend long before the cock crowed.
Hugh nodded his head slowly, with a wry smile.
"Yes, I do, as it happens. But she wasn't a strumpet, she was the commissioner's daughter."
Jonathan smirked, remembering exactly what the commissioner's daughter had whispered to him when she was sitting there in just a satin slip and stockings.
"I swear to you, I never laid a hand on her!" he protested, while the others all laughed and made lewd suggestions. All except Rupert, who looked a little jealous, if Jonathan had to admit it. "Not to slight a lady's character, but she was the one who suggested we make it STRIP chess!" Jonathan's voice was virtually drowned out by the general back slapping and salacious comments about their resident 'ladies man', but Hugh's barking tone carried over them like a drill sergeant walking in on a mess hall.
"That may be, but the fact remains that Stephen Wilkins is currently listed as AWOL, and unless he presents himself with a fairly decent excuse in the next twenty four hours, I'm afraid he might soon find himself up shit creek."
Jonathan pursed his lips and let out a nervous whistle, trying to imagine just what kind of excuse might be classed as 'decent' enough to escape a court martial. Hugh seemed to read his thoughts.
"I don't like to wish ill on anybody, but I do hope he has some genuinely debilitating condition- and I don't mean an alcohol related one."
Debilitating condition... that suggested the beginnings of a plan to Jonathan. If only he could get home and discuss it with Stephen...but he couldn't leave in the middle of a game. Not unless he extended his losing streak into the most spectacular run of bad luck Jonathan Carnahan had ever had at cards.
"Well fellas," he said to the entire table, "what say we just put all such unpleasant thoughts behind us and enjoy the evening?"
****
Evy froze, staring in absolute incredulity and horror. She simply couldn't believe what she was seeing- she blinked once, hoping it would all go away, but of course it didn't. She dropped the towel in disgust.
Once again standing in nothing but her own skin, dripping water onto the bathroom mat, Evelyn started to shiver. But not with cold. Nor was the flush she could feel burning in her cheeks anything to do with the hot water. She was furious.
"Stephen!!" she muttered under her breath, wishing for one malicious moment that mere intent could actually kill. Looking down at the freshly washed, supposedly clean white towel at her feet, she curled her lip in disgust. Kicking the offending object away from her, she leaned across and picked up the first CLEAN towel she could lay her hands on- which was hardly bigger than a handkerchief- and quickly began drying herself with vehement strokes.
"I suppose I should have expected as much from any scoundrel who drinks with Jonathan!" she said bitterly, virtually scouring the flesh off her arms as she scrubbed herself with the hand towel, trying to rid herself of some unseen pollution. She couldn't believe that had just been next to her skin. It was disgusting! She half wondered if she should get back into the shower, wash it off properly.
Then she suddenly stopped. Wiping a circle in the steamed up mirror, she took one look at her livid expression, and sighed.
"Oh really Evelyn, stop being such a silly female!" she admonished herself, taking in deep, calming breaths. "It didn't even touch you!" She went back to dabbing her raw skin more gently, and when she had dried off most of the excess water, she reached out for her robe that was hanging from the hook on the back of the door.
Just then the handle depressed, and a minute gap opened up between the door and the jamb.
"Evelyn? Are you alright?" came a sleepy voice from the other side of it, "I thought I heard you scream. Did you call me?"
"Stephen, there is VOMIT on my nice clean towel!!!!" she shrieked at him, angrily thrusting one arm into the sleeve of her robe.
"Huh? Oh, I uh...um, sorry ..." came his pathetic reply. "I'll wash it-" he began, pushing open the door.
"No Stephen! I'm not-"
Too late.
"Oh Christ Evy!!" he blurted out in shock, immediately going bright red, his hands flying up to shield his eyes from the sight of nude female flesh. Well, not completely nude, but he could now say with some authority that Evelyn Carnahan had the nicest left boob he had ever seen.
"Get OUT!!!!" she yelled, throwing the nearest thing to hand, which happened to be Jonathan's shaving brush, in his general direction. Stephen retreated under a barrage of bathroom accessories, and slammed the door behind him, panting.
****
A/N: Was that pervy enough for ya? te he, not quite what everyone was expecting, was it? Oh my gosh, plot lines are just converging everywhere, and this is starting to get complicated...
Bachy A: You hang on in there, mate- the secret underground P.L.F.P.I.P.C.W.T.S.B (People's Liberation Front of People Imprisoned in Pringles Cans When They Shouldn't Be- yeah, good at liberation but crap at acronyms) are at this moment coming up with an alternative modus operandi. With any luck you should be out in time for Christmas (2047).
Lauren: Awww, my dear little African Foster child! Let me just say your emails continue to bring warmth to my dull middle aged life...
********************************************
Chapter 12
********************************************
"The old buzzard has not snuffed it," came a ghostly rasping sound from somewhere beyond the head rest of the batwing armchair. "The old buzzard was just waiting to see how long it would take you all to say 'oh look, the old buzzard's snuffed it'. Imbeciles."
"And we couldn't be happier to hear it! Welcome back to the land of the living, Callum!" Dickie slurred in a jolly tone, raising his glass and sloshing cognac into his lap.
"And I will thank you not to address me in such an impertinent manner, young man," the Earl shot back at him, "this is not a 'skirt', as you put it, it is a kilt!" he said defensively.
With that a sparse grey head rose over the back of the chair, followed by a sunken pair of shoulders. Then the rest of the black dinner jacket slowly followed, until the Earl's entire upper body, bent over and frail, appeared on the other side of the room. As he stepped out from behind the chair, a thin pair of white legs and two knobbly knees became visible sticking out from beneath a deep green tartan kilt.
"Charles, my dear boy, would you be so good as to lend me your elbow- I fear my back is indeed giving me a little trouble this evening."
With a gracious smile Charlie jumped up to oblige, and gently took the Earl's arm and steered him to the table. The Earl favoured him with an extremely rare smile, although it could have been a grimace from the painful effort of walking, and gratefully lowered himself into the chair that Charlie had thoughtfully placed a cushion on for him.
"Thank you, my boy. Would you now be so kind as to fetch me my blanket from the armchair? It's a little chilly this close to the window." Charlie did as he was asked, and immediately returned with a thick woolly blanket and tucked it around the Earl's bare, shivering legs. The Earl nodded, and gave him a barely discernable wink of one watery grey eye.
Jonathan was mildly astonished. He had never heard so much as a gentle word from Callum in all the years he had been Dickie's friend, but he was suddenly seeing a new side to the old grouch in the fondness he displayed towards Charlie.
"That's better. Why couldn't my son-in-law be more like you?" the Earl said to his helper, while making sure everyone noticed the acerbic glance he directed at Dickie.
"Because, Pops, not everyone is that lucky!" Dickie blurted, accidentally spitting out his cigar, which landed in Rupert's gin and tonic with an audible hiss. Jonathan sniggered as the table burst into amused chatter and laughter, with Rupert's whining rising above it all. The Earl was the only silent figure at the table, eyeing each of them from beneath his shady brow.
The game finally commenced. Rupert finally shut up and stopped flapping about, so that the others could surreptitiously glance across at his cards in the window reflection, and the Earl proved to be on top form, winning the first two hands.
That was particularly bad luck for Jonathan. He was going to be the first to go out at this rate, having only begun with a hundred pounds in the first place, and with Rupert flashing his cash as ever, the stakes were rising more rapidly than his pocket could keep up with. If he didn't win soon, he was going to spend the rest of the evening watching a very interesting card game from the sidelines.
"I do hope Wilkins is alright," Hugh said suddenly, with a pointed glance at Jonathan.
"Oh, why? Has something happened to him?" was Jonathan's deceptively calm reply, as he took a nonchalant drag on his King Edward's. Hugh was baiting him, and he knew it. He also knew that Hugh knew he knew, and that made the whole situation much more dangerous.
"It's just that he didn't report back at the barracks last night, and he should have been on police duty today. We could have done with an extra man, what with all the hoo-hah."
"Hoo-hah?" Jonathan inquired casually, with a dreadful sense of foreboding.
"Two of the local constabulary blundered into something last night. One's being held at the station, the other is currently sampling the delights of modern Egyptian embalming practices," Hugh said, with a snort of grim amusement.
"What?!"
"He's dead, Johnny," Hugh stated evenly. Jonathan's face froze, while his mind erupted into panic.
"My goodness!" whispered Charlie, who having listened with one ear, now leant over and took an interest in the conversation from a comfortably detached perspective. "What happened?"
"Well, it would appear to have been a random attack by a member of the Wafd party, but for the fact that there were two white men involved. One of the perpetrators, an Egyptian, was apprehended, but unhappily beaten to death before an auxiliary force could arrive on the scene. Hence the second officer is being held for questioning."
"Sweet Jesus..." Lord Toby muttered. Now every single eye and ear was fixed upon the Major, and he commanded their attention like officers at a briefing.
"So anyway, when it got back that two white men were involved in the murder of a police officer, you can guess what happened next."
"No...?" Charlie murmured, completely enrapt by the story beginning to unfold.
"A witch hunt, that's what. The city police poured out onto the streets, and another incident in Bulaq almost resulted in a riot- until the peace keeping troops got there. I'm rather surprised none of you has heard of it, actually," Hugh paused, waiting to see their reactions, but particularly Jonathan's.
"Well, it is Sunday- day of rest and everything," Walter piped up, slightly irked that he should be accused of not keeping abreast of current affairs. "I'm not usually one to be the last in the loop. When I was attaché to the governor of India-"
"Yes yes, we know Wally- you had your finger on the pulse, you were there when news of the massacre at Amritsar reached the administration in Deli, etc etc... Can we just get back to the game now?" Rupert said impatiently, not wanting to hear yet another boring old 'when I was attaché to the governor of India' story. Walter's enormous ginger moustache twitched in irritation, as he gave a slight huff and went back to scrutinising his cards.
Jonathan let his breath out, not realising he had been holding it for so long. He was tentatively hoping that the whole business with Stephen, and the reason for the outbreak of this pointless conversation, might now have been forgotten. He was hoping in vain.
"So," Hugh continued, "you see why it might have raised the Brigadier General's eyebrows that one of his petty officers didn't report for duty. Are you sure you haven't seen him, Johnny?"
Jonathan frowned and thought very hard for a moment, trying to recall the last time he and Stephen hadn't got into trouble. Damn it all if he could remember when the two of them had done anything that wasn't mildly criminal, but this was the first time they had ever been implicated in a murder.
"I think Monday week was the last time I saw him, up at the fort- you remember Hugh, you warned us for playing strip chess with that strumpet," Jonathan winked at him, hoping his candour might convince Hugh he had not been with Stephen last night. So much for the 'corroborating witness' he had promised Stephen he would be; in the event he had turned out to be something of faithless disciple, denying his friend long before the cock crowed.
Hugh nodded his head slowly, with a wry smile.
"Yes, I do, as it happens. But she wasn't a strumpet, she was the commissioner's daughter."
Jonathan smirked, remembering exactly what the commissioner's daughter had whispered to him when she was sitting there in just a satin slip and stockings.
"I swear to you, I never laid a hand on her!" he protested, while the others all laughed and made lewd suggestions. All except Rupert, who looked a little jealous, if Jonathan had to admit it. "Not to slight a lady's character, but she was the one who suggested we make it STRIP chess!" Jonathan's voice was virtually drowned out by the general back slapping and salacious comments about their resident 'ladies man', but Hugh's barking tone carried over them like a drill sergeant walking in on a mess hall.
"That may be, but the fact remains that Stephen Wilkins is currently listed as AWOL, and unless he presents himself with a fairly decent excuse in the next twenty four hours, I'm afraid he might soon find himself up shit creek."
Jonathan pursed his lips and let out a nervous whistle, trying to imagine just what kind of excuse might be classed as 'decent' enough to escape a court martial. Hugh seemed to read his thoughts.
"I don't like to wish ill on anybody, but I do hope he has some genuinely debilitating condition- and I don't mean an alcohol related one."
Debilitating condition... that suggested the beginnings of a plan to Jonathan. If only he could get home and discuss it with Stephen...but he couldn't leave in the middle of a game. Not unless he extended his losing streak into the most spectacular run of bad luck Jonathan Carnahan had ever had at cards.
"Well fellas," he said to the entire table, "what say we just put all such unpleasant thoughts behind us and enjoy the evening?"
****
Evy froze, staring in absolute incredulity and horror. She simply couldn't believe what she was seeing- she blinked once, hoping it would all go away, but of course it didn't. She dropped the towel in disgust.
Once again standing in nothing but her own skin, dripping water onto the bathroom mat, Evelyn started to shiver. But not with cold. Nor was the flush she could feel burning in her cheeks anything to do with the hot water. She was furious.
"Stephen!!" she muttered under her breath, wishing for one malicious moment that mere intent could actually kill. Looking down at the freshly washed, supposedly clean white towel at her feet, she curled her lip in disgust. Kicking the offending object away from her, she leaned across and picked up the first CLEAN towel she could lay her hands on- which was hardly bigger than a handkerchief- and quickly began drying herself with vehement strokes.
"I suppose I should have expected as much from any scoundrel who drinks with Jonathan!" she said bitterly, virtually scouring the flesh off her arms as she scrubbed herself with the hand towel, trying to rid herself of some unseen pollution. She couldn't believe that had just been next to her skin. It was disgusting! She half wondered if she should get back into the shower, wash it off properly.
Then she suddenly stopped. Wiping a circle in the steamed up mirror, she took one look at her livid expression, and sighed.
"Oh really Evelyn, stop being such a silly female!" she admonished herself, taking in deep, calming breaths. "It didn't even touch you!" She went back to dabbing her raw skin more gently, and when she had dried off most of the excess water, she reached out for her robe that was hanging from the hook on the back of the door.
Just then the handle depressed, and a minute gap opened up between the door and the jamb.
"Evelyn? Are you alright?" came a sleepy voice from the other side of it, "I thought I heard you scream. Did you call me?"
"Stephen, there is VOMIT on my nice clean towel!!!!" she shrieked at him, angrily thrusting one arm into the sleeve of her robe.
"Huh? Oh, I uh...um, sorry ..." came his pathetic reply. "I'll wash it-" he began, pushing open the door.
"No Stephen! I'm not-"
Too late.
"Oh Christ Evy!!" he blurted out in shock, immediately going bright red, his hands flying up to shield his eyes from the sight of nude female flesh. Well, not completely nude, but he could now say with some authority that Evelyn Carnahan had the nicest left boob he had ever seen.
"Get OUT!!!!" she yelled, throwing the nearest thing to hand, which happened to be Jonathan's shaving brush, in his general direction. Stephen retreated under a barrage of bathroom accessories, and slammed the door behind him, panting.
****
A/N: Was that pervy enough for ya? te he, not quite what everyone was expecting, was it? Oh my gosh, plot lines are just converging everywhere, and this is starting to get complicated...