Dynasty And Destiny; Book 6 Of Poacher's ProgressChapter 23: A Dish Of Dates free porn video
“Damned impressive wouldn’t you say, Colonel?”
I had to agree with Rear-Admiral Nelson Miles.
We had ridden to the edge of the Avon Gorge, a mile and a half long gash made through a ridge of limestone by the River Avon on its way to Avonmouth and the Bristol Channel.
The sides of the gorge were practically sheer, with a mass of jagged rocks that over time had tumbled down the abyss, strewn along the banks of the River Avon. We allowed our horses to crop the lush grass as Miles pointed out various landmarks.
“The locals call this spot Lovers Leap on account of the number of pregnant maids and unloved lads who have thrown themselves off the rock.”
He indicated the jumble of rocks below “Those who don’t drown in the river dash themselves to pieces on those rocks. I did have a fence put up to dissuade any potential suicides but to no avail. Those souls in torment who wanted to end it all broke down the fence and jumped nevertheless.”
I pointed to the several sheep grazing nearby. “Do you lose many sheep falling in to the Gorge?
“Sheep have enough sense not to venture too near the edge, and I have yet to come across a suicidal ewe.”
He pointed out over the Gorge. “You know, some damned Frenchie wants to build a bridge across there. He must be mad even to think of such a hare-brained scheme. He said the bridge would be suspended in the air, held up by chains between two towers, one each side of the Gorge.”
Miles shook his head in disbelief.” Did you ever hear anything so fanciful in your life? The fellow spoke perfect English, but had a Froggy name – Imbard Bruno, or something like.”
“Isambard Brunel, Admiral. He is a well-known engineer; born in England of a French father. Brunel senior is in London, digging a tunnel under the Thames. His son nearly drowned when the river broke through.”
“A bridge across the Gorge, and a tunnel under the Thames. Where will the madness end? With a bridge over, or a tunnel under, the English Channel no doubt!” Miles gave a loud and prolonged cackle of laughter, and then mopped his streaming eyes with a large polka dotted handkerchief.
It was the morning of the Loyal Address and had I left my bed early to see to the siting and assembly of the dais. The previous night had been another one where I had not only glimpsed paradise but had entered and frolicked therein with Mimi. My ministrations had caused her to swoon in delight, which was just as well, as even with Professor Potter’s Potion surging through my veins I was hard put to keep up with Mimi’s fervour.
She was still in a sound, sated sleep when I reluctantly arose and got dressed and made my way down to breakfast.
Admiral Miles and Humphrey Appleby were both at the breakfast table. Humph and I exchanged wry smiles; he looked as exhausted as I felt. I assumed he had been kept busy during the night probing the housekeeper or cook, or maybe both. I felt somewhat guilty in not offering him a bottle of Professor Potter’s Potent Prowess Providing Potion, and wondered whom else he was taking over the jumps, as the Baroness still had the painters in.
After viewing the Gorge I followed Miles back to Clifton Grange and the part of the grounds where the dais was to be erected.
The Admiral had volunteered his gamekeepers and gardeners as labourers, and what with their muscles, and the skills recently acquired by Captain Botham’s troop, the dais was soon assembled, sheltered under a trio of stately cedar trees about three furlongs from the Grange.
It was then I noticed some waggons, and a tented area, about a furlong from the entrance gates of Clifton Grange.
“What’s all this, Admiral?” I said, pointing to the assemblage.
Miles looked at me in surprise. “Today is May Day, Colonel. Bristol’s May Day Fayre will open here at midday.”
“I hope there will be more military present than I have under my command. I foresee crowds encroaching onto Grange land, eager to see the Royal Persons.”
“Do not fret yourself, Colonel. I know that General Francis Barlow has ordered three hundred men from the Bristol garrison, the Twenty Second Regiment of Foot, to police the May Day Fair. Besides which the Fayre Watch will be deployed, and the Society of Merchant Venturers will have brought their portable prison cells to the fair ground.”
He saw my bemusement and enlightend me.
“The Fayre Watch are tipstaffs, appointed by the Chief Magistrate of Bristol, who patrol the fair ground apprehending drunks, brawlers, pickpockets, and the like. The Merchant Venturers have taken on the task of keeping such miscreants locked up during the fair. At the end of the day the felons are taken from their cells and put in the stocks, where thy are pelted with all manner of substances. The crowd have a good time, the wrongdoers are punished without being hanged, transported, whipped, or branded, and everyone goes home happy, other than those who return home covered in ordure and embarrassment.”
His explanation eased any thoughts I had of having to keep a troop of cavalry on stand-by to suppress the rowdyism always prevalent at Fayres.
I checked my timepiece;there were three hours before the Royal Party took their places on the dais. Time enough to ascertain if Mimi and the girls were up and about.
They were, but with such a commotion – dresses, petticoats, and hats being tried on and discarded, hair being brushed, and stays being laced up – that I made myself scarce.
For a change of scene I wandered over to the portable prison cells being assembled. Three large wooden cabins, each on a wain, were secured together in a L shape. I estimated up to a dozen miscreants could be incarcerated at any one time, although it would be a tight squeeze. One small, unshuttered, window served each cabin for light and air, and in the warmth of a spring day anyone abiding in the cell would find it unpleasantly debilitating.
I noticed a dozen or so men wearing tricorn hats and Navy blue uniforms, who I took to be the Fayre Watch, those doughty men who would seize and confine any misbehaving reveller at the May Fair.
I thought I recognised one of the men from my time in Somerset, but before I could accost him I was summoned to the dais.
Captain Botham had not yet appeared from his bodyguarding duties, and Lieutenant Dexter was unclear as to how the men should be posted. Lieutenant Dexter looked the part but lacked self-confidence, and relied too much on Captain Botham to make decisions. I set the guard, and then returned to the Grange, where the Royal Party were assembling.
Lieutenant Graveney’s troop had already taken up their posts on the approach roads to Clifton Grange.
Botham’s troop trumpeter sounded ‘Assembly’, coaches and carriages disgorged their passengers, and the Royal Party took their places on the platform. As had been the setting on the platform for the last two weeks the Duchess sat centre stage, flanked by Mimi and the Baroness, with Captain Botham standing directly behind the Duchess’s chair. On the right of the Duchess sat Princess Alexandrina, flanked by my two daughters. On the Duchess’s left was Brigadier General Francis Barlow, the commander of the Bristol Garrison. I had not come across him in my service as he had spent most of his career in Canada and America. The Bishop of Bristol sat to the left of the General. Seated to the right of Princess Alexandrina was Rear Admiral Nelson Miles, who although outranking General Barlow was in the lesser administrative position as Superintendent of the Royal Navy Dockyard.
Humphrey Appleby was absent, and I suspect he was away tupping the Clifton Grange housekeeper, or Baroness Lehzen’s temporary replacement.
I sauntered off around the back of the dais, and ensured all my men were alert and watchful.
The choir of Bristol Cathedral sang ‘Zadok the Priest’ – again.
The Bristol Silver Band played ‘See the conquering hero comes’ – again.
The Mayor of Bristol delivered the Loyal Address from a lectern, with his Aldermen squirming uncomfortably on wooden benches. To save their buttocks from cramp, or worse, it was a short but no less patriotic address.
The oath of fealty given by the Society of Merchant Venturers was likewise mercifully short. I expect the merchants wished to be out on the fairground making money.
With the final chorus of the National Anthem the Loyal Address ceremony concluded, and The Royal Party left the platform.
Princess Alexandrina and my two daughters asked the Duchess of Kent that they be allowed to visit the fair. After a moment’s hesitation, she gave her permission.
“Baroness Lehzen is feeling a little fragile, and my maid Gerda has been given leave to visit a distant relation of hers who currently resides in Avonmouth, so I ask that your maid Claudette accompany our daughters.” The duchess said to Mimi, who naturally agreed to the Duchess’s request.
I impressed upon Claudette to keep a watchful eye on the girls, especially my two, as I knew they would get up to all sorts of mischief if given half a chance. Although Princess Alexandrina was five years older than the twins, Mollie, who was a born leader, seemed to have a measure of influence over the Royal Princess.
The quartet skipped gaily off towards the May Pole.
“It may be as well if we also keep a discreet eye on them,” Mimi said. “Claudette has been uncharacteristically flighty of late.”
“Flighty? That is not an adjective I would apply to Claudette. She appears to be a most level headed girl.”
Mimi nodded “Yes, I would normally agree, but latterly she has been distracted; day dreaming, and quite preoccupied. I noticed her change of behaviour after the events at Tewksbury Abbey, and she has worsened since our arrival in Bristol.”
I made to follow Claudette and the girls.
“Not so obvious, Jacques. Claudette would be mortified if she thought we doubted her ability to look after her charges, flighty or not.”
I allowed the girls to get out of sight, and then prepared to go after them, but again Mimi held me back.
“Although Louise, Baroness Lehzen, may not be up to supervising the Princess and our two rapscallions she would like to view the Fair. Let me invite her to join us.”
So it was Mimi, Louise Lehzen, and I, walked out to view the many attractions of the May Day Fair.
The tents and pavilion housed a plethora of interesting and weird people and appliances. Gypsies told fortunes, sold carved wooden ornaments, and ‘lucky’ rabbit paws. Fiddlers played, as country maids and their swains danced around the Maypole. An ox was being roasted on a slow turning spit. A hurdy gurdy player competed with accordions, Northumberland small pipes, and fiddlers, while all about were smiling, laughing, shouting, and merry- making people.
A pugilist, with the ferocious name of The Somerset Slaughterer, stood in a roped off square of turf, offering to take on all comers in a bout of fisticuffs, with the inducement of five guineas to anyone who could last for one minute without being knocked down, and ten guineas if anyone could knock him, the pugilist, down. Judging by Mister Slaughterer’s muscles and fierce expression it would be a most foolhardy man to accept the challenge. However, further, along the midway I saw a pavilion selling ale and scrumpy, and no doubt later on there would be several inebriated lads willing to chance having their teeth knocked from their mouths.
Mila
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