Archive for December, 2013


December 1, 2013

Sergeant Dick Green allowed me to sleep in a cell at the police station. He kindly locked me in for added protection.

After an uncomfortable night in the cells – not my first, I hasten to add – I decided to avoid the village for a few hours. So I spent the day ‘casing’ the Squire’s ‘joint’ – as I believe the youngsters say. I watched the comings and goings at Gloomy Grange, braving the rain and the cold; sustained by the odd nip from my hip flask, and defying frostbite with the occasional ‘Jimmy’ behind a tree.

The Squire goes out riding mid-morning, then again mid-afternoon. So Japonica is left alone occasionally. I must see her!

Then we can both escape this god-forsaken village. I absent-mindedly wonder if my absence has been noted back in the Smoke!?


Following Day

Ghastly day. Sergeant Dick forgot about me so I spent all day locked in the cell with no food, and my only company was the prison-issue Edgar Allan.

Even worse, Mrs Mann found out where I was and stood outside the cell window singing filthy songs about what she’d like to do to me.

To my horror she finished off this unholy litany of depravity with the word again.

She only left when it was time for Cousin Septimus’ tea.

Eventually, Sergeant Green turned up at the Nick, the worse for wear, and looked initially startled, then shame-faced, when he saw me. I demanded whisky

Over libations at The Shaven Mound, I demanded he arrest Mrs Mann. He thinks I’m over-reacting and that, between ourselves, he’d love to ‘give her one.’

I urged him to try – it might take her mind off me.

I shudder when I think of her peeling off her wrinkled stockings to reveal her varicose veins spelling out obscene words all down her leg.

I’d had my fill of sleeping in a draughty cell with no en-suite so I booked a room at The Sailor’s Passage. It has a barmaid so is not the type of establishment I had previously assumed.

It only cost 2 guineas a night, plus half a crown for laundry. Don’t wish to keep washing my socks in the lavatory.


Following Day

After I saw the Squire leave Gloomy Grange today, I tried to see Japonica, but was prevented by Smith, the corpulent butler. He barred my way into the house – literally, he is wider than the doorway. Not even I could knock him down, not without a snow-plough.

I flung stones up at the beauteous Japonica’s bedroom window, but they landed back on my head.

I scribbled a note and tried to bribe Smith to hand it to her. But he scrunched the note up and ate it. At which point, alas, the Squire returned.

He looked less than pleased to see me. Surprising as thought I’d been a splendid dinner guest the other night.

The Squire leaped off his horse- before it had stopped – and cracked his whip. He demanded to know why I was still here.

I replied that I’d come to pay my respects to his delightful daughter. Between clenched teeth, he asked why I was still in Prentis Hancock. I reminded him that (a) I’d been reliably informed that I was dead and this was the afterlife, and (b) that the train ostensibly London-bound had brought me straight back.

‘Poppycock!’ Squaire Hotspur erupted. I was then frogmarched by him and Smith back to the railway station. I protested that I need to say my goodbyes, but I was manhandled onto the London train. The Squire informed me my luggage would be retrieved from The Sailor’s Passage and sent on to me.

As the train chuffed out of the station I leaned out of the window and begged him to give Japonica a kiss from me. He merely growled and spat on to the steaming rail.

So, heavy in heart and balls, I’m currently homeward bound.

Or am I…?

Sir Desmond Stirling’s
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