Avalon Revisited (3 page)

Tried to live for the moment, as the past was just a dream and the future, a mirage.

Cecil stood by the stone archway that separated the dining room from the hall, as if waiting for me to come to my senses. The distance across the polished hardwood floor between this person, alive for such a short time, and I who was so very old, seemed endless. And yet he questioned me.

“Cecil. The coach,” I said with a hint of impatience as I returned to the newspaper.

“Yes, m’lord.”

I stepped out into the dirty cobblestone streets of London a short while later. Dirty, of course, was relative. Since they had cobbled the streets, it was much cleaner than the old muddy roads of my time. I remembered when father caught Henry and I playing in the rain, splashing through the mud puddles along the road. I couldn’t have been more than ten years old, which had made Henry just five. We had laughed and splashed from puddle to puddle, muddying our fine royal garments. Father had scolded us for behaving like peasants, but I still fancied that I saw a twinkle in his eye. Or at least I wished it there, for how could a father had felt anything but joy at watching his sons play? If anyone could have felt anger, he could have. Such a hard man. We had been whipped, of course, for the ermine would never again be white.

Such petty squabblings. Why did such insignificant memories remain over so many years?

The cobbling of today still had low spots, and I had seen children play in its puddles.

Somehow not as fun without the mud. It did also make for quite a racket with all the carriages clattering over them. Not a moment’s peace.

It was a cool, cloudy day, but the sun could possibly come out. Must take precautions.

“Hyde Park, Thomas,” I said to my coachman, tapping the tip of my special walking stick on the cobblestones, glad for the lack of mud today. Glad for the centuries between me and my father.

“Very good, m’lord,” he responded as he opened the carriage door for me.

I stepped up into my brougham and sat in the middle of the seat, laying the cane across my lap. After the crack of the whip and a sudden jolt, we rattled our way into Hyde Park.

There were far more people out today than I could have seen from the advantage of my balcony. It was, after all, one of the nicer days I had ever seen in London, and I’d spent most of my existence in this city. And a perfect day it was. Grey, but bright. Slightly warm with just a hint of a cool breeze. Days like this one were few and far between.

I rapped on the roof of the coach with my walking stick.

“Thomas,” I called out.

“Yes, m’lord?” he shouted back.

I leaned my head out of the window after checking to see that the sun mightn’t suddenly appear. “Somewhere shady,” I said. “Perhaps on the eastern shore of The Serpentine.”

“Yes, m’lord,” he replied.

I settled back into the middle of the black leather seat and watched as we passed London life.

London life hadn’t changed that much over the centuries. Here was the old maid, bitter from a hard life. Here was the scowling married couple, sick of each other’s presence. Here was the young lover trying to woo his mistress. Here were the group of young ladies gossiping about their latest fancy. Here were the children full of hope in a world full of sorrows they can’t even begin to comprehend. No. London life hadn’t changed much, but women’s fashion styles changed continuously. The colors got brighter then gradually became drab, but they always cycled back to vibrant again. The necklines plunged then crept back up to the chin, and then they plunged once again, to my great delight. The skirts got fuller, and then gradually shrank.

Still, one didn’t normally see anything one hadn’t seen before. It was all pretty much the same, and it did get ever so dull.

Thomas pulled up to the shady end of The Serpentine, and I stepped out.

“Stay nearby, Thomas. I may need you soon.”

“Very good, m’lord,” he said.

“Keep watch for the sun.”

“Of course, m’lord,” he replied. Then with a “Yah!” and a snap of his whip, he drove the carriage a little ways off before stopping again, and I made my way beneath the shade of the trees. I had brought along the blanket I always kept in the boot just for such an occasion to sit upon and my special walking stick could quickly transform into a parasol, if needed. A very manly parasol, mind you.

Fortunately, the fashion for men in these times was modest, to say the least. Wearing gloves and a hat on a warm summer’s day wasn’t unusual, and I liked to keep as much of my skin as possible covered. Only my face was directly exposed to the air. I wore a high collar, a little higher than fashion would normally allow, but I had the reputation for being a little off, so it mattered not. I did miss the high collars of a few decades back, but such was the way of fashion.

“Arthur? Well, what a nice surprise!” I heard a woman’s voice say as I spread the blanket out beneath a very shady spot. I turned to see Lady Pearson, a woman of great repute.

“Lady Pearson, what a delightful surprise,” I said, bowing to kiss her offered hand. She was magnificently clothed in a deep rose-colored walking dress with matching plum parasol. Huge bustle.

“Arthur, I’ve told you a dozen times to call me Eliza.”

“Of course, Eliza. Lovely day.”

“These are my dear friends: Lady Bainbridge, wife to Baron Bainbridge of Yorkshire, and Lady Hamilton, wife to Baron Hamilton of Wishaw. Ladies, this is Viscount Arthur York.”

I, of course, no longer went by my given surname of Tudor. It raised far too many questions, as my family’s, especially my brother’s, history was far too notorious. There were few Tudors remaining, so the name was too unusual for my purposes. I wished to remain as invisible as possible. Any mention of the name Tudor called up conversation of my brother’s sordid history, about which I was loathe to discuss, and that inane rhyme:
divorced, beheaded, died, divorced,
beheaded, survived
. He had ruined my Catherine, and it was upsetting to relive it over afternoon tea.

Either that or the bloody history of my niece Mary. I did rather like talking about that, but my opinion of her methods was certainly not the popular one of the time. Best to avoid the subject.

York fit well, as I was half York, but it was also common enough to not raise an eyebrow.

“Pleasure,” I said, bowing. The ladies curtsied and batted their eyes at me from behind their ornate fans, which matched their outfits perfectly. As did their parasols. They were all the same general age, this was to say between forty and fifty. No doubt their husbands, the honorable barons, were considerably older. Which was why I had my pick of ripe women. It was a good life.

“Won’t you join me, ladies?”

“It would be our pleasure," said Lady Bainbridge with a flirtatious spin of her parasol, obviously the boldest of the lot. She was dressed in garish yellow, the color of effulgent sunshine. I feared the brightness of her dress would dust me on the spot.

Lady Hamilton was thankfully dressed in a more muted shade of soft pink. Their colorful celebration of springtime no doubt made me look like a deep hole hidden among the blossoms, hoping for someone to misstep and twist their ankle while gathering flowers.

I stepped back to let them sit upon the blanket, and I took the back corner closest to the trees for myself. It was shady enough that the ladies no longer needed their parasols, so they collapsed them and laid them down.

“Lovely day,” Lady Bainbridge offered, settling in. She curled her legs to the side, allowing her ankle to scandalously peek out from beneath her lemon skirts. Even with the high boots, ladies were not to show their ankles in public. This woman was indeed bold and quite open to seduction.

“It certainly is,” I replied, pretending not to notice.

“Dreadful news from the party last night,” Lady Bainbridge said. “Were you in attendance, Arthur?” She reached down to the edge of her skirt and paused, forcing my eyes there. Then she covered herself completely with the sunny ruffles.

“I was, Lady Bainbridge,” I answered, snapping my eyes back to hers. She smiled, knowing she had my attention. “I was quite shocked to see the headlines this morning. Did you notice anything amiss?”

“Not at all, Lord York.”

“Please, call me Arthur. I have always been uncomfortable with titles.”

“Then you must call me Emily,” insisted Lady Bainbridge.

“And me Hazel,” Lady Hamilton added, blushing to a shade much deeper than her dress. She looked down at her hands delicately folded in her lap over her collapsed fan.

“Of course. Now that we are all confidants, what do you make of such news, Arthur?” Lady Bainbridge asked, pulling my attention back to her. She wasn’t used to sharing attention, but I was quite intrigued by Lady Hamilton. She certainly would pose much more of a challenge.

“Like I said, I noticed nothing amiss,” I replied politely.

“What of the victim?” said Lady Hamilton.

“Oh, Hazel. Had you not met the woman?” questioned Lady Pearson in a scandalous lilt.

“She was quite the harlot. Did you see what she was wearing last night? Scarlet, of all colors.

Actually suited her quite well. Got what she deserved, if you ask me. ”

“Eliza!” gasped Lady Hamilton. How cute. She was genuinely offended. Flustered, she opened her fan and began fanning herself rather rapidly.

“Don’t act so surprised, Hazel,” said Lady Bainbridge. “She was quite the talk of the ladies.

Always dressing so drearily and flamboyantly at the same time. Wild fashions in such dark colors, no matter if it was summer, autumn, or winter. It was disgraceful.”

“Indeed. But does anyone truly deserve such a fate?” I asked innocently.

“Well, I suppose she didn’t deserve it. That was an unfortunate word to choose,” Lady Pearson said, fanning her face lazily. “Perhaps I should have said that we couldn’t be surprised that this happened to her. Had you known her, Arthur?”

“I hadn’t the pleasure of making her acquaintance.”

“Pity. She would have amused you,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. She knew me too well. “Still, horrible business, this,” she added and then closed her fan. She looked away from us, out across the still, blue water of The Serpentine. Perhaps she had to gather her composure. After all, she wasn’t the savage among us.

“Yes. Vampire attack. I mean, how monstrous,” I said in an appalled tone even I almost believed.

“Yes. Monstrous and shocking, indeed,” added Lady Hamilton, fanning herself even more rapidly than before. I could see that this was upsetting the poor lady. She wasn’t used to such frank conversation. I found it quite endearing and decided I definitely wanted to break her of this innocence.

“Let us talk of more pleasant things,” I suggested. “Certainly you lovely ladies are attending the airship gala this evening?”

“Oh yes!” Lady Hamilton said, clapping her hands together rapidly, her eyes wide with innocent excitement. “I’ve always wanted to go up in an airship, but my husband says that it’s all balderdash. He grudgingly agreed to go to this party, the ol’ fuddy duddy, after I convinced him that everyone who is anyone will be there tonight.” She giggled in delight.

“Quite,” I said keeping my eyes on Lady Hamilton, who had regained her composure with a deep blush. So she was capable of excitement, although it was plain she didn’t allow herself the luxury too often.

“I do hope they’ll be scrubbing it down after all the commoners upon it today,” Lady Pearson said with a scowl. She snapped her own fan open again and began waving it with an elitist air.

She recovered nicely.

I forced myself not to laugh.

“My husband still refuses to go, the old gammy,” Lady Bainbridge said, looking over in the direction of the dirigible suspended over the tree tops. “I, of course, would be loathe to turn up alone, and I wouldn’t miss this gala for all the tea of the crown.”

“Whomever will you bring?” asked Lady Pearson.

“I believe I’ll bring my spinster niece, if we can find a suitable gown for her. The woman needs to get out more anyway.”

“Avalon?” Lady Pearson said with some degree of shock that caused her to freeze momentarily in mid-fan.

“Yes, I know. It is not ideal, but one does have a duty to one’s family.”

This was the best and worst part of London High Society, listening to women prattle on about seemingly nothing all while appearing to be captivated by their charms. Best when I was in the mood for amusement. Today, it was amusing.

“Are you ashamed of this niece?” I queried, feigning interest quite convincingly.

“But of course,” Lady Bainbridge said in a rather condescending manner. “She cares nothing about fashion, often dressing more like a man than a woman. She rarely wears her hair styled, but I have made an agreement with her tonight. She does have a weakness for modern technology, so she has agreed to dress properly in exchange for admittance onto the airship.” She looked extremely pleased with herself, as if she had won a long-lasting battle with the upper hand.

“Ho, ho! Arthur!” a voice broke my attention away from the ladies. I looked up to see a young man about twenty. It was my mate Nicholas Stanton striding towards us, a young woman on each arm, of course. Each girl, identical in looks and dressed in matching white lace, carried a white parasol in the hand that wasn’t attached to Nick. Their white frills twirled over the girls’

shoulders almost in unison, framing Nick in his dark suit. Appropriate, that. As it was this darkness that would no doubt soon put a blight upon their virginal purity. They wouldn’t be wearing white for long.

“Nick, ol’ chap. Enjoying this fine day, I see.”

“Always, Arthur. Always.” He turned to each girl on his arm, as he said, “Ladies, may I present Lord Arthur York.”

“Pleasure,” they said at the same time.

“This is Miss Constance Fitzpatrick,” he said indicating the one on his right. She curtsied quickly. “And Miss Celeste Fitzpatrick,” he said indicating the one on his left, who curtsied as well. They were pretty girls, but I must emphasize that they were indeed
girls
. Barely sixteen, I would gather. They each had a ringlets of strawberry hair coming out from under their lace bonnets and a sweetness about them that was hard to describe.