Chapter Text
Miss Charlotta Bradbury really needed to be persuaded to take over the government, I thought a few hours later as we bowled along the South Easter Railway line from Tonbridge. The folder that her agent had handed to me at Victoria had been incredibly comprehensive given the short time frame involved.
We were moving along at a fair pace and I mentioned that fact to the vicar. He nodded.
“The South Eastern Railway is, mercifully, now in a state of truce with its deadly rival the 'Chatham'”, he said. “My son is interested in railways and has followed their battles most avidly. He expects a merger of some sort quite soon, if onky because the war between the two has left them both all but broken. Although sadly it is too late for us.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked. John had departed to use the facilities and we were alone for a moment.
“Tenterden has been the target for many lines across Kent for nearly half a decade now”, he said. “This new light railway is our joining the modern world at last. Reconnecting the last limb, so to speak.”
I froze at that word but I think that I managed to hide my reaction.
“Why a limb?” I asked carefully.
“It is all to do with the Cinque Ports”, he said as John rejoined us. “Have you heard of them?”
I silently thanked my lucky stars that John had not got back half a minute earlier. We were far too well attuned to each other for me to hide much from him these days. Even so he looked curiously at me clearly sensing that something was not quite right. Deflection.
“I rely on the doctor here to be my walking encyclopaedia!” I said teasingly.
Just as I had hoped he scowled and promptly set about proving me right.
“The Cinque Ports, from the French for the number five, were ports which provided ships for the king's navy in return for tax concessions”, he said. “The original five were later joined by two so-called 'Antient Towns', Rye and Winchelsea.”
I thought back to our recent case in Romney Marsh and our subsequent train journey through Rye. Judging from John's slightly red face he was thinking much the same (we had some seriously embarrassing memories between us!). But importantly my deflection had worked; he would hopefully forget my slight distraction earlier.
“Most of the seven ports 'farmed out' some of their rights to other towns along the coast along with a share of the tax concessions”, the vicar explained. “These smaller ports were called 'limbs' and Tenterden was one of them. Like the originals some are still thriving while others like Northeye which was near Hastings have been swamped by the sea.”
“I thought that Tenterden was quite some way inland?” I asked.
“It is now”, he said, “but before Romney Marsh was drained there was a large bay south of the town. The Isle of Oxney was then truly and island, not just a place surrounded by rivers like it is today.”
I hoped fervently that this was not to be our 'dangerous limb'. I did not usually bring my own gun with me on cases these days as John was far and away the better shot, but I had this time if only because I had had so little time to check things out beforehand. John of course had his, as always.
“I had the time to make some inquiries before we met up again”, I said. “I believe there was some matter over a couple being made homeless concerning your two arguing landowners?”
The vicar nodded.
“That would be the Halls down in Rolvenden, a village near the town”, he said. “A sad case; the vicar there Mr. Pontin told me about it. Mr. Jones owned the land and wanted to knock their place down so that he could build three or four houses on it. They had a tenancy agreement for twenty years they had signed with his father, but he waited until they were away one day and had his men knock it down. They had to move into a tumbledown ruin out on the St. Michael's road; they could not afford a lawyr to fight there case.”
“And your archaeologist is a local fellow?” I asked.
“A Kentishman but from Canterbury”, he said. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I think that we may be able to effect a compromise that suits everyone”, I smiled.
He looked at me in surprise, but I felt that I had every right to be confident. Although I was still worried about that limb thing.
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At the vicar's recommendation we stayed at a small hotel in the town's high street that looked a little questionable from the outside but was warm and cosy once we were in. And even better, they served bacon for dinner!
“You are like old Henriksen!” John teased. “And thief trying to escape would just have to drop loads of cake for him and bacon for you, and they would be safely away.”
“What sort of thief just happens to carry both cake and bacon around with them?” I asked innocently. “Besides, I need the energy so I can fuck your brains out tonight.”
He looked at me in horror. We were ensconced in a small nook in the place with our food but there were people not that far away.
“How can you say things like that in public?” he hissed, his eyes wide.
“Because”, I said simply, “I love you.”
He really could turn very red.
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Not as red as he was just now, perhaps. It was a few hours later and we had retired to our room. And John was for once actually looking fearful.
“What brought all this on?” he gasped as I pounded into him as if his prostate had caused me some grievous offence and needed to be severely punished.
“I love you!” I growled. “I do not say that often enough, but I believe actions can speak louder than words!”
He whined as I reached forward to tweak both his nipples and his cock twitched feebly as he tried to come for the third time in under half an hour. Not happening.
“You only have to say....” I began.
“I will tell you when I have had enough”, he grunted. “Either that or I will just pass out. But you had better fuck me a few times if I do, just to make sure I am out.”
“I do not deserve you”, I growled. “But I am working on that.”
I managed to change my angle and caught his prostate much harder. His arms and legs twitched violently then he sank back on the bed. Moments later he was snoring gently.
Well, he had said to make sure....
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The Reverend Britten looked at me in astonishment, fortunately missing the fact that someone else was taking an inordinately long time about sitting down.
“And they agreed to it?” he asked incredulously.
“They did”, I said, smiling at the cleric's amazement. “I suggested that all this could be avoided if they simply submitted one sealed bid each through the two of us and the higher to be accepted. If of course Mr. Penny's expert can verify the items.”
I was not lying to a man of the cloth. Well, not actually lying. Miss Bradbury had found out certain information about both gentlemen and it had been conveyed to them that if they did not accept this solution then said information might just appear in rather more papers than the 'Tenderden Gazette'. Lord Bulverhythe's financial improprieties were one thing, but to look at Mr. Jones one would never have thought.... well, what he wore in his own house was his business. And would have been that of the Thunderer had he not cooperated!
“Are you all right, doctor?” the vicar asked, belatedly noting John's discomfiture. I risked a smirk as I was out of the vicar's line of sight and I knew it would annoy John.
“Just a bit of a rough night”, John said looking pointedly at me.
My smirk was not that bad!
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Even the vicar could not suppress a slight smile when we met some time later that afternoon.
“I did wonder if either of our illustrious local gentlemen were going to expire”, he smiled. “Who could have known that Mr. S. Elbury of the British Museum was actually Mrs. Elbury of that estimable institution?”
“At least Mr. Jones was happy with his bid being the highest”, I said. “He is now the proud possessor of one ancient king and his relics. It seems that one can indeed buy history.”
And best of all, we have sorted this whole thing out without facing any danger, I thought in relief.
I should have known better.
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As I had expected, the vicar arrived at our hotel the following day just as we were preparing to leave for our carriage to Headcorn and the train to London. He was most disconcerted.
“You will not believe what has happened, Mr. Holmes!” he exclaimed. “That expert who came yesterday was a fake! A real one arrived today – a Mr. Stephen Elbury as we had first thought - and said that the relics were a forgery and the body likely just another from the Peasants' Revolt!”
“Really?” I said.
John looked at me sharply. As I said, he really did know me too well.
“Yes!” he exclaimed thankfully missing my lack of surprise. “He told Mr. Jones that the whole set was worthless!”
“Doubtless Mr. Penny has some questions to answer then”, John said.
“Doubtless he would have had”, the vicar agreed, “except that he has vanished! He left his lodgings with an unknown lady last night and has not been seen since! And since Mr. Jones paid cash as agreed, there is no way to recover the money.”
“Dear me”, I said. “How very unfortunate. I shall of course make what inquiries I can into this matter but frankly I do not hold out much hope. It seems to me to have been a thoroughly professional job.”
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We went first to the local police station where I told the constable there what little I could tell him, then we continued on our way to Headcorn. John looked suspiciously at me the whole way there but with our driver only a short distance up front he said nothing. Once were on the train however he cornered me.
“All right!” he said firmly. “Spill?”
“Had we not better lock the door before we start taking our clothes off?” I asked innocently. I had the pleasure of seeing him seriously considering it before he got his mind back on track.
“I do not believe this is a failed case at all”, he said. “You were up to something. Do you know where Mr. Penny has gone?”
“Back into the world of fiction where he belongs”, I said.
He just stared at me. I smiled perhaps a little too knowingly.
“Remember the story about how the unpleasant Mr. Jones forced the Halls out of their home?” I asked.
He nodded.
“The husband and wife determined to have their revenge”, I said. “Mr. Hall was already quite learnéd about archaeology and so disguised himself as a bearded expert on the subject. Coincidentally there is a fellow called Mr. Penny in Ashford who specializes in that field of study, except that he is currently away on a dig in the Holy Land. Mr. Hall assumed his identity.”
“He knew that any find would have to be verified so he checked through the lists of people at the British Museum and found a Mr. Stephen Elbury. His wife, also having read something on the subject, came down a day ahead of the real expert's expected time, knowing that the shock of a female expert would likely deter any awkward questions. The find having been verified, Mr. Jones happily handed over a small fortune - in cash - to the very man whose house he destroyed.”
“That is wonderful!” John chuckled. “Is that why you arranged the bidding process for him?”
I nodded.
“I told him that I knew his game and offered to help”, I said. “I am sorry I was unable to bring you in but as we both know, you are a terrible liar except when it comes to your patients and the occasional necessary half-truth.”
He accepted that far more readily that I could have hoped, and I smiled in relief. Everything had worked out, and we were away from the 'limb' where danger had doubtless been waiting for us somewhere. Well, it had missed us.
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Yes, I really should have known better.
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