This is England, Barb!
As our PM David Cameron thought to himself today,
as he presented his European Reform Agreement to the Cabinet
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Venus Verticordia
- Thread starter Wragg
- Start date
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Hold on a minute...Loxuru sure knows how to ratchet up the stakes....we were talking about a stolen painting, not a stolen country!
If Slave pins that on Tree, he'll never get out of jail!
Well he is apparently up for murder now. Who was he supposed to have killed again? He didn't murder Leopold, did he?
Good lord! Questioning the staff? Is that even allowed? Well, it's bad form, anyway.
I don't know what Lord Wragg pays. I mean, a chap doesn't really ask another chap, does one? I, on the other hand, pay Henry quite handsomely. And while Wragg may have seen it, I doubt Paul knows about my chamber "below stairs", the one where I keep my, er, "antiques".
Henry wouldn't tell this Paul fellow, would he? Not proper feudal spirit, what. I expect I can rely on plausible deniability.
Even so, I don't hang paintings down there, so this Racing Rodent fellow wouldn't be interested in that. Can't see how this is going to help the investigation.
I do know that a gentleman should be able to keep a few things private. We didn't fight at Agincourt to have policemen pokin' into our private lives.
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
The contrary almost happened...
We, Leopold von Sachsen-Coburg-Gotha, King of the Belgians, were also a guest in the Prince of Saxe Coburg Hotel, hoping for a last minute invitation to the Earl of Cruxton' s wedding.
The hotel is owned by a member of our family wo has fallen so deep that he has to run a hotel for living. Well, working is not a shame.
Anyway we feel at home in this hotel and we always reside in it when we pay a visit to our cousin, Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha and his spouse Victoria, Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and Empress of India.
In the hotel our experienced eye immediately perceived two beautiful ladies.
Unfortunately one of them was having a candlelit dinner with a gentleman who looked like an artist.The other lady was alone. A vision of loveliness, slim, long, black satin hair, deep brown eyes, and a figure to die for.
We wanted to approach her and make her acquaintance and we were rather We eavesdropped their conversation and we learned that he was a rich American senator. One of those "nouveaux riches", just like we thought.
Thank goodness he is in the American senate and not in ours.
To our uttermost astonishment the beautiful lady appeared to be Lord Wragg's fiancee. We wonder whether Lord Wragg knows that she is secretly dating that weird American.
If we tell that to Victoria it will certainly be some stuff to gossip in the courts of Europe. He will regret he hasn't invited us.
That night we were forced to sleep alone, the first time in years. At least we tried to sleep. We could not sleep a wink, due to the noise coming from the room next to ours. It was as if they were slaughtering a pig.
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old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
No joy out of that Henry fellow, Lord Jollyrei's servant, looked disdainfully at my 'inducement', must be paid well.
I'm not too worried, though, if they're that loyal the valets will tell their masters what I'm doing, and it's always good when the upper classes get a bit rattled, something will slip when they've had a few drinks, or when the talk gets a bit boastful trying to impress the ladies.
I'll spread a few rumours among the downstairs staff as well, some will filter upstairs too, and if there's one thing as important as money to this class of person, it's reputation. Make out their own reputation is being cast into doubt, and they'll be at each other's throats in a trice.
Break up that cosy little coterie, , that's the way to do it, and the truth will out.
I'm not too worried, though, if they're that loyal the valets will tell their masters what I'm doing, and it's always good when the upper classes get a bit rattled, something will slip when they've had a few drinks, or when the talk gets a bit boastful trying to impress the ladies.
I'll spread a few rumours among the downstairs staff as well, some will filter upstairs too, and if there's one thing as important as money to this class of person, it's reputation. Make out their own reputation is being cast into doubt, and they'll be at each other's throats in a trice.
Break up that cosy little coterie, , that's the way to do it, and the truth will out.
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
Remember the warning, Barb?
This is England, Barb!
Repertor is in China 2075, attending to a test flight of 3 story block of flats.
Clever boys, those Chinese. Though there are still issues with the floors and the safety doors.
indeed many years priggish
Just to be clear I am English, British and European just said by some rodents
Three months later….
The Earl and Countess of Cruxton were shown to the best seats in the public gallery in No 1 Court at the Old Bailey. Wragg hadn’t particularly wanted to go, he couldn’t have cared less whether Tree swung from the gallows or not, but Barb was insistent. Wragg was in an indestructible good mood, anyway, as it was barely a week since his Countess had made his joy complete by announcing that there was a Wragglet on the way. That it might just as easily be a Treelet (a twiglet?) was a possibility that she kept to herself. And any disappointment that he may have suffered at only getting a pair of gold cufflinks from Barb as a wedding present, instead of the Rossetti painting that he'd set his heart on, was long forgotten. Barb was done with modelling for paintings.
Twelve good men and true were led into the Jury box. Wragg peered across the court at them.
“I say, Barb, isn’t that….?”
She followed his gaze. “Yes, it’s your old friend Roland Rattington! Looks like he’s foreman of the jury! How about that?”
“Well, good for Tree. I never knew a more honest, upright, and fair man than Roland. If he’s on a jury that finds him guilty, you can sleep well in your bed, knowing he is guilty!”
There was murmuring throughout the court as Tree was led into the dock.
The Clerk of the Court brought proceedings to order. “All Rise!”
Even Wragg and Barb stood as Lord Justice Fife entered the court and sat himself.
“And he’s got Old Dutch!” hissed Wragg. “Fairest, most experienced on the circuit!”
“Why is his nose so blue?” asked Barb.
“I think he drinks too much port!”
Fife arranged his spectacles on his nose, and peered around the court. Eventually he noticed Tree in the dock. For a moment, he looked faintly surprised to see him, then he consulted his notes, and cleared his throat. “You are Theodore Hiram Tree?”
Tree was happy with that question. “I am.”
“Prisoner at the bar, you are charged that on 12th May last you did wilfully steal a valuable painting from Owlpen Manor, the home of Lord Jollyrei in Gloucestershire, namely that painting by Mr Rossetti known as the Venus Verticordia. How do you plead, Guilty, or Not Guilty?”
“Not Guilty, milord.”
Fourteen more charges of art theft were read out. To all Tree replied, “Not Guilty.”
Then came the sting in the tail.
“You are charged that, on the night of 11th February, in the Year of Our Lord One Thousand Eight Hundred and sixty-nine, you did, with malice aforethought, murder Miss Dorothy Rose Brown by means of nailing her to a cross in the churchyard of St Leonard’s, Shoreditch, and leaving her there during a night of sharp frost. How do you plead, Guilty or Not Guilty?”
“Not bloody Guilty, milord.”
Fife peered at him. “Mr Tree, we can easily add ‘Contempt of Court’ to the list!”
“Pardon me, milord, it’s just that I’ve never even heard of Dorothy Brown!”
“We will establish that in due course. Mr Madiosi, you may begin.”
And so Joseph Madiosi, QC, opened the case for the prosecution.
By the time he sat down again, poor Tree’s character was in tatters.
The Earl and Countess of Cruxton were shown to the best seats in the public gallery in No 1 Court at the Old Bailey. Wragg hadn’t particularly wanted to go, he couldn’t have cared less whether Tree swung from the gallows or not, but Barb was insistent. Wragg was in an indestructible good mood, anyway, as it was barely a week since his Countess had made his joy complete by announcing that there was a Wragglet on the way. That it might just as easily be a Treelet (a twiglet?) was a possibility that she kept to herself. And any disappointment that he may have suffered at only getting a pair of gold cufflinks from Barb as a wedding present, instead of the Rossetti painting that he'd set his heart on, was long forgotten. Barb was done with modelling for paintings.
Twelve good men and true were led into the Jury box. Wragg peered across the court at them.
“I say, Barb, isn’t that….?”
She followed his gaze. “Yes, it’s your old friend Roland Rattington! Looks like he’s foreman of the jury! How about that?”
“Well, good for Tree. I never knew a more honest, upright, and fair man than Roland. If he’s on a jury that finds him guilty, you can sleep well in your bed, knowing he is guilty!”
There was murmuring throughout the court as Tree was led into the dock.
The Clerk of the Court brought proceedings to order. “All Rise!”
Even Wragg and Barb stood as Lord Justice Fife entered the court and sat himself.
“And he’s got Old Dutch!” hissed Wragg. “Fairest, most experienced on the circuit!”
“Why is his nose so blue?” asked Barb.
“I think he drinks too much port!”
Fife arranged his spectacles on his nose, and peered around the court. Eventually he noticed Tree in the dock. For a moment, he looked faintly surprised to see him, then he consulted his notes, and cleared his throat. “You are Theodore Hiram Tree?”
Tree was happy with that question. “I am.”
“Prisoner at the bar, you are charged that on 12th May last you did wilfully steal a valuable painting from Owlpen Manor, the home of Lord Jollyrei in Gloucestershire, namely that painting by Mr Rossetti known as the Venus Verticordia. How do you plead, Guilty, or Not Guilty?”
“Not Guilty, milord.”
Fourteen more charges of art theft were read out. To all Tree replied, “Not Guilty.”
Then came the sting in the tail.
“You are charged that, on the night of 11th February, in the Year of Our Lord One Thousand Eight Hundred and sixty-nine, you did, with malice aforethought, murder Miss Dorothy Rose Brown by means of nailing her to a cross in the churchyard of St Leonard’s, Shoreditch, and leaving her there during a night of sharp frost. How do you plead, Guilty or Not Guilty?”
“Not bloody Guilty, milord.”
Fife peered at him. “Mr Tree, we can easily add ‘Contempt of Court’ to the list!”
“Pardon me, milord, it’s just that I’ve never even heard of Dorothy Brown!”
“We will establish that in due course. Mr Madiosi, you may begin.”
And so Joseph Madiosi, QC, opened the case for the prosecution.
By the time he sat down again, poor Tree’s character was in tatters.
Whoever this 'Wragg' guy is he is getting on my last nerve. My only hope is that I am not defending myself...
"Madiosi" - autocorrect is terrible. Sorry, Madiosi.That's our Madison. It's like painting a picture, the way he can manip the evidence.
I'm feeling a touch of morning sickness my dear .... Oops .... In your lap .... So sore... What a shame ... It will dry .... Pray do say seated, though, if the judge gets up and leaves ... We must keep up appearances you know. I do think that Tree a handsome looking hunk, don't you agree Wragg? Oh, don't look at me like that! It's just you and me in the old four poster these days, right? Surely you must think me ever faithful.
Absolutely, old girl. Wouldn't doubt you for an instant!
Of course you are not worried. After seeing the dungeon in the basement and the portraits of your less than illustrious ancestors on the walls, I wouldn't dare be unfaithful!
Madiosi’s speech had been quite a tour de force, painting Tree as a habitual liar who had no reasonable defence against any of the charges ranged against him, who had conducted a long and terrifying campaign against that owners of numerous stately homes, who was a terrible danger to women, was a fantasist, and, worst of all…..a foreigner! A foreigner who no state will admit to!
Electrifying and brilliant though it was, it had all taken some time, and Lord Justice Fife had seen fit to adjourn for lunch before giving the floor to R.B. Barrington-Smythe, QC, Barrister for the defence.
“Gentlemen of the Jury. My learned friend has conducted a competent but entirely unjustified character assassination against my client. Much has been made of the fact that he is not from these shores. Gentlemen, that may be so, but am I the only person in this room who feels disquieted by the abominable way that he has been treated?”
A hubbub broke out in the court. “SILENCE IN COURT!” bellowed Fife. “If you cannot hear out the Counsel for the defence in silence you will be unceremoniously ejected from the court! Pray continue, Mr Barrington-Smythe.”
“Thank you, Milud. Behold my client! A guest in this Sceptered Isle, yet arrested, unjustly accused, incarcerated in the worst of our prisons, and on what basis?”
He held up a small piece of card, upon which was a drawing of a squirrel.
“On the basis, gentlemen, of a small piece of card, bearing a childish drawing of a squirrel!”
No-one noticed that Roland Rattington looked slightly affronted by this description.
“It is upon this evidence, and this evidence alone, that Mr Slave and the Crown will build their own house of cards, their case that my client is the notorious gangster known universally as the ‘Racing Rodent’. The fact that my client was in possession of the Venus Verticordia proves nothing. The fact that his description of how he came by it lacks credibility, and this we accept, does not prove that he is the Racing Rodent! The Racing Rodent could just as easily be any of us in this room! It could even be you, sir!” He pointed at the Foreman of the Jury, who jumped like a scalded cat.
“Forgive me sir, I was not wishing to impugn your impeccable reputation, merely to demonstrate the futility of the Crown’s case! And so, gentlemen, we turn to the murder of the unfortunate Miss Brown. A grisly murder, yes! A terrible murder, indeed – how our hearts go out to her! And yet,” he turned the card so that it was edge-on to the jury, “and yet, the Crown’s case linking my client to it is thinner than this card which I hold before you this afternoon! The Crown will attempt to demonstrate that because my client commissioned a painting of a crucified woman from Mr Rossetti, and because he lacks a satisfactory alibi for the night in question, and because they will show him to be a cad, ergo he must be a murderer! Surely, gentlemen, this is unsatisfactory logic for an English court of law? I contend that it would be unsatisfactory logic for a kangaroo court somewhere in the colonies!
“My client is not a cad, gentlemen. I have spent long hours with him. His story may be unlikely, but he has not once wavered from it. He seems as confused and alarmed by the events that have overtaken him as you or I would be under those same circumstances. As you listen, gentlemen, I ask you simply to consider the possibility – just the possibility, mark you – that he is speaking the truth?”
“SILENCE! SILENCE IN COURT!” Wragg wondered how it was that the head didn’t fly off Old Dutch’s hammer, he was walloping it so hard.
When peace was restored, R.B. had sat down. He indicated with a shake of his head that he had no more to add at this point.
Fife looked at the Counsel for the Prosecution. “Make your case, Mr Madiosi!”
“Very well, milud. I call Inspector George Slave of the Detective Force!”
Electrifying and brilliant though it was, it had all taken some time, and Lord Justice Fife had seen fit to adjourn for lunch before giving the floor to R.B. Barrington-Smythe, QC, Barrister for the defence.
“Gentlemen of the Jury. My learned friend has conducted a competent but entirely unjustified character assassination against my client. Much has been made of the fact that he is not from these shores. Gentlemen, that may be so, but am I the only person in this room who feels disquieted by the abominable way that he has been treated?”
A hubbub broke out in the court. “SILENCE IN COURT!” bellowed Fife. “If you cannot hear out the Counsel for the defence in silence you will be unceremoniously ejected from the court! Pray continue, Mr Barrington-Smythe.”
“Thank you, Milud. Behold my client! A guest in this Sceptered Isle, yet arrested, unjustly accused, incarcerated in the worst of our prisons, and on what basis?”
He held up a small piece of card, upon which was a drawing of a squirrel.
“On the basis, gentlemen, of a small piece of card, bearing a childish drawing of a squirrel!”
No-one noticed that Roland Rattington looked slightly affronted by this description.
“It is upon this evidence, and this evidence alone, that Mr Slave and the Crown will build their own house of cards, their case that my client is the notorious gangster known universally as the ‘Racing Rodent’. The fact that my client was in possession of the Venus Verticordia proves nothing. The fact that his description of how he came by it lacks credibility, and this we accept, does not prove that he is the Racing Rodent! The Racing Rodent could just as easily be any of us in this room! It could even be you, sir!” He pointed at the Foreman of the Jury, who jumped like a scalded cat.
“Forgive me sir, I was not wishing to impugn your impeccable reputation, merely to demonstrate the futility of the Crown’s case! And so, gentlemen, we turn to the murder of the unfortunate Miss Brown. A grisly murder, yes! A terrible murder, indeed – how our hearts go out to her! And yet,” he turned the card so that it was edge-on to the jury, “and yet, the Crown’s case linking my client to it is thinner than this card which I hold before you this afternoon! The Crown will attempt to demonstrate that because my client commissioned a painting of a crucified woman from Mr Rossetti, and because he lacks a satisfactory alibi for the night in question, and because they will show him to be a cad, ergo he must be a murderer! Surely, gentlemen, this is unsatisfactory logic for an English court of law? I contend that it would be unsatisfactory logic for a kangaroo court somewhere in the colonies!
“My client is not a cad, gentlemen. I have spent long hours with him. His story may be unlikely, but he has not once wavered from it. He seems as confused and alarmed by the events that have overtaken him as you or I would be under those same circumstances. As you listen, gentlemen, I ask you simply to consider the possibility – just the possibility, mark you – that he is speaking the truth?”
“SILENCE! SILENCE IN COURT!” Wragg wondered how it was that the head didn’t fly off Old Dutch’s hammer, he was walloping it so hard.
When peace was restored, R.B. had sat down. He indicated with a shake of his head that he had no more to add at this point.
Fife looked at the Counsel for the Prosecution. “Make your case, Mr Madiosi!”
“Very well, milud. I call Inspector George Slave of the Detective Force!”
This whole conspiracy from having the lovely Barbara having her portrait done while hanging naked from a cross...
There will be repercussions!!!
Don't forget Bull and Gunner are heading your way on a slow boat...
Tree
There will be repercussions!!!
Don't forget Bull and Gunner are heading your way on a slow boat...
Tree
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
Three months later... They may be slow but they should be here by now.
Hopefully they didn't get lost.
The north Atlantic is notoriously stormy. Tree is in prison on hard labour. Bull and Gunnar aren't stupid. They've probably sloped off to Bermuda to wait out the winter.
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
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I really think we should stop worrying about Gunner and Bull. If the disappear in the Bermuda Triangle so be it. No big loss. It's called cleaning up the gene pool.