Taking and Liberating of Penelope Ch. 01

Penelope Elizabeth Smythe-Worthington knew exactly what her place was in life. She was British, a subject of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria; she was well-educated, having attended Oxford for 3 years, starting in 1884 (although, of course she did not receive a degree of any sort, that not being --yet-- possible); she was of the gentry, living most of her life at the family estate in Klempton; she was the niece of the the 3rd Earl of Faversham; and she was the daughter of Edward Smythe-Worthington, Bishop of the Church of England, who had been sent here to India to oversee the missions for conversion of the heathen. Yes, she knew her place, in this life and the next, and that place was obviously among the elite.

All this is to explain why she simply could not comprehend how she could be in this deplorable state of affairs, having been carried off -- hooded and bound, despite all the best efforts of her father and herself -- by hordes of jabbering heathens with their too-dark skins, deposited on this uncomfortable wooden chair in this stiflingly hot room with only one small window, and locked in for what seemed like untold hours. They had at least had the common decency to remove the hood, but they had left her bound with hempen ropes and without even any water to relieve her thirst, let alone a decent cup of tea. All she and her father had done was to defend themselves against some heathen in an outrageous costume -- a brigand, no doubt, perhaps with aspirations of joining some military -- and things had escalated rapidly until she found herself being treated like some... some common criminal. Her Majesty's government would hear about this, of that there could be no doubt whatsoever!

At long last, two men entered, one sitting across the table from her, the other off to one side with a notepad and pen."Hello. I am Prashmahan Bhuwalliput, the local... I suppose you would call me an administrator," the first man said with a distinct Oxonian accent. "And this is Mr. Krishnamurtmi, my secretary. And you are...?"

"I am Penelope Smythe-Worthington, Mr.... I'm sorry, what did you say it was, again?"

"My fellow students at Oxford had a similar problem the polysyllables. You may call me 'Buddy' as they did."

"Thank you...um.. Buddy. Perhaps you can inform me as to what, precisely, is going on. Why am I being detained?"

"There was a disturbance in the town earlier today, and I'm afraid you are being detained to help me determine exactly what happened. I do apologize for the ropes. Mr. Krishnamurtmi, would you be so kind as to undo the bonds? I don't think Miss Smythe-Worthington will be causing any problems, now that she understands the situation. Am I right, Miss?"

"No, as you seem to be someone in authority, I shan't create a nuisance. How may I assist you?"

"I am looking into an incident late this morning that appears to have become rather violent, to include... it says here, 'the discharge of a firearm.' I'm hoping to discover if it involves any criminal activity. What can you tell me of it, in your own words?"

"I should say that there was definitely some 'criminal activity,' as you say! My father and I were on our way to Calliup, en route to Krawnpur... "

"Calliup, you say? How did that come about?"

"If you will KINDLY quit interrupting, I shall tell you!" Penelope was becoming irritated at this... person." [He could hardly be called a gentleman, breaking into her narrative that way.] "We left the ship that we had taken from Calcutta at Diwalli, after 3 days of traveling upriver in this insufferable heat.

"Might I have some tea, or at least some water? The air in this room is stifling!"

"Mr. Krishnamurtmi, if you please? I would recommend against tea.. the stimulant will only make things worse. Perhaps some cool water with a bit of lime? You say you disembarked at Diwalli?"

"Ye-es! That is precisely what I said. Pay attention! We left the ship at Diwalli and were headed north toward Calliup, when suddenly in the middle of your town here, a man in an outlandish costume accosted us, waving his arms and planting himself in front of the horse pulling our cart. My father took care to learn to speak excellent Hindi before leaving England, adding to what he already knew, and he addressed the man in that language, as well as English, telling him to let us pass. The brigand -- for such I took him to be -- jabbered something back in some heathen lingo my father did not understand and continued to block the road. My father repeated his demand that we be allowed to continue our journey, to no avail, and finally in frustration he shook the buggy whip at the man. When that didn't work, he lashed out at the man, using the whip."

"Please pardon the interruption, but to make certain I understand all the details: your father's name...?"

"The Right Reverend Edward Smythe-Worthington, Bishop of the Church of England, recently assigned here to oversee the missions of this district in the conversion of the locals to the True Faith."

"I see. Please, do continue."

"Well, as I was saying, after father whipped him the man became visibly upset, but rather than back away as father had so reasonably asked, he drew some form of truncheon and advanced in a threatening manner. Father warned him to keep his distance, but when that failed, father reached beneath his jacket, drew his own pistol..."

"A pistol, you say?"

"Yes, 'a pistol'. It was all perfectly legal. Father had been a subaltern in the Bengal Lancers, and retained his service revolver... a Webley, I believe. When he received his posting here, he thought it advisable to bring it along, for self-protection only, of course. Obviously, he was quite correct in doing so."

"Thank you for the clarification. Please continue."

"Honestly, things would go much more smoothly if you would simply let me tell this story and get it over with.

"Now, where was I? Oh yes, well when this fellow kept advancing with hostile intent, father was forced to shoot him. At that point, several other men, who had been in the vicinity, started shouting and running towards us, and father fired again... two more times, I believe, though I didn't see the result. Then these ruffians grabbed father rather roughly. I can't say exactly what happened after that, because I myself was man-handled out of the cart. I fought them off as valiantly as I could, but I was hooded, trussed up like a Christmas turkey and brought here.

"Now if, as you say, the purpose of this interview is to determine whether or not a crime has been committed, I should certainly say there was. Several in fact, to include assault on a clergyman, waylaying travelers on the high road, and abduction of a white woman, to name but a few. I would most certainly want to know what is to be done about it, and what steps have been taken to arrest the perpetrators."

The gentleman seated across from Penelope (she supposed he must be a gentleman, if he had gone to Oxford) rose and said, "Thank you for enlightening me with the circumstances. I must leave you for a short time, forgive me, but I shall return as soon as I may. Mr. Krishnamurtmi, did you get all of her statement? Very good. I'll have another pitcher of water brought in for you, Miss Smythe-Worthington. Please be patient with me.

"'***************

Penelope sat with ill-disguised impatience for what she determined was at least another hour, until finally Mr.... "Buddy" returned.

"I regret my delay in returning, but it has taken quite some time to verify some of the facts that I have received. I have gone over the facts as you have presented them. Mr. Krishnamurtmi, will you give Miss Smythe-Worthington a copy of your work? And Miss Smythe-Worthington, would you look this over? It is a transcription of your earlier statement. If you feel it is an accurate record of what you said, please initial each page."

I am quite certain that you reported the facts as you saw them. However, having sent and received several telegrams I think I can, with considerable certainty, tell you what really happened."

Penelope opened her mouth to object, but her objection was overridden.

"Two days ago, your father and you arrived at the port of Calcutta, where your father placed aboard the riverboat 'Annabelle' a horse and cart, and booked passage for same, along with the two of you, to the town of Diwalli. Against the advice of the captain -- a Capt. Burroughs -- he failed to hire a native guide. After two days aboard, the 'Annabelle' pulled in to shore and the captain disembarked (for two hours, he said) at the town of Duholi, whereupon your father had the horse, the cart and your belongings removed from the 'Annabelle' and headed north. He was seen to be consulting a map, but as he left at Duholi instead of Diwalli, his starting point was not what he assumed. Had you remained aboard for another three days, none of the ensuing would have occurred. When you reached the town of Gupparah, one of my policemen, Mr. Bhanergi -- the chap in the 'outrageous costume' as you called it -- stopped you to inform you that the bridge just ahead had been damaged recently and was unlikely to bear the weight of your cart."

"A policeman? That can't possibly be true! My father and I are quite familiar with how police here in India are dressed, and that was not a police uniform."

"Not a police uniform of Calcutta or Bombay, perhaps, but in this administrative district, that is precisely how they look... a fact a native guide would have known. When Mr. Bhanergi tried to inform your father of the facts, he received gestures that he get out of the way."

"But he didn't inform us! As I said, my father speaks excellent Hindi and all he heard was some sort of gibberish."

"That was another mistake on your father's part. Unlike Britain, which has a single unifying language, India has approximately 300 languages and countless dialects. Had Rev. Smythe-Worthington hired a guide, said guide might have been able to translate or at least been able to find a capable translator."

"Then this has all been a silly misunderstanding!"

"A misunderstanding, to be sure. But considering the consequences, hardly what I would deem 'silly.' When Mr. Bhanergi failed to move aside but continued to protect you and your father, witnesses report that your father struck him across the face with the buggy whip you mentioned. Mr. Bhanergi, by now outraged that he -- a sworn enforcer of the law -- was struck during the performance of his duties, became angry and approached your father demanding that he alight from the cart and accompany Mr. Bhanergi to the precinct house to stand charges of assault on an officer of the law. Whereupon, your father shot him dead. I cannot comprehend how a man of the cloth, an Anglican Bishop no less, should be in possession of a firearm. It would seem to violate every tenet of your faith, a faith I have a great respect for."

"But I explained why he..."

"Even a leftenant in Her Majesty's British Army ought to know when discharging a firearm is justified and when it is not! Your father, Miss Smythe-Worthington, murdered one of my police officers in cold blood, as well as a civilian who ran to the assistance of my officer, in addition to shooting a third man in the shoulder and probably costing that man an arm."

Penelope started to turn pale as she listened to this damning version of events.

"And you, young woman, when you were being offered assistance to get down from the cart, you screamed and attacked your would-be helpers. One man received several severe scratches on his face from your nails, a second also received scratches as well as irreparable damage to his right eye. And a third can thank you for a kick delivered with so much force that it -- pardon for the indelicacy -- ruptured his left testicle.

"Yes, Miss Smythe-Worthington: to answer your previous inquiries, there has been a series of crimes committed, one of the perpetrators is now in police custody awaiting adjudication of her case. Your father, I regret to inform you, is dead... killed by the mob that was reacting to the death of two of their own."

"Father is.... is dead?" Penelope felt herself very close to swooning.

"Yes. It is a case I have no choice but to adjudicate as justifiable homicide, given the circumstances."

"Wait... you said 'adjudicate'... but you said you were an administrator."

"Perhaps I failed to make myself clear. As the highest official in this part of the administrative district, I hold authority that in London would be held by both the Chief of Police and the Chief Magistrate. The facts of this case will, of course, be relayed to the Chief Magistrate of the Regional Court in Calcutta for his review, but I feel certain he will agree with my findings. The only thing remaining is to decide what punishment, if any, you yourself are to receive. As you have no money to pay for the personal damages you caused...."

"No money!?? But... but father was carrying ten-thousand Pounds Sterling with him! That was to be the funds for our living expenses for the next three years! It can't have all gone missing, it CAN'T!"

"Nor did it. A few bank notes may have wandered off in the crowd, but the rest will be distributed to the families of those your father killed."

"But whatever shall I do?! Alone, in this filthy country... without funds, without friends, without means of returning to England?"

"That I cannot say at this time. But if, as you say, you are without funds of your own, I would suggest you stop thinking of this as a 'filthy country' and start thinking of it as home."

And with that, Penelope did swoon.

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