Fetching a Friend | Before the Opera 24/12- Xmas 1677

[Francis Kirke]

Barn Elmes is located a few miles from Whitehall on the northerly loop of the River Thames between Barnes and Fulham in a quiet and rather clean stretch of river. The park and garden are expansive in the style of a country estate, and it is a frequent location of picnics and walks to the ladies and gentlemen of court. It is well-known for the outside to be open to such visitors. On any pretty afternoon punters can be found floating on the water and blankets spread out with laughter rising.

 

Once the home the Duke of Buckingham provided for his boon buddy, Abraham Cowley, and a place of secret retreat for the King and some of the literary sect, the Duke has once again decided to place those who have his patronage here. Although a far cry from the splendor of his other residences, Barn Elmes is a generously spacious three-story home with many sets of rooms, parlours, a music room, and a small hall for entertaining.

 

After seeing Heather in the morning, Francis had done little other than make a short appearance in the Presence Chamber and to see if he was needed before the opera. Since it was commissioned by the King, everyone expected that he would be seeing it. Besides that, he had been at home.

 

In the late afternoon sunshine, Francis finally headed out to see his friend Master Cole. Tonight was his big night, along with Greyson and Lady Sophia, but Greyson would not be attending. Francis missed his other friend who was traveling in Italy. Unlike earlier, the blond had taken one of the Duke's carriages; since they would be traveling at night on the way back at the very least, it would be a bit too cold for horseback. Plus, Lucas should arrive in style. Buckingham would not was one of his artists to look like he was repaid poorly, after all.

 

When they finally arrived at the river-side house, Francis headed toward the door. Being known to the house as Buckingham's close relation, one of the servants let him inside and went to tell Master Cole of his arrive, although, no doubt, he had heard the coach roll in. One of Buckingham's extravagances was hard to miss.

[Lucas Cole]

Master Cole was currently occupied with a lace cravat... or, more correctly, with the irritating fact that no matter how many times he tied it, the damnable thing refused to lie quite how he wanted. It was extremely vexing, and he was quite close to declaring that he no longer wished to wear a cravat at all, that cravats as a whole were anathema, and that he wasn't going to the opera, he was going to bed.

 

Presently, he was stood in his chambers before a mirror, in shirt-tails and breeches, stockings on but shoes still off, glaring at his reflection. (This might have had something to do with the fact that it was much easier to be annoyed at a humble cravat than admit to the depth of his misgivings about this evening's debut... and whatever might come afterward.) In fact, when Francis arrived, Lucas was almost relieved; he turned to the door the moment he heard his friend's footsteps, forgetting the cravat in an instant.

 

"Lord Kingston!" He beamed, and halted before he had quite crossed to the doorway, perhaps realising he was half-dressed. Surely that didn't matter between friends? "I confess, I did not expect to see you... at least, not til later tonight. How long has it been? Four months?"

[Francis Kirke]

Francis was still wearing the same light blue and silver ensemble from earlier, but there was far more lace and embellishment involved. Not because he particularly enjoyed it, but because. There was little personal choice in it all. There was, instead, an image to look after.

 

That said, he received his friends half dressed all of the time, so he took little issue with Lucas' state of dressing.

 

Instead he chuckled and said, "Are you battling your suit of clothes for the evening? And I do believe it has been. How was your trip?"

[Lucas Cole]

"Hah. Battling sounds about right. For I can hardly appear before my adoring public in less than perfect trim, now can I?" This last part delivered in tones of heavy sarcasm. Lucas turned back to the mirror, and set about retying his cravat for the umpteenth time.

 

He only hesitated for a moment when Francis mentioned his trip abroad. Buckingham must have mentioned it. Lucas threw a sidelong look at his friend, as though debating how honest to be. "It was... pleasantly restorative. I was glad to get away from London, for a time. And you? How did you fare during court's recess?" A faint smile. "I see Buckingham is still dictating your wardrobe..."

[Francis Kirke]

Francis chuckled at his friend. It took a short while before he realized that the Welshman was having a hard time with his cravat. This made Francis snort.

 

"I think I have mastered the cravat, perhaps even drunk, after the majority of the recess attending the King on his progression. Where is your servant?" He seemed to have just thought of it and looked around.

 

There was a time where he would not have automatically looked for such, but after over a year of living as a proper gentleman and then lord, Francis was quite used to the privilege of it all. Now he was used to Buckingham's multitude of servants providing nearly anything with a bizarre efficiency.

 

"Other than going hither and thither in the entourage, I spent some time with my lady mother in Kingston. I engaged with some of my tenants and, well, people, I suppose." He now had crews at sea that were his responsibility, as were their families, as well as aland.

 

"And where did you end up?" he asked with curiosity. Exactly what he knew was rather ambiguous. It would be easy enough to know Cole had not been at Barn Elmes!

[Lucas Cole]

"Ohh... damned if I know," Lucas replied evenly, adjusting the tails of his cravat fastidiously until it lay as close to perfect as he could manage, which was tolerably close. He let out a faint, dissatisfied sigh. "I gave him the evening off. It was that or throttle him - he really can be extraordinarily trying - and I'd rather not spend tomorrow in the Tower."

 

Master Cole had never been one of those gentlemen who found themselves, in lieu of a servant, baffled by a button or a buckle. The Baron Conwy had believed it important his sons learn to care for themselves as thoroughly as possible; he certainly had no intention of caring for them himself, after all. They had learned to make do. Lucas' chief concern regarding the cravat, tonight, had rather more to do with his nerves... though he'd not have admitted to that, not for a moment.

 

The composer listened dispassionately as Francis summarized his time outside of London, nodding where seemed appropriate; but he said nothing until directly questioned... and then, his reply was brief and breezy, as though it hardly mattered:

 

"The Low Countries, of all places." Lucas raised his eyebrows, and made the briefest eye contact before he turned to retrieve his waistcoat from the back of a nearby chair. It was a particularly lovely thing, done in deep wine-coloured silk with gold embroidery around the hem. He shrugged into it and began to fasten the buttons, adding lightly, "Well, I was there for a month or so. Then I returned to Wales to see a friend married; and then to London, to prepare the opera."

 

The composer pursed his lips slightly as he regarded his reflection, and added as though he meant to ward off further questions; "It has been singularly uninteresting, I assure you. Quite dull enough to live it: shall not suffer you to hear about it."

[Francis Kirke]

"I do not know if one goes to the Tower for murdering a servant," Francis said, before shrugging. Unfortunate yet probably true.

 

"The Low Countries?" Francis blinked. All he remembered of there was dreariness and a language that sounded very awkward and foreign to him after France. "If it were boring I doubt you would go, but if you wished to tell me, I'm sure you would talk at length, so we shall leave it there." He shook his head and chuckled.

 

"I have brought a carriage to take us to the theater in style." Francis grinned. "I am sure my lord cousin has secured us some premiere seats, although I might be called on to attend the King I suppose." Either way, he was sure the Duke had prime seats and likely not far from the KIng.

 

"How have the preparations been going? I am sure you have been very pressed!"

[Lucas Cole]

Curious that Francis would remark upon the composer's reticence so deliberately. It smacked of a certain lack of tact. Lucas regarded his friend dispassionately for just a shade too long.

 

"You're quite right," he said eventually, his tone dry, and turned back to the mirror and the waistcoat's buttons. "If I wished to tell you about it, I would have." It was not precisely polite, but if Lord Kingston insisted in drawing attention to conversational contraband, Lucas saw no reason not to respond in kind.

 

Francis reported he had brought a carriage for them both; this elicited a thin smile. Lucas plucked at the shoulders of his waistcoat, settling it so that it hung perfectly. "How kind. Or should I be thanking His Grace?" He'd expected no less than prime seats: it was his opera, after all. Mind you, perhaps he'd be backstage. It might be... easier, there.

 

"The preparations have been... trying." The composer turned, fetching a gold cravat pin from a nearby dresser. It was a comparatively plain thing, adorned with a single pearl... but he had not thought it wise to spring for anything more extravagant. "But once I weeded out the dross - those musicians with rather more self-regard than talent - rehearsals became... more promising." He secured the pin and collected his frock coat, unhurriedly. "I have done the best I can. And perhaps it will be good enough? We shall see."

[Francis Kirke]

Francis did little other than return his friend's look with one of his own, a rather strange thing for the generally easy-going blond, for he felt 'not being made to suffer' hearing about whatever had moved his friend to go abroad was somewhat equally abrupt. It did not particularly matter that it was more politely and passively put to him.

 

Nevertheless, it was just as brief. He did take in a deep breath when Lucas continued being snippy.

 

He held in a chuckle and said, "Do you want a pull of my flask. I brought the best of it with tonight." Perhaps that would take some of the edge off. It seemed Lucas had tied his cravat too tightly! "And it is His Grace, of course."

 

He might have offered to take it back, but in this mood, he would not be surprised if his friend retaliated by accepting.

 

"Well, I have faith it shall be quite the success, and the Duke has spoken of it as such. Of all Englishmen who might have judged it already, I should think him of the best mind for its merit. Few others have seen Opera in Italy, not even His Majesty." Francis had, but he did not count himself to be anywhere near that caliber of critic. "Think of how many people you shall give their first taste of it?" he complimented.

[Lucas Cole]

It was not that Lucas did not wish to speak to Francis in particular; it was that he did not wish to speak to anybody at all. At least, not about anything personal, not any more. Things had changed, and in turn, so had he: the wide-eyed optimist who had come to court those many moons ago was quite gone. Court had weighed him, found him wanting... and what remained was this:

 

A gentlemen before a mirror, his expression a mask of calculated, detached calm, shrugging into his silk frock coat with the flat smile of a man who barely found the world tolerable.

 

"No, thank you." Lucas refused the flask as politely as he could. "I thought we might retire to the drawing room for a spell, before we depart. Perhaps enjoy a glass of brandy before the fire... or whatever you might prefer. You can tell me all about your new estate in Kingston." He was in no particular hurry to arrive to his own premiere. In fact, if the entire thing had conveniently ceased to exist, he might have been rather glad.

 

Of course, then Francis tried to be kind. He was a kind man.

 

"And what if the taste is not one they care for?" Lucas supposed evenly, slipping on his shoes. "If the English do not like opera?" Was it pessimism that drove him, or a need for contrariness? Impossible to tell.

 

"Come, let us go to the drawing room. I had the fire made up several hours ago... it is quite warm. Pleasant, in this awful weather." Lucas managed a faint smile as he passed Francis by, and led the way downstairs.

[Francis Kirke]

Francis chuckled warmly. It seemed artists were all always a worry. Francis rather had forgotten what it was like on his first big performance of his career. At least, he had in that moment. He had been quite nervous before his first day serving the King.

 

"I'Faith my friend! It does not matter what the English think. It matters what the King thinks, and the King wished for it, so I am quite sure he shall. The court thinks what the King thinks." Francis was being quite honest in minimizing his friend's fears, despite what Lucas' anxieties might be telling him.

 

"You shall see. His Majesty will be well-pleased for an evening of entertainment and diversions to warm his spirits to the season. Besides, Master Cole, with Lady Toledo's singing," he waggled his eyebrows, "Your incomparable ear and heart for music, and Greyson's gift for conveying existence with a quill, how can you possibly be concerned?"

 

Of course, he did not turn down the offer of brandy. His flask was filled with his blood orange brandy as it was, but he would happily save it for the production of the carriage rides.

[Lucas Cole]

Francis' logical was unassailable - or at the very least, Lucas was not a man with the wherewithal to assail it, despite all the myriad tools of pessimism he had to hand. Instead he let out a long sigh, leaning upon the door of the drawing room to allow his friend the courtesy of entering first. "Perhaps you are right," he allowed, and even this allowance was a generous one, considering his mood. "You are far more familiar with His Majesty's opinion than I am."

 

The drawing room was warm, as promised, with a pair of comfortable wingback chairs set before the fire. Lucas smirked at Francis' waggled eyebrows, letting the door fall shut. "Ah yes, Lady Toledo's impressive talents. A draw unto themselves, I am sure. You should see her when she takes a deep breath. Well... I suppose shortly, you will..."

 

He crossed to the liquor cabinet, set out with any number of fine spirits and glasses for every occasion. "I suppose I have just spent too much time and effort refining the opera's every feature... now, I can only hear the flaws. It is tiring... it has been tiring." Perhaps he was on the cusp of some sort of admission, there, but instead he shrugged and added with an air of finality; "I shall be very glad when the evening is over."

 

Lucas paused over the glasses and bottles, then, eyeing them uncertainly as though he had only just recalled they were there. As if whatever depths his thoughts had plunged to, they required a moment to surface. He cast Francis a brief, questioning look. "What will you have?"

[Francis Kirke]

"Half of court has seen her impressive talents," he chuckled along. "She sings oft enough," he added, with a wink.

 

"But truly, she has at least done opera before where opera is a way of life, so that shall also do well for you."

 

Plus, not all that many courtiers had ever seen an opera to have a comparison, much less seen an Italian one.

 

"Brandy or cognac is fine," he said, taking a seat and spreading out his legs comfortably.

 

"So, your passion is tiring? I think that is the first time I have heard that, unless said passion being spoken of is wild fucking."

[Lucas Cole]

"Oh, it is not a matter of passion," Lucas replied deliberately, setting out a pair of brandy glasses with meticulous care, and uncorking the bottle. "But that which comes after. Months of bloody bureaucracy; the tedious minutiae of refining the questionable talents of an operatic company til they can perform my music exactly as intended..."

 

He poured two glasses of brandy, took them up, and turned. "Or... as exactly as I can possibly devise." Lucas' voice was very carefully fenced in, as though he rather worried what might become of it, should he allow it its head. He handed one glass to Francis, and sank into his chair with a sigh. "And I am not a man well-suited to compromise."

 

They made quite a pair; Francis, his legs stretched out before the fire, so comfortable; Lucas, his comfort more a matter of seeming, a certain persistent tension about him that would not ease. His fingers tapped against the rim of the glass, rhythmically, restlessly; he lifted it to his lips, taking a generous swallow and then abruptly changing the subject; "Now, you promised to tell me all about this new estate of yours... Kingston."

 

This was not entirely true, since Francis had promised nothing of the sort. But Lucas was not about to let such petty details stop him. "How do you find it? Is it every bit as splendid as you hoped...?"

[Francis Kirke]

"Well, it is my lady mother's, technically speaking, not mine," Francis began. "But, I find it well enough. The market is very grand and it has plentiful apples and cider. It is just far enough from London."

 

He took another deep gulp of his drink, intending to finish it quickly and maybe coax Lucas into one more before leaving to keep the other's nerves calmed.

 

"The house is mostly of Tudor design, but there is a newer area to it as well. I find it quite hospitable and grand. It is far better than the estate I inherited in Staffordshire, though smaller."

 

Once more and his glass was empty.

 

"It makes my lady mother quite happy, though, and that is quite enough for me. I spend most of my time at His Grace's or the palace."

 

A finger tapped his own glass absendmindedly. "Shall we have one more before we depart or at least for the road?"

 

Truth be told, Buckingham's carriages were generally well-equipped with all manner of things, drink especially.

[Lucas Cole]

"Ah, well... if your lady mother is pleased, then I am certain you are too," Lucas supposed, with a wry smile. Keeping the ladies in one's life happy was always wise; anything less, and one would never hear the end of it. "It sounds perfectly lovely, I must say."

 

It was pleasant to turn his thoughts away from London and the opera, at least for a moment or two. Charming Tudor mansions set among rural, cider-making idylls were just the ticket. The composer lifted his glass, "To the Viscountess Kingston's continuing happiness," and drank the last of his brandy to complete the toast.

 

Francis seemed to be keen for another, though even his mention of the time prompted Lucas to glance at the bracket-clock upon the mantel, and his expression and stomach both twisted in one accord. "Perhaps... will we be late?" He hesitated visibly, muttered, "Iesu Mawr," and stood, pacing across to the liquor cabinet and back once more, indecisively.

 

"Perhaps we should just go...?" He managed, lingering beside his chair indecisively, still clinging to his empty glass, as though he rather wanted Francis to make the decision. As though he wasn't sure he was in the least bit capable of even this simple thing.

[Francis Kirke]

"Fashionably late, perhaps, but I doubt it can truly begin without you, and then all shall see you walk in."

 

They had already discussed that Francis thought the composer would have grand seats for his premiere performance and the premiere opera on their soil.

 

"But we can have a drink on the way as well in case the roads are not very good," the blond said, rising, although more with ease than urgency.

[Lucas Cole]

"Fashionably late, yes. Ha." Lucas let out a long slow breath, something close to a laugh but without a trace of humor in it. "I rather doubt it would do to keep the Duke of Buckingham waiting, though. And the King..." He set his empty glass upon a nearby table, looking as though he might prefer to steady himself upon that table, too. His long fingers traced lines in the contours of his fine frock coat, nervously.

 

"Er mwyn duw!" Abruptly he seized up his glass, crossed to the liquor cabinet, poured himself a measure and, in one fluid movement, threw it back. "Right," the composer gasped. "Now I'm ready. We... we should go. Do you mind? Come on, let's go..."

 

And without another word he pushed open the door and disappeared into the corridor beyond.

[Francis Kirke]

Francis chuckled inwardly as Lucas' nerves played on him. The younger blond Villiers had spent enough time in Italy around music and operas to hear Lucas skill, even if he could not hear it the way an aficionado like Buckingham could, and he wondered how Lucas could doubt it! For how arrogant his friend was about music, it was unexpected.

 

Then again, Francis had lived a life with a lot of danger, even as a small child, anxiety or stress just were not much a part of him to have hopes of fully understanding it.

 

He laughed aloud as his friend suddenly decided to throw back one more drink before finally making it out the corridor decisively.

 

Francis followed along shaking his head and taking a pull on his flask as he walked.

 

Soon, they were on their way.

 

(Fin? onward to the actual thing!)

[Lucas Cole]

OOC: Yup, and thank you so much for a lovely thread! <3 Francis is such a good (and patient) friend!