reading

Also by Tony Brennan

The Bexford North Mysteries:

1. And The Dance Goes On

2. The Black Lamb

3. The Blight of Lady Emily

4. The Bell Tolled Twice

5. Death and the Lazy Milkmaid

6. Death and the Dowagers

A Healthy Death

Short Stories

Is there Anyone There?

Trilogy

Eminently Respectable Capers

Gertrude

Jumpin’ Jerusalem! He’s Back!

For further information about this book, please visit:

www.vividpublishing.com.au/jumpinjerusalem

ISBN: 978-1-925952-65-0 (ebook edition)

Published by Vivid Publishing

P.O. Box 948, Fremantle

Western Australia 6959

www.vividpublishing.com.au

eBook conversion and distribution by Fontaine Publishing Group, Australia

www.fontaine.com.au

Cataloguing-in-Publication data is available from the National Library of Australia

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is entirely coincidental. In depicting people holding public office, no offence or ridicule is intended whatsoever. The British Prime Minister and the monarch and her consort are accorded great respect. Any flippancy is not intended to be derisory, simply amusing.

The ‘Northern Historic Park’ in Australia is a product of the author’s imagination. Nothing in the description is based on any similar historic village in Australia, or elsewhere, to the author’s knowledge. However, the Battle of Vinegar Hill is an historic fact in the history of early Australia; the re-enactment of the battle is solely imagined by the author.

“…God deliver me from sour saints!”

Teresa of Avila.

Saint, Mystic and Doctor of the Church

WHAT’S IN A NAME?

“Has he spoken yet?”

“Well, he’s mumbled a bit, Doctor,” answered the nurse. “It doesn’t make much sense. Whenever I ask him his name, he mutters something like…‘Harl’, or I suppose it could be, ‘Karl’…that’s all. Sounds foreign to me.”

The Doctor was studying the patient closely. He looked up at the nurse.

“Could it be ‘Charles’, by any chance, Nurse? He looks English to me, or…I suppose it’s possible… but, he could even be American.”

The Head Nurse was examining the thin, emaciated body of the elderly man. “There’s something strange about this one, Doctor. He’s been through a tough time, his body bears witness to that…but, there’s something different about him – he’s not a deadbeat, like our usual ones; I think he’s been someone important; he has beautiful hands.

“Even though – as I said – he mumbles, he occasionally says whole words and he has a beautiful voce. Cultured, I mean. This is a highly educated man, I’ll wager.”

“Well, keep me informed on this one, Nurse. We’ll call him ‘Charles’, just for the time being. All his tests show no alcohol, no diseases at all, blood pressure is low but that would be expected in his case – whatever happened to make him a ‘case’ – but the temperature is rapidly approaching normal since we got the tubes into him.”

“Doctor, I was wondering what all those smallish, holes were in his legs and feet. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it looks as if some creatures were eating him.”

The doctor smiled, genuinely amused. “Nurse, I think you’re ‘spot-on’. When I first examined him, I was told he’d been rescued at sea. I immediately thought of either, crabs, or small fish. I think I could be right. The salt-water would have prevented them from becoming infectious.” He laughed quietly. “Well, if he ever wakes up, and is ‘cognitively intact’, we might actually know.”

The doctor moved away. “Let me know, at once, Nurse, if there is any change. I want this one to live; I think he has many more years to live, if we can waken him properly; he is a healthy man – old – of course – but a very healthy, old man.”

The nurse nodded as the doctor moved on down the ward. She then spoke softly to the man in the bed. “Listen, Charles, I’m going to give you a good sleep; you’ve had all you can hold through the tubes, but a good sleep to warm you up might do the trick. I’ll see you when you wake up.” She flipped a switch, and after checking all the monitors, gently pulled the curtains around the bed.

The Head Nurse then resumed her work, with the other patients, in the Intensive Care ward.

THE EMPTY COFFIN REQUIEM

Back in Australia, the Archbishop of the city, the very Reverend Samuel Spotels, helped the limping nun down the Cathedral steps, when the solemn requiem he had recently offered was finished for the beloved, and mischievous, old Cardinal, Charles York.

As the body had never been recovered it was a Requiem with an open coffin. The cathedral was packed and was over-flowing with flowers.

Mother Angelica had fallen again in the devastation that had resulted in the sudden flooding of their Retirement Home. The fall had exacerbated a previous injury. That injury had first occurred when the old cardinal had accidentally blown up the Sisters’ previous city Home, on Guy Fawkes’ night.

The Archbishop was concerned for the good Mother Superior of the little group of Sisters who staffed the Home. Mother Angelica seemed to have aged a great deal in the months since the floods – she was glad of the steady arm of the young Archbishop.

The two friends stood talking near their small bus, with Sister Maria patiently waiting in the driver’s seat. Sister Margaret and the oldest members of her community, Sister Veronica and Sister Bernard, were already waiting inside the bus.

“Your Grace,” Angelica looked up at the tall prelate. “Have you been able to come to grips with the death of the old one, yet? I ask that, as I simply cannot believe he’s gone. I have the strongest feeling we’re missing something; that he’ll turn up, as he’s always done, and be genuinely surprised when he hears of the devastation he has caused.”

The Archbishop laughed quietly. “To be utterly frank, I think as you do, Mother, but we must be wrong. It’s months now and he would have turned up somewhere, by now, if he was going to turn up, at all.” He sighed.

“I had postponed the Requiem for as long as I dared. Even during the long and beautiful solemn pontifical Requiem for Charles, I kept expecting him to be seen, at any moment, watching on from the choir stalls, checking that I’m doing it all correctly.” He smiled sadly.

“No, Mother, I’m not over it and I don’t expect I’ll ever be, completely. He was such a vital part of my life; it all seems, somehow empty, without him. Even though, as you know, so very well, he gave us every grey hair we have.” He laughed. “And, he caused us untold anxiety with all his tricks, surprises and his ‘plans’ to fix everything.”

Angelica smiled; her eyes misty. “You and I think the same, Your Grace. All through the Requiem I kept expecting a leg to appear over the side of the empty coffin on the catafalque, and out would pop the old villain with one of his improbable stories…”

“…and with his excuses which always began: ‘I didn’t really intend…’” added Sammy.

They both laughed. Sammy became serious. “Mother, a quick word about your property. What’s the situation now? Are you liable for the costs of the whole debacle? That would run into millions and millions.

“We, that is the Archdiocese, could certainly share the expenses as our old priests were there in your Home – and actually caused the catastrophe - but, there’d be a limit as to how much we could pay; I expect the same goes for your Congregation…?”

“Exactly so, Your Grace,” replied Angelica. “We are not a large and wealthy Congregation, but of course, we are insured for just about everything. However, the lawyers are still in a huddle trying to discover just what we were responsible for, and for how much… and for what we are not.”

“It was the shops that were worrying me, Mother. I mean they were virtually destroyed, weren’t they? Everything would’ve had to be replaced; then would come the loss of income caused by the damage, and the repairs which took several weeks to be completed, I understand.” The Archbishop closed his eyes.

“Then on top of all that, what about the attitude of all the local people – not just the shopkeepers – towards you and your charges, now? I had mental visions of you being banned from the local shops, and even the whole community of St Francis’ Home being stoned, if you appeared in the streets of the town.”

Angelica laughed again, and this time for a moment, revealing the happy woman she had been before the disaster happened. She shook her fingers at the Archbishop. “Now, then, you sound just like the old cardinal. I think you might have begun to think as he did.

“To answer your question: no, the local people have been simply wonderful and so kind – so unbelievably kind – after what we had done to them. They even brought food to the Home during the first dreadful days when we couldn’t use the roads; they came by boat, bringing loads of food. Thank God they did; I had no idea how we were to even get out to buy the food.

“When the army, using bulldozers put the bank of the river back where it should have been and the river was flowing back into our own dam, the army also helped us in digging trenches to get the water away, which enabled us to save nearly all the cows, and hens as well.”

“Thank God for that! What about the two monks? Are they still there? Were they injured at all, and what about their beloved birds? I know how much they loved those birds…”

“Definitely, Brother Joseph of Cupertino and Brother Isidore the Farmer, are still there; they were invaluable in directing the soldiers in their work in the fields and, now that the soil has dried out, they have sowed another crop in ‘Sister Maria’s paddock’, as we call it. She ploughed it all again. The monks planted the seed for another crop of Lucerne Hay which will be used now for the cows – it was going to be for our dearest Gertrude,” Angelica sniffed. “Anyhow, it will be in remembrance of her.

“As for the birds. No worry, Your Grace. When the catastrophe occurred, the brothers rushed out into the rising waters – water, literally, up to their knees – and undid the large door of the bird shed and had to take the birds out, mainly by hand. When the birds couldn’t get back into their home, they perched in the trees close by, then, when the water went down, as soon as the door was open again, they rushed in. I don’t think one bird was lost.”

“Thank God, Mother, that’s very good news!” The Archbishop looked up at the bus. “Mother, your community is waiting for you. I must go back inside the Cathedral, but keep me informed of everything involved, in the legal situation. I’ve already spoken to our lawyers, also to our Finance Committee. So, you keep me informed from your end, and I’ll do the same from here.” He took Angelica’s arm again and helped her to get back into the bus.

He waited until the bus left, waving to the small group of Sisters as they set out for the long drive back to their home.

As he walked slowly back up the Cathedral steps, the Archbishop silently prayed: Dear God, if Charles is still alive, please, please, please let me know. If he is truly dead, as I know he must be, wherever he ended up, please take away this foolish refusal to accept the obviously truthful fact that Charles, Cardinal York is… dead.

THE POWER OF THE TOWER

The Prime Minister was being briefed by her private, confidential secretary.

“Prime Minister, I’ve just had a secret call on our secure line, from the secretary of the Minister of Defence.”

The busy Head of State, frowned. “What in heaven’s name is wrong now? Who has defected, or how many are now clamouring to be let in; we simply can’t take any more!”

“You were nearly right the first time, Prime Minister. Or, at least, that could be the answer to the puzzle.”

“What puzzle?”

“Well, St Bede’s hospital, in the London docks area, has received a half-drowned man, elderly, but British, they think. He’d been found by the Coast Guard yesterday morning. It appears he’d been thrown from a boat earlier in the day.”

“Someone trying to enter illegally?”

“It could be, but that would be no problem; we’d fix him up and send him back from wherever he came from.

“However, the secretary said the Minister is worried, as close to where the man was found, the Coast Guard had to chase a Chinese Spy Ship back out; it had been in territorial waters. The Minister thinks the elderly man may have fallen, or been thrown, from the spy ship.”

“I see. Yes, that’s makes all the difference. Right! Inform the secretary to pass on to his Minister that my advice is to move the, possibly, elderly spy, into protective custody, until we can fully investigate the situation. We would most definitely need to discover his name, and where he actually came from. He should be moved to a secure facility as soon as possible – if he can be moved.

“If he’s English, as is suggested, then it’s our own responsibility; if it’s another country, that’s easy; we just send him back with a curt note expressing our outrage etc. You know the drill, Robert; we’ve done this a hundred times.”

“One more thing, Robert. Let the Minister know that I must be kept informed as to where this man is, together with all information that has been extracted from him, at all times. I cannot be caught by the Press unaware of this character, just in case it turns out to be one of our own who has turned traitor. The Press would have a field day with that!”

The Prime Minister looked up. “Thank you, Robert’. The secretary left the room; the Prime Minister sighed heavily, then turned to the masses of documents on her desk.

She was longing for a good strong cup of tea. She had that tingling feeling, behind the eyes, which often presaged a bout of migraine.

* * *

“Doctor, do you have a minute?” Nurse Travers called softly as she saw the doctor hurrying past. He paused and looked at his patient.

“What is it? Any real change, Nurse?”

“Yes, indeed. His eyes are open nearly all the time now; he is looking around at everything, listening to all that that is being said, and looks a thousand times better than when he was first brought in and now the tubes are out, he’s eating well.”

“I’m glad of that. I’ve been told of a special message that’s come to us from the Home Office about this man.” He lowered his voice, “I think he’s more important than either of us thought. There seems to be a suggestion he could be” he again lowered his voice… “a spy!”

“No! Are you serious?” The Nurse was astonished. The doctor nodded.

The nurse was unconvinced. “I simply don’t believe it. If he is, he is the most, polite, highly educated, courteous gentleman I’ve ever attended. So, give me spies every time to nurse, if that’s the case.”

The doctor was amused and laughed softly. “I suppose, Nurse, spies are not an alien species, nor would they come in all the same shape, size and temperament. There could be polite, well educated, courteous ones, together with rough and surly ones. I don’t know anything about them; I’ve never had one before – that I’m aware of, I mean.

He put on a comical face. “I suppose I could have, Nurse. They wouldn’t have that listed under the normal listing of occupations, would they?” They both laughed softly.

“But, to be serious, now.” The doctor continued. “The Defence boffins are arranging for a police guard while he is here – he’s going to be moved to a secure facility, as soon as we give him the OK. They also want to know this man’s name and where he was born. Has he said anything about that?”

“Yes, he has. I don’t know what to make of it.”

“What was it?”

“Well, whenever I ask his name he says: ‘Charles, Antonin, Alexis Dimitri Brendokocov’. And, maintains he was born in Reykjivik…That’s Iceland, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but… ‘Brendokocov’, that sounds Russian, doesn’t it?” The doctor wrote down the information; he’d pass that on later. He looked at the nurse again. “Of course, he could be Russian; they look, really, the same as Angle-Celtic English do.

“But Reykjivik? What the hell were his parents doing in that bleak, dark country? Has he said anything about that?”

“Yes, he has. I asked the same questions. He said his mother and father were in the Diplomatic Corps; he was born in the airport as they were leaving the country, having finished their assignment there.”

“Well, that could explain Reykjivik. But if it is true, then it should be fairly easy to verify the name. I assume that diplomats would have to be thoroughly vetted. But, which Diplomatic Corps? That’s the real question. Could be foreign diplomats.

“We’ll have to go easy here, Nurse, we could easily find ourselves in a hell of a mess. They instructed me to do all we can to find out what on earth he’s doing here, in merry old England.

“However, let’s concentrate on making him well again. That’s our job; we’re not agents, interrogators, or servants, of the Defence Minister.”

The doctor moved to the bedside and looked at his patient. ‘Charles’ looked up at him with bright, clear, intelligent eyes and, before the doctor could speak, the patient got in first.

“Doctor, I was not aware we were in China. You do speak English, don’t you?” The Nurse was embarrassed and went to reply. The doctor put up his hand to prevent her from speaking. “Why did you ask? Were you expecting to wake up in another country?”

The patient frowned, irritated at the interruption.

“I don’t think I expected anything to be honest. Don’t distract me. I wish to complain about the absence of cream with the apple pie last night at dinner. If you are serving apple pie and cream, then ontologically speaking, one aspect of the nature of being, is missing, if the cream is not present. That is perfectly clear I trust.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Do you have a hearing problem? So sad, and you so young, too.”

The doctor was tired; he’d just come from Theatre and was not in the mood for jokes, no matter how clever they were.

“Well, I do happen to know what ‘ontology’ means, but I’ve never thought of using that word in connection with apple pie. I doubt if anyone else has, either…Now, let’s stop this nonsense. We need to know your full name and where you came from; so quit being a clever pain in the neck and give us the facts.”

“That sounds so vulgar, you could be an American. But then, I’ve only heard Americans from New York and Chicago speak like an old movie: ‘Give me the facts!’ I found the rest of Americans to be far more polite, erudite and courteous than your average Englishman.” The doctor refused to be side-tracked this time.

“Forget all that; you’re deliberately trying to befuddle me. No mucking about. Now tell me truthfully. Is your name really that collection of Russian names – straight out of a bad Russian novel?”

The patient, hearing this question, paused, obviously thinking deeply… before he ventured to offer a tentative reply.

His voice was suddenly diffident, unsure and worried.

“To be absolutely truthful, Sammy, as I always am to you, I’m not quite sure if it is my real name, or something I read.”

“Why did you call me ‘Sammy’?”

“I honestly don’t know. Isn’t it, Sammy?”

“No.”

“That’s strange. If you are in charge here, what have you done to Sammy?”

“Who’s Sammy?”

The patient became agitated. “Something’s wrong… somehow.” He went to sit up and managed a half-way attempt. “Tell me how old am I? Am I more than twenty?”

The doctor smiled. He then spoke quietly. “Listen to me, carefully. You are a good long way past twenty.”

“No! Goodness! Past thirty?” the doctor nodded. “Heavens, do I have any hair left. My father went bald very young, but my mother had a glorious head of hair until she was ninety…” The patient began to sweat.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute! How do I know she was ninety? Is she dead?” The patient became more disturbed and fearful.

“Doctor, what’s wrong with me? Why am I here in hospital? Is it a hospital? Why are you Chinese? Is it a Chinese hospital? Have I had an accident?” He closed his eyes. “All I remember is a flood of water, nothing else…No! …… that’s not right. I remember GERTRUDE? Oh, my dearest Gertrude! Did she make it? Oh, I loved her like a daughter. Is she all right? Quickly, tell me…Docccccccc……...”

“Nurse, quick he’s fainted. Check the blood pressure and pulse immediately. I’ll listen to the heart. Quick now…I think he’s starting to remember some traumatic event…this could send him straight back into the state he was in when they first brought him in.”

Soon, the man’s colour came back and he lay quietly, conscious again. However, his eyes were troubled, and his brow was creased with furrows.

The nurse bent over him and bathed his sweaty face with a damp cloth. “Just take it easy, for a moment or two, Charles. I think you’ve had a very great shock and are starting to remember all that happened to you. Please, don’t worry. You are totally safe here now. Whatever it was, it’s all over now.” She helped the elderly man to make himself more comfortable.

“Now, don’t be worrying, Charlie, about the doctor being Chinese. Yes, his parents are Chinese, but Doctor was born and educated in England – that’s where you are, pet – England…and he’s a very kind and famous doctor. He’s the main surgeon here and helps us with the very difficult surgical operations and with all our ‘mystery’ cases.”

The elderly man patted the hand of the sympathetic woman.

“You’re a good woman, Nurse, and very kind. Would you please tell me your name? I’ll give you permission to call me by that familiar name you used; no one else one earth can call me familiar names, except Sammy.”

“Charles, my name is Nurse Betty Travers, but, tell me who is Sammy? Is he your son?”

“Don’t be vulgar, Miss. He is my secretary. At the university.”

“Which university?

“The University of Darumbuljka. The Chancellor there is Dr Rafik Abbas.”

“Is Darumbuljka a city? Is it in England?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s in the middle of the desert. Delicious dates there.”

“And, you were a Professor there?”

“I was a Consultant. Especially, when the camels were newly born or needed extra care.”

“Camels?”

“Of course! To ride on. You must be backward here. What do you use?”

The nurse tried to look apologetic. “I’m sorry, Charles, we are a bit backward; we use cars here.”

“But what about carbon hand-prints? I’ve read about those.”

“It’s ‘foot-prints’ Charles. Now, my lad, that’s enough! I think you’re recovering fast; I’m becoming familiar with your game; you are having me on! Let’s forget all the silly questions and answers for a little while. I want you to have a little nap and we can talk later.”

The nurse smiled at the patient and left the cubicle trying to make sense of that conversation. She hazarded a guess: I bet that’s a mixture of true facts and nonsense, all jumbled together.

“Yes,” she called to another patient. “I’m coming now.”

AN EASTERN PAINLESS MAKEOVER

Charles slept for fifteen minutes and woke in a fright. Where was he, for heaven’s sake? He scrambled out of bed aghast to discover he was wearing only a short gown that was open down the back. Where on earth were his undies and his trousers?

He glanced quickly around the curtains. There was no one in sight. He had to find his clothes. Sammy would be angry if he found him like this. How could he get out of this place – whatever it was – without them seeing him? He shrugged. First the clothes, then he’d work out the rest.

Holding, the back of his gown together, he crept along the ward, noticing that most of the other people seemed to be sleeping…perhaps, it was some type of shelter, or refuge, for men. “Strange place”, he muttered.

He paused outside one room where the door was open. It seemed to be a change room. He must have left his clothes here.

Taking the first pair of trousers hanging on a hook near the door, Charles found, to his delight, that they fitted perfectly so they were obviously his own. He quickly pulled on the shirt, wondered why he found some difficulty in trying to tie the tie, but managed it eventually, then found a good pair of black shoes which were a little tight, but they looked great. He was happy to see his suitcoat fitted him; it always had been a good fit.

An overcoat was hanging there as well. He thought he’d better take the heavy coat; if he had brought it in, it must mean it’s cold outside. He saw the stethoscope hanging on the peg and slung it across his shoulder.

Fully dressed now, Charles, crept softly out of the room and went towards the lift. While he was fingering the long stethoscope over the shoulders of his coat, he found a large name tag on the lapel as well. It had his name displayed in large print: ‘Dr Charles Wangchi.’

Charles was surprised. Well, well, well! He didn’t know he was Chinese, but then he seemed to have lost his memory of just about everything else so, obviously, he couldn’t remember who he was, as well. He wondered why he had a Chinese name. Perhaps an ancestor from the Imperial Court of Peking?

How interesting! He was a medical doctor! Strange, he couldn’t even remember how to put on a band-aid. And, he didn’t think he could speak Cantonese, or Mandarin either, for that matter. Oh well; he must have known once. He decided not to bother about that as, doctor and Chinese or not, he had to get out of this place, unobserved, to the shops to buy some underclothing.

What one earth have they done with his undies? Never mind, he’d buy some brand-new ones; he discovered he had quite a large sum of money and cards in the wallet he found in his back pocket. Therefore, he realised he must be a very wealthy Chinese doctor, he decided.

He passed a mirror on the way to the lift. He glanced at himself. He had forgotten what he looked like; he didn’t look very Chinese, he decided…he looked decidedly English. But wait a minute! Just wait a minute! Where did he get all that white hair? He knew that Chinese had back hair! He couldn’t have been in hospital for years, could he? Of course not! He’d obviously had a nasty shock of some sort and it had turned his hair white. How weird, but he’d fix than up before he started off on his journey.

His journey? Where was he going? Home of course, he reminded himself. Right, but first he’d need a quick dye job. He couldn’t arrive back in China with white hair. They wouldn’t recognize him. But first he had to get out of this place, whatever it was.

Just near the mirror was an emergency bell, bright red, with the usual instructions: ‘Break the glass if an emergency occurs and push button’. This immediately gave Charles an idea.

Charles followed the instructions carefully.

The air was instantly filled with screaming wails of sirens, fire-doors crashing to, and people were running in every direction, shouting instructions to each other. Charles avoided the lift and walked quickly down the stairs as fast as he could. He was soon in the foyer and taking the stethoscope from around his collar, he held it in his hand and hurried, with a purposeful look, through the doors, as though he was going to an emergency outside the building. People made way quickly for him, as soon as they saw the stethoscope.

He soon found himself outside in the crisp cool air. He was soon ensconced in a taxi, asking the driver to be taken to a discreet men’s hair- dresser where he could get attention to his hair; he explained that he had been in an accident and wanted to look his best as he had an appointment with the palace. Then, if the driver would wait, he wanted him to take him to a good shop where he could buy men’s clothing.

The taxi had some difficulty in getting around all the emergency vehicles: the ambulances, the fire engines and the police were everywhere.

Even as Charles watched, the Television crews were arriving to take their positions to film the disaster and report on it – whatever it was! He would have like to stay and see what the emergency was, it could have been interesting.