Hello again! Yes, I'm back, with another chapter for this continuing series. I'm really enjoying writing it, and hope you're enjoying it too. Again, my thanks for the kind reviews I've had for it.

This latest story was inspired by another of my favourite 'Murdoch Moments.' It's that wonderful scene From Annoying Red Planet, where George finds out the hard way how not to mount a horse.

Like the infamous 'pig-shooting' scene, I've watched it over and over again too, and it still leaves me in fits. So the temptation was to write an equally funny story from it.

Then I watched it again, and thought William was unusually sharp when he asked George if he could ride. He also sounded a bit annoyed when he asked how he got his job. Given how much he idolises him, I think George would be quite upset if he thought he'd done something that Murdoch disapproved of.

So with that in mind, I've written this slightly more serious 'missing scene'. It fills the gap between the time they leave town to where George comes out with his theory on how Gaston dies. Shot out of a cannon, eh? As Murdoch would say, as only he can - "Oh, George!"

Enjoy!

Partners In Crime – Chapter Three

Lessons Learned

There were times when William Murdoch felt sure his protégé was smarter than he let people believe. Yes, he could be startlingly naïve, too easily swayed by his own wild imagination. But every so often, as his mentor had come to increasingly appreciate, George could also be surprisingly resourceful.

If he couldn't find bicycles to transport them to their crime scene, he'd soon find an ideal alternative. Miles from the city's better amenities, he'd put that friendly charm to perfect use, persuading a local farmer to let them borrow Gertrude and Whitey for the length of their stay. He'd even taken the trouble to glean the origins of Gertrude's name from her no doubt flattered owner. It was a simple but typically thoughtful touch, that endeared the young constable to everyone he met.

On the other hand, that youthful enthusiasm could also overwhelm the better caution of common sense. Procuring these horses had shown admirable initiative, but you also needed to know how to ride them. And as that clumsily graceless fall had demonstrated, George Crabtree did not know how to ride.

Not that he'd ever see it that way, of course. Bouncing along on Whitey's back, he thought exactly the opposite.

"I think I'm getting the hang of it, sir!"

With the benefit of greater experience, and ability, William knew how far that was from the truth. As he'd learned himself, the painfully hard way, these frettish whinnies were not a good sign. And if he couldn't cope with a simple trot, then what would happen if Whitey grew tired of this bouncing load, and decided to get rid of it?

So yes, he had to bring his young friend down to Earth, now, before Whitey beat him less kindly to it.

"Take care, George. You're riding a powerful animal now, not a Shetland pony," he said at last, a telltale flattening of Whitey's ears confirming his concerns that George lacked the skill to handle him if he bolted. "And a horse that's sensed the inexperience of its rider can quickly turn that to its advantage."

He hadn't meant to sound so sharp, just as he hadn't meant his earlier words to be misconstrued. But from the way his face fell, George had clearly taken this advice as more critical disapproval. Another reminder that exaggerating his abilities to join the constabulary had not been a good idea. And as an awkward silence set in between them, William felt a rueful regret tug at his conscience.

That was the trouble with being a mentoring hero. You were regarded through such idolising eyes. Your praise meant everything, but the slightest hint of disapproval could be taken so much the other way. So however trivial the reason, the thought of disappointing him would affect George deeply, and dent that cheerful confidence.

Not daring to speak, for fear of further reproach, he'd withdrawn into this unnatural silence, no doubt to fret over where this exaggeration of his abilities might lead with his Inspector, and his more superior officers. However noble their intentions, a police officer who couldn't ride was in potentially serious trouble.

So yes, he had an awful lot to think about now. And since he'd brought the subject up to start with, William felt honour bound to try and resolve it. Except this time, he took greater care to speak gently, so that George couldn't misinterpret the support he was trying to give him.

"Everything you need for this job can be taught, George. Including how to ride a horse."

He'd hoped for one of those shy, lopsided grins. Or a flash of that gently wry humour. But, to his disappointment, George just nodded, preferring to study the woodland around them. For several reasons, William couldn't blame him. It had been a breathtaking Fall, and many trees still held their colour. Yet William couldn't fully enjoy their lovely range of reds and russets and golds. All the time George was lost to him in this chagrined silence, they couldn't hope to share their beauty.

Gradually, though, William could see subtle movements, that made it impossible for him not to smile. In his peripheral vision, he could see how keenly George was watching him. Mirroring his every move. The way he held Gertrude's reins. Each shift of his legs, and his feet in the stirrups, to control her pace. Relaxing into the roll of Whitey's gait took a bit more practice. But, eventually, he mastered that too.

For his persistence alone, and pride for his young protégé's faith in him, William felt his smile widen. If imitation really was the sincerest form of flattery, then, on this occasion, it was also the sweetest. And if George still trusted him enough to copy his example, then maybe he was ready to talk now too

"So, George… this Shetland pony you had as a child…"

Startled by this change in mood, George then recognized its significance and relaxed again, smiling shyly back at him.

"Yes, sir! Yes, his… um… name was Hamish… and – and he had the most sweetest of natures."

On the verge of adding more colourful detail to his childhood adventures, his cheery smile suddenly faded. He'd hit it hard already today, and the ground was an awfully long way down.

"Though I have to admit, sir, Whitey's a lot bigger. And rather higher up on his legs."

He'd tried to make light of it, of course, but his uncertainty had clearly returned. For the first time in his life, he was riding a real, and very big horse. But this time, William knew exactly how to respond to it.

"Yes he is, George, but don't let that unsettle you. You're doing fine. Very well indeed."

The smile came back full force this time, and William was more than happy to return it. As he watched George point to the gloriously coloured scenery around them, he could finally begin to enjoy it too. Yes, the awkwardness of before was completely gone now, soothed away by the close friendship between them. And as he listened to George's typically outlandish theory on how Gaston had met his end, he felt a warm, familiar contentment spread through him.

That was the best thing about being a mentor. As you taught others, you learned so much about yourself too.