Post by Lorpius Prime on Jan 16, 2007 21:31:48 GMT -5
Jay Thomson poked at the roast beef with his fork. If the roast beef were able to talk, it would not have protested the poking, since Jay had been doing this for several minutes now and would have surely killed the poor thing long ago. But his eyes were glazed over and he was no more paying attention to the roast beef than he was to the conversation around him. He stabbed the meat again.
Something jabbed him in the ribs and he lost the wool he'd been gathering.
"Eat your vegetables, Jay Thomson." His mother was smiling at him sweetly, but there was a threatening fire in her eyes.
Jay gulped, "Er, yes Mum." He set his eyes determinedly back on his plate and speared a boiled carrot. A Frenchman had once told him that British food was far too bland. While he couldn't argue with that judgment, Jay had retorted that at least in Britain you knew that what you were eating was food.
He was glad the man's friends hadn't wanted to make a scene for the Gendarmes.
Jay wished the Gendarmes would break up this meal. He was sure it violated some principle of the common law for a dinner to be this boring.
William Trevor-Watts was talking again. He'd carried most of the conversation so far, as half of his audience was content to simply glare at him.
Jay almost felt sorry for the kid—he'd turned out to be the son of a green-grocer. As far as Jay could tell, the only person at the table who seemed to genuinely like the boy was Lily Blake, and he suspected that was only out of civil courtesy. Baron Blake had hardly said a word the entire dinner, but kept his eyes on William in a look of barely concealed rage to which the young man had so far been oblivious. Jay simply found him, though there was a little resentment thrown in for the fact that he would dare to date Jay's sister. Jay had spent the first half of the evening staring at Margaret, who was clearly only half-listening to William herself. He strongly suspected that his sister was only seeing William in order to frustrate their father. It was working.
William apparently mentioned something about Margaret at that moment, because she roused from her own daydream to nod at a smile the boy was giving her, and then to beam at the rest of the table.
"William," Mrs. Blake chimed in, determined to keep conversation going, "Jay Thomson here is a foreign correspondent for the Times. He's just returned from a trip to Scandinavia."
Jay, upon hearing his name, nearly punctured his tongue with the fork he'd left in his mouth after swallowing the carrot. He coughed hastily to cover his yelp. "Excuse me."
William's eyes lit up, "Oh yeh, I know ye'! Me Dad read your article on them Dane newspapermen, he figures they're a bunch of rotten yellow hatemongering cowards jus' like ye' said."
"Does he?" Baron Blake leaned forward with an evil grin, eager to find more reason to dislike the grocer's son. His wife shot him a dark look.
But William plodded on, oblivious, "Yeh. Our delivery boy's from Lahore, see? And Dad says t'ain't right t' go on about him jus' on account his folk ain't civilized. Aseem wears this funny hat," he pointed to the top of his head, "but I guess he's all right if ye' talk to him. Margaret's met him too."
Margaret rolled her eyes, but said, “He’s very nice.”
William nodded vigorously. “Yeh. S’anyway,” he went on, turning back to Jay, “ye’ ever go anywhere exotic? Me Dad’s always talkin’ about the things they got in China, and I think I want t’ live in the Caribbean if I get the money. Mmm.”
Jay had been attempting to balance his salad fork on the tines of his dinner fork and toying with the vague image of a dragon the combination made, if only…
He looked up at being addressed again, and caught the tail end of a dark glare his sister was giving William, “Uh, no. No, my assignment is strictly Europe. Actually, not even all of that, since Barry doesn’t let me go to the Sublime Porte or Greece. Ah, Barry Godwin’s my editor, real great chap, Father would like him.”
Baron Blake’s face was blank except for a nearly imperceptible narrowing of his eyelids. William, again, didn’t notice, “Tha’s a shame. I hear the Turks have got these great gold palaces where ye’ can jus’ lay about and smoke opium and they got women who don’t hardly wear a… erm… ye’ can… uh… well…”
Margaret Blake had fixed her boyfriend with another stare that made even Jay gulp and reach hastily for his glass. Under the harsh gaze, William withered.
Lily Blake was spared having to attempt another rescue of the conversation by the butler, Rames. The amber-skinned Gurkha had once been a manservant for a friend of Baron Blake, an officer stationed in Bengal. When his former master has died of typhoid, Baron Blake had saved Rames from deportation, putting him in charge of the house staff.
The Gurkha leaned in and spoke in his deep, gurgling voice, “Excuse me, but these just arrived for Master Jay Thomson.” He held out some papers held together with wound string.
Jay was glad for the excuse to get away from the dinner table before things turned really nasty. He shrugged at his mother who was giving him a scornful look, took the packet from Rames, and excused himself to make for the drawing room.
Unwinding the string, he found that what he was holding was actually two separate messages. One, a thick brown envelope, was from Mills and had been sent by post yesterday afternoon. The other, thinner envelope was a telegram from Sam Reynard; it had been received just before noon today. Jay frowned and opened that one first. It was strange that the other writer would send him anything.
He unfolded the flimsy yellow paper and read. There was no heading.
Jesus, Jay. John's dead. He went to the Public Record Office last night and fell down the stairs at Chancery Lane and broke his neck. I’ve just found out myself. Wainwright spent the night with Melissa and the kids, and he says she was just hysterical. No wonder, either, my God, at his age.
Barry says you’re to go on to Germany and I’m to handle things from this end. He’s a bastard, but I don’t know what else to do. Don’t worry about arrangements here; I think Melissa’s going to want a small funeral anyway. Though, Christ Jay, it’s Mills, the whole damn country’s going to want to pay its respects. We won’t let them stiff the family either, even if Bill and I have to cut out Barry’s tongue, we won’t.
I guess I’ll be taking your telegrams, then. It’s all still a little crazy up here. I can hardly believe I’m writing this, God knows what you’re going to think reading it. What are we going to do? Christ, there’s police in his office now, they’re checking through his stuff, say they need to look into whether he had any enemies!
I’ve told them to shove off. Foul play against John Mills, can you believe the nerve? They scurried away, too, think I must have scared them, I’m afraid I’m not myself at the moment.
John did send you something yesterday, some of his research he said might give you some ideas when you’re poking about. So keep an eye out for that, it should arrive tomorrow. I suppose there’s nothing else for it; we go on with it alone then. It’s a damnable thing to say, but then it’s a damnable world, isn’t it?
Take care of yourself. And Good Luck.
I can hardly bear to say that.
Reynard
Jay just stood there for a minute, looking at the telegram, eyes screwed up and mouth open in incredible disgust.
Shit!
Only he must have said it out loud, because his mother came hurrying in, “What is it, Jay Thomson?” Margaret and the rest of the family came up behind, they must have all been eager to get away from the table too.
Saying nothing, Jay threw the telegram at her, and then ripped into the envelope from Mills. Lily Blake clapped her hand to her mouth and stared at Jay in horror. Margaret snatched it away; she and the Baron read it between them, grim expressions becoming grimmer. William Trevor-Watts hung just outside the room, looking confused.
Jay cursed again and threw the packet of papers aside. There’d been nothing in it from Mills but a short hand-scrawled note to see if anything seemed worth looking into, accompanied by a little stack of old type-written documents from various government offices at the end of the 19th century.
Jay balled his fists in anger, but at what he didn’t know.
<<3<<_>>5>>
Book One, Chapter:
-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12-13-14-15-16-17-18-19-20-21-
-22-23-24-25-26-27-28-29-30-31-32-33-34-35-36-37-38-39-40-41-42-
-43-44-45-46-47-48-49-50-51-52-53-54-55-56-57-58-59-60-61-62-
Appendix: -A-B-C-
Something jabbed him in the ribs and he lost the wool he'd been gathering.
"Eat your vegetables, Jay Thomson." His mother was smiling at him sweetly, but there was a threatening fire in her eyes.
Jay gulped, "Er, yes Mum." He set his eyes determinedly back on his plate and speared a boiled carrot. A Frenchman had once told him that British food was far too bland. While he couldn't argue with that judgment, Jay had retorted that at least in Britain you knew that what you were eating was food.
He was glad the man's friends hadn't wanted to make a scene for the Gendarmes.
Jay wished the Gendarmes would break up this meal. He was sure it violated some principle of the common law for a dinner to be this boring.
William Trevor-Watts was talking again. He'd carried most of the conversation so far, as half of his audience was content to simply glare at him.
Jay almost felt sorry for the kid—he'd turned out to be the son of a green-grocer. As far as Jay could tell, the only person at the table who seemed to genuinely like the boy was Lily Blake, and he suspected that was only out of civil courtesy. Baron Blake had hardly said a word the entire dinner, but kept his eyes on William in a look of barely concealed rage to which the young man had so far been oblivious. Jay simply found him, though there was a little resentment thrown in for the fact that he would dare to date Jay's sister. Jay had spent the first half of the evening staring at Margaret, who was clearly only half-listening to William herself. He strongly suspected that his sister was only seeing William in order to frustrate their father. It was working.
William apparently mentioned something about Margaret at that moment, because she roused from her own daydream to nod at a smile the boy was giving her, and then to beam at the rest of the table.
"William," Mrs. Blake chimed in, determined to keep conversation going, "Jay Thomson here is a foreign correspondent for the Times. He's just returned from a trip to Scandinavia."
Jay, upon hearing his name, nearly punctured his tongue with the fork he'd left in his mouth after swallowing the carrot. He coughed hastily to cover his yelp. "Excuse me."
William's eyes lit up, "Oh yeh, I know ye'! Me Dad read your article on them Dane newspapermen, he figures they're a bunch of rotten yellow hatemongering cowards jus' like ye' said."
"Does he?" Baron Blake leaned forward with an evil grin, eager to find more reason to dislike the grocer's son. His wife shot him a dark look.
But William plodded on, oblivious, "Yeh. Our delivery boy's from Lahore, see? And Dad says t'ain't right t' go on about him jus' on account his folk ain't civilized. Aseem wears this funny hat," he pointed to the top of his head, "but I guess he's all right if ye' talk to him. Margaret's met him too."
Margaret rolled her eyes, but said, “He’s very nice.”
William nodded vigorously. “Yeh. S’anyway,” he went on, turning back to Jay, “ye’ ever go anywhere exotic? Me Dad’s always talkin’ about the things they got in China, and I think I want t’ live in the Caribbean if I get the money. Mmm.”
Jay had been attempting to balance his salad fork on the tines of his dinner fork and toying with the vague image of a dragon the combination made, if only…
He looked up at being addressed again, and caught the tail end of a dark glare his sister was giving William, “Uh, no. No, my assignment is strictly Europe. Actually, not even all of that, since Barry doesn’t let me go to the Sublime Porte or Greece. Ah, Barry Godwin’s my editor, real great chap, Father would like him.”
Baron Blake’s face was blank except for a nearly imperceptible narrowing of his eyelids. William, again, didn’t notice, “Tha’s a shame. I hear the Turks have got these great gold palaces where ye’ can jus’ lay about and smoke opium and they got women who don’t hardly wear a… erm… ye’ can… uh… well…”
Margaret Blake had fixed her boyfriend with another stare that made even Jay gulp and reach hastily for his glass. Under the harsh gaze, William withered.
Lily Blake was spared having to attempt another rescue of the conversation by the butler, Rames. The amber-skinned Gurkha had once been a manservant for a friend of Baron Blake, an officer stationed in Bengal. When his former master has died of typhoid, Baron Blake had saved Rames from deportation, putting him in charge of the house staff.
The Gurkha leaned in and spoke in his deep, gurgling voice, “Excuse me, but these just arrived for Master Jay Thomson.” He held out some papers held together with wound string.
Jay was glad for the excuse to get away from the dinner table before things turned really nasty. He shrugged at his mother who was giving him a scornful look, took the packet from Rames, and excused himself to make for the drawing room.
Unwinding the string, he found that what he was holding was actually two separate messages. One, a thick brown envelope, was from Mills and had been sent by post yesterday afternoon. The other, thinner envelope was a telegram from Sam Reynard; it had been received just before noon today. Jay frowned and opened that one first. It was strange that the other writer would send him anything.
He unfolded the flimsy yellow paper and read. There was no heading.
Jesus, Jay. John's dead. He went to the Public Record Office last night and fell down the stairs at Chancery Lane and broke his neck. I’ve just found out myself. Wainwright spent the night with Melissa and the kids, and he says she was just hysterical. No wonder, either, my God, at his age.
Barry says you’re to go on to Germany and I’m to handle things from this end. He’s a bastard, but I don’t know what else to do. Don’t worry about arrangements here; I think Melissa’s going to want a small funeral anyway. Though, Christ Jay, it’s Mills, the whole damn country’s going to want to pay its respects. We won’t let them stiff the family either, even if Bill and I have to cut out Barry’s tongue, we won’t.
I guess I’ll be taking your telegrams, then. It’s all still a little crazy up here. I can hardly believe I’m writing this, God knows what you’re going to think reading it. What are we going to do? Christ, there’s police in his office now, they’re checking through his stuff, say they need to look into whether he had any enemies!
I’ve told them to shove off. Foul play against John Mills, can you believe the nerve? They scurried away, too, think I must have scared them, I’m afraid I’m not myself at the moment.
John did send you something yesterday, some of his research he said might give you some ideas when you’re poking about. So keep an eye out for that, it should arrive tomorrow. I suppose there’s nothing else for it; we go on with it alone then. It’s a damnable thing to say, but then it’s a damnable world, isn’t it?
Take care of yourself. And Good Luck.
I can hardly bear to say that.
Reynard
Jay just stood there for a minute, looking at the telegram, eyes screwed up and mouth open in incredible disgust.
Shit!
Only he must have said it out loud, because his mother came hurrying in, “What is it, Jay Thomson?” Margaret and the rest of the family came up behind, they must have all been eager to get away from the table too.
Saying nothing, Jay threw the telegram at her, and then ripped into the envelope from Mills. Lily Blake clapped her hand to her mouth and stared at Jay in horror. Margaret snatched it away; she and the Baron read it between them, grim expressions becoming grimmer. William Trevor-Watts hung just outside the room, looking confused.
Jay cursed again and threw the packet of papers aside. There’d been nothing in it from Mills but a short hand-scrawled note to see if anything seemed worth looking into, accompanied by a little stack of old type-written documents from various government offices at the end of the 19th century.
Jay balled his fists in anger, but at what he didn’t know.
<<3<<_>>5>>
Book One, Chapter:
-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12-13-14-15-16-17-18-19-20-21-
-22-23-24-25-26-27-28-29-30-31-32-33-34-35-36-37-38-39-40-41-42-
-43-44-45-46-47-48-49-50-51-52-53-54-55-56-57-58-59-60-61-62-
Appendix: -A-B-C-