9 Jan 1806
“Jesus,” Tom breathed. “I’ve never seen a London
mob so quiet.”
Mary slapped him lightly, absent mindedly. “Watch your language. Gentlemen don’t talk
like that in front of ladies.”
“Well, I’m not a gentleman, am I? Just an honest
working class lad from Stepney, and I’m telling you I never would’ve known a
London crowd could be so fuckin’ silent.”
The noise of the crowd had actually just returned
to its customary level, as the funeral cortege moved on toward Ludgate Hill and
St. Paul’s. Now they had to raise their voices to hear each other as they stood
on the balcony of the elegant Charing Cross townhome.
“It’s Nelson.
The country’s never mourned anyone like they mourned him.”
Tom shrugged. “Yeah, but this...this is like
Princess Diana.”
“Holy shit. Did you just compare Admiral Lord
Nelson to Princess Diana?”
“No! I just meant…I never realized how popular he
was. And ladies don’t say ‘holy shit.’”
“I’m not a lady, I’m an honest middle class lass
from Las Vegas. You do know who Lord Nelson was, don’t you, Tom?”
He screwed up his face as if thinking very hard.
“Let’s see…funny looking bloke at the top of the really big pillar in Trafalgar
Square, right?”
He laughed as she sputtered in disbelief.
“Calm down, darling. I know who he was. Is. Was.
He beat the frogs at Trafalgar.”
“Yes, he did. He died doing it. And thanks to
that victory, Napoleon’s lost any chance of invading England. The English are
rather grateful for that, so they’ve thrown him a five day state funeral.
Honestly, Tom, we’ve been talking about this for months.”
“No, you’ve
been talking about this for months. I’ve been building a wind farm in
Northhamptonshire. If I’d known what was going to happen, I suppose I would’ve
paid more attention in me history classes twenty years ago, yeah?”
Mary just shook her head with a smile. Hanging
out with the brash RAF pilot always cheered her up.
“So what happens now?” he asked after a few
minutes.
“Now they take him to St. Paul’s. The streets are
so crowded that the front end of this procession reached—sorry, reaches—St.
Paul’s before the funeral carriage left—leaves—shit…” He grinned again, and she
rolled her eyes. “…the Admiralty building. There’s going to be a four hour
service in the cathedral, and then they’ll put him in the crypt.” She gave Tom
a sideways glance. “You’ve never been in St. Paul’s, have you?”
He tsked her with an air of wounded pride.
“Darling, I’ll have you know my uncle had a fish and chips van on Ludgate Hill
for twenty years. Yes, I’ve been inside
St. Paul’s. Never made it down to the crypt, though. That’s where they buried
him, right?”
“Right. In the most amazing sarcophagus you’ve
ever seen. It was originally built for Cardinal Wolsey. See, they mothballed it
when he pissed off Henry VIII, and…” She stopped as Tom yawned, loud and wide
and obviously. “Too much history geeking, huh?”
“Just a bit.”
He pushed himself away from the balcony railing
and stretched. “All right. I think I'll leave you now. I’m meeting
Smythe-Wooding at the Cheshire Cheese, if I can even get all the way over there
in this crowd. We’re taking off in the morning.”
“Oh? Where you headed?”
“Dover.”
“What for?”
“Surfing.”
“Surfing. In the North Sea. In January.”
He flashed his smartass grin. “California boys.
Mad bastards, the lot of ‘em. But they have neoprene suits.”
“The suits weren’t confiscated?”
He shrugged. “Apparently no one’s come up with 19th
century uses for neoprene. Sure they
will, some point.”
She shivered, and not just because, with sunset
at three in the afternoon, it was freaking cold. Just thinking about what the North
Sea would feel like made her teeth hurt.
“You lot are insane.”
He grinned again. “And where are you off to now?”
“I suppose I’ll fight my way back home for the
evening.” Home was a townhouse not quite so grand as this one in the far
reaches of Battersea. “And tomorrow I have to wake up early because the Captain and I are meeting with Mr. Pitt and the Prince Regent.”
He whistled. “Sorry to hear that, love. What about?”
She sighed. “We have to explain why we didn’t tell
anyone Lord Nelson would die at Trafalgar.”
Click here for Chapter Two...
Click here for Chapter Two...
3 comments:
oh, this is awesome, Kinsey! Can't wait to read more. :)
yay! Glad you're doing this! :)
Erin
Thanks guys! I'm very nervous.
Post a Comment