Leggings - an early Cockney's chorus...

Outside one of the Cockney fruit's men was wobbling home yelling backwards, “Now we can go for the major one!”

Upstairs his confederate, Wyatt Earp, rustled about in the bed, “Yeah!” he yelled back unconcerned, “Lets! We had no trouble with the minor ones – and I never did want the shops. He can have them, too public for us. Never shared it the right way did he? Got it beautiful...”

“Aye sitting pretty!,” agreed Doc Holiday swinging from the hip as he crossed t'grass. “Shares it with his sister instead. Intelligent! We all shares with us sisters. The other is not what we want at all, it's the property in London, and the hotel… Not as if anyone would guess… Or the best will of all...”

“Rival Vest-Morland,” said Wyatt happily, “Won't I? Whose drawn the sword from the stone this time…?”

Kitty got up, and shook her head, “Gotta get up, gotta get up!” She was thick with a sort of head cold, and gritty to the eyeteeth. It was only 5 am and a grim gray June morning.

Upstairs Wyatt was checking that his orders on the noise being left on was being carried out relentlessly. It was. The high pitched scream was wailing away in the quiet room just at the edge of Kitty's hearing. “She can't have anything that you don't have...” Wyatt told his floozy. “Or we won't get away with it. I mean if you're asked to write a book to prove it, what will you do?”

“They're only children's books,” she said, “And since I took one of hers to America, and sold it there – no-one would doubt that I could.”

“Brilliant!” he said, chuckling, “Your Dad did some major work there.”

“Remember he didn't do it for you,” she said primly, “We work for another reason.”

Kitty listened, it was suddenly quiet. Why are they doing this to me? She thought it's Leggings who writes books and stuff… Are they right in the head or what?

She picked up the drawing pad with a quick twist of her wrist and set about a new design. Well she might as well. One was due in two days time for the collage.

As they mumbled about getting enough overhead she drew with quick sure strokes a pair of culottes, “I'm not sure you'll do,” she told the culottes - “I mean so far the shops don't seem to be selling much of you.”

“Who's she got down there?” whistled Earp. He was obviously on the boil. She switched him to the back boiler of her mind. Outside the coven boiled around the back door.

“All ready?” hissed Hagdolette, “Because we'll have to be quick with the squeal this morning. It's traditional, we've raised something. Isn't it exciting. Well exciting!”

“Go on,” said another coolly, “You know you only got it because your Dad named you after her Grandmother V.”

“If she was her Grandmother,” hissed Hagdolette furiously. “The Duck will be pleased anyway. So to places everyone. Who's to say who's doing what...”

“We can always make another propaganda film showing how horrible she is – if not,” agreed the other half laughing.

Kitty started to write it down, as much as she could recall. I'll pass it on to Leggings for her new book. A book of the doings of the Irish, the Cockney fruit's and Criminal ex secret service guys…? Who can be sure of the different fractions… She glared upwards, Go on, she thought, apples and pears, apples and pears!