Work Text
[Letter from Mr. Carantok Poldark-Persano, Esquire]
Dear Mr. Holmes And Doctor Watson,
I wished to write to you and thank you once again for everything you did for me and Dory in Cornwall. As you suggested Doctor Frinton recommended a long and quiet stay in the country to help him recover from his 'madness' – as he and Doctor Watson both pointed out, the still prevalent belief that such behaviour is contagious will help keep people away – and now Dory is enjoying some well-deserved rest.
All right, maybe not that much rest. For all his bravado and seemingly devil-may-care attitude to life Dory is quite conservative at heart, and had refused to actually consummate our relationship until we had come though our own recent dark vale. Fortunately the farm has a small cottage out the back which is just as well, because my man is loud!. And that rapier of his is not his only long and mighty weapon; Cles gave us such a look when we came into breakfast the other day, and muttered that he might have to move the cows to another spot on the farm because the two of us were putting them off giving milk! I was so embarrassed but Dory of course was proud as a peacock!
I had feared that he might start missing his homeland but he has settled into life at the farm happily (and settled into me even more happily!). Cles and Charlie roll their eyes at our ridiculousness but they are happy for us and we owe it all to you. Thank you from us both (and my own personal thanks for that catalogue from that London shop you showed me; that harness-pleasurer-unguent combination certainly stopped him strutting. For some hours at least!).
C. Poldark-Persano (Mr.)
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Heaven
God looked down at the two men walking hand in hand across a field. They could hardly have been any closer unless they were inside each other's clothes.“Quite lucky the way those two met, was it not dearest?” He said. “Indeed”, She agreed.“Especially as Mr. Persano's original plans had been to go straight to London and not via Plymouth”, God said dryly. “I wonder what brought about a change in his itinerary?”“Coincidences do happen” She said.He just looked at Her.“Like the fact that Mr. Lucius Holmes is now being periodically reduced to a blubbering idiot by a gentleman who bears a striking resemblance to our son Gadreel, who as we know is doing much to same to our own Luke?”“The important thing is that everyone is happy”, She said. “If perhaps a little sore........”“Dearest!”
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Narration by Inspector Chatton Smith
I was almost relieved that Fray went off with his sons to see his grandson down in Maryport. I would have gone with them but after four lots of Cumberland sausage for the second weekend in a row I was in no fit state to.... well, to do much really. Certainly not anything as strenuous as walking.Which was damnably unfortunate as things turned out. I had barely shut the door before I realized to my shock that there was someone in the house with me. I stared in astonishment at the familiar tow-headed figure who had emerged from the side-room.
”Chummy?”
My second cousin Lord Cholmondeley Fortescue, who had moved to the neighbouring county of Lancashire recently. He was horribly rich; unfortunately our respective family branches had an ongoing feud which made the Borgias look like a disagreement over cucumber sandwiches, but Chummy and I had always gotten on well and we had been arranging to meet up some time soon. I had given him my address but to find him here unannounced....“What is wrong?” I asked anxiously. “And how did you sneak into the house like that?”“Honest injun not reveal tricks!” he grinned. He was physically nothing like me let alone the supposedly typical Red Indian, living up to the 'Flaxen Saxon' nickname that the London papers had bestowed on him and I was not at all jealous of his muscular physique and handsome face. Which I had hoped that Fray would not get to see for some time. Preferably a couple of decades.“You are but one-eighth Red Indian, like me”, I scoffed. “Is something the matter?”His grin faded and he looked worriedly at me.“I may be in a very small spot of bother?” he said carefully.
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Less than an hour later I and The Grand Master Of Epic Understatement were on a train to London. Although what with the size of his smirk at my very slight difficulty in walking and my occasional cry of pain during the unusually bumpy cab-ride to Aspatria, I had been strongly tempted to leave the bastard behind!
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