From Ensign Sidney Tallow
20: Panther in the Park — Aftermath
Latter events in the Panther in the Park venture of the company, from the point of view of Mr Sidney Tallow, by way of explaining his sudden interest in becoming a Gentleman in the Dragoons, however minor a Gentleman he might become.
§ § § § §
The Morning After The Night Before.
It had been a Night Before. What with strange emanations from the basement, and lots of business herding servants out of the Big House while the Colonel and Mr Rao did strange stuff downstairs. Now in the Morning After, Sidney was keen to capitalise on the Night Before’s luck, preferably back in Civilised London.
Now, Sidney Tallow was not a nervous man by trade, most certainly not one worried by a dark night or a moaning wind whistling around the rooftops of a proper, civilised east end rookery full of thieves, murders and evil doers of the most mundane kind. But this country lark was starting to get on his nerves. Strange rustlings, grunting and howls had him all-a-twitch, barely able to get some proper shut eye until dawn, when it all seemed to quiet down. Apart from the birds. What a bleedin’ noise!
So it was the next morning, rather tired and somewhat nervous, did Sidney take a quiet moment when others where occupied elsewhere, to approach Mr Rao.
Alone.
Privately, like.
“You see, Mr Rao, Sir, I was casing the upstairs, looking for anything … loose, by way of adding it to the fund for my dear old mother, bless ’er, in ’er dotage. Price of Tea and a bucket of offal these days is fair wicked. I had tried a couple of rooms, looking for a ladies chamber, ’cos I knows a bit about jewellery that ladies love, pretty stuff, gold, diamonds, good value that can be, well, passed on like, at a decent return. But I wasn’t having no luck. It was like no lady lived there. Not one. Not natural, a Gent living on his own.”
Sidney coughed, and shuffled. He didn’t like to mention his old Ma, but something about Mr Rao’s steady, unblinking gaze made him nervous.
“So, as I was looking in some rooms I came across a sort of study off another room, and a desk covered in papers and mechanical junk in bits, lenses, glass parts, cogs and springs, and … so I swept it all up in my sack and moved on. Lucky I did, too, ’cos while I was up there I spotted someone else sneaking around. Well, less sneaking, they seemed to have cased the place before and knew the layout, especially of some less obvious corridors and disguised doors, like the servants use. I only just dodged ’em, but I’d swear they were looking in the same rooms I was, after the same stuff.”
Sidney sniffed. The country air had given him a chill, he was sure, his nose wouldn’t stop running.
“Well, lucky I grabbed the stuff, before that other bloke got it. So I slipped it in me sack, for safe keeping like, and had it away on me toes, sharpish. After a bit more ducking and diving I found the stairs again and found Mr Tonkin. ‘Wotcha Mr Tonkin!’ I says, slipped out the door and plopped the sack in the carriage out of the way while I ’elped Mr Tonkin clear out the below-stairs. Anyways, here we are in the morning and I was wondering…”
Sidney performed a strange flapping motion with his long, grubby jacket, and an infeasibly large but strangely nondescript sack appeared from beneath, a sack full of papery rustles and rattling clinks akin to glass, brass and mechanisms, loose, assorted.
“Thing is, see, I know you and the Colonel like to poke around with this sort of stuff, and I think I know a bloke who might give me a price, but I wanted to ask a man of H’exceptional H’learning such as H’yerself, what all the funny foreign squiggles and wiggles on the papers and the brass cogs and stuff meant so I ’ave a better idea of a fair price when we get back to London. Of course, I might be able to see you right if it’s proper valuable…”
Sidney trailed off under the unblinking gaze.
“Yer up for it then?” he asked, and opened out the sack at Rao’s feet.
With creditable aplomb, Rao poked the pile of brass and papers cautiously with a convenient stick, none too keen to touch any of it lest a catched spring abruptly loosen and a sprung spring activate something overly eventful.
“Ah, Sri Tallow. If you have a suitable device, I think you might be advised to be Warded when carrying these items, to prevent their rediscovery by their recent owner. Alternatively, should you require it, I can work something out that will achieve the same aim.”
“Oh. Oh!” ‘Warded’. That sounded rather more serious than Sidney had anticipated.
“Regarding valuation, mechanical components frequently have a well-understood pricing structure, so should in principle be easy to value. Papers may be harder to assess.”
This was something Sidney could agree with — he’d never seen much point in paper and writing.
“Such things may have a value to our small company and be best kept out of other hands. I trust you would be willing to give us first refusal and suitable consideration should we wish to acquire any of them? I believe I have heard the term mates’ rates…”
“Well, that would be very good of you Mr Rao — certainly don’t want anyone misunderstanding why I have ’em in the sack: Warding. Is it likely to hurt? I don’t want my best Sunday suit here stained, neither.”
Sidney gestured lovingly to his crumpled, overlarge and slightly grubby jacket. A forgotten leg of roast chicken poked out of one pocket, gleaming greasily, momentarily passed over as part of a fine breakfast yet to come.
Sidney reached down to the sack and tipped the contents gently towards the open end for closer inspection, careful not to let smaller parts or papers spill onto the ground.
“I don’t see why we can’t put in a suitable discount if you think some of it’s useful. Saves me lugging it up to Dirty Harry’s after all.”
Sidney gestured.
“So, what is it all then? What about them foreign squiggle writings, eh?”
& & & & &
Later, That Same Morning.
Mr. Rao’s inspection of the variety of items that had fallen into Sidney’s sack had taken some considerable time, so it was barely edging towards Noon when he had collected them all back into the sack, and stuffed said sack behind a panel in the open carriage for convenience of transport and avoidance of any idle gossip or difficult-to-answer questions.
All but finished stuffing and jamming the boards back into place, a heavy step behind alerted Sidney that he might be, inconveniently, not alone.
“Blimey! Colonel Mustard! You fair put the frighteners on me creepin’ around like that! I was just, um, cleaning up the carriage after last night, Sir!”
But the stern expression of disapproval upon the Colonel’s face did not bode well. Mustard leaned past Sidney and poked at the board disguising the sack, which gave way abruptly, falling out and exposing the half open sack of brassy valuables.
“I say Tallow, I'm afraid it just won't do. I gather you have been pilfering the Finch Residence and I'm afraid it will all have to go back!” growled the Colonel.
“But Colonel, Sir! It’s all legitimate plunder, Sir!”
Alas, the honest and upstanding Colonel Mustard was having none of this, not from a barrack room lawyer, and certainly not from a civilian.
“In the First Instance, Tallow, we gained Lawful Entry to Mr Finch's Residence by means of my Warrant from the King. It touches upon my own Honour and that of his Royal Highness that we comport ourselves in a lawful and gentlemanly Fashion once we have gained such Entry with such an Instrument of the Law.”
Sidney started to mutter that he’d be happy to claim he went in through the window, unlawful like, but was quick enough to spot the dangerous ground he might be treading with such a claim as Mustard glared at him and continued.
“In the Second Instance, while I am not averse to a spot of Battlefield looting in Principle — after all how would we ever recruit soldiers otherwise — it is normal to limit such Activity to the Possessions of our Enemies. We cannot in all Conscience number Mr Finch amongst their Ranks. Mr Finch was the Victim of our Enemies and we his Rescuers. It is therefore not at all appropriate that we should then despoil him of his Lawful Possessions as if the Price of his Rescue.”
Sidney valiantly tried to keep up, especially at the mention of looting, but he was growing increasingly desperate, what with all the big words, especially ones like ‘Conscience’, which previously had been a word that had never bothered Sidney in the slightest.
“In the Third Instance, should my Appeal on Ethical and Moral Grounds fall upon less than receptive Ears, I would point out that any Philosophical Gentleman worth his Salt is able to track his own Possessions by Arcane Means — I could certainly do so myself. My assessment of Mr Finch is that not only is he a “Philosophical Gentleman” of some Accomplishment, he is also a very vengeful Fellow. For my part the Outcome of his Discovery of the Truth of the Matter, is likely to be considerable Embarrassment: for you it is the Gallows.”
Sidney, ever a man to know his best route of escape checked left and right, but he appeared to be cornered by a towering Colonel. He knew the game was up as the Colonel delivered his final words, catching Sidney’s eye.
“So what we will do is return Mr Finch's Possessions to him. We will let him understand that we found them while seeking the Trail of a possible Accomplice in a Hiding Place nearby. I am Happy to suggest that he owes this Fortunate Discovery to the Eagle Eyes and Sharp Wit of my Associate Sydney Tallow. Who knows, he may even choose to reward you. I suggest that Time is of the Essence!” the Colonel thundered, before turning on his heel and making starting away.
Applying his lightening quick wit Sidney considered the best responses. Would ‘but my old starving Ma’ appeal? Or perhaps ‘But they was bad ’uns when we walked in the ’ouse! ’Ow can they not be bad ’uns when I walk out?’ No, no, too much an excuse. Ah-ha! He had it!
“’Tis for feeding the poor starving Urchins, Colonel. A man of your stature and importance wouldn’t want an Urchin to starve, eh?!” Sidney put on his best winsome smile (last used at his Old Ma, and earned him a clip round the ear, but worth a try…), held his hat in his hand, bobbed, nodded and tugged a forelock.
“Tallllooooow!” the growl appeared to emanate from some hidden basement within the Colonel’s towering form.
“Riiight … or … we, um, I found ’em. Outside. Someone was up there, musta nicked ’em and was takin’ ’em for, for later … ?”
With a deep sigh and a mutter of apology to his poor, starving Old Ma, Sidney picked up the sack and turned back to the Big House with a heavy heart and a leaden tread.
“Well done, Tallow.” said the Colonel, in an approving tone. “I knew you would understand when it was put to you. Have you ever thought of enlisting? The service can use a fellow with initiative, and no-one can doubt that you have initiative — however misplaced on occasion. I'm sure I could find you a junior commission somewhere in the regiment. Of course, you'd have to smarten up a bit and learn to ride, but it would mean a significant step up in the world. Even an Ensign is considered a gentleman. Make your old Ma proud. I'm sure those urchins you so care for would be impressed — they always seem quite excited to see me — and the ladies love a man in uniform. So what do you say, Tallow. I'm sure I have a shilling about my person somewhere.”
Sidney considered his options — if he’d learned anything in the company of these gents its was that he was unlikely to find many opportunities for nicking stuff for a simple profit. They seemed to have a firm view on it quite incompatible with Sidney’s approach to life.
However, Sidney was intrigued by one word that the Colonel had spoken barely moment’s before. A word for legal nicking stuff that was backed by an entire army to make it official and legit: ‘Plunder’.
And the good Colonel was starting up front by paying Sidney for the privilege! Quick as a flash, Sidney could see no downside to this arrangement.
“Well, Colonel Mustard, Sir, now you mention it I had been considering a better paid career…”
What would his old Ma say? Sidney frowned. There would have to be some explaining…