Thursday, June 2, 2011

Dead Rite chapter 62.03

They walked further along the corridor. There were less rooms down here than on the floor above and the cellar was restricted to the main house, two two wings being later additions to the building. Peters dug his hands into his pockets. “It's a bit nippy down here, sir. You could freeze the nuts off a monkey if you wanted to.”

“That's exactly what they would have done.” White shone the torch into another empty room. “Kept things cool, I mean, not freeze the...erm...” His coice tailed off as he played the beam over the ceiling. “Look at those.”

“Meathooks?” Peters grimaced. “I've seen too many horror films, I think. If we come across a room full of glass jars I'm not looking inside them.”

“This is Wiltshire, sergeant. Not Virginia.”

“I've seen some pretty depraved things in England as well, sir. It's not just America that has has weirdos.”

“Indeed not.” White left the room and moved on to the next. “France exports its fair share.”

“If you say so sir, though I was thinking along the lines of morris men. There's a bunch of serial killers waiting to happen if you ask me.”

“Fine English tradition, morris dancing. Goes back hundreds of years.”

“There's something about grown men prancing about with handkerchiefs.” Peters shuddered. “Gives me the willies it does. And the black faces. What's up with that?”

“It's to bypass the laws on vagrancy.” White strode up the corridor. “Begging was and still is illegal so they'd black their faces to avoid being recognised and prosecuted.”

“I'd prosecute the lot of them if I had the chance.”

“You'd have Wilkins in the cells then.”

“Wilkins? John Wilkins from Fraud?”

“That's the fellow. I know he does Morris dancing. He was up at the Merry Maiden last Monday. Beryl and I watched two or three of the dances.”

“Rather you than me, sir.”

2 comments:

Stephanie said...

“This is Wiltshire, sergeant. Not Virginia.” *laughs*

(but my home state!)

Leatherdykeuk said...

*winks* I knew that.