#date gone wrong

Although part of Virgil rankled at the thought of being used to soothe Parker’s ire at not being permitted to chauffeur Penelope on her date, he was mostly grateful for the opportunity he had been provided.

The hand not protecting the painting from his close scrutiny twitched as he tried to envisage the brush strokes Constable had used out on Hampstead Heath as he captured the setting sun behind storm cloud.

Or maybe it was the colours that brought the sunset to life? The layering, maybe? Virgil had turned his critical eye to the palette, naming colours and trying to calculate how to formulate the various shades and blends when a sudden motion in the corner of his eye had him jerking back in startlement.

Virgil and the mouse perched atop the wainscotting stood frozen, staring at each other in shock.

It was the mouse that recovered first, scurrying frantically on its way to vanish behind the Constable…

… and didn’t reappear. There was a slight scrabbling sound and Virgil’s heart leapt at the thought of the damage the rodent could be doing to the painting.

Subduing his first instinct to move the painting to chase a way the mouse – knowing full well the scope of the security systems that had been installed throughout the manor, he was slightly terrified of what might happen to him if he did. Virgil pressed his face to the wall at the side of the painting, trying to peer through the small gap the wainscotting created to see where the mouse was, but he was stymied by the careful gallery lighting, designed to best display the paintings while protecting them.

While the artist part of him flailed in horror at the thoughts of the mouse gnawing on the back of the painting, the part of him that was Thunderbird Two was assessing possibilities. There was only one course of action…

Hurrying to a nearby panel, on the wall, he scanned the options for the manor’s intercom and selected the one neatly labelled ‘Parker’. It the intercom system allowed for several people to carry small discreet comm units that allowed them to be contacted anywhere within the manor grounds. It as a very popular system for large houses, and Virgil had some very vivid (and entertaining) memories of his father arguing with the architect who was horrified to finally realise that the billionaire was not going to be employing a vast army of staff to run the household on the Pacific Island.

Parker responded almost instantly. “Yes, M–Mister Virgil?”

Virgil ignored the slight hesitation that showed Parker had very nearly called him ‘M’Lady’. A thoroughly understandable response when it was almost certainly Lady Penelope contacting him through the unit ninety-nine point nine, nine percent of the time, but, if Gordon ever found out…

Pushing the thought away (Gordon was safely away from the manor. On a date. With Lady Penelope.), Virgil replied, “Sorry to bother you, Parker, but there’s a, uh, small problem in the art gallery, I think you should now about.”

The alarm in Parker’s voice as he replied, “H’On my way, Mister Virgil,” gave Virgil a small pang of guilt, it was only a mouse, but he knew the ex-thief had an appreciation for art beyond its mere monetary value (although Virgil knew no-one – even prestigious art dealers – who had a betters sense of the potential price any work might fetch. Clearly crime’s gain was the art-world’s loss.)

It was a short interval, with Virgil keeping close watch for the reappearance of the mouse, before Parker appeared, unruffled as ever, but somewhat out of breath as though had run the a significant distance.

The feeling of guilt intensified, “Sorry, Parker, I didn’t mean to worry you, but it’s just there was a mouse…”

“H’A m’house!” the exclamation made Virgil jump. “Oh, Lord, that’s j’hust what H’I n’heed, a bleedin’ m’house runnin’ round the place. There’ll not be a m’homent’s peace until h’it’s furry ‘ide is ‘ung up h’on the h’estate walls h’as a w’harnin’ t’ others, t’ keep ha’way!”

Virgil stared. Parker’s agitation was certainly genuine, he’d never heard the man’s accent backslide so much, even when the man was trapped in a booby trapped pyramid tomb. But to get so worked up over a mouse…?

“W’ere w’has the l’hittle v’harmant?”

Virgil stared, “Uh, I first saw it there,” he pointed to the approximate spot, “and then it ran along the top of the wainscotting behind the Constable, and I haven’t seen it come out again. I tried to look behind, but there’s not enough light…”

Parker swore – an actual four-letter word, and not one of the many faux-Cockney euphemisms he was usually employed – and hurried off to examine the wainscotting. “Look’it!” he growled, pointing at what proved to be a stripe of discolouration along the paint just above the wainscotting, “bleedin’ m’house ‘ighway along ‘ere! I bloody knew it! Bloody lazy cows! ‘Ousekeeper’ll be ‘earin’ ‘bout this!”

Not paying Virgil any mind, the enraged butler, hustled to the doorway, where he opened a hidden panel and produced a key, which he inserted and inputted a rapid-fire sequence of keys. The panel gave a polite, mournful sounding little bleep and a l.e.d.-indicator turned from red to green. Parker all but ran back to the painting, and, firmly grasping either side of the frame, delicately lifted it off the wall and carefully set it propped against the wall in an out-of the way corner, where he grabbed one of the imitation Chippendale chairs, and leaned it, seat towards the wall, at an angle over the painting to protect it from being knocked.

The two stood and stared at the now-empty space where the painting had hung. There, neatly in the centre of the space the painting had occupied, was a neat void in the wall, about two inches across and two wide, where mice had obviously gnawed their way through the plasterboard into the walls of the manor.

Parker groaned. “Oh, ‘eck, this is a ruddy dis’haster! Look h’at what they’ve done.”

Virgil examined the hole, and pulled a stylus from his pocket, stuck it in the hole and fished around. He pulled the stylus back out and examined the end. “It doesn’t look like they’ve got a next right in here,” he offered. “And it looks like the insulations decayed away. All you’d need to do is pump in some of the new fire and rodent proof insulating foam and replaster over the hole.” A thought. “You’d still have to find where they got in, but you can certainly stop them from using this as an entry into the manor’s interiors.”

“Where they g’hot h’in,” Parker grumbled. “Proh’bably through th’ cracks that f’hormed when ‘Er L’hadyship l’hast tried screamin’ the ruddy ‘ouse down ‘cause she saw h’a bleedin’ m’house.”

Virgil stared, dimly aware his jaw was hanging loose an inch below it’s accustomed level. “I’m sorry, what?” he squeaked when he regained control of his facial muscles.

Parker started and flushed, “Oh, um, s’horry, Mister Virgil. H’I didn’t m’hean…” Parker took a deep breath and started again. “H’I’d h’appreci’hate it very much h’if you’d not me’hention that H’I’d mentioned M’Lady’s murophobia” – the word was pronounced with extreme care – “She’d n’hot thank h’either h’of us. H’A bit touchy h’on the s’hubject, ‘Er Ladyship h’is.” He shuddered.

“Murophobia?” Virgil asked, hoping desperately the word didn’t mean what he thought it meant.

“H’a fancy term whot means ‘fear h’of mice h’and r’hats.”

Virgil swallowed. “I’ll not say anything; but Parker, did Penny say anything about where Gordon was taking her today?”

Parker shook his head. “She didn’t know where they was goin’. Some s’hort h’of surprhise, h’apparently.”

“It’s gonna to be some surprise,” Virgil muttered to himself.

Parker stared at him with dawning horror. “‘E didn’t…!”

Virgil nodded. “Apparently it’s the One Hundred and Sixtieth International Mouse Club Show. Gordon loves critters, and he thought Lady Penelope would appreciate him taking her somewhere with ‘historic significance’…”

Even at the gallery in the furthest part of the manor from the grand entrance they heard the door slamming closed.

“Parker!” Virgil almost didn’t recognise Lady Penelope’s voice, he’d never heard her be anything pass ‘mildly miffed’, so the despairing wail was foreign.

Apparently in shock, Parker lifted the communicator. “Th’ G’hallery, M’Lady.”

In short order, Penelope burst into the room, her arrival heralded by high heels running on marble tiles. Virgil was shocked to fleetingly see she was crying, with mascara tracks down her face. As Penelope flung herself at Parker to sob uncontrollably into the butler’s shoulder, Virgil heard Gordon calling desperately for Penelope.

Sharing a glance with Parker, who nodded reluctantly nodded, Virgil lifted his own communicator. Keying for voice only contact with Gordon, he said softly. “Art Gallery.”

Again it was rapid footsteps that heralded an arrival, this time Gordon’s slightly squeaking poorly neglected Oxfords on the tile. “Penny, I’m so sorry! I had no idea, I swear! I’d never have taken you there if I’d know!”

Gordon’s frantic gabbled apologies competed with Penelope’s slowly abating sobs, and Parker’s soothing mantra of “There, there, m’lady. H’It’s h’alright. Ol’ Parker w’hon’t let h’anyting ‘appen to y’hou.”

Gordon eventually subsided into dejected silence, watching miserably as Parker gradually settled Penelope enough for her to gasp, “Oh, Parker it was terrible! Everywhere! They were everywhere! M-m-mice, a-and-and r…”

Parker shushed her again before she could upset herself any further. “H’It’s h’alright, M’Lady. They’s all s’hafely in London, and you’s ‘ere. Ol’ Nosey Parker w’hon’t let h’anything ‘appen to y’hou.”

His answer was a scared little girl whisper of “Promise?”

“H’I promise,” he replied. “H’And so does M’hister Gordon,” there was a glare at the aquanaut at this.

“I promise, Penny,” Gordon said softly. “I swear, I never knew. I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

Penny slowly lifted her head from Parker’s shoulder. “I know,” she sniffed.

Gordon smiled weakly. “So no more surprise destinations?”

Penny nodded. “No more. Full disclosure before committing.” She still wasn’t quite looking at Gordon.

Which was a pity, because if she had been she wouldn’t have see what Virgil had been watching for the last twenty seconds.

The mouse was perfectly framed, perched in the centre of the hole gnawed into the wall, staring out at the quartet of giant beings occupying the room that was normally it’s sole domain.

Penelope’s piercing scream had Virgil rubbing his ears, and he had serious concerns for the integrity of Parker’s hearing, as she was still clinging to the butler. Until she pushed at him to get momentum to flee. By the time Parker regained his balance, Penelope had disappeared out the Gallery door.

Virgil sighed, and gestured to Gordon. “Get her into the jet,” he said. “Parker and I will get see that her bags get packed. She can stay at the Island while this gets sorted. There’s guaranteed to be no mice there.”

Gordon all but sprinted out of the door, determined to make amends and be the knight in shining armour that saved Penelope from the infestation.

Virgil turned back to Parker. “We’ll get her out of the way, do you need any help sorting that out?” He gestured to the mouse, now stretching out of its hole, and sniffing at the room.

Parker shook his head. “H’I’ll get the ‘ole damn manor loaded h’up with that f’home you were t’halkin’ h’bout,” he said grimly. Then he rubbed his ear, “H’and get me ‘earin’ checked. D’hamn near deafened me, she did.”

Parker looked around the room, assessing the situation. “Not much H’I can do ‘ere until we get the b’hlokes in,” he said, retrieving the Constable. “N’how I gotta find somewhere h’else to ‘ang this blessed thing,” he grumbled as he ushered Virgil out the gallery.

Virgil looked back into the room as Parker reactivated the Gallery’s security system, and secured the doors. His last glimpse as the doors swung shut, was of a scurry of movement as the mouse ran out of its hole, and down the wall to perch on it’s hind legs on the floor.

Surveying its undisputed kingdom.

Notes:

This story is inspired by my fur-phobic sister. Her reaction to her kids finding a nest of mice by their back fence reminded me of Lady Penelope’s hysterics in ‘The Mighty Atom’, so I’ve decided that her fear of mice holds true in TAG.

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the Original Series, the Movies (both Supermarionation and Live Action), or the Thunderbirds Are Go Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

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