*OK, last S1E5 story (to date). After this, the fever stories.*

**Also, a quick plug for another Lord Featherington collaborative story with farfromhome, posted here on FanFiction at the Bridgerton (TV) site titled 'The Maiden Voyage'. Hope you give it a read. Comments always welcome.**

S1 E5 – A Gauntlet Thrown Down

The displaced, distracted, and possibly disgraced DI Poole had sensed the ominous tread coming up the station steps a full 30 seconds before the equally ominous shadow had darkened the station door. Both Poole and Vincent Carter had been anxiously awaiting the attendance of the Commissioner and now the man is come and the boom is about to be lowered.

Poole had given his junior officers a look and, being smart men, they'd scarpered out the door lickety-split… no doubt to eavesdrop with all ears flapping as their unwanted interloping British DI gets his head handed to him on a plate.

The only bit of brightness in this whole mess is that the beauteous DS Bordey isn't here to witness the impending humiliation. Not that it hardly mattered. After today, his half-formed thought to invite her out to drinks will never come to fruition. Why would she contemplate being seen with him in public after this?

Seeing the thunderous face atop that intimidating uniform with all the brass and braid, Poole knows this is going to be a bollocking of stupendous proportions. The big man is livid. Poole had just enough time to slide a wary look to Carter and make a subtle eyebrow signal before the boom is not only lowered, it is dropped with vociferous force!

Poole's eyes widen slightly as the deep mellifluous tones rapidly rise to a deep-throated booming unlike anything he's ever heard before. This isn't panicky finger-pointing and cowardly blame shame, this is something else, something new. Keeping his face as neutral as he can, Poole begins to listen very carefully. Something tells him this is not just a bollocking but a potential pivotal point in his career.

Whether pivoting up or down is yet to be decided. 'Down' if this senior officer is anything like Poole's past senior officers. 'Up' if he isn't. Poole is curious, which way will Fate send him?

"Do you have any idea how much paperwork this will generate?"

Poole's eyes narrow. Paperwork? I've already done all the paperwork in readiness for this confrontation, including my resignation. All it needs is his signature, as I already informed him.

"What on earth were you DOING? How can someone murder the person standing next to you and you not even NOTICE?"

Poole's face stiffens. What was I doing? My job! By the book and as ordered. As for how it could happen? With great difficulty, exquisite timing, audacious nerve… or sheer dumb luck! Either way, this is a crime against me as well as the victim. If I'm allowed to stay for even a few days, I will by god find the fiend (or fool) who landed me in this mess!

"I mean, it should be funny. It sounds funny. They're laughing at Government House. Laughing when they see me. What kind of laughing."

Poole's senses tingle. He skipped right over the part where he should have said 'laughing at YOU, Poole'. It almost sounds like he's taking the heat. Now, why would he do that?

"I've been lobbying for months to bring Leon Hamilton to Sainte-Marie to finish his sentence. I even sent my most senior officer to go and collect him. Do you know why I sent you, Inspector?"

Poole hears the deceptively soft smooth voice. His eyebrows go up, "Well, I…" I assume you wanted me off your island even if only for a few hours. I'm sure my 'team' enjoyed my absence. Maybe it was a test, to see how bad a fit I am here. Maybe you were hoping I'd screw up so you can send me home in disgrace… or fall overboard and drown… or…

"I sent you because I wanted the transfer to go smoothly. Without incident. Why? Because I couldn't image how embarrassing it would be should he escape whilst in the custody of the Sainte-Marie police force."

Poole stills. You trusted me? On such short acquaintance? Are you so desperate that you cling to whatever trash the Met sends you? Or… did you truly trust me? He starts to ask if he really had the Commissioner's trust… did he STILL have it… but is interrupted.

"A concern that pales into insignificance now that he's been murdered whilst handcuffed to one of our murder detectives."

Poole cocks his head. Wow, two 'whilst's' in the same dressing-down. This is certainly the most erudite shellacking I've ever had. Almost poetic. Then he has a strange thought. Is he enjoying this? He looks excited, expectant, and not really angry at all. What is he waiting for?

The Commissioner pauses, almost like he's actually waiting then rounds onto officer Carter and spares him a few words of recrimination and demands for more paperwork.

Poole and Carter share a glance. There, Vincent, I told you he'd want a full report from you on his desk by morning. Since it's already done, I'll deliver it with mine to his office by 6pm tonight. Having it early won't sweeten his mood but it'll show him we know our jobs. Vincent has a brief moment to look impressed then bolts when ordered to 'go away'.

Now Poole can speak more candidly. I refuse to let any of the blame fall upon the innocent guard. This disaster happened on MY watch, not Vincent's. "It wasn't his fault, sir. The prisoner was in my custody." He studies his boss' broad back, waiting for the next attack.

Instead, the Commissioner turns to face him and, just for a moment, Poole is sure the man is smiling. But, no, his baritone voice rolls out. "I'd say that's hardly something to be proud of, Inspector. I could understand if he was secretly poisoned."

Poole's mind clicks. Poison? Oh, yes, wouldn't that have been a blessing in disguise!

"In fact, secretly anything! I could even forgive a gunshot from another boat, or a jet ski, or a helicopter!"

Poole almost scoffs. Oh, come on, this is the Caribbean not a James Bond movie! He bites his lip just in time as his boss shoots him a very keen look before reaching a crescendo.

"But… no, a knife was PLUNGED into his back while YOU were standing next to him." He holds up his hands, wrists touching, "JOINED! At the WRISTS!" A long silent pause ensures before Patterson heaves a huff, picks up his hat, and abruptly leaves.

As he watches the Commissioner stalk out the door, Poole can't help feel a challenge of some sort has been given. A gauntlet thrown down. More and more he feels this is a test of some sort and his future depends upon solving this most baffling puzzle. He takes a deep breath. Well, I've never met a puzzle I didn't like… and this one is an absolute corker! Now, let me go back over the sequence of events again…

So it is that when his officers clatter back inside, they find their DI deep in thought. It never occurs to him how his posture might look to them. Defeated? Never! Beaten? Not by a long shot! Screwing his resolve up to a white-hot sticking point? Oh, absolutely!

It isn't until he hears the dulcet musical voice of his DS that his resolve waivers, but only for an instant. Drat! How much of this drubbing did she hear? He briefly wonders why it bothers him that she heard it when it didn't bother him that the men heard it? He shakes his head. Some mysteries are beyond him… and women are one of the biggest mysteries in his life!

"Are you OK?" she asks low and worried.

His intent to vault immediately into action is short-circuited by the tone of her voice. For just an instant, he wonders if she is genuinely concerned. For him. For his welfare. For his feelings. Then he shakes his head and delivers a succinct summary. "The Commissioner and I had a frank exchange of views and it was decided that I hadn't exactly covered myself in glory as far as the prisoner's transfer was concerned."

He sees his team shift uneasily… but the amused sideways glances he is used to seeing at Croydon didn't happen. Instead, all three seem anxious, all eyes on him. He shrugs. Well, maybe they're just better at masking their derision. They get foreign DIs sent down here all the time. I'm not the first and I won't be the last. He continues, "I wholeheartedly agreed with him and suggested I be shipped back to London in disgrace." The words hurt coming out but he might as well say what they are all wishing to hear. But, instead, he sees something unprecedented.

His DS steps forward seemingly shocked and upset. Officer Myers shoots a look to her as if begging her to do something, say something, to stop this announcement. Officer Best's eyes have narrowed, sharpened, and are fixed on him as if willing him to take the words back.

Poole sees all this in a blink. Is this some sort of elaborate prank? Are they winding me up? How can they care one way or the other… if I stay or if I go? I'm nothing to them, just a space-keeper until the next luckless DI gets sent to replace me. I wonder how long these three can keep up the act? He shrugs, looks down, but watches them very carefully, "He refused."

He sees his DS slump in apparent relief. Officer Myers hasn't taken his eyes off her, almost like she's his interpreter of whatever is going on here. Officer Best gasps in a breath… why would he be holding his breath? Then he sees them all relax.

Now he's equally puzzled by their behaviour. Did they relax because the joke is over and they can all laugh together later when I'm not present? Or… or… could it be that they… they were actually upset? OK, maybe, but upset about what? Certainly not for me. I'm nobody. They're probably concerned about how this debacle will reflect upon them. So, OK 'team', let's get to work and save all of our reputations!

He says forcefully, "So, as I'm stuck here, I intend to find the person who murdered Leon Hamilton…" he wrestles the white board out of its corner, suddenly furious, "…that caused me no little embarrassment, if it's the last thing I ever do!" He slams the luckless board into place then sees there are photos and notes on it! He almost shouts 'Who left these up?' then looks closer and snorts. No, these photos and notes are meaningless. There's been no such case and he doesn't recognize anything.

He snorts again. Another prank? How unprofessional. Obviously this team has too much spare time on their hands. What's next? Sleeping at their desks? Juggling? Cutting out paper dolls? Doing the crossword? Well, there's no time to grill them right now, they have work to do… but when I have the time, I will certainly get to the bottom of this jape… and heads will roll!

His lips thinned to the barest slit, DI Poole rips the photos off the board and bins them. He's shouting a bit, he's doubly angry. I'm being attacked fore and aft! Well, it's about time these people learned who they're dealing with. I'm DI Richard Poole and I will NOT be ignored!

Within minutes his team has leapt into action as he raps out orders and demands, almost like dogs released after the hare, almost relishing his anger fueled urgency. For just a moment, he studies them as they rush about their tasks. They look… pleased… almost eager… almost…

He shakes his head and turns to the board. No, Poole, don't go there. They don't like you. Why would they? But, given enough time, if I have any time left on this island, they may come to respect me, perhaps even trust me.

His eyes dart briefly to his DS where she watches him stare at the board. Perhaps, if all goes well, and I'm given a second chance, I'll ask her out to drinks after all. But later, when this case is all over. After all, it's just drinks. What's the worst that could happen?

END