Play@YSDC

London, December 9th, 9am
The companions are in good time to meet the 9am for Dover at London Bridge. The station is quieter than usual, being a Saturday, and they are able to get their tickets without any fuss. They board the train and set off.

As the Kentish countryside rolls past, Paice regales the heroes with tales of his service in Egypt and Sudan with the 1st Battalion of The Buffs.

“Ah, The Buffs. I know you Somerset lads are a proud lot, but you can’t hold a candle to The Buffs” he winks. “Finest infantry regiment in the British Army.”

“Yes, we had some good men in The Sudan” he relates. “I was still just a subaltern then. Not the best officer material I’m afraid, not like young James here. Our CO though, he put me through my paces. Nicholas Hollingsworth, ‘Fearless Nick’ we called him. He joined us in India before we shipped out. A tough man, quick to anger, but I swear there are none braver. We had a tough time of it back then, a lot of fighting and a lot of men killed and wounded, including me. Herbert Crouch was with us then too, together with some other men who will probably be at the funeral. I’m hoping you can meet Colonel Hollingsworth”.

Harry, slightly grumpy at somehow being talked into attending a funeral for someone he doesn't know and in the country no less, is uncharacteristically quiet this morning. He takes a seat and immediately appears to fall asleep.

"Sounds like just the man I'd like to meet," says Reg. "You know, I've been thinking about putting the uniform back on. Perhaps the Buffs would take me." He doesn't think it would be polite to point out that they are now short a sergeant-major, though the fact is obvious.

Helena remained silent in the background, fast asleep.

“I’m sure they’d be glad to have a man of your caliber, Sergeant-Major” says Paice. “Maybe we can ask the Colonel to put in a word for you. He’s retired now, though. I think everyone you’ll meet is”.

Dr. Francis Preston

Preston nods ruminatively.

"I don't suppose anyone could tell me more about Hollingworth?" Helena said, showing absolutely no sign of transitioning between sleeping and being suddenly awake.

“Well…” Paice collects his thoughts. “As I said, a very brave man. Smart too. A good leader. But…not very compromising. He’s used to getting his own way. I think the other ranks found him a bit harsh. He’s not one for suffering fools, let me tell you. I think we all had a good tongue-lashing from him at some point.”

He pauses. “After The Sudan, he retired. Built himself a big house in Hampstead, and got married a couple of years after that. What was the name… yes, Kandahar House. I went there only once. Big place.”

Dr. Francis Preston

"Kandahar?" Preston murmurs. "Sounds Indian. Or Sudanese, perhaps..."

"Afghan, I believe," says Reg, having heard more than his share of old war stories. "I have an uncle who fought there. "

"yes i currently read a story about Khandahar, it is indeed in afghanistan" James approves

Helena nods. "Oh my. That's...certainly fresh.

“That’s right, Afghanistan. He served there too” confirms Paice.

The train pulls into Dover station at about 11.15 am. The companions stop for a nice cup of tea to refresh themselves before heading to the funeral at the Church of St Mary The Virgin by cab.
The service is about to begin, so the companions and Paice file in. To Paice’s consternation, the attendance is very small. There are two women who are sobbing quietly, and only six men scattered around the church, either sitting singly or in pairs.

As the attendees move out towards the graveside, the companions wrap themselves against the cold air blowing off the Channel. The wind whips around them as the vicar reads his final words, and Herbert Crouch is laid to rest.

The two women continue their sobbing throughout the ceremony. A man stands to the back. He is of middle age, dressed in modest clothing. He watches our heroes with interest.

As the funeral ends, the party begins to break up. Another of the mourners approaches Paice, and shakes his hand. He is small and thin, with lank blond hair, and it is unfortunate to say, fairly rodent-like in appearance. His age is hard to place; somewhere between late 30s and late 40s. His clothes were smart about ten years ago.
Despite his unfortunate appearance, the ever cordial Paice greets him warmly.

“Hello Norton” he says as he shakes hands. “I’m glad to see you. What an awful event.”

“You got that right Sir” says Norton, in a thick Kentish accent. “Poor Sergeant-Major. ‘E din’t deserve none of that.”

“Are you all that came, then?” wonders Paice. “What about the Colonel?”

Norton manages to stop himself from sneering. “Must be busy. Busy man, the Colonel is. Haven’t seen him at the club lately.”

Paice looks crestfallen. “He wasn't at Reynolds' service either. I know that most of the old battalion are either still serving or have moved away, but I did expect more than just the two of us. What about Major Gower?”

Norton loses some of his attitude. “The Major was kind enough to pay my fare down here, sir. He sent a loverly wreath, too.”

Norton indicates a large floral display. He glances curiously at the assembled companions.

“Everyone” says Paice. “This is Toby Norton, late of my platoon. He was with me in The Sudan”. He introduces the companions.

Dr. Francis Preston

"A tragedy, indeed," Preston says. "Particularly to lose two comrades so suddenly. I presume there was a police investigation into the murder?"

"Oh yes" says Norton. His voice drops and he indicates the man standing towards the back. "I think that bloke's a copper".

Everyone,You can roll Spot Hidden about Norton.

Spot Hidden 45%,[dice]0[/dice]

Helena examined Norton carefully. Not entirely trusting of the man.

"I can't really tell," says Reg, the midday sun's glare ruining his vision, "but it wouldn't surprise me none."

OOC,Spot Hidden roll (55% skill) about [b]Norton[/b]: [dice]0[/dice]

SpotHid,Harry's skill is 50% and he rolls... [dice]0[/dice]

Harry seems preoccupied with the fact he is attending a service involving his social inferiors, but is attempting to put a brave face on it (yet still looking slightly pained).