Charles Dickens and the Strange Case of the Chocolate Donkey Part V1
By John Ritchie
'Eet is a misery...'
'Mystery.'
'Ees whar I say! Eet is a misery where Edwin drewed 'is lithographs.'
The little Spaniard curled his lip contemptuously with a pair of hot tongs and promptly fainted. A stench of burnt hair and olive oil
wafted up from his moustache.
'Ow do yer spell 'lithographs' asked Detective Sergeant Nicholas 'Nick, Nick' Nickleby, who was taking notes: big, white, Five pound ones, and cigarettes from Senor Moments' pockets while writing down things that caught his interest.
'P.I.C.T.U.R.E.S.' I said.
‘Funny. I thought it would’er been spelled with an El, like Greco’.
‘Yeah. well I translated it from the Greek, didn’t I?’
‘Blimey, what it must be like to be edjicated.’
‘It has its advantages. Now. I am going to have a butchers at the Pickwick Papers and see if there are any references to Burro á
Chocolate in the cookery pages. You go through the broadsheets. Start with the Hard Times and work your way down to the Red Tops.’
‘What about matey here?’
Senor Moments was stirring.
‘Give ‘im ‘is bus fare ‘ome and a caution for wasting police time, then chuck him out. I have no great expectations we’ll get anything more useful out of him.’
‘Do I come ‘ere offen?’ Senor Moments was lisping due to the large blister on his lip.
‘Far to bloody often, as far as we are concerned. Sling your hook.’
‘Your father smells of Elderberries.’ sneered the little Spaniard, departing in a huff, a small carriage favoured by Europeans offended by the English, and much in evidence in nineteenth century London.
Half an hour later, Detective Inspector Barnaby Rudge threw the papers aside in disgust .
'Bah, humbug. Nothing there except some account of a party in the country and some insidious nonsense about the law being an ass. Do we have an Alfred Jingle on the books, Nick?'
'Not that I know of, Guv.'
'Well make a note of the name. Sounds like an artful dodger to me. You found anything?’
'Not really. An account of a train crash at Staplehurst in Kent. Some author bloke called Dickens was involved according to the Times, and a sob story about the tails of two kitties what had fallen down a well after being run over by a double-decker bus driven by Elvis Presley in one of the Tabloids.'
'The Shape of Things to Come, you mark my words, Nick. You’ll be hearing a lot more about Wells.'
Dutifully, Nickleby wrote his superior’s comments in gothic script with illuminated capitals, such as Paris and London. ‘Tis a far, far better thing I do now, than I have ever done,’ he thought, regarding his handiwork will pleasure.
'Well', said DI Rudge, decisively. 'we’re not going to get anything done sitting here, in Bleak House. I hear there is a magician in town,some character called David Copperfield, apparently does tricks with animals, a bit like a Vet I know. He’s appearing with Dombey and Sons’ Travelling Circus at the Haymarket. May have a donkey or two about his person. Worth a punt.'
Sometime later having got completely lost and not a little claustrophobic on the new-fangled London Underground, Rudge and
Nickleby walked the final ten miles to the Haymarket only to discover it was actually less than two hundred yards from Bleak House.
‘Well, the exercise did us good,’ they told one another.
Unfortunately they had taken so long getting to the venue that the show was already over. Undaunted they made their way into the interior of the building and to the rooms occupied by David Copperfield Esq. They found the aforementioned Mr Copperfield imbibing something that sounded in his strange American accent, like an Oliver Twist.
'Gin, Vermouth, an olive and a twist of lemon. My own invention. I am thinking of calling it a Chuzzlewit, after my good friend, Martin.'
'I’ll be blunt and come straight to the point,”'said Rudge, miffed that he hadn’t been offered a drink.
'Would you like a drink?',countered Copperfield.
‘Great Heavens’ thought Rudge, ‘the man must be a mind-reader.’
'Amongst other things' said Copperfield with a rye smile. Some of the Lox and Cream Cheese bagel he had been eating was stuck in his teeth.
'Open the bottle of Scotch I got for Christmas, Carol.'
His lovely assistant hastened to obey.
'So you have been speaking with our mutual friend, Senor Moments, Inspector Rudge?'
'I have indeed, but to no avail. He doesn’t know the whereabouts of the Chocolate Donkey.'
'Perhaps I may be of assistance.?'Copperfield conjured a a portfolio apparently from the empty air. 'I got these from Little Dorrit,
proprieter of the Old Curiousity Shop and Gin Palace in Tottenham Court Road. They are sketches by Boz.'
Rudge opened the folder eagerly.
To be continued…(or not!)
Copyright John Ritchie 2012
'Mystery.'
'Ees whar I say! Eet is a misery where Edwin drewed 'is lithographs.'
The little Spaniard curled his lip contemptuously with a pair of hot tongs and promptly fainted. A stench of burnt hair and olive oil
wafted up from his moustache.
'Ow do yer spell 'lithographs' asked Detective Sergeant Nicholas 'Nick, Nick' Nickleby, who was taking notes: big, white, Five pound ones, and cigarettes from Senor Moments' pockets while writing down things that caught his interest.
'P.I.C.T.U.R.E.S.' I said.
‘Funny. I thought it would’er been spelled with an El, like Greco’.
‘Yeah. well I translated it from the Greek, didn’t I?’
‘Blimey, what it must be like to be edjicated.’
‘It has its advantages. Now. I am going to have a butchers at the Pickwick Papers and see if there are any references to Burro á
Chocolate in the cookery pages. You go through the broadsheets. Start with the Hard Times and work your way down to the Red Tops.’
‘What about matey here?’
Senor Moments was stirring.
‘Give ‘im ‘is bus fare ‘ome and a caution for wasting police time, then chuck him out. I have no great expectations we’ll get anything more useful out of him.’
‘Do I come ‘ere offen?’ Senor Moments was lisping due to the large blister on his lip.
‘Far to bloody often, as far as we are concerned. Sling your hook.’
‘Your father smells of Elderberries.’ sneered the little Spaniard, departing in a huff, a small carriage favoured by Europeans offended by the English, and much in evidence in nineteenth century London.
Half an hour later, Detective Inspector Barnaby Rudge threw the papers aside in disgust .
'Bah, humbug. Nothing there except some account of a party in the country and some insidious nonsense about the law being an ass. Do we have an Alfred Jingle on the books, Nick?'
'Not that I know of, Guv.'
'Well make a note of the name. Sounds like an artful dodger to me. You found anything?’
'Not really. An account of a train crash at Staplehurst in Kent. Some author bloke called Dickens was involved according to the Times, and a sob story about the tails of two kitties what had fallen down a well after being run over by a double-decker bus driven by Elvis Presley in one of the Tabloids.'
'The Shape of Things to Come, you mark my words, Nick. You’ll be hearing a lot more about Wells.'
Dutifully, Nickleby wrote his superior’s comments in gothic script with illuminated capitals, such as Paris and London. ‘Tis a far, far better thing I do now, than I have ever done,’ he thought, regarding his handiwork will pleasure.
'Well', said DI Rudge, decisively. 'we’re not going to get anything done sitting here, in Bleak House. I hear there is a magician in town,some character called David Copperfield, apparently does tricks with animals, a bit like a Vet I know. He’s appearing with Dombey and Sons’ Travelling Circus at the Haymarket. May have a donkey or two about his person. Worth a punt.'
Sometime later having got completely lost and not a little claustrophobic on the new-fangled London Underground, Rudge and
Nickleby walked the final ten miles to the Haymarket only to discover it was actually less than two hundred yards from Bleak House.
‘Well, the exercise did us good,’ they told one another.
Unfortunately they had taken so long getting to the venue that the show was already over. Undaunted they made their way into the interior of the building and to the rooms occupied by David Copperfield Esq. They found the aforementioned Mr Copperfield imbibing something that sounded in his strange American accent, like an Oliver Twist.
'Gin, Vermouth, an olive and a twist of lemon. My own invention. I am thinking of calling it a Chuzzlewit, after my good friend, Martin.'
'I’ll be blunt and come straight to the point,”'said Rudge, miffed that he hadn’t been offered a drink.
'Would you like a drink?',countered Copperfield.
‘Great Heavens’ thought Rudge, ‘the man must be a mind-reader.’
'Amongst other things' said Copperfield with a rye smile. Some of the Lox and Cream Cheese bagel he had been eating was stuck in his teeth.
'Open the bottle of Scotch I got for Christmas, Carol.'
His lovely assistant hastened to obey.
'So you have been speaking with our mutual friend, Senor Moments, Inspector Rudge?'
'I have indeed, but to no avail. He doesn’t know the whereabouts of the Chocolate Donkey.'
'Perhaps I may be of assistance.?'Copperfield conjured a a portfolio apparently from the empty air. 'I got these from Little Dorrit,
proprieter of the Old Curiousity Shop and Gin Palace in Tottenham Court Road. They are sketches by Boz.'
Rudge opened the folder eagerly.
To be continued…(or not!)
Copyright John Ritchie 2012
If you like this short story-why not share?