12 Days of Christmas Degustation | Evening, 27th December- Xmas 1677

[Guest]

The Red Lion Inn is located at Charring Cross. Solidly built in grey stone the inn has an air of permanence and protectiveness. The three storied building displays a shield-shaped sign of a red lion rampant guardant on a white ground. The legend above the door reads "Red Lion Inn. Hezekiah Golightly, lndld."

 

At the eastern end of the building is the great arch, twice the height of a man, giving on to the coach yard. Sturdy wooden gates stand open during the day but are locked with the coming of night.

 

The main entrance can be accessed from the street or from the yard.

 

The Red Lion was the premier Inn of London, host to the lesser nobility of court, whether for a casual lunch, a fulfilling dinner or even accommodation. The place was well kept, finely built and decorated and had all the little luxuries the entitled class had come to expect.

 

However because of the nature of it's clientele, it's fortunes rose and fell with the ebb and flow of court, and with all the talk of war and then plague there had been precious little merriment and consequently precious little enjoying of entertainments. Business had seen a bit of a slump.

 

Never one to be discouraged, Hezekiah had a plan to put the Lion back on the map. His Inn was the finest establishment around, and his wife's cooking second to none. Together they would put on a celebration that would stick in the minds of their clients for years to come.

 

The Inn had been enthusiastically decorated with evergreen bows, sprigs of holly and little lanterns, so that it positively glowed, a beacon of welcoming warmth in the dark, snowy evening. Inside was much the same, with green sprigs and red ribbons, mistletoe in strategic places, every fireplace blazing. No one would go cold or hungry tonight.

 

Those arriving were welcomed by Joshua, the blonde elder son of the landlord, turned out in a smart waistcoat, who ushered them through into the taproom. The Inn was closed to the general public on this particular night, so their guests might be assured of comfort and good company.

 

The tap room is located in the centre front of the ground floor. A great fireplace is set on the east wall; at the north end of the room is the serving counter. A door behind the counter gives access to the kitchen area; a door beside it give access to the guests' stair.

 

In order to pay his enormous bill, artist Isaac Fuller has decorated the walls of this room with paintings of lions. Behind the serving counter is a depiction of Hercules fighting the Nemean lion. On the east wall, around and over the fireplace Aesop's lion has the thorn removed from his paw. The south wall has a painting of Daniel in the lion's den: this painting incorporates the door to the street. The west wall has a depiction of the goddess Cybele in her lion-drawn chariot.

 

The taproom is furnished with an oak settle before the fireplace and tables and stools are scattered in congenial groups around the room. The floor is covered with the finest sand which is changed weekly.

[Guest]

John smiled at the welcome and proceeded inside. Lucinda was on his arm. She'd asked him here and he'd been all too pleased to oblige. John had been at the inn a bit earlier and was curious to see it in full display. It was a curiosity to him, inexperienced as he was. Still, he was glad to have come.

 

He was gladder of the company. John looked to the lady on his arm and smiled. Partly it was questioning what they would do now. But partly, well, one got the feeling John would be pleased just to stare at Lucinda and smile for hours and hours. He gently squeezed her arm affectionately.

[Hope]

She was dressed in emerald green velvet, this woman that walked alongside with perfect poise, small smile tugging at her lips as he eyes slid around seeing, and being seen.

 

"How quaint." she uttered of the setting (unless she was saying that of someone else already here?), a fashionably vague arrogance hung over her, as might be also upon her companion. "Shall we?" with a slight motion of head she indicated her preference of seating. Away from the disturbance of doorways, yet within easy sight of the room.

 

"I cannot say I've been in a tap room before, shall there be locals dancing jigs for entertainment." she rose an eyebrow to John, anticipating companionship in her reservations over the setting.

 

Still, they might yet be convinced that it was the highlight of christmas, it would be interesting to see what the Golightly's had planed. This was the first time she could recall that they had invited half of whitehall to their establishment (it could not be just another pub meal!)

[Guest]

John and Lucinda

 

John smiled and led them over to the seats. He pulled hers out for her before sitting down himself. He did not do fashionably arrogant well, but he didn’t mind Lucinda’s demeanor in the least. He was aware this was something like a public place, but he still thought an unmarried man and a widow could get up to what they wished without much attention.

 

John shook his head, “I d-d-don’t come to places like these often.” Almost never, actually. Less for reasons of morality than preference. Normally today was a day for French hen. And it was the Feast of St. John, which meant it was a good day for buying books. Neither looked to be here.

 

“If n-n-nothing else,” John said with a look of bemusement, “There’s alcohol.” Which could either lead to merry times… or make one forget the time was not so merry.

[Guest]

In the taproom Hezekiah Golightly was in full display, big black beard nearly hiding the front his crisp white shirt where it showed beneath his elegantly if slightly gaudily embroidered waistcoat.

 

"Welcome and a bright and happy festive season!" The man boomed from behind the bar. "What's your pleasure this evening? Mulled wine? Spices sack? Eggnog?" He suggested. Indeed, the air was rich with expensive spices.

 

The room had been decorated with red and gold ribbons, sprigs of holly and mistletoe and evergreen branches hung with little bells. A fire roared in the grate, heating both the room and the pots of wine that warmed above it.

[Hope]

John and Lucinda

 

His mention of not frequenting inns had her consider, "Are you member of the Woolsack yet, we must see to that." The exclusive gentlemen's club had been all the rave some years back, while less 'visible' in recent seasons, was still the hub for many a careers advancement.

 

The innkeeper drew her attention. He seemed well polished, though my god what a beard. "Sinterklaas is ready for our order." she murmured to John, deferring to his judgment of choice of drink for her.

[Guest]

John and Lucinda

 

“No,” John had heard mention of it a few times, and of the Green Ribbon Club. All he knew about either was that the Green Ribbon was full of his family. But Devonshire had weighed against the Green Ribbon, so John hadn’t pursued either. “How do we see to that?” He asked.

 

“Ah, yes.” John said, “A mulled cider and a glass of spiced sack.” He ordered easily, smiling at Hezekiah.

[George Hardwick III]

As a carefree man about town, George had hesitated little upon hearing of the Inns Christmas fete.

 

It sounded quite the social mixer, and he held intents to broaden his political circle. Besides, he knew Winchester to be fond of Mrs Golightly's cooking, and so perhaps he'd run into him there tonight, or if not, the exquisitely good mannered Earl had any number of lady friends, any number as in he was not actually keeping a count.

 

Drest in ocean green brocade trimmed around collar and pockets with needleworked snowdrops, his waist coat was striped teal and white spitalfields silk, used again upon the turn of jacket cuffs and coat tail trim. Long and elegant boots rode up to mid thigh, their gleaming high polish rivaled only by the glittering jewles upon his fingers and the head of his ebony walking stick.

 

Strolling into the tap room, it had been transformed. "It is a visual symphony Mr Golightly." George declared, being an old customer to the Inn, having lodged here when he first came to London.

 

"I shall have an eggnog, and another for yourself for that matter. Merry Christmas to you Goodman." In good cheer he ordered drink for he and the host, and paused to look about the room, perchance to see someone he knew, or some he did not.

[Guest]

Edmund, passing by

 

It had been a long day. Cursed with an inability to sleep and a mind which would not switch off, he had forced himself to rise earlier than he might and, so as to give himself a purpose, had set himself to the task of familiarising himself with London. By foot. The concept of committing a city to mind by perambulating it fully was perhaps acceptable for a city the size of Newcastle, Durham, perhaps even York. He had been at the height of folly to expect that this could be done for London. The foolishness of his endeavour had dawned on him relatively early on. He had broken his morning by stopping at what later turned out to be the palatial city residence of the Duke of Buckingham, off Pall Mall. An interesting episode that had turned out to be! Moving on, he had then passed into the great retail heart of the capital, wandering up and down like a spy – except instead of examining the shops, he was in fact examining the shoppers themselves. What were they wearing, what were they buying? Where did most people go to? From this collection of raw data he intended to distil from it the current trends in what and where was fashionable and what and where were not. Better than looking a rustic fool and asking! Had he not been given the eminently sensible advice recently that one should ‘inspect the lay of the land first for fools rush in.’ Purchase in haste, repent at leisure could couple that aphorism.

 

So intent had been his social espionage that he had quite lost track of the time. Darkness was setting in. Even wrapped in his riding cloak, the cold was beginning to filter in. Fortunately his leather gloves prevented his fingers from seizing up but, with each breath, a silver cloud wisped out and dissipated itself in the evening air. His legs were starting to ache, his calves stinging with each stride, complaining at the cold and overuse. He was also becoming increasingly aware that his stomach was starting to launch its own campaign for representation – rumbling ominously like far off thunder. What he needed was warmth, a seat, a drink and a good meal. Back to St Mark’s then? No, he didn’t much fancy another night of dining at his lodgings. Not that there was anything wrong with it – far from it. No, he simply felt the aching to be doing something different.

 

He was wrestling with this admittedly petty dilemma as he turned onto Charring Cross, still busy at this hour. As he passed further down the street, he became aware of a hubbub of noise, upon its heels following the scent of food. A three storey building stood in front of him, a great sign handing of it, proudly proclaiming this as the ‘Red Lion’. A coaching inn, judging by the great entranceway to the side and the scale of the building itself. It is always a good sign for the quality of an inn, he remembered his father saying, by the number of its patrons. His father, of course, had decided to use this advice to therefore go to the less frequented ones for the quiet and the likelihood it would be kinder on his purse. Edmund loitered outside the front awhile, still wrestling with himself as whether to go in or not. He patted down his pockets and counted the money on his person under his cloak. Enough by far for a good drink and food. The most recent pang from his stomach sealed the decision. He made his way to the entrance and stepped inside, looking out for the proprietor or a servitor to seat him.

[Hope]

John and Lucinda

 

“Well, frequenting the club as someone's guest is a sure way to state your interest in joining." The seasones veteran replied with a small smile. "Then it shall be a case of your ingratiating yourself to a person of influence, making your presence to him indefinable. Swiftly enough you shall discover your invitation to join upon the mail." this method of coming into demand in the higher circles was one that might translate into other mediums also.

 

She looked across at her young man, having enough experiance with youth that she understood the process she suggested woudl rankle. "One only need the appearance of humility my dear, those that know you best shall always be aware that you are no lapdog snapping up crumbs. Yet the ends warrant the means. Once you have your membership you may begin to flex your muscles there. Why at that point you might decide whether to reward your sponsor with loyalty, or if you shall repay any slight, or senses condescension with one of their monogrammed silver steak knives." she gave a muted titter at that, then added in an aside, "I have heard their onside dining room is very fine."

 

"Hmm... I do know one who might help us get this all into motion. Lord Basildon owes me a favor." and some.

[Guest]

John and Lucinda

 

“Are Ablemarle, Newcastle, Devonshire, Exeter or any of my… family m-m-members?” John listed the families he felt were most favorable. There were others, though. He was useful and loyal to his family and that gave him some measure of power. Devonshire particularly had an interest in putting him in Tory circles in the hope it would turn John into more of a royalist.

 

“I d-d-don’t resent the idea of doing what you said.” John said plainly. John had put up with outright abuse, even lethal intrigues, and quietly survived it for years upon years. He was not one to balk at such necessities. “But I hardly have any w-w-way to please.” Especially because John could not offer his political allegiance. It rested immovably with his family.

 

Besides, if John desired to destroy someone, more often than not he felt he already could. Devonshire had outright told him he was correct in that presumption. John felt that it was a waste of time though. Vengeance needed some wider context, some independent justification, for him to pursue it.

 

“You know b-b-best,” John said of Basildon. He had his issues with the man but they were minor and private. He doubted Basildon thought ill of him. Or thought about him at all. John hesitated to voice his question, "What is the Woolsack? Why w-w-would I want to... join?"

[Hope]

John and Lucinda

 

“Mmm, I know Ablemarle to be. But he... well he is famed for gambling on the drops of rain that fall from The Woolsacks windowsills - is that an familial association that would be beneficial to you? I think not." She avoided mention of the fact that the Ablemarles were known to keep low company.

 

"Ah," she smiled at him warmly as she said he'd naught to bargain with. He was so young, so adorably naive. "Let me tell you a secret darling." her voice had dropped softer and softer, as she gazed into his eyes, "that those men you might impress, shall not fail to marvel at a man who's opinions agree, or even boost their own. You need only concur, embellish, and bolster their own claims to become highly regarded by those men, and to become essential to their own enjoyment of the men's games they play. You possess a commodity my dear, that while seeming so elemental, simple, even humble to yourself, may be greatly prized by a man of sufficient ego."

 

She straightened a little, "Perhaps one of your relatives will do. If those are who you prefer. It is just that Lord Basildon owes me a favor and I have been at a loss of what to claim from him." she paused, and them mused, "Would your family perchance become jealous of your interests, if you were to seemingly take up with Basildon? I wonder if they might come to view you a little differently then hmm. For really, now you bring it up, why haven't they already invited you to The Woolsack with them hmm?"

 

"What is The Woolsack?" his question then surprised her. She chuckled, "it is a Gentlemans club, where the politics actually happens. The House of lords is merely the forum for the actual votes. It is essential for any gentleman upon the rise to become a member of The Woolsack, if he is to be take seriously in The House."

 

She glanced towards the counter, then looked back to John. "This is not quite the diversion I anticipated." said she, and with a sultry wink suggested, "perhaps we should check in instead."

[Guest]

John and Lucinda

 

John smiled sheepishly at her assessment of Ablemarle. He was aware that the ducal branch lacked… well, he couldn’t quite think of the word. It was the opposite of Cavendish and Exeter, who were very effective but Whiggish.

 

John leaned in as she shared secrets of courtly success. He enjoyed her closeness, even more than the advice. He listened and nodded, though Lucinda might note that he was obviously distracted by her. Still, he listened. John was not used to flattery, but he would try it. And he nodded at her secret advice.

 

He straightened with her, “No,” He replied to his family being jealous of Basildon, “So long as Basildon d-d-does not oppose my family. I don’t think he has, so far. I w-w-would be grateful if you asked Basildon. My family might be additional support.” He clarified. Truthfully, it had also been a way to determine the pedigree of the club. If none of his family belonged it was, almost by definition, beneath his notice.

 

As for why his family hadn’t brought him into the club yet, “I d-d-didn’t know to ask.” He couldn’t imagine his family was doing less than their utmost for him. After all, they’d arranged introductions to men of great import and royalty. But he imagined Devonshire would be thrilled.

 

John nodded to her description. It sounded rather like how he imagined his family meetings, but it was always advantageous to expand one’s circle. When her voice became low and sultry and she leaned in John looked at her with the hunger of a young man only freshly introduced to the art of lovemaking. Thoughts of politics fled his mind entirely.

 

His arm snaked around her, seeking to draw her close, “Yes,” He said to her proposition, his voice heavy with need. “You’ve haunted my d-d-dreams.” He admitted. He ever so gently, subtly yet firmly, took hold of her, “I want you.” He said. Clumsy though it was, it had the honest passion of youth.

 

OOC: Edited to make it a bit less rambly, if that's alright.

[George Hardwick III]

Edmund, passing by

 

"Torrington!" the young man might hear his name cheerfully called - if he looked he would see it was none other than George Hardwick, met just two days passed at the Royal Ball.

 

"The scents of Mrs Golightlys kitchens have reached as far as Saint Marks." the Earl sallied, inviting him to a nearby bar stool with a gesture.

[Guest]

Torrington and Chichester

 

The warmth and brightness inside seeped into his chilled body and instantly set him at ease. As the door closed behind him he loosened his cloak, pulled off his hat, ran a hand through his hair, giving it a bit of a ruffle as he did, and then proceeded to pull off his gloves as he looked around to spy the host. He heard his name called and looked in the direction of the noise and saw, in another room, already settled, the Earl of Chichester.

 

His hunt for the host forgotten, he raised a hand in greeting. Shaking some errand snowflakes off his shoulders he headed on through towards the Earl. "My Lord, what a surprise! You are well, I trust?" he said, flashing a smile and thrusting out his hand for a hearty handshake in the Northern manner. Hi legs were aching and he only too readily accepted the offer of the stool, dropping into it like a sack of coal with a gentle whince. He set his hat and gloves down on the table. "God in Heaven, I needed a seat! Fool's idea to think you can take in all of London on foot! Now I'm starving and aching like a collier at noon!"

 

"I didn't ken this was a haunt of yours, my Lord?"

[George Hardwick III]

"You walked from the Palace? Heavens, you are a glutton for punishment!"

 

George cheerily replied, though he made a puzzled expression as Torrington reached for his hand and shook it. "Ah-er-yes?" a pause, and understanding that the very un-london tradition was to be forgiven upon account of the others newness, he carried on, "Yes I am, a most regular attendant to the dining room here, when I am in London. But you could not know that, here I have forgotten to wear my Red Lion badge." he winked. No such badge existed, nor was it terribly likely that the fashionable Earl would spoil his outfit by sewing some common symbol upon it. But the thought was enough to amuse.

 

And giving a nod as his drink arrived, and considerate pause as the other ordered his own drink.

 

"My sister and I kept rooms here when I first arrived in London." he explained, "and while I've my own cook staff at the house now, there is something about the food here that is like 'coming home'."

 

"But how have our adventures in London gone thus far, did you manage to get to the agency? I was thinking upon it later, and though I really should have offered the use of one of my own. When times are hard, we need to all pull together eh wot?"

 

As the others order arrived, it was with thirsty mouth that he raised his own cup "Here, a toast, to King and Country."

 

 

 

OOC: I think we need to just imagine that there is bar staff looking after our orders etc atm, till Cèilidh can get back to the thread.

[Guest]

“Aye, well, first thing in the morning when you’re wide awake it seemed like a wise idea! Several hours later I came to realise the folly of my decision. Up, back in the North borderlands, you can walk miles without seeing nothing but nature and barely a soul. Here you walk miles and see nothing but the opposite – surrounded by humanity. Exhilarating, but a little unnerving too!”

 

Edmund willing took the cup that had been set before him and returned the Earl’s toast “To King and Country!” He sank the draught in one go, beckoning the servitor for a refill. The first was to quench his thirst, the second to enjoy.

 

“Well, I was passing by on a lengthy walk back to my lodgings when I came past here and was compelled to enter or else I think my stomach would have rioted against my maltreatment of it,” he jested. “Obvious if it attracts the great and the good then that surely is a good sign.”

 

“Ah, dinnee worry about that, my Lord, a trip to the agency is on my list of things to do this week, in between the festivities and such. I will take your kindly recommendation though and, if I can be so bold, say I was sent there on the advice of your good self. As for my adventures, if you can call them that, I’ve still been sating my thirst for all things novel in the city. Why only this morning I found myself in the gardens of the Duke of Buckingham and met Lord Kingston, an acquaintance or kinsman of his, I think? You know of him? Something of a swordsman, puts me to shame. And what of yourself, my Lord? How’ve you faired since we last met?”

[George Hardwick III]

"Yes they say our attendance at Whitehall adjourns upon seasonal reasons, but I'd not be surprised if we simply reach our full quotient of sociability. The peace and quite of ones own estate grows more attractive the longer the stay in London." George replied comfortably, and then cups clunked with the toast.

 

There seemed not a political bone in Torrington's body, but perhaps.

 

"Yes the Redlion was recommended to me long before I reached London, the rooms here have kept the likes of William Gosling, Charles Blount, and Alexandra Neuville. A calibre of patrons that cannot be sneezed at." he accepted Edmund compliment gracefully. "The venue offers something of an independence from utter absorption into palace and her politics, and with less eyes viewing ones daily congress: a perhaps might suit your own position?"

 

“I know of Lord Kingston." George gave a nod of his head. "Our circles have not mixed. I have been an Independent of the Arts, while Kingston is bound to Buckingham who runs his own programmers with such. We are known to each other in as much that his master poached an Artist that I was soliciting to my Academy. Samuel Greyson, late resident of Barn Elms." he articulated the name carefully, and gave the briefest pause there after. "Although it is entirely possible that aforementioned artist never mentioned my name to the Duke at all," disclosure had not been Greysons custom, "likely neither knew of my own position there waiting."

 

"Court is small, yet remarkably enough communication is not our strongest suit." the ruby ring on the Earls pinky caught the light as he held his cup poised just so. He thought. "Methinks I ought make your new friends acquaintance too."

[Hope]

John and Lucinda

 

"Basildon would never be so foolish." was that a hint of pride in her voice as she answered of Louis stance with the Cavandishes. Louis had been a quick study, but she liked to think she'd guided his understanding of court and advancement. When she'd first come upon him he was practically a foundling, cast out of his home by the puritan father.

 

John seemed perplexed, and needed some time to think about the omitted invitation from his relatives. "The taking of favours is something to be measured, if reliant upon one source too greatly one becomes owned by them. Spreading yourself broadly promotes your own independence, and risk of displeasing this one or that has a more limited risk. But let me know what you decide." her voice was sultry as she spoke, silk and honey. While her eyes dilated watching his excitement raise.

 

She extended her hand to him, "Haunted?" and laughter that bubbled like a brook spilled from her lips as he drew her to feet. "I must surely reaffirm to you that I am no phantasm..." she leaned in closer, the waft of her perfume encased him a moment, "there is so much to be said for the heat of flesh and blood." their seats and drinks were left abandoned as they moved back out into the foyer.

 

Naturally it would rise to the gentleman to order a room - though currently the reception desk was vacant. Beyond that was the rattling and clattering hubbub of a busy kitchen, while to the side the staircase upstairs rose appealingly.

[Guest]

John and Lucinda

 

John had received encouragement to go to the Green Ribbon Club and see if it suited him. That had been last season when Devonshire had even suggested marrying Shaftesbury’s daughter might be a wise move. But Devonshire had advised caution before executing on either idea, so John had waited. This season he appeared to disapprove of both.

 

Besides, John didn’t even know if Devonshire or Newcastle were a members of the Woolsack. He was fairly certain Exeter and Cavendish weren’t. Perhaps he was missing some context that Lucinda had. As it was, he didn’t see the lack of invitation as strange.

 

John nodded to her advice. Owned by them? The idea of being owned by Lucinda didn’t sound unappealing. He smiled, “So I should ask you for a lot of favors.” John said. When she asked for his decision, “I’d be grateful if you asked Basildon.” John repeated with a smile.

 

But on to more… well, he didn’t understand this either. But it was a pleasanter sort of bafflement. He took her hand, and inhaled deeply at her closeness. He smiled in affection and lust. Lucinda had burst a dam. They left to the foyer and John frowned at the empty reception desk. He briefly examined it to see if there was a room key he could just take.

 

“If we c-c-can’t get a room, d-d-do we need a place to lay down?” John sounded halfway to desperate, frustrated at the idea of denial. But the question was also an honest one. He wasn’t sure what was possible.

[Raconteur]

Ellen Doolittle and Father

 

The Christmas spirit was clearly being enjoyed both inside and outside of the Red Lion as Father and daughter entered out of the cold night. She wrapped in a cloak of black fur with a wide collar that hid a gown of burgundy velvet that was trimed with silver lace from Brussels and glass beads of green and red mixed with clear made random patterns or clusters all about the bodice and closed skirt.

 

Her hair she wore up and a thin strip of black silk ribbon was tied about her neck from which a large creamy pearl dangled that matched those in her ears. Her cheeks were flushed a becoming pink from the cold and her eyes danced as she greeted and was greeted by many for most knew her.

 

This was a place that was as familiar as the Docks and peopled by those that worked it and made their livings off it. Friendly faces where coarse jokes and innuendos were common palce yet she was ever treated as a "Lady".

 

Her Father she knew would soon go off to meet with his friends knowing that his daughter would come to no harm here.

 

She welcome'd the offer of a warm drink and once it was in hand she slowly began to move about and it was perhpas some ten mnutes before her gaze fell on a Gentlemen she'd not thought to see again - Lord Chichester.

 

Her eyes traveled over his person - or what she could see - took note of the cut of his cloth and admired the combinations. Their last meeting had turned sour which she regretted but his absence had left her unable to try to make amends.

 

How would he receive her was the question which caused her to hold back. He was also with another Gentleman not of her acquaintance .....

 

She drank from her glass and the mulled wine warmed her and with her head high she began to walk towards where the two sat. It was her intention to simply pass and if he were to notice then she would stop otherwise, well, she'd keep walking.

[Guest]

Torrington and Chichester

 

The poaching of artists! High society indeed! Torrington raised his eyebrows, set his cup down and rubbed his chin with his hand. "Well, I already knew you were a patron of the arts, my Lord, but I suppose it was naive of me to think that patronage of the arts was at risk of poaching, like a well stocked deer park. Likely needs the equivalent of an artistic game-keeper, I suppose. You must surely have found a replacement, though? London must be seething with new musicians, composers, poets, writers and the like as Court seethes with folk like myself!"

 

He looked around at the room they were in. The warmth and homeliness. The general sense of bon-homie. There was nothing at all wrong with his current lodgings - in fact he was most lucky to have the privilege to reside as the guest of the King, in such proximity to the centre of affairs. Yet, and perhaps it was an ungracious thought, but he felt as though it made him a dependent of the King - living in a barracks of courtiers-in-waiting, hoping for that chance of advancement which couldn't be too far removed from the harem of the Great Turk in Constantinople. He intended to find his own establishment in the capital. Torrington House. He was far from that yet but perhaps here could be a stepping stone? "I will have to make inquiries with the landlord but I think you may well have a point. I ought not to be a drain on the King's purse." He nodded. "Yes, I shall have a word with the proprietor."

 

"Yet, back to the other point - as you have been so kind to me in my early days here I am in your debt. Although it is a small matter, I would be happy to introduce you to Lord Kingston should the opportunity arise, even if I can only lay a light claim to his acquaintance."

 

As he reached for his cup, he noticed a young lady passing by decidedly close the the table.

[George Hardwick III]

Torrington and Chichester

 

The excitable Edmund found the tale to be astounding. Life up north must be truly dull. "An apt simile." George replied, "and while yes, new 'stock' is easy enough to come by, Dulwich institute has a specific method. You see, mine is an annual Artist-In-Residency program. Many apply, but few are accepted as places are limited." he explained his own venue, "whereas Lord Buckingham offers something different, ongoing patronage and his credential, or might we call it a stamp of approval. Further, his Barn Elms residency does not have an end date. Although, the first that I learned of it was when Master Greyson was offered a position there last year, and he is now left to abroad to, I can only imagine, continue his profession in the courts of Europe."

 

"So perhaps temporariness is the nature of all positions." George mused, given half a chance the Earl would wax on philosophical, although the youngster in his company was an unlikly mind to do so with. Edmund's manner was to snatch up phsical details, and not dwell upon deeper meanings. It made George feel old, but then again, he'd not want to be that flighty youth again.

 

So perhaps Edmund would change his residency, or perhaps not. "There are many choices to be made in the Capital." George said expansively, "but thank you, I shall accept your offer of introduction." he smiled. Who knew how that would go.

 

The Earl took another sip of his drink, his eyes flitting over glass brim to see a figure recognised. Dark eyes silent. A memory came to mind of that most distressing discordant time in his life. Ellen was a memory of that time, for he'd met her just after he and Samuel had broken up. Angry and troubled, George had not been himself at all.

 

"Happy Christmas Mistress Ellen." he greeted her genially, to not acknowledge her would be rude, however uncomfortable he was of the fragmented recollection of that day on hill above the fair. he'd been sketching the scene, and she'd wandered into it. "You seem upon a drift, would you like to join us and take a table. No doubt we shall find a fourth to complete us soon enough." he turned then and introduced, "Mistress Ellen, may I introduce Lord Edmund Torrington, of grandly successful coal enterprises up north. And Lord Torrington, this is Mistress Ellen Doolittle, yes of the fabled Doolittle business empire that you have no doubt heard much about."

 

It occurred to George that this pair might make a fine match, though the Earl had no mind to be a matchmaker. If something happened well and good.

[Hope]

John and Lucinda

And so that much was settled, but now for desert.

 

Moving past a grouping that stood talking at the bar, laughter bubbled from Lucinda's lips at John's ingenuity in the face of an obstacle. "You'd have me up against a wall?" the idea delighted her, "... or we could ring the bell." she leaned upon the reception desk, eyeing the randy young man.

 

Near her elbow the Earls third option glinted cheekily, a key upon a festively themed mistletoe tag laid there ... and still not a staff member in sight.

[Guest]

John and Lucinda

 

John’s eyes lingered on Lucinda. His heart leapt at the glint in her eyes, at the ideas she whispered. Against a wall? Would it be from the front or behind… he had vague notions of how that’d work. He wanted to try it now.

 

But he wanted to try it in a bedroom. Still, having not said either way he made to ponder. His arm came around her and leaned over her as if to kiss. He might guide her to the floor… or over the desk… and then struck the bell.

 

With a smile and a small peck, he pulled away to a more appropriate distance.

[Raconteur]

Torrington and Chichester Joined by Ellen

 

He addressed her and she stopped releasing the breath she'd not known she'd been holding.

 

"Happy Christmas My Lord."

 

She quielty said and offered him a curtsey her eyes meeting his with directness and in them he might read some question mixed with the sparkle caused from the candles all about. Her cheeks flushed at his introduction and she then offered a curtsey to the other Gentleman.

 

"Lord Torrington, a Happy Christmas."

 

She had not expected that - his invite to join - and for a moment she faltered then smiled at him.

 

"You have been much missed Lord Chicester in all Truth. I have oft wondered how you kept. I shall be delighted to accept your offer."

 

She made to sit then addressed the other Gentlemen as she did "Have you been in London long them Sir? You must pay no mind to that reference unless you have a need for an introduction to my Father - which I should be happy to provide."

 

She was curious as to why he had added that part to his introduction of her and her gaze went back to him trying to asses but her eyes saw a changed man from the one that she had last seen on that hill. But as to what had occured or even where he had gone remained unsaid. Would he offer her some story?

[Guest]

Torrington & Chichester, joined by Ellen

 

Edmund smiled and bowed his head in greeting, moving his stool back a little to allow for extra room at the table. “The pleasure, Mistress Doolittle, is all mine! Sit down do! I arrived in London from my Northern estates just before Christmas and, since the day of the Royal Ball, I have had the honour of Lord Chichester’s acquaintance and advice – all very much appreciated and likely most necessary too or else I’d sure I’d come to a rotten state. A friend of his must surely be one of mine!”

 

For the second time in a number of days he detected a faint glimmer of something unspoken passing between the Earl and another person. Again, he could not fathom what it was or, indeed, why he felt it at all. Just a sense, he supposed. As a child he could tell when his parents had fallen out from the looks they gave one another and how they behaved. Similarly, when one of his brothers was put out with him, he could tell from what was not said rather than what was said. The first time he had noticed this was when the Earl was speaking with Lord Basildon. There it had been enigmatic phrases which had picqued his interest. Now here there was surely something similar in Mistress Doolittle’s look that betokened something similar. What was it with Lord Chichester? He had had the pleasure of his acquaintance for a number of days now, but knew rather little of him, being far too early for any forays into his history. Yet surely there must be something there beneath the surface of which he was oblivious but others were not. He could not imagine what on Earth it might be, but decided he ought to try and find out.

 

“Ah, Mistress, having seen the daughter, how could one prefer an introduction to the father over her! As my Lord has said, I’m familiar with the name – who isn’t in the world of commerce! It would be dreadful of me to bore you with it at a festive occasion but I would be delighted to make his acquaintance too at some stage. Part of my relocation here was been for business purposes and I am forever on the look out for new opportunities and, who knows, perhaps there is some field or two in which we can benefit one another. Still, Mistress Doolittle, how is the festive season treating you thus far? I gather you and my Lord are acquainted?”

[George Hardwick III]

Torrington, Chichester & Ellen

 

Torrington had no idea to quite how curly this re-meeting of Mistress Ellen as for Chichester. As she spoke it all came back to him... and hardly recognised himself. He'd been an utter mess. The choice of heading back 'home' to his Italian family had been the wisest decision he'd made in many many months prior to it.

 

Over a formal bow he gave a kiss to her hand, and then drew a chair to assist, as they all settled upon dining together. "I have kept well thank you, I summered in the continent, primarily Florence." he looked across to Torrington as the men determined where to sit at the table, either side of the lady seemed considerate to the Earl and so he claimed the chair on her right.

 

As had been his hunch, his newly met associate was most interested in Ellen's family. "Perhaps he can join us at the table?" George replied with unflappable equanimity, though his mind was somewhat concerned at the turn. She had not said anything to her father had she?

 

And then Edmund, eloquently, asked Ellen of how she and George knew of each other. Fine fellow, that Torrington, the Earl discovered benefit to his social aide. Flapping out his napkin to polish a waterspot from knife* (appearing busy) he turned a curious eye to her reply on that?

 

 

 

* OOC: George has a neat-freak flaw

[Hope]

John and Lucinda

 

It was only as he begun to reach for the bell that Lucinda noticed the turned-in key so handy. She grinned, was he that daring? Her heartbeat quickened. Yes and no. He stole a kiss, but rang the bell.

 

Lucina was trying to contain her delight even as a harried kitchen-hand poked head out from the kitchens, then pulling pinny off over his head the young man stepped forwards. "Good evening welcome to the Red Lion, how may I help you?" he spoke by rote, giving an anxious glance back towards the kitchens. He had a literal pot on the boil.

 

Taking avail of the fact that while the server was looking at John he was not looking at her, Lucinda traced a fingertip down her neckline and grasped the ribbon tied mid center. Intent: to tug at it, so as to distract her lover while he attended to their business.

[Guest]

John and Lucinda

 

Lucinda was awakening all kinds of new daring in John. She was good for him: his happiness, his confidence. And John appreciated it, even if on a surface level his youthful lust dominated his thoughts.

 

For the moment a kitchen hand was between them and their desire, “A room.” John said simply. His tone implied that the details were unimportant. That seemed to match the mood of the fellow with his literal pot.

 

Yet some motion caught his eye. Lucinda was teasing him, tugging at her bosom. His eyes strayed for a moment before returning to the man renting the room. But however calm John remained outwardly… if Lucinda got a look at his eyes, she could see he intended to take revenge.