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The Secrets of Bloxley Bottom, Episode 17: The Perfect Subject

Prudence Newton assembled her trapping tools and hid them in the cart. She had only a few egg deliveries to make, but she had a further task to perform and she was determined to accomplish it. The major enticement was a large and meaty bone she had begged from the cook who’d been saving it for stew. Just a little fib, it was, to tell Mrs. Parr that she needed it for the poor White family in the hollow. The soap flakes had been easy to purloin from the larder, along with a set of large flannels that had been destined for the rag bag. No one had seen Prudence as she performed her thievery and she glowed with satisfaction as she kissed her mama goodbye.
“I will return well before dinner, Mama.”
Mrs. Newton exhibited her expertise at the deep and dolorous sigh. “My dear, take care. It has been uncommonly wet…” Her voice trailed away as she raised her handkerchief to her nose.
“Yes, I will.” Prudence hurried away before her mother could repeat the long list of discomforts she suffered in the damp weather.
Now, the compliant donkey pulled Prudence in the cart as it ambled toward the village, and Prudence began her search for that hulk of an odd creature, the dog everyone called Spot. He often lurked about the rectory or the churchyard of an afternoon, but today there was no sign of him.  
“The beast is an enigma,” Prudence murmured to herself, putting to good use the latest word she had looked up after finding it in a novel. She rather liked the notion of an mysterious puzzle. “Enigma,” Prudence repeated aloud, in a veddy grand tone. “You are an enigma. It is certainly an enigma. Such an enigma!” Prudence was fond of words and tended to repeat them when first found, so that she would not forget them. How she longed to pull out such a word in the course of conversation, but sadly the sort of conversations she was involved in did not call for such sophistication. Oh, how she longed for more distinguished company; for sophistication and access to a life that would allow her to display her hidden allure. “A most alluring enigma,” she said aloud as, on impulse, Prudence guided the donkey towards the river lane, leading beside the stream from the mill through the wood, eventually toward the pond on the village green. It was usually deserted and it felt more than a little queerish as she felt the canopy of trees closing above her head.
She whistled softly and called Spot. The land rambled alongside the stream, a perfect spot for Prudence’s plan. And suddenly, with a yelp of surprise and pleasure – or so it sounded to her – the dog appeared from the woods. 
If anything he looked worse than he had last week when the artist, Monsieur Tournell, had been so appalled at his appearance. Leaving the bone in the back of the cart, wrapped in an oilcloth, Prudence hopped down to receive Spot’s excited slobbers upon her cheeks. The animal was almost taller than she was when he raised up on his hind legs and placed his filthy paws on her shoulders. She pushed him down and wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Where have you been, you smelly creature?”
The dog snorted and tried again to lick her cheeks, “Stay down. You’re covered with mud.” Prudence shredded the burrs and weeds out of the long hair on his head and neck, combing them into the water with her fingers. “Have you been rolling in rotten fish innards?”
Soon after Spot had appeared so mysteriously in Bloxley Bottom, Prudence had appointed herself as his mistress. Mama would never allow her to have a pet, as animals in the home were seen by Mama as being not only dirty, but the carriers of all manner of illness. Cats, in particular, were a horror, as Mama believed that they both sucked the breath from people as they slept and were the cause of a host of respiratory ailments. Dogs were not so much harbingers of illness, in Mama’s estimation, but were simply filthy creatures who could not help but breed all manner of vermin in their coats. Horses, on the other hand, were not to be trusted at all, which was why the family had to make due with a donkey, instead. Donkey’s were bad enough, but they were dumb creatures after all, rather than determinedly devilish. Why Papa allowed her mother’s unfounded fears to rule their lives Prudence could not understand, but that was the way of things and there would be no changing them.
Therefore, when Prudence had learned that Spot had no home, no owner, indeed no past as far as anyone could make out, she seized the chance to finally have a pet to call her own. She took it upon herself to squirrel away food from the larder and from scraps in order to feed him for, if she did not see to this necessary task, who would? She was convinced that Spot’s very existence depended upon her love and charity. It worked to Prudence’s benefit that these kindnesses did not seem to serve to make Spot beholden to her. Whilst she viewed herself as Spot’s mistress, he did not see things quite the same way. Spot did not attach himself to Prudence nor insist, as most stray dogs were wont to do, upon following her home and quickly taking up residence inside. He was content to come whenever she called, to spend time with her and then for them to go their separate ways. This consequence suited Prudence’s needs down to the ground and so the two had gone on since then, she an occasional mistress, he an occasional pet and both exceedingly happy with their lot.
Another task Prudence had long ago set for herself was the occasional grooming of Spot, who seemed not to mind her ministrations in the least though, apparently, he would have happily settled for being a tangled, stinky mess had she not insisted on these forays into beautifying him. He seemed to see these encounters as some sort of extended manner of play and he now entered into the sport with gusto, yelping and giving little growls, but pushing ever closer to Prudence and never stopping his attempts to reach his tongue to her face. Slowly she wrestled him toward the water, tying up her skirts as she did. But by the time she managed to wet him down, she was nearly as wet as he. Prudence rubbed the soap flakes into a thick lather, and Spot leaned into her hands as she tried to knead away the dried dirt and whatever else was causing his infernal stink.
She couldn’t help laughing as the two of them slipped and slid in the mossy stream-bed.

 

Pierre Tournell rode upon a borrowed horse, really more than a handful, it was. But his friend Major Monty had no tired nags or even quiet cobs in his stables. So he was hoping to find a very quiet route on which to test his mettle aboard the tall chestnut. Tournell had never cared much for horses of any kind, but the smaller the better, and this one was, well, très gigantesque.
Nervously, Tournell watched the horse’s head as it pricked up its ears. There was something ahead along this quiet lane. And then he heard a girl’s laughter and the yelps of a dog. Was it ominous or just merriment?
Tournell drew on the reins to stop the horse as the noisemakers came into view. “Magnifique!” he whispered at the sight of the girl, wet skirt clinging to her legs, and the large dog encased in soapsuds. “A worthy scene! Worthy of a great picture!”

Planning a Trip to England, Updated

Victoria here…still fascinated with the trials of Kristine and Hubby in chilly England last December and January.  I promised to update my plans for a summer visit to Europe including a week in Britain, so here goes.

Statue of Paddington Bear in his Railway Station

After touring in Prague and Berlin, we arrive at Heathrow and will take the express train to Paddington, then a taxi to our hotel near King’s Cross Station. (Certainly you need to know these details…though I hope our trip will not involve a bout of ‘cholera’ as Kristine’s trip did!).

 

This keeps us sort of on the edge of central London, as I visualize it, not necessarily as the official view would be.  We’ll be near the British Library (will I be able to keep myself out of it?) Oh yes, I can do a bit of browsing at their wonderful gift shop.
One item on sale at the BL Shop
Do you think they really had TRAINED cats????

 After a day to get our bearings and just BE in London, we’ll hop a train and go to Cambridge.  I’ve never seen that city and I hope we can get a feel for the university and also see the Fitzwilliam Museum.

Next day, we are off to King’s Lynn, Norfolk, then by taxi to Houghton House where we have tickets to see Houghton Revisited.  I expect to feast on the exhibition and the house.  Love anything by William Kent – and of course I am fascinated by the life and accomplishments of Sir Robert Walpole, first Prime Minister.
Prince Charles visits Houghton Revisited
We will stay overnight not too far away on the grounds of Holkham Hall.  I am giving a talk at the September JASNA AGM about Mr. Darcy as CEO of a large business at Pemberley. I will use this visit to see the many agricultural innovations Coke supported, which would have been eagerly adopted by Mr. Darcy.
Holkham Hall

I am sad that we will be leaving London during the Celebration of the  60th anniversary of the Queen’s Coronation.  I hope there will be lots of opportunities for us to see some of it, along with all our usual haunts, which Kristine would never let me ignore – Cecil Court, the print shops and book stores…  

Seven Dia
ls, London

Finally, but perhaps the MOST fun, we hope to see some friends and share dinners and other jaunts – and all too soon, we will be headed back to the U.S., probably with a list of Not-To-Miss sites for next time.  I promise to report in!

A Couple In England – Day 7

I dragged myself awake on New Year’s Day to find Hubby already awake beside me.
“We’ve missed breakfast,” he said, blowing his nose. If possible, he looked even worse today. Had I looked that bad when I was in the throes of illness? Egad . . . . .
“What time is it?” I asked.
“After ten. Are you hungry? You haven’t eaten much in the past two days.”
I took stock. “Nope. Not hungry. You?”
“No, but juice would be nice.”
I got out of bed and padded over to the desk, where we had shoved a bottle of juice into an ice bucket the night before. It was still moderately cool and so I poured a glass each for Hubby and myself. “Here,” I said, handing him his glass. “You’d better take your cold medicine, too.”
“There’s hardly any left.”
“What?” I picked up the bottle of cough and cold syrup from the nightstand and shook it. It was almost empty. “Did you have friends in last night?”
“I needed it. I was sick.”
“You’re supposed to take two tablespoons at a time, not half the bottle. We’ve still got the pills, so take those and I’ll get you some more syrup when I go out.”
“Out? Where are you going? Aren’t you still sick?”
“If we were at home I’d be in bed, moaning and calling for a doctor. But as I’m in Bath, I’m going to the Fashion Museum.”
“You’re nuts. Stay in bed.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
 
On my way out, I met the owners of Duke’s Hotel, Chris and Carol Cameron. Neither had been in the hospitality business before, but had just weeks ago purchased the hotel and moved to Bath with their two daughters. They are the epitome of good innkeepers – helpful, warm, welcoming and full of concern for myself and Hubby. Upon hearing that Hubby was now down with the cholera, both assured me that we need only to ask for anything and they would provide it, no matter what time of day or night.
 
Thus assured, I went out the door and into the sunlight. Yes, it was mildly sunny, a nice change from grey skies and pouring rain. You’ll see that I was feeling a bit better by the fact that I actually took photos. Here’s one of Great Pulteney Street.
 
 
I even took an interest in the service areas, a particular favourite of mine. The area above had its very own mailbox and a cupboard – maybe for deliveries?
 
 
 
 
Looking down the next side street, I saw the sun shining over a green field. It was such a welcome sight that I took a picture for posterity.
 
 
 

 
 
Before long, I came to this set of stairs.
 
 
 
 I’m sorry now that I didn’t take them down to the River, but at the time I simply wasn’t up to the task. I continued over the Bridge and into town, where it became obvious that nothing, and I mean nothing, would be open today, it being New Year’s Day. I had done my homework and so knew that the Fashion Museum was open, but I hadn’t counted on the rest of the City being shut up tight. I walked to Boot’s Pharmacy (closed) and finally found a sort of discount store a few shops up that sold a little bit of everything. In their pharmacy section, I found something called Bells Cough Linctus, “For relief of colds, sore throats, irritating and chesty coughs.”

I handed it across to the girl at the register. “Is this stuff any good? I asked.
She peere
d at the label. “Don’t know, but I can’t see it doing any harm.”
With that ringing endorsement, I paid for the medicine and shoved it into my bag. It was only after we returned home that I went online to investigate it’s contents further. This is what I found – do try not to laugh when you bear in mind that I fed this muck to Hubby:  Ammonium chloride (a white crystalline salt found on burning coal clumps due to condensation of coal derived gases), sodium citrate (sometimes used as an emulsifier for oils when making cheese), menthol, extract of horehound  (popular as a cough and cold remedy; used by the ancient Egyptians as well as modern health providers. As an expectorant, it will promote mucus and ease the pain of a dry, non-productive or hacking cough. Horehound treats painful, chesty, non-productive coughs, colds, croup, asthma, bronchitis, sinusitis, earaches, glandular problems and infectious diseases. Horehound is a well known lung and throat remedy), tolu tincture (The resin is still used in certain cough syrup formulas. However its main use in the modern era is in perfumes, where it is valued for its warm, mellow yet somewhat spicy scent), squill tincture (In ancient Greece, Egypt and Arabia physicians used the squill bulb as the base of an expectorant, diuretic and remedy for cough. They were also aware of the fact that extra consumption of the chemicals contained in the squill bulb was harmful and led to rigorous vomiting), extract of tussilago (commonly known as coltsfoot, coltsfoot has been used for thousands of years as an herbal remedy in ancient Chinese medicine. It was primarily used as a cough suppressant. One recipe for a cough syrup involved mixing coltsfoot with brown sugar and water and boiling until it was half the original volume. A spoonful was consumed three or four times a day for two or three days to treat colds and headaches. To relieve other respiratory ailments such as shortness of breath, asthma and bronchitis, old folk recipes called for inhaling the vapors of fresh or dried coltsfoot leaves or flowers boiled in water).
 
Oblivious to my connection to Dr. Crippen, I headed uphill to the Fashion Museum and the day went downhill from there.
 
Part Two Coming Soon!
 
 
 
 

The Secrets of Bloxley Bottom – Episode 16 – A Cracking Ride

During the normal course of events, the Duke of Wellington would not have been termed a goggler. Ask anyone who knew him, whether during his illustrious military career, in government or as family or friend and not one man jack amongst them could have recalled an instance in which the Duke had goggled. But he was certainly goggling at Captain Hugh Bradley-Smythe, who was standing upon the threshold of Walmer Castle now.
Mrs. Allen, the Duke’s housekeeper who stood beside him, put a hand to her mouth in response to the sight before her eyes. Hugh’s dress uniform was covered in road dust, as were his boots and hair. A trickle of blood had dried in a line from his left brow to just below his ear. His right eye was almost completely swollen shut and surrounded by a blue and purple raised bruise. Hugh’s left arm was tied up in a makeshift sling and Hugh himself stood at a sort of bent angle, as one who was favouring one leg was wont to do. Oddly, the Duke and Mrs. Allen both detected the smell of fish about the Captain’s person.
“Good God, man, what in thunder happened to you?” asked the Duke.
“Never mind that now, your Grace, let’s get the boy inside first.” Mrs. Allen went forward to assist Hugh, causing him to flinch.
“If you put your good arm around my shoulder and lean on me, could you make your way into that room there?” asked the Duke.
“I don’t have a good arm,” said Hugh. “I have an arm that’s less damaged, but I’ve got cracked ribs on that side, so I can’t use it very well.”
“Were you involved in a brawl?” the Duke asked.
“No! Of course not, your Lordship.”
“Do you think, if you walked very, very slowly with the Duke and I on either side you could make it into the study?”
“He’s going to have to try, woman, he can’t stand in the doorway all night.” And so the three began the agonizingly slow walk across the foyer to the Duke’s study. Finally, they settled Hugh upon the sofa and the Duke went to the sideboard for the brandy decanter and a glass. He poured Hugh a hefty measure and handed it to him. “Get that into you, lad.”
Using his good hand, Hugh accepted the drink gratefully and drank it down in two swallows. The Duke poured him another.

“What you need is a hot bath,” Mrs. Allen said.
Hugh shook his head, “Please, no. I don’t think I could manage it. I’ve been through enough as it is.”
“Well you’ll allow us to take that filthy coat off your back. Your boots, as well,” Mrs. Allen told him. She carefully untied the sling and then tenderly supported Hugh’s arm as the Duke peeled Hugh’s coat off. That done, Mrs. Allen turned her attention to Hugh’s boots.
“You’ll have to be careful of the right ankle. It’s sprained.” Hugh told her.
“Demmed fine boots,” the Duke commented.
“Hoby,” Hugh said. “To your specifications.”
“I can see that.”
“Ruined.”
“Not a bit of it,” Mrs. Allen scoffed. “A lashing of spit and polish and they’ll be good as new.” Hugh gave up a few groans as Mrs. Allen eased his boots off as gingerly as one could. “I think you gentlemen will be eating your dinner in here. I’ll go and see to it.” Before she left, Mrs. Allen unfolded the blanket that was kept on the sofa and used by the Duke occasionally during a nap and laid it over Hugh, who collapsed into its warmth with a sigh.
Once Mrs. Allen had gone, the Duke sat in an armchair across from Hugh and said, “Well?”
“Two days ago, your Grace, I was riding my horse when it got spooked and threw me from the saddle. My foot got caught up in the stirrup and I twisted my ankle. I cracked some ribs, as well, when I hit the ground.”
“But you should have written, man, we could have postponed your visit.”
Hugh gave the Duke the ghost of a smile and shook his head. “Begging your pardon, your Grace, but one doesn’t allow small inconveniences such as a sprained ankle and cracked ribs to keep one from a answering a summons by the Duke of Wellington.”
“Not to mention a bad arm and blackened eye.”
“Oh no, I hadn’t either of those before today. You see, I had to take the coach early this morning. I couldn’t have ridden here what with the ankle and ribs.”
“No.”
“When I got into the coach, there was a very large woman inside, along with a young girl and her brother and an older gentleman. Somewhere along the route, I’d fallen asleep and the next thing I knew, we were being jostled about, all manner of articles were being tossed willy nilly and then the body of the coach fell over on its side, with the large woman landing directly on top of me, her blasted fish paste sandwiches crushed between her body and mine. The old man was on top of me next and then the two youngsters.” Hugh shivered. “It was ghastly and it seemed an age before the coachman and guard got the door to the carriage open and began hauling everyone out. When it came to the fish woman, she kept putting all of her weight upon my arm in an effort to gain purchase and something, a valise or some such, must have come into contact with head and cut my scalp. I cannot for the life of me account for the black eye.”
 
“Tell me, are you usually so accident prone?”
 
“No! No, your Grace I am not. I had been riding with a few of the men from my regiment and they were giving me grief over your invitation. They’d been taking the mickey with me for days, saying as how you had no doubt summoned me to Walmer in order to personally court martial me for being such a dismal failure at soldiering. You know the sort of thing. Well, I was giving it right back to them and not paying attention so that when the horse bolted I was easily thrown. And then the spring, and afterward the braces, on the one side of the carriage broke and I found myself buried beneath four strangers.”
 
“Quite. Were you seen to
by a medical man? What did he say about your arm?”
 
“Oh, the arm is alright, just bruised” Hugh said, wiggling his fingers and rotating his wrist. “The fish woman insisted on fashioning the sling from her petticoats when I mentioned that she’d stepped on my arm. It’s a good thing she didn’t snap it in two. Or three, for that matter.”
 
“Well, Mrs. Allen will get a hot dinner into you before long,” the Duke told him as he got up from his chair and walked to his desk. “You close your eyes and rest for a few minutes whilst I attend to one or two letters.”
 
Hugh obeyed gladly as the Duke dipped his pen into the inkwell and wrote, “My Dear Louisa – Due to unforseen circumstances, Captain Bradley-Smythe and I must delay our visit to you . . . . . . “