The Educated Ape & other Wonders of the Worlds (9 page)

‘Follow
me, sir,’ said the liveried servant. ‘And will your p—’

Cameron
Bell put his finger to his lips. ‘Best not to use the “p” word,’ said he. ‘My
assistant
does not take kindly to it.’

The
liveried servant led Mr “Stirling” and his
assistant
to their seats,
then departed, nose held high in the air.

‘Thank
you for that,’ whispered Darwin, scrambling onto the vacant chair beside Mr
Bell. ‘My, what a lot of organ-grinders and what a lot of monkeys.’

There
were twenty circular tables and each of these tables sat ten. That made for one
hundred men and one hundred monkeys, by Darwin’s calculation. And the thought
alone of finding himself in a room with ninety-nine other monkeys was one
sufficient to cause the simian no small degree of excitement. And Darwin was
clearly not alone in this, for numerous others of his kind were already upon
the tables squealing joyfully and getting up to what can only be described as
monkey business.

The
tables were spread with Irish linen cloths, adorned by floral centre-pieces and
laid with a daunting array of cutlery. Clearly many courses were to come.

The
eyes of Cameron Bell took in the room and the diners who sat therein. The great
detective’s remarkable natural intuition and honed observational skills enabled
him to see much more than any average fellow might. He discerned subtleties in
dress and disposition that informed him as to who was who and also what was
what.

‘Well,’
said Mr Bell to his excited assistant, ‘we have the very cream of London’s
underworld amongst us tonight. It would appear that I am not the only one who
represents himself as an organ-grinder in order to move as if invisibly betwixt
and between the London throng.’

‘All
men dressed in evening suits look the same to me, whispered Darwin. ‘Where is
this suspect of yours?’

‘She
is seated over there,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘You cannot miss her.’

‘A
lady?’ asked Darwin. ‘A female organ-grinder?’

‘She
is dressed as a man when she grinds.’

Darwin
viewed the woman in question. She was a slender woman, with hair piled high in
an intricate coiffure. She was dressed in a tightly fitting gentleman’s evening
suit, which created a look that few men would find unappealing. She had the
most extraordinary eyes the ape had ever seen. Mauve, they were, and glowing as
if lit from within.

‘She
goes by the unlikely name of Lavinia Dharkstorrm, ‘said Mr Cameron Bell. ‘She
is a High Priestess of the Great White Lodge. A witch, she claims to be. She is
also one of the most dangerous women in London.’

Darwin
peered at this notable figure. Then he peered at the being sitting next to her.
It was a monkey. A female monkey. A
beautiful
female monkey. She was
chestnut-haired and hazel—eyed, with the prettiest of noses.

Darwin
for once became speechless. He became entranced.

Cameron
Bell had taken account of those who sat at his own table. He perceived them to
be but minor criminals, who were showing him no interest at all and who did not
present any significant threat. Those on Lavinia Dharkstorrm’s table were
quite another matter. Two East End bare-knuckle fighters, an unconvicted
poisoner and a Frenchman of sinister intent. Ugly customers all and their apes
had menacing aspects.

‘Now,’
whispered Cameron Bell to Darwin, ‘there is a certain important matter that I
have to attend to. I shall return in five minutes. You
will
behave
yourself while I am away, will you not?’

‘Whatever,’
said Darwin, who was not really listening, but possibly falling in love.

Cameron
Bell followed the direction of Darwin’s intense gazings, then smiled and nodded
his head.

Mr
Bell was gone far less than five minutes. But when he returned, he returned to
no small chaos.

The
liveried servant had Darwin by the scruff of the evening suit, and Darwin was
protesting in monkey tongue to this. There was a great deal of cutlery all
about the floor and many men in evening suits were holding back their monkeys,
all of whom it seemed had very much to shriek about.

‘Please
keep your creature under control,’ said the liveried servant, thrusting Darwin
at Cameron Bell.

‘He’s
very highly strung,’ said the great detective. ‘I am sure it was not he who
started the trouble.’

The
liveried servant made a sour face, turned upon his heel and marched away.

Darwin
looked up at Cameron Bell and the man thought to detect a very guilty
expression upon the monkey’s face.

‘For
future reference,’ said the detective, ‘it is generally best not to anger the
staff
before
they serve your meal, for they will often take a bitter revenge
in your soup.

‘I
don’t want the soup,’ said Darwin, and folded his arms in a huff.

Presently
the soup arrived, but Darwin had fruit for his starter.

Cameron
Bell leaned close to his partner and whispered into his little hairy ear. ‘When
the trouble starts,’ he whispered, ‘you stay close to me.

‘You
are definitely expecting trouble, then?’ said Darwin, with his mouth all full
of fruit.

‘Expecting
it?’
whispered Cameron Bell. ‘I am
relying
upon it. For after all, I am the
one who will be responsible for causing it.’

Cameron
Bell did tappings at his snubby nose. Darwin found sweet taste in a ripened
kumquat.

9

entish
Town Fried Chicken and chips,’ said Mr Cameron Bell, prodding same with a
silver fork. ‘I am not altogether certain about this particular course.

Darwin
looked up from a-munching of mangos. ‘I don’t like chickens,’ he said. ‘In
fact, I hate them.’

Cameron
nodded as he prodded. ‘I don’t think anyone particularly likes chickens as
such. Other than the eating of them.’

‘They
have too many theories,’ said Darwin, pushing more mango than was strictly
necessary into his mouth and chewing away with a will.

‘Too
many theories?’ asked Cameron Bell. ‘What do you mean by that?’

As no
one was paying either of them the slightest attention, the man and the monkey
conversed freely. Other men in that elegant room did speak with other monkeys.
Mostly, however, to offer threats of punishment for further unseemly behaviour.

‘I
travelled briefly with the circus,’ said Darwin, when finally he had swallowed.
‘With Wombwell’s Menagerie. A showman named Figby exhibited a chicken act —
Figby’s Fantastical Fowl. They walked tightropes, danced the “fowl fandango”,
engaged in fencing competitions, all the usual sort of rigmarole.’

Cameron
Bell speared a portion of Kentish Town Fried Chicken with his silver fork,
brought it to his nose and sniffed at it.

‘All
the usual stuff,’ said he. ‘Carry on.

‘There
was a cock,’ said Darwin, preparing to tackle a pomegranate. ‘A big black cock
he was, named Junior, and he had quarters next to mine. He would go on and on
and on about this thing and the other.’

Mr
Bell peered down at Darwin. ‘A talking cock?’ said he.

‘He
didn’t speak English,’ said Darwin. ‘He spoke “chicken”, but it’s not
that
hard
to understand. But no one tries, because for the most part chickens are utterly
boring. They just say “cluck” which means “food”. It’s not much of a
conversation.’

Cameron
Bell returned his chicken to his plate, lifted the glass of champagne he had
been poured and took to the sniffing of that. Between such sniffings, he said,
‘I do believe you are joking with me, young Darwin.’

‘Not
a bit of it.’ The monkey considered the pomegranate then thrust the whole thing
in at once. Mr Bell sipped at his champagne and waited patiently.

‘That
was a bit of a struggle,’ said Darwin, rubbing at his throat. ‘So where was I?
Oh, yes. Well, as you probably know, chickens, like most birds, have their own
religion.’

‘They
have
what?’
asked Cameron Bell, coughing into his glass.

‘Religion,’
said Darwin. ‘They worship Lop Lop, God of the Birds. They believe that the
universe was born from a giant egg.’

‘And
what laid this egg?’ asked Mr Bell.

‘The
Great Mother Hen who’s married to Lop Lop.’

‘And
where did this gigantic chicken come from?’

‘Out
of an egg,’ said Darwin. ‘There appears to be some debate amongst chickens as
to which came first.’

‘As
there is amongst men. Please continue.’

‘Lop
Lop created the Earth, which is shaped like an egg.

‘A
very
round
egg,’ said Cameron Bell.

‘A
very
round egg,’ agreed Darwin. ‘The Great Mother Hen gave birth to two
chickens, a big black one and a little white one. Henny Penny and Chicken
Licken, they were called.’

‘You
are making it all up,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘But continue with it if you wish.
It is faintly amusing.’

‘So,’
continued Darwin, ‘these two first-born of Earth lived in a beautiful chicken
run. But they were tempted by a wily fox and fell out of favour with Lop Lop
and his missus.’

‘And
a chicken told you this?’

‘A
big black cock named Junior, yes, he did.’

‘Remarkable,’
said Cameron Bell. ‘The next time I bump into your namesake, Mr Darwin, I will
pass this on to him.’

‘I
haven’t told you about the theory yet.’ Darwin looked hard at a pineapple.

‘Dear
God,
no!’
said Cameron Bell.

‘The
theory is this,’ said Darwin, weighing up the pineapple between his hairy
hands. ‘Although chickens believe in Lop Lop, they also believe in Mr Darwin’s
theory of evolution. They believe that
some
of their forefathers evolved
— into men. They believe that all men evolved from chickens.’

‘That
is absurd,’ said Mr Bell, finishing his champagne and reaching towards the
bottle, which stood in a silver Georgian cooler.

‘I
agree,’ said Darwin. ‘I believe that apes evolved from Man.’

‘The
other way around,’ said Cameron Bell. Darwin turned the pineapple the other way
around. ‘No, not the pineapple — the evolution. Man evolved from ape.’

‘That
is most magnanimous of you,’ said Darwin.

‘In
what way?’ asked Mr Bell.

‘Well,
according to your Old Testament, the first people of God were his most perfect
creations — that is correct, is it not?’

Cameron
nodded. ‘Such is the belief,’ said he.

‘Then
came Man’s fall from grace, when he was forced to leave the Garden of Eden, and
it has been downhill all the way ever since.’

‘Spiritually,
perhaps,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘But Mankind has attained many startling
achievements. We live now in an age of wonders.’

‘But
the first man was the purest man and the first man knew God personally. He was
therefore the most superior of all men.’

‘If
you put it like that,’ said Cameron Bell.

‘But
you believe that Man is descended from monkeys, which therefore means that the
first and most perfect being was an ape. Most magnanimous of you, thanks very
much indeed.’

Cameron
Bell did scratchings at his naked scalp. Somehow or other a monkey had just
run theological and evolutionary rings around him.

‘But,’
continued this monkey, ‘the chickens believe that Man is descended from the
original fowls of the Great Mother Hen. Present-day Man eats present-day
chicken, unaware that they are both of the same root race. The same stock. It
is part of the punishment for Henny Penny and Chicken Licken committing
Original Sin when tempted by the wily fox. And what is more, they also believe
that this happened only a very short time ago.’

‘Four
thousand years before the birth of Christ,’ said Cameron Bell, ‘that is the
date fixed by religious fundamentalists for the Creation. In fact, they have
it down to a date and a day. James Ussher, the Anglican Archbishop of Armagh,
famously stated that the Creation began at nightfall preceding Sunday October
the twenty-third, four thousand and four BC.’