Preparations and Alterations
London June 11, 1718
A good eve to you, Cap’n (or more likely, good morrow, by the time you read this). Things happen... things move so fast here, now, I rock about in a dither like a child’s toy that doth rock and spin aggressively but doth not advance. Yet, there is a great expectation of progress which is held in common amongst us, and invigorates us all. And there has been a great deal of activity (I’d call it outright plotting and scheming) intended to bring us to this point of departure from the wretchedly slow deliberations of court and council. It was with reliance on the good advice and even better-placed affiliations of our newfound friends that we had come to realize that what encumbered us hither could be loosed from us yon. And thither we shall go–with an audience confirmed–to the Court of St. James!
On our last day in the court of Chancery, Cap’n, me son Thaddeus did rise to formally request a suspension of these proceeding–something which had been previously negotiated in back offices. His motion was formally accepted. (Well, you’d hardly expect a sitting judge in his Majesty’s courts to stand in the way of a royal audience, would you, Cap’n?) As all this ceremonial palaver droned on, I kept me gaze upon Pankhurst’s countenance. I watched for surprise, amazement, anger and resentment. I expected an outburst that would rise up and rattle the rafters. I was disappointed in this. The weasseling little rodent didn’t seem to mind at all. If anything, he appeared gladdened by this turn of events. Methinks our news was not news to him, Cap’n. And methinks I may now have more–not less–to worry about.
But I’ll worry you no more, this eve, good friend. Meself, I must rest and repair. And then begin to prepare for this momentous event in Annalea’s life. Momentous for all of us. But our sojourn (be that a Frenchy word?) to the royal palace is yet many days away. There’ll be time to do–and time to tell of the doing.
Your French-Speaking Servant,
Crockett
~~
London June 12, 1718
Cap’n,
Our anticipated rendezvous with royalty is the only topic of discussion around here, of late. As you can no doubt well imagine, this development occasioned a good deal of excitement, and a lot of anxiety, 'mongst our lot–especially the women. 'Though Thad' was no more complacent about this than were the ladies. Sitting in a front parlour sipping tea, yesterday in the afternoon, me son lifted his lips from the steamy warmth of the beverage, looked out upon our little contingent, and remarked with amused surprise, “I can’t believe it! We’re... going to see the king. We’re all going to see the king! I really can’t believe it!”
His utterance surprised and amused me, Cap’n, since Thaddeus was so much the instrument in bringing all of this about. ‘Twas as if it had just dawned on him: what was happening; what this was all about; and what this could mean. I believe it finally struck the lad–what an audacious move he had made! Of course, this set off a chorus... no, a round... a round in which none of the participants quite knew the tune, nor the appropriate words, nor even the right place to chime in. So each sang out whatever came to mind.
From Annalea come, “Nor I! I... I just don’t believe it! An audience with his Majesty? At the palace? No! This can’t be real! This can’t be happening to me!”
Mam’ piped in, “I ain’ goin’.”
“Oooh... the palace!” exclaimed Cynthia.
“The royal palace!” specified Sarah.
“Lovely!” Cynthia reacted.
“Perfectly lovely!” Sarah responded.
“I ain’ goin’,” Mam’ repeated.
“Don’t be silly, dear Mam’,” Annalea advised, “of course you’re going.”
“I ain’ goin’!” Mam’ reaffirmed her position on the matter.
“Well... then... I ain’t going, either!” Annalea asserted.
Me two best gals–two strong women (strong-willed and stubborn)–just stared at each another, all stern-faced. For certain, this brought the merriment of Thaddeus and the sisters to an abrupt halt. We all sat quiet, in respectful observance of this contest of wills. Finally, after several tense moments, ‘twas Mam’ who broke. “Awright... awright. Ise goin’.”
She also broke into a broad smile, which was soon reflected upon Annalea’s countenance. By the time Mam’ and Annalea reached an embrace, the other three magpies were once again chirping and clucking and reveling in gaiety! I remained an uninvolved–‘though highly amused–observer, Cap’n. Frankly, I was personally less impressed by the auspiciousness of the occasion than by the great expense occasioned me to wardrobe and outfit a gaggle of female commoners, who needs be fitted out properly–and turned out regally–just to be presented at court. I'd even to purchase entire new outfits for Thad' and me; 'though the expense and time of preparation for both of us was not near so dear as one damned petticoat for our beloved females.
And that little amusement was begun today–with the advent of tailors and seamstresses whose arrival upon our doorstoop preceeded the cock’s crow. And a most spurious gaggle they appeared to be. They were first greeted by me son Thaddeus and meself. They literally tripped upon one another in their efforts to fawn all over young, handsome, well-clad Thaddeus. But they reacted to me as if I were some indolent stable hand who just would not get out of their way. I would have been most happy, Cap’n, to be out of the way of the likes of them.
Thaddeus then assembled our entire company to gain acquaintance of these nuisances with needles and threads... and bolts of fabric that would command a princely fee. And some have called us pirates! Well, Cap’n, that lot was obviously used to serving the posh and pretentious. And they’d no idea what to make of our lot. The airs and attitudes which they at first displayed (while still grovelling afore Thaddeus, believing himself to be their benefactor) made me to believe they thought themselves somehow superior to us.
But their more practical bent as working folk–and the mercenary purpose which brung them ‘cross our threshold–curtailed their arrogance in short order. They weren’t fools. And the guarantee of gold in their pockets made eager thralls of each and every one. And when they finally discovered that the benefactor of this venture was meself, not Thaddeus, they dropped off from him (as if he were suddenly discovered a leper) and attached themselves to me, with their fickle and phony–fawning–ways. I was disgusted, Cap’n. Well, to be honest, not so much by their arrogance and insolence, but very much by the cost these parasites were about to inflict upon me.
Soon enough, we broke off into various bedrooms and unoccupied parlours–each of us to be sized, fondled and fitted discretely, and with a modicum of privacy. Aye, Cap’n, only a modicum of privacy, as each one of us was now surrounded by his or her own small retinue of garmenters. And they would quite often call upon their fellows (of either sex) to come and gawk at your ungainly posed, naked frame, in order to provide a professional opinion on how best to disguise nature’s more obvious mistakes.
And no, Cap’n, ‘tis not simply me cantankerous nature causing me to exaggerate–as I’m oft’ reputed to do. I was not alone in me annoyance with this situation. From down the hall, in Mam’s bedroom, I (and most of the household) heard, “Aaaay! Git yo’ han’s off’n me! Wha’ in da hell ya tryin’ ta do? Doncha touch me like dat! Doncha ever! Mam’ gonna smack your skinny ass, if’n...!”
Then I heard Annalea scrambling across the hall, from her own bedroom, to make rescue of the situation–and the embattled thralls. I could not quite make out her soothing words of comfort and explanation to Mam’, but I knew the entertainment had ended when I heard Annalea say, “Oooh, Mam’! Look’t! This colour... on you! Oh, you will be so beautiful!”
From her response, I surmised that Mam’ had surrendered (happily) to the inevitable. “Ya think so, hon’? Ya really think so?”
As you well know, Cap’n, I always enjoy an amusing distraction, whene’er I may encounter one. And I wonder from what quarter the next such diversion might come. I longed for such, as I was meself besieged by the grasping, prodding, fondling tentacles of too damned many tailors. They tried this, and they tried that, and they dressed me up and they stripped me down. Cap’n, they even wrapped me in garments that most resembled a lady’s undergarments... and then asked if I’d be suited to walk about in such! I was grateful when they unwrapped me!
Of course, that left me standing naked, nervous, and a wee bit humbled, afore those assembled. Finally, one of them commented to the others, “It is just no use. I really don’t know. We must show him to Mr. Fousey!”
That disturbed me, Cap’n. Who was this “Mr. Fousey?” And why did I have to display meself to him? Was I becoming someone else’s amusing diversion?
The thrall who’d spake, abruptly departed the bedroom–returning after several moments, arm-in-arm, with the greatest fopping Flossy I’d e’er seen (‘least since the courtiers at Versailles). All heads (‘cept mine) were bowed a bit, upon the entrance of this peculiar, little man. All in attendance (save meself) uttered a reverent, “Mr. Fousey,” as they nodded–to acknowledge the presence of the master. And I sincerely did hope, Cap’n, to find this man’s knowledge superior to his appearance. Aside the puffery and plumage adorning this man (sufficient to embarrass a peacock) and the odd fragrance he seemed drenched in (something akin to the odour of lilacs, stored too long in a damp hold), he had the chalkiest complexion I’d put me eyes upon since viewing a portrait of olde Queen Elizabeth. Cap’n, the man was heavily powdered from wig-top to shoulders. When he turned his head, quickly, a wee cloud of white dust was emitted into the air. And from the sweat upon his forehead and neck, the stuff had congealed into an eggshell-coloured paste–affecting the semblance of so many disgusting boils.
This was Mr. Fousey. This was the man expected to suit Crockett to meet his king. Cap’n, I knew not whether to laugh or just leave. But Fousey spake afore I’d time to decide. “Oh! Oh, dear! Oh... deary-dear!”
Aye, Cap’n, them were the man’s words–I swear. And from his disciples come a long, confirming, “Hmmm.”
Then the old foppy put a bit o’ glass rimmed with horn up to his eye and proceeded to spy me with it–close-up–head to toe. Somewheres upon his return from me toe to me head–‘round about me knee–his back locked up, and he needed the assist of two young disciples to bring him erect, again. Now I was laughing, Cap’n: boisterously. I did manage to stop, ‘though, when I noticed all others in the room looking at me, aghast. But if they anticipated an apology, they’d need wait ‘til well past judgement day.
But it was Mr. Fousey who spake again. “I can do nothing, here. The light is poor. Take him into the front parlour. There is where I have been viewing these... clients.”
Whereupon, two of his disciples took me arms in theirs as they moved me naked carcass down through the hallways to the appointed parlour. At the entry to said parlour, I was informed that I must wait a few moments afore Mr. Fousey could attend me. “The old love moves a bit slowly.”
Rather unceremoniously, I was pushed across the threshold and the door was shut behind me. Fortunately, Cap’n, that is a most bright and sunny room. Most fortunate, in me present condition: as I’d not a stitch upon me to provide for warmth. Nor modesty, for that matter. And... Cap’n... ‘twould appear it did so matter. For I was not alone in that warm and brightly-lit parlour. I heard the agreeable consonance of feminine voices waft ‘cross that room. Soon, I found meself once again gazing admiringly upon the unadorned backsides of the sisters–Sarah and Cynthia.
Apparently, they’d not heard me enter the room–what with all their chatter and giggling. Apparently, I could escape detection by quietly departing the parlour. Apparently, me attraction to the contours of the female form is much greater than me desire to escape embarrassment. I could not move, Cap’n. And I could not remove me eyes from this spectacle... no, this enchanting vision. Were judgement day to arrive at that very moment... were St. Peter hisself calling me to come to accounts, I would have to say, “But a moment.”
Of course, every moment has its ending. And moments like that one end all too quickly. Me enchanted moment ended when Sarah turned her head just enough to spy me gawking (leering?) at the two of them. She took a fast second glance to assure herself of what she thought she was seeing. And then she gave signal to Cynthia. Both lasses turned full-front to face me (so’s to speak). As she’s wont to do, Sarah studied the situation carefully, focusing her attentions on whate’er stood out–and then bringing the matter to her sister’s attentions, drawing her keen eyesight to that which seemed most significant.
“Look there, sister! This cur has a bone of his own.”
“Aye, sister. And I believe he means to share it with us!”
Well, Cap’n... you can just imagine what happened next: what I did next; what the sisters did next. You can just imagine, I’m sure. And I should allow you to imagine the conclusion to this tryst. I’m quite certain you could use the amusement. But as creative as your imagination might be, and as entertaining a tale as it might devise, ‘tis for certain your imaginary conclusion would widely miss the mark when compared to reality.
For true, I felt meself more warmed by the attendance and attentions of the sisters than by the bright sunlight which filled the room. And certainly, I was well up to engaging them, romantically. But a purely physical gesture–a most natural response–was all I’d the time for. The door to the parlour burst open! (Or so it seemed to the startled sisters.) In come Mr. Fousey, propped up by two attendants. When he spied that which had held the rapt attentions of the sisters (even without benefit of his glass) he aroused hisself and once again exclaimed, “Oh! Oh, dear! Oh... deary-dear!”
Now, Cap’n, you may imagine whate’er outcome amuses you!
Your Faithful Servant,
Crockett
Not to be reproduced or otherwise used without the express permission of the Author.
Click on BUY NOW!
Should you wish to purchase the entire novel, Annalea, a Journey Through Strangers~at Journey's End, in PDF format for $5.95 (delivered direct to your email wthin 24 hours), click on BUY NOW! If you would prefer to purchase Annalea, a Journey Through Strangers~at journey's End as an instant download (all formats available), you can do so by contacting Smashwords*
at http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/3887 or Fictionwise.com or
BARNES&NOBLE
Annalea, a Journey Through Strangers~at Journey's End
by Stephen Shore
*See special discount offer, Click on Coup'ns!
And as a preview of the adventures that await you:
ANNALEA
A JOURNEY THROUGH STRANGERS
~ AT JOURNEY'S END ~
by Stephen James Shore
Index
Annalea, a Journey Through Strangers: at Journey's End
Chapter I - Baffling Confabulation
Chapter II - Rigamarole
Chapter III - Snagging Serpents in a Sack
Chapter IV - The Tabard
Chapter V - The Narrowing Gap
Chapter VI - A Half Truth is Better Than No Truth
Chapter VII - Preparations and Alterations
Chapter VIII - It Has Come Down to This
Chapter IX - Our Friend Hath Come
Chapter X - This is not Over!
Chapter XI - What of Annalea?
Chapter XII - Epilogue
Thank you for reading the Annalea series.
We hope you enjoy the Journey
and will join us again when the
Saga of Annalea continues.
ONCE AGAIN, THANKS FOR STOPPING BY!
SJS