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Late to the Trough, Knightsbridge Barracks 25th 2pm- Xmas 1677

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Knightsbridge Barracks


The Household Cavalry consisted of The Life Guards and The Horse Guards. The Knightsbridge barracks was the compound where the Household Cavalry was quartered while in London, just bordering on St. James' Park. The 4th Company of the Life Guards did not have barrack space allotted to them in the Knightsbridge Barracks, as they were posted in Edinburgh, guarding the Royal Residence there.


The complex consisted of long, two-storied buildings, one for each troop, a common fencing hall, a small house for each of the regimental commanders to live and have offices in, stables with a closed dressage arena attached, two outdoor shooting ranges (one for pistols and one for muskets), and a wooded area surrounding all the buildings. The buildings are grey stone and slate ceiling, without exterior adornments but of solid construction.


They say an army marches on it's stomach - and even when not at war the Lifeguard Lads prized their mealtimes. Turnbull was no exception.


"Oy, there is no pudding in here?" It had been a harmless enough prank on the new guy, he understood, but getting locked in the linen cupboard right on lunch time had been no joke. Ambrose had hollered and bashed on the door, till he'd had to concede there was naught for it but waiting. So wait he did, an interminable long time! Finally the key clicked. "You pack of bloody barstards!" he squinted coming back out into the light, laughing cheerfully, though hungrier than he could ever remember being. Slaps of the back were exchanged, laughs and chuckles. For all of that, it was good to start feeling like he was becoming part of the group - being pranked on was, in his opinion, a positive sign.


So it was that when the Lieutenant finally made it to the lunch room, the buffet-like counter was in a sad state. Collecting up a tin plate he moved hopefully to a pot of stew. "Aw, and it was a good one..." a fact made obvious by the fact there was nearly none left.


Picking up the pot he tipped it on side and started scraping what he could out of it... metallic clatter of spoon on metal jarring noisily through the air.

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  • 3 weeks later...

"Lieutenant?" it was his fellow Maurice disturbing Ambrose foraging the carcasses of pots. Looking towards the voice his eyebrows raised questioning.


"You are supposed to be on duty at the gates."


"Fuck." Ambrose cussed, stomach too protested, and abandoning his current task he set a hurried pace to report in.


~ Fin



OOC: Had made the open thread a with bad timing I now realise :/ everyone had already posted ahead to the ball, so nobody could join me.

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(OOC - I'm late to the party, but a quick something if you wish? The impulse popped into my head and Bevs isn't at the ball yet.)


Beverley was no early riser these days. The weather, earlier nights, and his personal predicaments were enough, but he had not been feeling the best lately either.


Nonetheless, he had a task to complete, and even if he thought it one he was not wholly well-suited for, he had to at least put in the effort for his master as best he could. That day had not proved very fruitful, so he would seek out another of the hot-holes of information and politics, Kemps.


Paying for all the Rupertinoes without parliament was so difficult it was almost a bizarre request. Long gone were the days where royalty could easily command such coin by donation alone.


As he exited the gates, he stopped by the Life Guards. They were watching who entered and exited, making sure no true undesirables entered; even Beverley thought the king very liberal over letting so many in, so it was not a very hard task in the viscount's mind.


(If you want to roll with it, decide whether Bevsey stops before or after Ambrose got there, although it's not going to impact Bevsey either way I don't want to assume )

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"Again, sorry about that old chap." Turnbull apologized to the man he was relieving, his cheeks flushed from the run, while his fingers worked the fastenings of his jacket. Being on duty, one had to be top form.


The Lieutenant was unaware of the circular mark of gravy upon his cheek marring his presentation.


And the inconvenienced guard, just now leaving, decided not to tell him of it.


"Your name and business, sir." or Milord, Madam, etc... Ambrose addressed this one, then that. The mere presence of a guard did much to deter any questionable sorts, while there had been no actual cause to barr persons wishing to enter or exit since court had begun.


So it was that the question was then, with pomp and formality, directed to Beverly as he made his egress.

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Beverley, for a long moment, was very perplexed, blinking, perhaps somewhat idiotically.


Do I look that bad away from Papa's finery that I would seem to not be highly ranked enough to have business at the palace? On my leaving...


That thought was somewhat frightening. After the statuesque moment had passed he quickly looked down at himself as if to wonder if he looked so poorly.


It was then that he noticed the man had something on his face.


Is that snot? There was a squint. Food, I think.


Of course, that all made any questions that much less important in the viscount's mind.


"Erm, you have something...just there," the viscount indicated, touching the same spot on his own face. He had, after all, stopped there on purpose, and he could hardly focus with the man wearing lunch.


"Have I not crossed paths with you before?" Beverley queried of the man, instead. He was talking of at the gate or otherwise at the palace in his Life Guard capacity; although, it was possible they had crossed paths in Rupert's service a long time prior. Is he newly arrived? Otherwise, Beverley thought he would be somewhat known by now. He oft came to and fro with his own duties.


"No matter," he somewhat interjected. "I am Lord Beverley."

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People did tend to judge themselves most harshly, while from Ambrose point of view Beverly was dressed perfectly well.


"Do I?' the Lieutenant frowned and pulled out monogrammed handkerchief. "was rushed." he mumbled, turning away, wiping, "why'd no one else say something." In absence of a mirror, he turned back to the gentleman and asked, "is it gone? Gah, dammed embarrassing."


Was Beverly familiar? Out of work uniform people looked so different.


"Err... I don't think so milord.*" he took a closer look at the stately lord. "I've been in the navy for the past decade or so, Four day Battle, Battle of Medway, Battle of Schooneveld ecetera... but was largely landbased during the rebuilding of the navy 67-'72?" Had he seen Beverly at the Admirals side at that time? "Of late I was serving on the HMS Foresight in the Carrib. A very long way from Whitehall, Lord Beverly."



*I compendium posted a question a while back asking if Beverly might know Ambrose. I thought the lack of reply meant no - but we can have them talk about it IC perhaps?

Edit: I thought I asked, but now cant find anything. >.<

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"Indeed, quite gone."


Beverley was never much a creature of uniform, although at the moment his wardrobe was so limited that he was rather wearing that a lot more lately. Perhaps it was the privilege of nobility, but he found uniforms a bit undesirable. Lords were not supposed to blend in but stand out, and that breeding could not come out of his spoiled sort of brain.


"Ah, a Navy man then," Beverley surely approved of that, nodding. "I have been the Aide of the Lord High Admiral since I was a youth." Beverley still looked like a youth, and he probably said it with the hope of seeming less like one.


"We have likely crossed paths sometime." He cocked his head to the side and said, "And now you are in the Life Guard?"


(OOC - I didn't know if I should just answer that or if it was a mod question in your compendium before LOL, but I'll go post something there too )

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"Thank you." there was relief in the Lieutenants tone. The life changes of late had taken a bit of a toll, adjusting became harder the elder a fellow got. Simply said he didn't need muck on his face making things worse.


But perhaps 'things' were taking a turn.


"I have served on His Grace's ships almost exclusively." he was pleased to reveal, discovering familiarity in Beverley's features now - or at the very least a mutuality of deference to the Lord Admiral. "It was a favor begged of him that gained me a position in the Life guard. Ah.. er family circumstances you see. I have need to be stationed near to home." he'd not intended to drift near that subject, but then as Rupert's Aide it was possible Beverly already knew. Discretion was implied if not actually stated. If one could not trust Cumberland and his men who could one trust.


Eyebrows rose then, a thought occurred. "So you have been attending him just now?" and he glanced in the direction Beverly had come from, "Please forgive my inquiry to your business." apology was made, "we are keeping watch over comings and going, no intents to pry upon the Lord Admirals endeavors." although that said, was not the utter truth. Ambrose would love to know what magnificent Rupert would be up to next! It simply was not his position to ask.



OOC: Ignore my rambling. Here is good

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Beverley knew many things, being the one who typically vetted his master's correspondence, and penned a lot of his missives, but he also knew that he was not particular supposed to let one what he knew. That was part of the duty. However, it would not have mattered for Cumberland's good opinion or patronage was enough recommendation for the aide of the royal, and the lieutenant had already disclosed that himself.


"Anything is closer than the sea service," Beverley replied. Many officers who were related to noble houses oft came home and then took up other sorts of duties meant for higher born men, so Beverley merely assumed such was the case with this man. Plus, all the Life Guard were gentlemen of some form. "And where is home, Lieutenant....?"


As to the question of whether or not he had come from Rupert, Beverley smiled just slightly. "On the Prince's business, erm, but I have not seen him since yesterday afternoon."

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The young lord was a man of few words, idly Ambrose wondered if he loosened up much after a few drinks - and would an occasion present that he might find an answer to that question?


"That's is the truth," he agreed, "the ocean is a great escape for the adventurer, eyes to the horizon, wind in your hair, comrades at ones back, it's a fine life blazing the trade-routs for England. You have spent much time at sea yourself?"


"Home is Hastings." he replied with a nod, "at least that is where I grew up as a lad, measured off my heights on the drawing room door jam - but after so many years at sea it is odd to return. I am rather more at home with my fellows at the barracks. And your family home, where would that be?" he returned the question genially.


"Aha, but of course, what with the festive season." he deduced, "it's the time to enjoy warm fires and brandy, rather than plotting and strategy. Christmas at Whitehall is set to be quite the cracker." Ambrose was warming up to invite Cumberland's Aide to join him sometime for a drink.

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It was only a matter of time before this new officer knew that Beverley had never been in any sort of actionable battle, so there was little use in hiding it.


"Unfortunately, no," the viscount replied. "I am the sole male of my line in any direction." Which meant if he did not survive to inherit or have a son before dying, the majority of their titles would revert to the crown.


"Maidstone, in Kent, on the River Len. We hold the castle that is the halfway point between Dover and London," he replied. "Hastings...it would, erm, seem you have always had the, erm, sea in your blood."


Beverley, on the other hand, was far in the north, near an eastern, coastal port. It was a strategic place on the Humber and River Hull. The viscount could not remember when he had been to Yorkshire, but it had been a long time prior.


"Surely," the viscount agree. "His Highness does not much like the intrigue sort of politics on the best day." The German was far more of straightforward at an old Royalist. "Christmas is always enjoyable at court," he lied. There were so many people, may who were not the more constant of courtiers but who came to pay homage to the King and give him gifts. "There is some of the best balls, banquets, and finery."

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"Ack, a curse and a blessing." was Turnbulls comment to Beverly's paramount yet necessarily coddled state. "Hmm... I dare say you might be game for a little London adventure then? A man need not visit the West Indies to taste foreign delights these days, just as a man need not patrol the shipping lanes to keep watch over His Majesties interests." the last was an acknowledgement that non combatant service was of import too.


In fact some would argue it was harder to advance when not at sea, Ambrose had advanced to 2nd Lieutenant on account of some of his physical. If it was intellect only he was judged on, he might still be a gentleman volunteer.


He gave a nod to the man's comment, and then added, "With three sons, my father was a traditionalist, one for the Title, one for the King and one for the Church."


"Truly, those must be some cold winters up there?" Turnbull was feeling the cold, after the past year in the Indies, "for a Melting Pot, even London is rather chilly!"


"Mmm.." he was less certain about Beverlies claims about the balls. "Perhaps for some, I'm, not so practiced at the social butterfly thing, I'm more of a moth. Ha, but when in Rome do as the romans. So you are attending the ball tonight?"

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"What sort of, erm, adventure did you have in mind?" Beverley asked, interested but cautious. It might be easy to guess that he was not the most racy lordling. Nor was he totally boring, because there was just a glint of something in his eyes and the slight raising of both brows, almost in anticipation.


Then again, there was the problem of his supply of coin.


It was vastly reduced without his father's part of things. Which, perhaps, he somewhat took for granted; however, his father had stolen his dowry. If he had what was his due, he wouldn't currently be even poorer than usual.


A little furrow hit his brow for just a moment, as that silent thought finally crossed his mind.


Then, he ignored it.


"Ah, I see, yes fathers can be quite so. Mine is particularly so." He chuckled and then he realized that all hardly made him stop thinking about his own father.


"What title are you second in line for then?" he asked, rather bluntly.


"Maidstone in Kent? It is not much further North than Hastings." His dark hazel eyes looked puzzled for a moment and then he blinked twice as if trying to think if he heard that correctly.


"And yes, I shall bring my new lady wife. She would not forgive me if we did not attend." He smiled in a goofy sort of fashion.

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"Well a drink for starter." Ambrose chuckled, it might have been somewhat an anticlimax after the promising lead up, but he was fairly new to the city. "Then we might patrol for what merriment can be found in London of an evening?" Funds wise Ambrose, on a soldiers pay, was not likely to have over excessive tastes.


"Baron." he replied with a shrug. Round home the title held water, but beyond their own lands Barons were overshadowed by Viscounts, Earls and so on - and as Ambrose had always known the title would not be his, he'd more easily slid to a dismissive view of it. Still, as Beverly put it, he was second in line. He had the most fleeting moment of pause, and then carried on.


"Ack, of course, sorry I was thinking of Beverly. But that will be a secondary, but Maidstone, yes our families are practically neighbors."


"Married?" his eyebrows rose. Beverly did look awfully young, when freshly saved he could pass for an 18 year old. Ah, but that was the way of the big noble houses, awful careful to keep stocks of heirs flowing. "Well I wish you many boys by her. Ere, but she wont mind you taking a night off?" Ambrose mind drifted back to thoughts of some fun, "or we can go out after your nightly bout. Your bouts are nightly I hope." Dark eyebrows then waggled with a well meaning tease.


The Lieutenant was beginning to relax in Beverley's company, his talk becoming more frank, though he reined in in from the obscene (perhaps upon account of his new companions boyish looks).

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Beverley smiled and said, "For a drink, eh?" He nodded. He supposed that he could do that even within his currently limited means. "And I know where some fun might be had afterward, so I shall do you the service of introducing you to one of London's better spots for gentlemen." For only the better classes were let in, officers surely included.


There was an awkward pause before he added, "So long as it is not a Friday." What was so special about not doing so on Fridays was anyone's guess, because the viscount did not volunteer it.


Friday was the day where his father went to Madame Hortense's popular brothel. Since he and his father were not on the best terms, he would avoid it on that day for sure.


"Baron...?" Beverley asked, wondering if he had ever heard of the actual man and title. He did not wish to assume the barony matched the surname, which it oft did, but not all the time.


"Indeed, to the daughter of the Marquess of Worcester." A sly grin betrayed that he certainly did have at least nightly bouts. The poor girl. He was quite large and she quite petite. "Of course, much rests on me, and that is an enjoyable duty of marriage." Even if by his religion it should truly only be every 3rd night.


Repenting was a useful thing for a secret Catholic, even if Beverley had not done that in quite awhile either.

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"Excellent!" Ambrose's smile grew wide, his hopeful expression relaxed as the young Officer agreed. "Well that sounds might mysterious, in an appealing sort of way." Beverly caught his attention with talk of an elite locale, "Ought I dress up for it then, on the good clobber eh?"


For his part he supposed Friday was the day when Beverly met up with his mistress, for from what he'd heard keeping a mistress was all the rave for the fashionable London gentleman. "No not Friday of course, "I'd hate for you to miss dinner with your Mum." he winked.


"Baron Hastings." Ambrose filled in. No he was not being awfully helpful with details of his family background, frankly, less said the better these days. No need to provoke curiosity, lest certain new detailed were discovered.


"Congratulations indeed." a Marquis daughter, well that was an enviable match (If one wanted to marry that is, and not that Ambrose did.) Still, to have a regular shag waiting at home each night must have a certain appeal. "Until she's up the duff of course, your vigilance is commendable - taking one on the nose for Mother England and all that." he drawled with wry humor.


"How about tomorrow night then?" he could not help but wonder what Beverly's wife looked like now. "I can call by your place and pick you up, about eight?"

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  • 2 weeks later...

Hastings was a good title. Or good enough for Beverley, as it was. It was enough to be intriguing. Very soldierly manners, but...the man was new to court.


"I pray that shall be sooner rather than later," Beverley added. There was serious anxiety involved in the production of an heir in so dire a circumstances. He might now be fully grown and passed the time of childhood illnesses, but that did not guarantee much. People died very quickly all of the time, so the clock always seemed to be ticking in his mind.


"How about Monday? I try to keep such things from God's day. It rather ruins some of the enjoyment of it."


Going to a brothel on a Sunday was a little beyond Beverley's typical level of sinning.


"I shall either be with my sister in Battersea," which was right across from Chelsea. "Or His Highness is securing us something nearby in the palace shortly. I shall leave you a note as to which."

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Perhaps the likes of Beverly's company would help burnish Turnbull's edges, while another question was whether that could be achieved without a roughening of the polishing machine?


"Keep it up old sport!" Ambrose cheered him on, "I've heard sons are the product of persistence, and there is a gale of methods to be tried. Though likely most are just old wives tales, I was once sailed with a chap who had seven sons, and said each one was the result of doing it standing up. Apparently the missionary position produces nothing but girls."


"Ah, ah yes." he pulled what might pass for a respectful frown, deference to god and all that. Not to say that Ambrose was not a devout fellow, he'd never prayed so hard as after he'd been wounded in a battle, infection killed so many a man. Lets just say he was devout on a case by case basis, and when a nights carousing was on the prospectus, he could easily enough turn a blind eye to the day of the week. But. Beverly was a finer fellow, and his finer morals smeared a little on his new friend. "Monday it is then... you've a sister?'


Ambrose forgot about Beverley's sexed up wife, and now wondered upon his sisters disposition? Interest plain enough upon his expression, though he knew it was poor form to hit on a friends sister... "I shall look forward to hearing from you anon, send a message to the barracks."

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