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 . . . . . . “

A Couple In England – Day Six – Part Three

After our two bus tours of the City of Bath I insisted that Hubby and I visit the Roman Baths.
 
“So we’re going to see the Roman part of Bath?” Hubby asked as we walked the few yards from the Abbey to the Baths.
 
“Well, they are Roman, but they’re actually baths.”
 
“Like bath tubs?”
 
“Like huge bath tubs. They’re underground hot springs that come to the surface. Bath was a popular place for invalids and people who were sick to come to take the waters in the late 18th and 19th centuries. And, no, they didn’t actually take the waters away with them. To take the waters meant to drink them and to soak in them. They hadn’t any real medicine back then, so the only alternatives were what we would call holistic or herbal remedies.”
 
“Huh.”
 
“Originally, wheelchairs were called Bath chairs. They were invented here since the invalids needed to be able to get around the City.”
 
“And the Wellington connection is what? I know it’s coming.”
 
“There is no Wellington connection to Bath. As far as I can make out. He did go to Cheltenham Spa with Kitty and the boys when he had that ear thing,” I said, blowing my nose on some loo paper.
 
“What ear thing?”
 
“He came down with a bad fever while he was in India and it settled in his left ear. He had pain in that ear ever after and sought out various cures, none of which worked. Then, when he was in Verona, a cannon went off very close to him and the Duke suffered a temporary hearing loss in both ears. Finally, in 1822, he went to a doctor who poured hot vinegar into the left ear, which only served to make him deaf.”
 
“The doctor made Wellington deaf?”
 
I nodded. I would have said who? who? at this juncture had I been with Victoria, but as I wasn’t, I left it alone.
 

 

In we went to the Roman Baths and Museum and, once again, we each picked up an audio guide. Hubby was becoming a dab hand at using them by this point. I must say, the Baths were very atmospheric when we visited, the day being cold and dreary, they had the torches going, as you’ll see my pictures below.
 
 

 
You can see a video tour of the Baths here and another which shows even more of the museum and its antiquities here. Hubby thoroughly enjoyed the tour and seemed inordinately interested in the mechanics of the plumbing, cisterns, etc. Go figure. However, by the end of our tour, he had started to look a tad peaked himself.
 
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
 
“I hate to say it, Hon, but I think I’m getting sick.” Oh the irony – for centuries, people had come to Bath in order to get well. We, on the other hand, had apparently come to Bath in order to meet our deaths. And have I mentioned that today was New Year’s Eve? Dinner at the Cote Brasserie? Fireworks over the Abbey? Oh, the best laid plans . . . . . . for which I had waited for months. Sigh.
 
“Let’s get back to the hotel. We can walk from here.” Hubby gave me a skeptical look. “Really, we can.”
 
So home we strolled, passing by chance the take-out place Hubby had discovered the day before.
 
“Look, Hon, it’s the place where I got the chicken wraps. Let’s get some.” I really had no appetite, but it was now close to five o’clock and, honestly, it didn’t look good for our keeping our dinner reservation. And seeing as I hadn’t eaten a meal for more than twenty-four hours, I agreed to a wrap. It really was a take-out place, with nothing inside but a counter to place one’s order at and, behind it, a kitchen. When our food was ready, I grabbed a couple of Coke’s out of the cooler and added them to our order. Strictly for medicinal purposes, you’ll understand.
 
From there, it was a short stroll to Duke’s Hotel and we went in and climbed the stairs to our room. I began to understand what Hubby meant when he said it seemed as if they kept moving the Wellington Suite up a flight. Each time we arrived at a landing, I was certain it would be ours. But it wasn’t.
 
“I told you,” Hubby said, as if reading my mind. “Just when you think you’re there, you’re not.” Finally, we arrived at our room, where I found an envelope on our bed. Opening it, I saw that it was invitation from the owners of the hotel, asking us to j
oin them and our fellow guests for a New Year’s Eve drink in the lounge. Reader, I truly could have cried. Instead, I made myself a rum and Coke.
 
“Drinking?” Hubby asked as he bit into his chicken wrap.
 
I nodded. “Do you want one?”
 
“God, no. I feel awful.” Come to think of it, I still felt awful myself, but as I said earlier, the rum and Coke was strictly for medicinal purposes. And it was New Year’s Eve, after all. Besides, a little rum never hurt the Royal Navy. Hubby urged the chicken wrap on me and I took a few bites, but I had no appetite.
 
Done now with his meal, Hubby lay down on the bed. “Would you be really disappointed if we didn’t go to dinner?”
 
“Yes. Very disappointed, but to tell  you the truth, the last thing I want to do is get all dolled up or eat anything or stay up until midnight. I feel like crap.”
 
“I’m sorry, Hon. I know how much you were looking forward to tonight.”
 
“S’okay,” I said, gathering up what was left of my cold syrup, ibuprofen and tissues. “Here,” I handed everything across to Hubby. “You’d better start dosing yourself now.” I finished my drink and then made another and took it with me as I went for a long, hot soak in the bath. It really was a gorgeous bath. In Bath. In England. Then I thought about how much I’d looked forward to being in the Wellington Suite on New Year’s Eve. I just hadn’t counted on seeing quite so much of the Wellington Suite. Sigh. Have I mentioned that I could have cried?
 
 

 
By the time I returned to the bedroom, Hubby looked the worse for wear and was soon asleep. I climbed into bed and watched Miss Marple for a while before I, too, fell asleep. Sometime later, I woke to the sound of cannon fire. Had I been dreaming about Wellington going deaf at Verona? Boom! . . . . Boom! . . . .Boom! What the Hell? You’ll understand that it took me a few moments to get my wits about me and to realize that what I was hearing were fireworks. Going off over the Abbey. Without me.
 
And a Happy New Year to you, too. Sigh.
 
Part Seven Coming Soon!


 

The Secrets of Bloxley Bottom – Epsisode 15 – The Game is Afoot

Monty smiled at Anne as she opened the door to the Dower House. “Where’s Hartley?” He asked her, referring to Lady Louisa’s butler.
“He’s in the cellar, taking stock. I saw you ride up from the window and so came to let you in. Are you very disappointed that I’m not Hartley?” Anne asked.
Monty stepped into the hall. “Go on with you,” he said, planting a kiss upon her cheek. “You know full well how very much I like seeing you. Where’s Louisa?”
“She’s out on the terrace, being that it’s such a beautiful day. Come on, I’ll walk out there with you.”
“Major Monty is here to see you,” Anne called as they approached the French doors.
Lady Louisa turned round in her chair, “Monty. I didn’t know you were calling today. Have I forgotten?”
Monty bent down and drew the veil of Louisa’s straw bonnet from her face before placing a kiss upon her cheek.”
“You’ve forgotten nothing. I just thought I’d go out for a ride and then decided to drop round to see my two favorite ladies.”
Lady Louisa snorted. “Anne, I’m glad you’re here. Would you please bring me a glass of lemonade, my dear?”
Monty sat on the wrought iron chair across the table from Louisa. “I’d like one, too, please. And make mine just exactly the way you make hers, if you don’t mind, Anne. And I mean exactly.”
Anne stifled a grin, while Lady Louisa said, “Cheeky monkey.”
Monty crossed his legs. “I don’t see why you should be the only one to enjoy a drop of gin.”
Caught out, her little indulgence exposed to the light of day, Lady Louisa merely harrumped. Monty gazed out over the lawns. “A truly stunning day, what? Summer is surely on it’s way.” The pair sat companionably for a while until Anne returned with their drinks upon a tray. Once she’d left them alone again, each picked up their glass and sipped.
“Ah, lemons,” Monty said. “Where would we be without lemons, hhhmmm?”
“Monkey.”
“Louisa . . . . “
“Yes, Monty, we get to the point at last. At long last.”
“I was merely going to say . . . . “
“You are going to come to the point. Or at least I hope you are. Do you think I believe that you merely dropped by on a whim?”
Monty placed his glass upon the table. “Louisa, I am shocked!”
“I don’t know why you should be,” she laughed. “I’ve known you since you were a pup, Montague Twydall, and if you don’t think that I know just exactly how your mind works by this age, you are sadly mistaken! Besides, you’ve got that look about you today.”
“What look?”
“That shifty, in need of something look.”
Monty’s first instinct was to deny her charge, but he quickly thought better of that. “It shows, does it?”
Louisa looked at him, her voice softer now. “What is it Monty?”
“I need to raise some ready money, Louisa.”
“Monty . . . . . “
“It’s alright. I have a plan.”
“Tell me, does your plan involve me, by any chance?”
“Look, Louisa, I’ve got a healthy inventory at present. If I could just sell off a sizeable portion of it, I would be back on my uppers.”
“But you are always selling from your inventory. Buyers will come, as they always do.”
“I can’t wait for them to come to me, Louisa, I need to find buyers now.”
“Are things that dire, my darling?”
Monty looked her squarely in the eyes. “They are, Louisa.”
Louisa took a long pull of her lemonade. “Just what do you need from me?”
“I was thinking that you might use your influence to lure some of your circle here to see some of the pieces. We might then hint that they were destined for sale in, say, London and Paris, but of course as they were your friends, I might see my way clear to selling one or two things to them privately.”
“Here? We’d have the items here for them to see?”
“That is what I was thinking.”
Louisa was silent for a time. “It wouldn’t work, Monty.”
“But, Louisa, I . . . “
Louisa raised a hand to cut off Monty’s words. “Think about it, Monty. Why ever would I coincidentally have your pieces in my home when I invite people in for some entertainment, or dinner, or what have you? Hhhmm? No. It smacks too much of commerce. And where would we put your things, in any case? I’ve got too much of my own furniture and geegaws as it is. Would I move all my things out and yours in? Does that make any sense, Monty?”
“Well,” he conceded, “now that you put it like that . . . . “
“But I tell you what will work – I have already invited a select few people round for dinner on the nineteenth.”
Monty looked at her hopefully, “Go on.”
“Do you have any of those marble statues still in your possession?”
“Those hideous ones I was talked into taking from that sculptor in Belgrade? Yes
, I have three left.”
“Any other bits and pieces that might be construed to have an historic lineage?”
“What can you mean, Louisa?”
Louisa set her glass down and leaned conspiratorially towards Monty. “I was thinking that we should perhaps make an entertainment out of the affair. After dinner, we could pile all the guests into carriages and drive by torchlight to your Hall. There, we shall have placed all of your so called antiquities upon display in a sort of historical tableau. Of course, we shall hint at the historical, not to say educational, aspect of the items as a reason for their being worthy of a post-dinner jaunt to the Hall. Then, I shall ask you, within hearing of everyone present, how it is that you come to have such glorious objects in Bloxley Bottom and that is when you shall make mention of the fictional sales in London and Paris. You see, Monty, we will offer the objects for sale without ever mentioning that they are for sale.”

Monty gave Louisa a slow smile. “You are a genius.”
“You are only now realizing that?”
“But, Louisa, the storage rooms at the Hall are not fit to be seen. They’re downright grubby, in point of fact.”
“Never mind that. It will be night time. Anne and I shall come down one day this week and see what can be done. A few well placed draperies and some clever lighting will make all the difference, you’ll see. At worse, we shall move the pieces into the main house. In any case, we shall make it work, my boy.”
“You make it all seem possible, Louisa. I’m beginning to hope that this just might be a success. And if it is, you know that I shall be eternally grateful.”
“Of course you shall. And you will also give me a portion of your proceeds. But we needn’t discuss those details just now. Anne! Anne, my dear, I believe we are in need of more lemonade.”