The Reptile Hall, the Natural History Museum, Kensington, London
Having been rejected by his sweetheart, Agnes, for lacking an adventurous spirit, journalist Edmund Molloy sought solace at the Babylon Exploration Society, a high class brothel, with his best friend William Britten. Sent by his editor to interview the irascible Professor Challenor, he was informed of the possibility of dinosaurs living on a plateau in South America. His subterfuge of posing as a Natural History Museum employee to gain access to the Professor was discovered by Challenor's attractive wife, Edith, who then seduced him the morning before Professor Challenor was due to give his talk on the plateau at the Natural History Museum in South Kensington.
“Molloy! Molloy!” I looked around towards the direction
of the call as I climbed the steps to the imposing Romanesque entrance of the
Natural History Museum that evening.
“Britten! Glad to see you! I have managed to get you a seat. It is a sell out!” I said. The lecture was
due to start at seven and now, twenty minutes beforehand, a steady stream of
people were arriving at the museum.
We walked inside to
the cathedral like Great Hall and past the giant African elephant and other
animals in glass cases that dominated the cavernous space.
“We are in the Reptile Gallery, it seems!”
“A most appropriate
venue for Professor George Challenor!” said a voice behind us. I recognised Challenor’s arch enemy,
Professor Somersby, immediately. He was
a tall, slim man in his sixties with white hair and a neat white moustache and
beard. He was impeccably dressed in an
expensive looking navy blue suit and looked more like a distinguished old
soldier than a famous naturalist.
“Professor Somersby,
what an honour. Do you have a few words
for The Daily Courier? What are you
expecting from Professor Challenor’s lecture tonight?” I asked, pulling out my
notebook.
“Do you not mean,
Professor Challenor’s astounding and
historic lecture? I think that is
how it is being billed! I am surprised
that this august institution would have anything to do with the man. What I am
expecting, young man, is ill-thought out, sensationalist claptrap, as
usual. I am sure your readers will lap it up.
I doubt any of the proper
newspapers are here tonight!” he strode off arm in arm with a matronly but
handsome lady who I took to be his wife.
“Excellent!” I said
to myself, writing it down. “Sensationalist
claptrap! Perfect!” Britten
laughed.“What is so funny?” I asked him.
“You are! In your reporter guise! I have not seen it before! You are hilarious! Look there is another important looking
chap!”
“It is Lord Claygate,
president of the Royal Zoological Society!”
I said. “I have just written his
obituary!” I shot over to the distinguished
looking man who was surrounded by a group of younger but equally distinguished looking
men, who all looked to me rather too fastidiouslydressed. “Lord Claygate! Daily Courier!” I said. Claygate had perfectly coiffed silver hair
and a very expensively cut dark grey suit which managed to disguise, to a
certain extent, his large bulk.
“Good Lord! The Courier no less. Can we expect news of the latest sighting of
a giant ape in Tibet, a sordid foreign political scandal involving some minor
European royal’s wife and details of Lord Hoxton’s latest conquest from the
music hall to appear alongside your account of this evening’s eagerly awaited
revelations! All leavened by your inside
tips on the latest greyhound racing odds, of course.”
“We are always first
with the news, Lord Claygate!” I said.
“First with the news
no-one else can be bothered with!” he replied, looking at the faces of his
companions with delight, as they all laughed, sycophantically. I was, however, somewhat distracted by the
arrival of Agnes and her father. I had
not expected them to be here. I was even
more distracted when Britten went over to talk to them and Agnes’ face lit up
in delight. She wouldn’t be so impressed
if she knew he went with prostitutes on a regular basis, I thought, rather
cruelly.My own experience, I had decided, would be a one off, simply for the
purpose of my own education. Mrs
Challenor had proved to me that I did not have to pay for the intimate attention
of women.I felt a moment’s superiority to Britten and almost immediately felt
guilty that I should have such unbecoming thoughts.
“Is it true that the
Royal Zoological Society refused to host Professor Challenor’s lecture on
account of the controversy and uproar his talks always generate!” I asked Lord
Claygate.
“Of course not! That sounds like Challenor spreading
malicious lies to make him appear the injured party once again. It is simply that our lecture room was
already booked for a more prestigious talk.
On the dung beetle!” He laughed uproariously and moved on with his
little flock.
“Hello Edmund!” said
Agnes as I approached her.
“Hello Agnes!” I leant in to kiss her cheek and much to my
surprise she turned her head to catch my lips with hers.
“Are you here in your
professional capacity?” she asked.
“Journalism is not a
profession. It is an embarrassment!”
said her father. “Although I suppose
prostitution is called a profession too!” he added.
The elephant specimen in the Natural History Museum, London
“Father, really!” she
said, while guiding me away from him towards the stuffed elephant. It did look rather like Lord Claygate, I
mused. “How have you been, Edmund?I am still very fond of you. I really do not
wish ill of you. Perhaps, after an
appropriate time, we may be friends again.
I think I may have been rather harsh when you were in a delicate
emotional state. I am sorry.” She squeezed my forearm rather tenderly.
“That is kind,” I
said. She looked completely ravishing
that evening, dressed in powder blue which set off her eyes. “I am fine, just
fine I...” I began, wondering what to say to cover the awkwardness of the
situation. I was interrupted by someone
else causing a stir as they entered the building.
“It is Lord Hoxton!”
said Agnes, a big beam appearing on her face, before turning away from me,
peremptorily. I realised that this was, indeed, the very man I had seen at the
Babylon Exploration Society the other night and, indeed, he nodded at Britten. He
was accompanied by three very beautiful raven haired women. One was older and I recognised her as Lady
Caroline, a famous widow about town. The
other two looked very similar and must have been her daughters, who I knew were
both less than eighteen years old, although both were dressed in a very adult
manner, with daringly low cut evening dresses in a shocking scarlet.
“Lord Hoxton! Daily Courier! Are you looking forward to Professor
Challenor’s lecture this evening?” I said, darting in front of Agnes, rather
rudely.
“Well, I have only
recently returned from the Amazon meself so, of course, am interested in what a
fellow traveller has to say about the region!” he said.
“Lord Hoxton...” I
began again, but he had stopped looking at me and was gazing at Agnes.
“And who is this very
beautiful young woman?” he asked no-one in particular.
“I am Agnes Cardwell,
Lord Hoxton!” said Agnes, actually dropping a curtsy.
“She is a friend of
mine!” I said.
Hoxton turned his
piercing blue eyes on me. “Really?” he said as if the thought was completely unlikely. “Well, Miss Cardwell and I do so hope you are
a Miss, why don’t you join me and my companions!” He took her hand and lifted it to his lips
kissing her white glove. Although I
noticed that the older woman accompanying him did not look that pleased with
the suggestion.“This handsome fellow must be your father. Please come too!” They swept off together and Britten and I
trudged after them out of the main hall and down the ornate,
terracotta-decorated corridor to the Reptile Hall.
“Never mind, old
chap,” said Britten, grinning at me.
N"o-one can compete with Lord James Hoxton! Might as well give up all hope now! I wager he will have her down to her
stockings, begging for it on all fours, before the end of the week!”
“Britten! You bounder!
At least he will stymie your attempts
to ingratiate yourself with Agnes!”
“True. I know when I am beaten. Unlike you, old chap!”
The Reptile Hall was
dominated by a large skeleton of a dinosaur, a Diplodocus, if I remember
rightly, and chairs had been placed either side of it. The front rows, under the creature’s long
neck, stretched the whole width of the room, however. In the centre, just in front of the small podium
on which the rod supporting its neck was mounted, a three lens magic lantern
had been placed pointing at a screen behind the platform at the front of the
hall. I recognised the cedar wood box of
slides placed next to it. Standing beside
it was Edith Challenor.
“Good evening, Mrs
Challenor!” I said, brightly.
“Good evening, Mr
Molloy!” She stood on tiptoe to kiss my cheek but instead I felt a little nip
on my earlobe as I dipped my head to compensate for the nine inch difference in
height between us.
“May I present my
friend,William Britten!”
“Good evening, young
man!” she gave him a dazzling smile and I experienced a flash of jealousy as
she took his hand.
“Are you looking
forward to your husband’s lecture, Mrs Challenor?” he asked her. She was resplendent in a deep crimson evening
dress with a surprisingly low cut neckline barely made decent by transparent
net around the shoulders. It was a far
cry from the sensible clothes I had seen her in yesterday.
“Dreading it, is
probably a more accurate summation of my current mental state, Mr Britten. Mr Molloy, you may quote me in your newspaper
as saying that even the Professor’s faithful wife,” she winked at me, “had
misgivings about the reception that Professor Challenor’s controversial lecture
might receive!”
“The Professor’s
beautiful and faithful wife,” I said. “I
am sure it will be a triumph!” She smiled and shook her head. Britten and I found our reserved seats some
five rows back, next to a display case featuring various turtle carapaces. We picked up the cards with our names on and
sat down.
“Molloy,” hissed
Britten, “did I just see Professor Challenor’s wife nip your ear and wink at
you?”
“I don’t know. Did you?” I asked, looking straight ahead.
“You went to see her
this morning. Didn’t you? What happened?”
“Now is not the
time!” I replied.
“Handsome looking
women!” he said.
“Really?” I said. “Can’t
say I had noticed! Rather old.”
“Well, here is a real beauty!” he said, digging his elbow
into my ribs, rather more forcefully than was necessary, I thought. On the other side of the gallery from where
we sat, a very elegant young women was taking her seat. She had thick chestnut hair and a midnight
blue dress and wide brimmed hat decorated with black feathers. Her clothes were simple but obviously
expensive. She wore a pearl necklace
which must have cost a fortune, given the size of the pearls. “You seem to know everyone!” said
Britten. “Who is that?”
“I have no idea!” I
said. “Shh. Here is Lord Claygate!” The hall was now completely packed. There were even people sat behind the
platform. I turned around in my seat and
saw that a large group of people, who I took to be students by their raucous
demeanour,were standing at the back as well.
“Shove up, Molloy!”
said a voice. It was McCandless and,
much to my horror, he was accompanied by Lord Ventnor, the proprietor of The
Daily Courier. Britten and I moved in
towards the centre, which is where they should have sat, I saw from the cards,
while McCandless and Ventnor took our places on the outside edge. “This better be good, Molloy!” said my
editor. “I had to persuade his Lordship
that this was worth coming to!” Oh no, I
thought. What if Challenor was a
disaster? Back to obituaries tomorrow!
“My Lords, ladies and
gentlemen!” boomed a voice. It was Lord
Claygate, standing on the small platform at the front of the hall. “Despite ill-informed
rumours to the contrary, spread by the gutter press,” he looked straight at me,
“the Royal Zoological Society is proud to present the eminent naturalist
Professor George Challenor to give tonight’s lecture on A Lost World in
Amazonia and the discovery of fabulous creatures there!”
“Good old Georgie!”
cried the students from the back of the hall.
“Mrs Challenor is a
fabulous creature!” shouted another, to cheers and a few whistles. Edith looked
around and grinned at them.
“Eminent?” I heard Professor Somersby’s distinctive drawl from just
in front of us. There were a mixture of
cheers and jeers as Claygate described Challenor’s academic qualifications and
then thanked the Natural History Museum and Professor George for providing the
venue.
“No one else would
have him!” I whispered to Britten.
“Without further ado
I give the floor to Professor George Challenor!” said Claygate and sat down
with his claque in the front row.
“My Lords, ladies and
gentlemen!” boomed Challenor, striding onto the small platform from the side of
the hall. “What I am about to tell you
this evening is going to turn everything we know about prehistory upon its
head!”
“Just like you landed on your head!” shouted
someone from the back. Challenor glared
at him.
He began by telling
the story of his visit the previous year to Brazil and his search for a
particular sort of monstrous bird he had heard described. He then told the story of Waring Blanc and
his journal and flourished it over his head like Moses with the Ten
Commandments.
“This journal
contains the most amazing things you will have ever heard!” he declared. For
within it are a series of maps...”
“Pirate treasure
maps?” asked one of the group with Lord Claygate.
“Oh there is treasure
here! But scientific treasure!” he waved
at Mrs Challenor and the lights at the front of the gallery were turned off so
that the first slide could be shown. Those
sat behind him twisted around in their seats to look. It was the drawing of the
map of the tributary which led to the plateau.
Challenor was a good story teller, I will give him that. His account of Blanc’s journey was full of perils
regarding rapids, snakes and hostile Indians.
The drawing of the plateau elicited some excited noises from the
audience. He described how Blanc and his daughter, who, he explained had
produced the fine drawings, had climbed up a tunnel to the surface of the
plateau.
“A secret tunnel as
well as a secret map?” said one of Lord Claygate’s group. “It’s just like a cheap novel by that French fantasist!”
“After exploring the
edge of the plateau for an hour or so Blanc made his first extraordinary
discovery,” continued Challenor.“An amateur botanist of some note in his native
Canada...”
“A Canadian, Lord save us!” said Claygate,
to much laughter.Challenor ignored him but I could see that he was starting to
get angry. His dark eyes flashed,
dangerously.
“I have many slides
of Waring Blanc’s daughter’s drawings but here I will present an actual
sample!” he held up a large piece of card on which had been pressed the leaves
and stem of some type of plant. “When Waring Blanc spotted these leaves he was
astounded, as he knew exactly what it was.
An example of Glossopteris, which even those in this museum believed to
be an extinct fern. Blanc has confirmed
however that it is neither extinct nor a fern but is, in fact, a gymnosperm and,
in particular, a tree that grows to approximately one hundred feet in
height...”
“This is ridiculous,
Challenor!” called out Somersby. “Glossopteris
died out at the end of the Permian period, two hundred and fifty million years
ago. Are you telling me that it is still
growing on top of a plateau in the Amazon jungle?”
“A secret plateau!” said a man in Claygate’
group. Everyone laughed.
“You cannot dispute
the evidence of your own eyes. Somersby!
Here it is!” said Challenor waving the card over his head. “An actual leaf. If we can find a proper botanist rather than someone
with no knowledge of the subject whatsoever, like yourself, he will no doubt
confirm it!” There was more laughter.
“Perhaps we should
give it to your wife!” said one of the students.
“Oh, yes please!”
cried another, to lewd laughter from the back.
“I hope this gets
more interesting than an unknown fern, Molloy!” hissed McCandless. “I don’t think our readers are going to be very
excited by that!”
“Indeed!” agreed Lord
Ventnor, glaring at me. I was concerned
my journalistic career might come to an abrupt halt that very evening.
“Blanc’s next
discovery was even more exciting!” said Challenor.
“Lord save us, not an
extinct mushroom?” called out one of the students.
“There are, of
course, giant mushrooms in the fossil record, Mr Brown, as you would know if
you did any studying at all, rather than spending quite so much time researching
that fascinating creature, the London hospital nurse!” There was more laughter and I turned around
to see Brown’s companions poking him in delight.
“Let us go back to
1825 and the second dinosaur ever named by Gideon Mantell. The Iguanodon! Visitors to Crystal Place will no doubt have
seen the large quadrapedal sculptures supervised by Owen.” A slide appeared of one of the
sculptures. I saw Agnes turn back
towards me and grin. “We now know these
to be quite inaccurate, since the discovery of the fact that the creature had smaller
forelimbs than rear legs.” Another slide appeared showing a creature stood on
its hind legs and balanced on its tail. This
is the current interpretation of the creature given the Bernissart
fossils.” He waved at his wife who
changed the slide. Now here is Véronique Blanc’s drawing of an iguanodon.” The posture of the creature was quite
different. It stood on two legs but its
body was held horizontally and its tail was held in line with its body, raised
from the ground.The front limbs were held a few inches above the ground. It also appeared to have a striped body.
“Ridiculous!” said
Somersby. “It would lose its balance and
topple over!”
“Just as we humans
do, Somersby. How can a creature be bipedal, I wonder? How do you
keep yourself upright? You don’t even
have a tail to help you; not a visible one, anyway!” The students laughed. “You
seem perfectly able to walk, in your rather elderly and infirm way, unless you
have indulged in too much Port, once again, of course!”
“Honestly,
Challenor. Implying drunkenness of
Professor Somersby is low, even for you!” said Claygate. Challenor ignored him
and went on to show more drawings of extraordinary creatures which he claimed
were still alive on the plateau.
“None
of these creatures, which Waring Blanc identified, carry themselves like our
current interpretations. Surely, as my ignorant detractors in this room
suggest, if you were trying to provide a convincing fake you would show them as
we think they are today not, as here, in a completely different manner!”
“Good point!” I heard
Lord Hoxton say.
Challenor continued
with a detailed exposition of the evidence which generated more and more cries
of ‘nonsense’, ‘rubbish’ and such like.
Finally, Professor
Somersby stood up, just as the final slide of the blurred pterodactyl had been
shown. “Honestly, Challenor you really
can’t expect us to believe, in the twentieth century, that there are living dinosaurs
on the planet. It makes a nonsense of
evolutionary theory for one thing. Where
is your incontrovertible evidence? One
supposed leaf does not count!”
“Exactly, Somersby! We need evidence. Real, inarguable evidence!” said Challenor.
“Quite right!” said
Claygate.
“I agree completely!”
said Challenor, striking a pose. “So I
am, therefore, proposing that we mount an expedition to locate Waring Blanc’s
Lost World and not only photograph its wonders but bring back specimens! I am sure the Royal Zoological Society would love
to exhibit a living dinosaur in Regent’s Park!”
He stood with his arms crossed, looking triumphant as the chorus of
comments, catcalls, laughter and insults washed around him. I feared that Mrs Challenor’s prediction
would prove sadly prescient. She looked back at me, raised her eyebrows and
looked resigned.
“And who is going to
fund what will no doubt be a very expensive expedition? We are not talking
about a quick jaunt to Lyme Regis!” said Claygate.
Challenor
frowned. “Well, I assumed that the
Society would fund the expedition!”
“Well you assumed
quite wrongly, not for the first time!” said Claygate, standing up and joining
Challenor on the platform. “We do not want the Society to become the laughing
stock of zoologists worldwide! I’m sorry
but with no money there is no expedition and that is my final word!”
“Surely someone will
fund such an important expedition! We
have an opportunity to change our whole outlook on prehistory!” said Challenor.
“I will fund part of the expedition!” came a voice. People shushed those still making a
noise. The man stood up in front of
us. “I am Lord James Hoxton. You may have heard of me. I have recently been in Amazonia myself and
it contains vast areas of unexplored land. If I had to bet on one place on
earth where there might be something undiscovered, then Amazonia is where it
would be!”
“Lord Hoxton’s
reputation is well known!” said Claygate looking surprised. “But how much can
you fund?”
“I will pay for one
third of the total costs of the expedition!
My experience and contacts in the region will be useful and if we do
find dinosaurs then I have a bally fine collection of elephant guns!” There was general laughter as I scribbled
down the exchange. “I would ask just one
thing; that I be allowed to take one dinosaur trophy for my collection!”
“Agreed!” said
Challenor. There was a cheer.
“Unfortunately, a
third of the money will get you to somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic!”
said Somersby. More laughter.
“I will pay one third,
also!” came a woman’s voice. It was the
beauty in the midnight blue dress, who now also stood up. She had an American
accent.
“Thank you, madam!”
said Challenor. “May I ask your name,
please?”
“I am Marguerite
Blanc. I am Waring Blanc’s niece!” There were gasps and an outbreak of muttered discussion
in the hall.
“Now this is more like it!” said Lord
Ventnor. “La Belle et la Bête, eh, McCandless?”
“Are you getting all
this, Molloy ? Looks like we may
have a story after all!” said my editor.
“Yes sir!” I said, both
delighted and relieved.
“So now you have
enough money to get part way up the Amazon!” said Claygate.
“Who else will come
in and be part of making history?” asked Challenor. The room went silent and everyone looked at
each other, expectantly.
I still don’t know
what made me do it, whether it was thoughts of impressing Agnes or Mrs
Challenor but I found myself on my feet and felt every face turn towards
me. I could feel myself blushing
furiously.
“Mr Molloy, is the
Natural History Museum going to fund the rest?” asked Challenor.
“I am afraid, sir,
that I may have slightly misled you on that point. I am Edmund Molloy, a reporter for the Daily Courier
and...”
“What?” roared
Challenor and leapt from the platform, making a bee line for me. “A liar is
what you are! A liar who came to my own
house! Who lied to my precious wife as
well! I am going to thrash you to within
an inch of your life!” By this point he
was at the end of the row and I saw Lord Ventnor helpfully getting out of the
way so Challenor could get to me. He
raised his ham like fist and looked to be about to climb over McCandless, who,
I have to say, to his credit, stayed put.
“But then you
wouldn’t be able to fund the rest of your expedition!” I said.
“What?” but it
stopped his seemingly inexorable forward motion.
“Because The Daily Courier
will fund the final third of the costs!” I announced to gasps and cheers.
“What?” said Lord
Ventnor.
“Are you out of your
mind, laddie?” muttered McCandless.
“No!” I cried and
addressed the whole room. “If there is
the faintest chance that Professor Challenor’s story is true then we must make
every attempt to prove it. We have Lord
Hoxton on board with his unrivalled experience of the wild places of the world
and hunting large, dangerous animals.
Professor Challenor has the map, journal and enormous knowledge of
prehistoric creatures!” Somersby made a
dismissive noise. “Miss Blanc has provided a good part of the funding and
obviously has a personal interest in the outcome. I would like to join the
expedition to provide our readers and the Royal Zoological Society with an
honest, neutral account of the expedition.
I can send my despatches back to London so all Courier readers can feel
part of this extraordinary venture!”
“Lord Ventnor, is
this young man really speaking for
you!” asked Lord Claygate.
“I must be mad,”
muttered Lord Ventnor, sotto voce. “Indeed,
Lord Claygate, principally because I know and respect Lord Hoxton and trust his
judgement. We will put our newspaper’s
resources into the expedition and tell the world, exclusively of course, what is
discovered!” said Claygate.
“Well, George it
seems you have your expedition,” said Claygate, looking rather stunned by this
turn of events. “I would prefer if we
could include another, perhaps more critical scientist to accompany you all. Would
Professor Somersby contemplate joining the team?”
“Certainly not!” said
Challenor.
“I should be
delighted!” cried Somersby, although I saw his wife stiffen at his
announcement.
“It is my expedition,
I can include, or not, whomsoever I like!” said Challenor.
“In fact, Professor Challenor,
it is mine, Lord Hoxton’s and The Daily Courier’s expedition,” said Marguerite
Blanc, “and I would certainly insist on Professor Somersby’s presence!”
There was a brief
argument but when Hoxton joined in, Challenor had to admit defeat.
“Alright then! The expedition will consist of myself, as
leader, Professor Somersby, Lord Hoxton and Mr Molloy!” There was a cheer.
“And myself, of
course,” added Marguerite. “I am not
investing thousands of dollars in an expedition only to sit in London and wait
for Mr Molloy’s accounts!” She nodded at
me and smiled.
“But you’re a woman!”
exclaimed Challenor.
“Indeed and, like my
uncle, something of a botanist. I am
also a geologist and an experienced hunter who is a crack shot with a rifle and
is used to camping out in the wild. I
have some medical training too. All of
which, I think you will agree, will be useful on this venture!”
“Those are points well
made, dear lady,” said Hoxton. “I
strongly support Mademoiselle Blanc’s inclusion on the roster! Provided she is able to rough it!”
“I can be as rough as
the next girl, Lord Hoxton!” she declared smiling at him. He smiled back. Oh dear, there goes another one, I thought.
Challenor tried to
have another go but he was stopped by Edith.
“Now George you have achieved more than you thought possible. You need to concede on some points!” He shrugged and looked defeated.
“Welcome to the
Professor George Challenor expedition to the Lost World, Miss Blanc!” he said,
finally.
“We really will have
to change the name!” muttered Somersby.
We were all made to stand on the platform and pose for a picture by Smaile,
one of the Courier’s photographers, who McCandless had brought along, more out
of hope than anything else.
“We’ll release this picture
for others to use but all other stories will be exclusive!” said McCandless to
a man from The Times.
There was a barrage
of questions and Lord Ventnor only calmed the tumult by saying that the
expedition members would issue a statement in the Courier in the next few days
on the plans for the venture.
“Look, here, Molloy,”
said Lord Hoxton as we stood next to the stage, “as we are going to be on this
expedition together and appear to be the only normal chaps on it, why don’t you
pop around to see me tomorrow. I have
rooms in Albany,” he handed me his card.
“Say, eight thirty, just after dinner.
We can knock back a few glasses of Madeira and I can help you with the
sort of things you might need to equip yourself with for the expedition!”
“That would be most
welcome, Lord Hoxton,” I said and we shook hands, him nearly breaking all the
bones in my hand in the process. As Britten
and I eventually slipped out of the Reptile Hall, Mrs Challenor approached us
in the corridor, while her husband showed Somersby the supposedly extinct fern.
“Can I speak to you
in private, Mr Molloy?” she asked. I
looked at Britten who said he would meet me at the main entrance. She took me down to the far end of the dimly
lit corridor away from the Reptile and main halls. “Thank you, Mr Molloy, for backing
George. This means everything to
him. I hope you will look after him, as
I will miss the grumpy old goat. You
must promise me you will ensure that he is not eaten by a dinosaur!” I laughed and said that that promise might be
better extracted from Lord Hoxton.
“Mrs Challenor, I
promise to write to you regarding your husband’s activities,” I said, “so that you
may get something of an impression of him in his absence!”
“That would be very
kind. I expect nothing whatsoever from
his hand!” She looked down the corridor
and took my hand for a brief moment. “After you left today I went straight back
to bed and frigged myself until I spent once more!” she whispered, looking down
the corridor to make sure no one was nearby.
“I could not get the image of your beautiful manhood out of my
mind. I am actually becoming moist as I
stand here before you!”
“And I am becoming
erect!” I said, smiling at her.
“I would very much
like to kneel down right here and take your lovely penis into my mouth! To lick it and suck it and make you spend
down my throat! Sadly I cannot!” she
added.
“Sadly indeed!” I
agreed, shocked at her candour.
“Good God, though,
but I am disappointed by this turn of events!” she said.
“How so?” I asked,
puzzled.
“Because I thought,
however unrealistically, perhaps, that the Royal Zoological Society would fund
George’s expedition and he would disappear for many months and you and I might
have had an ongoing...arrangement.”
“An arrangement, Mrs
Challenor?” I asked.
“Don’t play the
innocent, Edmund. A carnal arrangement! You would satisfy my sexual desires in any
way I chose!”
“I very much enjoyed
myself today. You are a beautiful,
intelligent and passionate woman.”
“Flattery is
unnecessary, although pleasing. I would
like to see you again tomorrow for some more private time together! Naked of course. Time is now of the essence!”
“Is that a good idea,
as the Professor and I will now be colleagues?” I asked.
“I am only interested
in my private pleasure, Edmund. If you
do not wish to benefit I will find someone else. Your friend, Mr Britten, seems nice!” She smiled and I was not quite sure if she
was joking or not.
“Edith, I would love
to spend any amount of time with you, naked or not!” I said.
“Oh, quite definitely
naked. I already have an idea as to what
we may get up to tomorrow. I will meet
you in the lobby of the Great Northern Hotel at eleven o’clock. We will take morning tea, or coffee if you
prefer, although personally I despise the drink. I will have booked a room and
then we will go separately up to that room and remove each other’s clothes!”
“I may bring my
sketching materials!” I said.
“That would be most
entertaining!” she said. “Now we must
get back. Your friend will be wondering
about us!” She gave my hand one last
squeeze and we returned to the Reptile Hall entrance.
“Edith!” roared
Challenor from just inside the door, where he was standing with Professor
Somersby. “You are not to speak with
Molloy! I know what he is getting up to
with you!”
My heart started to
pound and I wondered about making a run for it.
“Really? Have you uncovered our passionate affair
already, George?” said Mrs Challenor.
“You overestimate
yourself if you think any man would have an affair with you, woman!” he said. “Especially a young man like Molloy. No, he is no doubt using the underhand
journalist’s technique of speaking about supposedly innocent matters in order
to obtain a nugget of something he can twist and trumpet in his disreputable
newspaper!”
“Oh dear!” said
Edith. “And there I was thanking him for
helping to fund a third of your expedition.
No doubt he will find some way to twist that against me. Is that correct, George?”
“Humph!” said
Challenor and barrelled back into the centre of the hall, barging through the
crowd towards Lord Claygate.
“Hello, Edith!” said
Professor Somersby, taking her hand briefly.
“You have the patience of a saint!”
“Hello, Leon!” She stood on tip toe to kiss him on the cheek
which left him rather flustered. “Where is Edna? I wanted to say hello!”
“Oh dear, I am afraid
that the redoubtable Mrs Somersby has returned home in high dudgeon. She does not like me travelling on long
expeditions any more, without her accompanying me!”
“Yes, the whole day
has been somewhat shocking!” said Edith.
“Have you met Mr Molloy properly?”
Somersby shook my
hand. “Indeed, we said a few words
outside. He seems like a headstrong sort
so I am hoping he will be able to stand up to George somewhat!”
“I’ll do my best,
sir!” I said.
“I liked the way you
faced him down this evening, Molloy!” said Somersby.
“Mr Molloy is
obviously a brave man!” said Edith. “A
very brave man!”
“Now, Edith. There is someone I would like you to
meet. Excuse me Molloy!” said Somersby,
guiding Edith inside.
“Good night Mr
Molloy. Until next time!” said Edith.
I walked back into
the main hall but it took me some time to reach the entrance as well wishers
from the audience kept stopping to talk to me
“Make sure you don’t
get eaten by a dinosaur!” said one young lady, who obviously wanted to stay and
talk but was being urged away by her husband.
“I hope Lord Hoxton
will protect me!” I said.
“I’d be quite happy
with your protection, Mr Molloy!” she
smiled. Her husband jabbed her in the
arm and led her away.
At last I met Britten,
just inside the main entrance.
“I am not letting you
go home until you tell me what is going on between you and Mrs Challenor!” he
said.
“Nothing!” I said.
“I do not believe a
word of it! Now let’s get a cab and go to the Babylon!”
“I may not be in the
mood for that!” I said.
“But I am sure you
will be in the mood for some game pie and a bottle of claret served by a
beautiful young lady wearing hardly anything at all!” he answered.
“You make a good
point!” I said.
“So come along, then!”
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