Dun And Dusted, Part I; Book 7 Of Poacher's Progress .Chapter 9: The Silver Greyhound free porn video
September 10th, 1832
We had decided to make the return crossing of the English Channel from the port of Dieppe. Although Calais would remain our chosen entre port to France when travelling to Château Blanchard the journey between Calais and Paris had been long and uncomfortable, and one Mimi and I decided not to repeat. Dieppe was the nearest channel port to Paris, and it was there we were now bound
As the diligence headed towards Dieppe I thought back on our time in Paris.
Jean-Woodward had settled into the routine of life at the Sorbonne within a few days of the start of the term. He continued to lodge with his Aunt Chloe and Uncle Armand, and had but a fifteen-minute walk to the university.
He soon made friends with another new arrival, Alfred de Musset, who made quite an impression on Chloe when Jean-Woodrow introduced Albert to us. She invited Alfred to stay at the Garibaldi apartment, there being several spare bedrooms, and frequent absences of both Armand and Chloe on political business.
The second night of his stay I was awakened by orgiastic howls of pleasure as Chloe introduced young Alfred to a subject not part of the Sorbonne syllabus.
Mimi had taken to art as a duck to water. After that first portrait in charcoal, she progressed to making pen and pencil sketches of Chloe and Jean-Woodrow. She soon moved on to paint excellent watercolours, including views of Paris from the hill of Montmartre.
Thanks to Alain Courvoisier, I had learned much about Egypt, although the only fact I really yearned for was the whereabouts of Eloise de La Zouche, and how I could encompass her death.
Mimi stirred at my side as the diligence bounced and bumped over the rough, pitted surface of the road.
“How long before we reach Dieppe, Jacques? This journey is as uncomfortable and interminable as the one from Calais.”
She was absolutely right. A French diligence could not match a Royal Mail coach for speed and comfort as the roads of France do not lend themselves to either.
Napoleon’s rule had bequeathed good roads and cobbled streets to France, but over time the municipalities responsible for the upkeep of same had been negligent in their stewardship. Potholes were ignored, and cobblestones, frequently ripped up and used as missiles in the many and frequent disturbances the French are prone to, not replaced.
Consequently travelling by coach was uncomfortable and seemingly never ending.
I looked at my pocket watch. “We should be at the quayside in about four hours, my love. Try to get some sleep.”
I was wrong in my estimate by several hours. Soon after leaving Rouen, where there had been a change of horses, several spokes on one of the large wheels of the diligence shattered, no doubt due to the battering delivered to them by the uneven surface of the road. The wheel needed to be removed, a wheelwright found to replace the spokes, and then the wheel refitted, before we could continue our journey.
Removal and refitting the wheel took several hours, and all the male passengers’ strength, to achieve, but a wheelwright in a nearby village soon replaced the broken spokes. Nevertheless, the delay was such we missed by several hours the last packet boat leaving for Dover that day, and would have to wait for the first sailing next morning.
Dieppe was not so favoured with hostelries as Calais, and the only overnight accommodation available was at a brothel.
I say ‘brothel ‘ but in fact it was more a place of assignation, with a fair sized dining room, a large withdrawing room, abounding in secluded alcoves, and upstairs bedrooms rented by the hour.
There were plenty of harlots available on the premises, eager to service all and any males taking passage to and from England, but most of the clientèle were amorous couples itching to copulate, but with no place other than ‘The Silver Greyhound’ to scratch their itch.
I grant ‘The Silver Greyhound’ is an unusual name for a French tavern, but although the sign was written in English the locals referred to the place as le lévrier d’argent A knowledgeable English traveller seated at an adjoining table to ours in the dining room, furnished us with a reasonable explanation for the name.
English monarchs have employed trusted men to carry secret dispatches since the days of Richard III, but it was King Charles II who first gave these couriers a symbol to identify themselves to the recipients of the message. During his exile, Charles II appointed four trusted men to convey messages to Royalist forces in England. As a sign of their authority, the King broke four silver greyhounds from a bowl familiar to royal courtiers, and gave one to each man. A silver greyhound thus became the symbol of the King’s Messengers Service.
King’s Messengers are diplomatic couriers, and should one be intercepted and robbed of his dispatches then it would mean war between England and the transgressor state. Of course, there are other means of intercepting messages, and the French, past masters at guile and seduction, use comely females at the Channel ports to tempt, beguile, seduce, distract, and generally tease out the contents of couriers’ pouches – first genital and then diplomatic.
This tavern in Dieppe was one of the first places where alluring French females fluttered eyelashes, flashed sultry glances and naked limbs, to ensnare Kings’ Messengers, and over time became known as ‘The Silver Greyhound’. Since then harlots, and dissolute men and women, have become as much a part of the tavern’s clientèle as Kings’ Messengers and the females attempting to seduce them.
Arisha
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