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Venus Verticordia
- Thread starter Wragg
- Start date
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.
They do work at Scandals Resort, dear Barb!!!
“I swear by Almighty God to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”
“You are Inspector George Slave of the Metropolitan Detective Force?” asked Madiosi.
“I am.”
“Please would you tell the court how you first encountered the defendant.”
“Indeed I will. We had received information that the Racing Rodent was visiting Mr Rossetti’s premises. We observed the defendant leaving his studio on the evening of the 13th May, and he was driven to the Prince of Saxe-Coburg in Mayfair. We observed him while he was there.”
“Did he meet anyone while he was there?”
Barb held her breath.
“No, sir, he dined and retired alone.”
Barb breathed out slowly and softly. Her title, Countess of Cruxton, along with access to the Earl’s account, had greatly eased that informal conversation with Slave. Tree glared at her, but Barb had found the ceiling of the court to hold considerable interest at that moment.
“Pray continue, Inspector.”
“The next day he rode back to Rossetti’s. We examined his carriage, and discovered a package inside it.”
“What was in the package, Inspector.”
“A painting, sir. A painting known as the Venus Verticordia. A painting reported stolen by Lord Jollyrei on May 12th, sir. With that evidence in hand, I sent my men in to arrest all those present in the studio.”
“Namely?”
“Mr Tree, Mr Rossetti, and Miss Wilding, a well-known model. “
Barb’s heart was pounding. This was the real reason she’d wanted to be here. This story was meat and drink to the newspapers. If her name became linked to this trial the Earl would have divorced her before you could say ‘Illustrated London News’. And she’d be ruined.
Slave continued, “we quickly established that Mr Rossetti and Miss Wilding were innocent, though they were very helpful to us in our enquiries, particularly with reference to Mr Tree’s unusual interest in crucifixion, a line of enquiry that directed me towards the murder of Miss Brown.”
“An event to which we shall return shortly, Inspector. You had caught Mr Tree red-handed in possession of a stolen painting. Did you challenge him about this?”
“I did indeed, sir. He, ah, he told me he had purchased it, on the previous afternoon. From Sotheby’s. He stated that he had paid over $4,000,000 for it.”
There was a collective gasp from around the court. Fife let that pass.
“Four million dollars? It is a valuable painting, indeed, possibly as much as 400 dollars. But not four million. Are you sure you heard him correctly?”
“I did indeed press him, sir. He stated that he had procured the painting in the year 2016, in the twenty-first century. He claimed that his driver had driven here through a shop. He further claimed to have travelled from the United States in a flying machine.”
“A flying machine?”
“A flying machine known as a ‘Boeing 747’, he said.”
By now the whole court, with the exception of Tree and his counsel, were laughing merrily. Wragg, indeed, had tears rolling down his cheeks. Barb was laughing in a duly ladylike manner. Even Lord Justice Fife was smiling, but eventually he had no option but to bang his gavel and bring the court to order.
Once Madiosi had contained his own mirth, he asked, “Did Mr Tree’s driver corroborate this tale?”
“Mr Tree’s driver has not been seen since they arrived back at Rossetti’s. We conducted a thorough search for his body, without success. There is a railway line nearby, and we suspect that Mr Tree may have tipped the body into a passing coal train. We searched the local marshalling yards without success, and, without a body….” He shrugged.
“Poor man. What was his name?”
“Repertor, sir.”
“Poor Mr Repertor. May his soul rest in peace.” Madiosi stood in silence for a moment.
R.B. Barrington-Smythe was on his feet. “My Lord, my learned friend is attempting to lead the jury to believe that my client has murdered Mr Repertor, and that without a shred of evidence. I really have no option but to strongly object.”
“Indeed so, Mr Barrington-Smythe. Mr Madiosi, would you please build your case upon established facts?”
“Indeed I will my Lord. Indeed I will.” But Madiosi was a contented man. Now he’d planted the suspicion that Tree had murdered Repertor, it would be easier to convince the Jury that he’d also murdered Dorothy.
It would be nice to chalk up another hanging.
“You are Inspector George Slave of the Metropolitan Detective Force?” asked Madiosi.
“I am.”
“Please would you tell the court how you first encountered the defendant.”
“Indeed I will. We had received information that the Racing Rodent was visiting Mr Rossetti’s premises. We observed the defendant leaving his studio on the evening of the 13th May, and he was driven to the Prince of Saxe-Coburg in Mayfair. We observed him while he was there.”
“Did he meet anyone while he was there?”
Barb held her breath.
“No, sir, he dined and retired alone.”
Barb breathed out slowly and softly. Her title, Countess of Cruxton, along with access to the Earl’s account, had greatly eased that informal conversation with Slave. Tree glared at her, but Barb had found the ceiling of the court to hold considerable interest at that moment.
“Pray continue, Inspector.”
“The next day he rode back to Rossetti’s. We examined his carriage, and discovered a package inside it.”
“What was in the package, Inspector.”
“A painting, sir. A painting known as the Venus Verticordia. A painting reported stolen by Lord Jollyrei on May 12th, sir. With that evidence in hand, I sent my men in to arrest all those present in the studio.”
“Namely?”
“Mr Tree, Mr Rossetti, and Miss Wilding, a well-known model. “
Barb’s heart was pounding. This was the real reason she’d wanted to be here. This story was meat and drink to the newspapers. If her name became linked to this trial the Earl would have divorced her before you could say ‘Illustrated London News’. And she’d be ruined.
Slave continued, “we quickly established that Mr Rossetti and Miss Wilding were innocent, though they were very helpful to us in our enquiries, particularly with reference to Mr Tree’s unusual interest in crucifixion, a line of enquiry that directed me towards the murder of Miss Brown.”
“An event to which we shall return shortly, Inspector. You had caught Mr Tree red-handed in possession of a stolen painting. Did you challenge him about this?”
“I did indeed, sir. He, ah, he told me he had purchased it, on the previous afternoon. From Sotheby’s. He stated that he had paid over $4,000,000 for it.”
There was a collective gasp from around the court. Fife let that pass.
“Four million dollars? It is a valuable painting, indeed, possibly as much as 400 dollars. But not four million. Are you sure you heard him correctly?”
“I did indeed press him, sir. He stated that he had procured the painting in the year 2016, in the twenty-first century. He claimed that his driver had driven here through a shop. He further claimed to have travelled from the United States in a flying machine.”
“A flying machine?”
“A flying machine known as a ‘Boeing 747’, he said.”
By now the whole court, with the exception of Tree and his counsel, were laughing merrily. Wragg, indeed, had tears rolling down his cheeks. Barb was laughing in a duly ladylike manner. Even Lord Justice Fife was smiling, but eventually he had no option but to bang his gavel and bring the court to order.
Once Madiosi had contained his own mirth, he asked, “Did Mr Tree’s driver corroborate this tale?”
“Mr Tree’s driver has not been seen since they arrived back at Rossetti’s. We conducted a thorough search for his body, without success. There is a railway line nearby, and we suspect that Mr Tree may have tipped the body into a passing coal train. We searched the local marshalling yards without success, and, without a body….” He shrugged.
“Poor man. What was his name?”
“Repertor, sir.”
“Poor Mr Repertor. May his soul rest in peace.” Madiosi stood in silence for a moment.
R.B. Barrington-Smythe was on his feet. “My Lord, my learned friend is attempting to lead the jury to believe that my client has murdered Mr Repertor, and that without a shred of evidence. I really have no option but to strongly object.”
“Indeed so, Mr Barrington-Smythe. Mr Madiosi, would you please build your case upon established facts?”
“Indeed I will my Lord. Indeed I will.” But Madiosi was a contented man. Now he’d planted the suspicion that Tree had murdered Repertor, it would be easier to convince the Jury that he’d also murdered Dorothy.
It would be nice to chalk up another hanging.
I say Wragg old man, I had no idea that this Tree fellow was such an out and out bounder!
I suppose I've lost that commission too, now. Chelsea doesn't come cheap you know. Goodbye rent money!
(ps did you know that Rosetti actually had two pet wombats at one time? Interesting antipodean tie in)
I suppose I've lost that commission too, now. Chelsea doesn't come cheap you know. Goodbye rent money!
(ps did you know that Rosetti actually had two pet wombats at one time? Interesting antipodean tie in)
I thought about having Wragg in the hot seat....but you're right, Jollyrei, usually it's the girls in trouble, so I wondered how having Tree in trouble and Barb as a Countess might play out.
Just an experiment, you understand. There is universal acknowledgement that Barb or Eul looks better on a cross than Tree or me, or indeed on the end of a rope, though hanging isn't really my thing.
Mind you, I'm sure Tree looks better than I do!
Just an experiment, you understand. There is universal acknowledgement that Barb or Eul looks better on a cross than Tree or me, or indeed on the end of a rope, though hanging isn't really my thing.
Mind you, I'm sure Tree looks better than I do!
Now that is something I didn't know, Phlebas!
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
A ceiling painting is not an easy thing. Once, when I was in an artistic mood, I tried to paint an orgy on my ceiling but before I could finish it the orgy abruptly came to an end when the participants fell down on the floor.Perhaps you could draw the judge's attention to the cracks in his ceiling. He might ask Rosetti to decorate it with a painting like one of these.
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Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
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Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
I thought my first day on the stand went quite well. It's always a good sign when the entire courtroom is full of laughter at the defendant's expense.
I never really thought that Mr Repertor's body was thrown into a coal truck, as I've remarked before the so-called senator is such a weak softy he'd never carry a body let alone throw one. But the most important thing I've learnt since being a humble PC is to always look busy. So a dozen of my men searching railway yards satisfies the press that we're doing something, and Mr Madiosi putting ideas into the jury's minds is a useful trick.
Now I've just got time to catch the Metropolitan and St. John's Wood Railway train to Swiss Cottage, to my nice new home in the suburbs. A most satisfactory meeting with the Countess, we saw eye-to-eye (and old Slave's eye wandered downwards a few times as well) on all matters. I'll just store my knowledge of what actually happened at the Prince of Saxe-Coburg Hotel in my card-index. I fancy a trip on one of those fast steamers to New York that the White Star Line are now using, but may need a bit more of the Earl of Cruxton's considerable wealth to do that.
'Evening all.
I never really thought that Mr Repertor's body was thrown into a coal truck, as I've remarked before the so-called senator is such a weak softy he'd never carry a body let alone throw one. But the most important thing I've learnt since being a humble PC is to always look busy. So a dozen of my men searching railway yards satisfies the press that we're doing something, and Mr Madiosi putting ideas into the jury's minds is a useful trick.
Now I've just got time to catch the Metropolitan and St. John's Wood Railway train to Swiss Cottage, to my nice new home in the suburbs. A most satisfactory meeting with the Countess, we saw eye-to-eye (and old Slave's eye wandered downwards a few times as well) on all matters. I'll just store my knowledge of what actually happened at the Prince of Saxe-Coburg Hotel in my card-index. I fancy a trip on one of those fast steamers to New York that the White Star Line are now using, but may need a bit more of the Earl of Cruxton's considerable wealth to do that.
'Evening all.
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
Inspector Slave seems to be a man of machiavellian pragmatism.
Oh, wonderful Phlebas and Repertor, you've really made my day,
honestly, tears of laughter!
A bit of Googling finds even a German translation of Rossetti's elegy
(it goes with the cartoon, last but one on Rep's post):
I never reared a young Wombat
To glad me with his pin-hole eye
But when he was most sweet and fat
And tail-less, he was sure to die!
Ich zog noch nie ein Wombat auf,
das mir so süßen Anblick bot;
feist, schwanzlos, und so günstig drauf,
Punktäugelchen - schon war es tot.
Here's an intimate - indeed, perhaps a little too intimate
, sketch by William Bell Scott:
That's a malady that's going around, mate.Sorry to have slowed down.
My employers seem happy to take over my free time. It's getting on for 1 am and only chance for a quick look in to cfs.
Mind you, the posts on here always lift the spirits!
And yes, they give a lift. In your own time, as they say.
Joseph Madiosi, QC, then took Inspector Slave through all the other art thefts; in every case he and Slave, working as a well-tuned double act, were at pains to ensure that the Jury were only too well aware of the common thread running through all the threads, to wit; the card bearing the image of a squirrel, the trademark of the infamous ‘Racing Rodent.’
By the time they were done, eleven of the twelve men of the Jury were entirely convinced that the prisoner before them was the Racing Rodent.
The twelfth was more than content to let them go on thinking that.
Madiosi paused for effect, then he cleared his throat. “Inspector Slave, would you be so kind as to tell the court what you found in Shoreditch on the morning of 12th February, 1869?”
“I will do my best, sir. I must ask the court’s forgiveness if I need to pause at times, as some of the details of this case are…unpleasant.” He made a bit of a show of mopping his brow with his handkerchief.
Lord Justice Fife was sympathetic. “Take your time, inspector. The court realises how distressed you must have been.”
“Thank you, milord. The sexton of St Leonard’s Church, Shoreditch, rose early on the morning of 12th February. He had a grave to dig for a funeral on the 13th, and he noticed as he rose that the night had been a cold one, with frost upon the ground. He realised that the ground would be harder to dig, so he made haste to the church in order to begin his task. Upon arriving at the church he was met by a fearful sight. At some point after 9:30pm the previous evening, when the vicar had left the church after saying Compline, and 7:30am, when the sexton arrived, a large wooden cross had been erected in the churchyard. Upon the cross was the body of a young woman, completely naked, with fair hair and big ti…er…nails sticking out of her wrists and feet. The sexton discovered quickly that the victim was deceased, and he made haste to alert the local constable.
“I reached the scene within the half hour. Hearing that I was to see a young woman upon a cross, I had to steel myself for the ordeal, but my duty lay in that churchyard, and to that churchyard I went.”
“Very commendable, Inspector,” commented Fife. “A true public servant always puts his duty above any other consideration.”
“Yes, indeed, milord. It was a terrible sight. Nails. A grotesque parody of the death of our Lord. Terrible. I still see her in my dreams at night, her naked body, her smiling face….”
“Smiling?” interrupted Fife again. “Surely the poor woman wasn’t smiling?”
“Indeed she was milord. That is the strangest, most unsettling thing about the whole thing. She was smiling. I gave me the creeps, I can assure you, milord.”
“Were you able to identify the victim?” Madiosi finally managed to take over questioning from the judge.
“Eventually, yes. Mrs Fanshawe, who runs a boarding house in Virginia Road, identified her as one of her tenants, a Miss Dorothy Rose Brown, from Leeds in Yorkshire. She had only been staying with Mrs Fanshawe for a few days, hoping I expect to make her fortune in London. Except that she met her cross instead.”
“And was there a racing rodent card on the cross?”
“No, there was not, this was before the art thefts began. However, this is a most unusual form of homicide, and Mr Rossetti, in his statement, gave me to understand that Mr Tree was, ah, interested in crucifixion.”
“Upon what, pray, did he base that conclusion?”
“Upon the fact that Mr Tree commissioned from him a painting of a woman on a cross!”
The court erupted as Slave uttered this. Cries of “Shame!” “Disgusting!” “Ghastly!” “Pervert!” rang out. “The scoundrel should be horsewhipped before he is hung!” shouted one man. He got cheered for that.
Fife let it go on for a few seconds, before bringing the court to order.
“Pray continue, Inspector.”
“The perpetrator of the crucifixion of Miss Brown had inadvertently stepped in the earth of a freshly filled in grave, which hadn’t frozen….”
“They have a lot of burials in that churchyard, don’t they?”
“Well, it is Shoreditch, milord. As I was saying, footprints. We measured them and made a cast of them. The shoe size is that of Mr Tree.”
More murmurings, though this time Old Dutch brought the court to order with a glare.
“I therefore challenged Mr Tree, inviting him to share with me his whereabouts on the night of the 11th and 12th February.”
“And?” prompted Madiosi.
“And all I got was the same old poppycock about how he was born in 1965 so how could he be expected to provide an alibi for nearly a hundred years before he was born.” Slave rolled his eyes.
“So, let me see if I have understood you, Inspector. We have a callous, cruel, and slightly unusual murder. Death by crucifixion. We have a suspect who, witnesses declare, is interested in the crucifixion of young women. We have physical evidence putting the suspect at the scene. And the suspect positively declines to provide a reasonable alibi.”
“That is correct, sir.”
Madiosi cast a meaningful glance at the jury, then sat. “No further questions, my lord.”
Old Dutch peered at Counsel for the Defence over his half-moon glasses. “Your witness, Mr Barrington-Smythe.”
By the time they were done, eleven of the twelve men of the Jury were entirely convinced that the prisoner before them was the Racing Rodent.
The twelfth was more than content to let them go on thinking that.
Madiosi paused for effect, then he cleared his throat. “Inspector Slave, would you be so kind as to tell the court what you found in Shoreditch on the morning of 12th February, 1869?”
“I will do my best, sir. I must ask the court’s forgiveness if I need to pause at times, as some of the details of this case are…unpleasant.” He made a bit of a show of mopping his brow with his handkerchief.
Lord Justice Fife was sympathetic. “Take your time, inspector. The court realises how distressed you must have been.”
“Thank you, milord. The sexton of St Leonard’s Church, Shoreditch, rose early on the morning of 12th February. He had a grave to dig for a funeral on the 13th, and he noticed as he rose that the night had been a cold one, with frost upon the ground. He realised that the ground would be harder to dig, so he made haste to the church in order to begin his task. Upon arriving at the church he was met by a fearful sight. At some point after 9:30pm the previous evening, when the vicar had left the church after saying Compline, and 7:30am, when the sexton arrived, a large wooden cross had been erected in the churchyard. Upon the cross was the body of a young woman, completely naked, with fair hair and big ti…er…nails sticking out of her wrists and feet. The sexton discovered quickly that the victim was deceased, and he made haste to alert the local constable.
“I reached the scene within the half hour. Hearing that I was to see a young woman upon a cross, I had to steel myself for the ordeal, but my duty lay in that churchyard, and to that churchyard I went.”
“Very commendable, Inspector,” commented Fife. “A true public servant always puts his duty above any other consideration.”
“Yes, indeed, milord. It was a terrible sight. Nails. A grotesque parody of the death of our Lord. Terrible. I still see her in my dreams at night, her naked body, her smiling face….”
“Smiling?” interrupted Fife again. “Surely the poor woman wasn’t smiling?”
“Indeed she was milord. That is the strangest, most unsettling thing about the whole thing. She was smiling. I gave me the creeps, I can assure you, milord.”
“Were you able to identify the victim?” Madiosi finally managed to take over questioning from the judge.
“Eventually, yes. Mrs Fanshawe, who runs a boarding house in Virginia Road, identified her as one of her tenants, a Miss Dorothy Rose Brown, from Leeds in Yorkshire. She had only been staying with Mrs Fanshawe for a few days, hoping I expect to make her fortune in London. Except that she met her cross instead.”
“And was there a racing rodent card on the cross?”
“No, there was not, this was before the art thefts began. However, this is a most unusual form of homicide, and Mr Rossetti, in his statement, gave me to understand that Mr Tree was, ah, interested in crucifixion.”
“Upon what, pray, did he base that conclusion?”
“Upon the fact that Mr Tree commissioned from him a painting of a woman on a cross!”
The court erupted as Slave uttered this. Cries of “Shame!” “Disgusting!” “Ghastly!” “Pervert!” rang out. “The scoundrel should be horsewhipped before he is hung!” shouted one man. He got cheered for that.
Fife let it go on for a few seconds, before bringing the court to order.
“Pray continue, Inspector.”
“The perpetrator of the crucifixion of Miss Brown had inadvertently stepped in the earth of a freshly filled in grave, which hadn’t frozen….”
“They have a lot of burials in that churchyard, don’t they?”
“Well, it is Shoreditch, milord. As I was saying, footprints. We measured them and made a cast of them. The shoe size is that of Mr Tree.”
More murmurings, though this time Old Dutch brought the court to order with a glare.
“I therefore challenged Mr Tree, inviting him to share with me his whereabouts on the night of the 11th and 12th February.”
“And?” prompted Madiosi.
“And all I got was the same old poppycock about how he was born in 1965 so how could he be expected to provide an alibi for nearly a hundred years before he was born.” Slave rolled his eyes.
“So, let me see if I have understood you, Inspector. We have a callous, cruel, and slightly unusual murder. Death by crucifixion. We have a suspect who, witnesses declare, is interested in the crucifixion of young women. We have physical evidence putting the suspect at the scene. And the suspect positively declines to provide a reasonable alibi.”
“That is correct, sir.”
Madiosi cast a meaningful glance at the jury, then sat. “No further questions, my lord.”
Old Dutch peered at Counsel for the Defence over his half-moon glasses. “Your witness, Mr Barrington-Smythe.”
Obviously a CF kangaroo court!!!