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.
