The Peeler

By: Will B
(© 2010-2011 by the author)
 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Dawlish looked at Digby and said with a smile, “That went very well, John. They all had a good time…and now, my dearest John, shall we retire to our rooms? Will you come to me this evening? I want you—oh God, how I want you to plow my furrow as deeply, as hard, and as often as you can!”

John smiled, kissed Simon on the mouth, and said, “I’ll be in directly."

A few minutes later, when John entered Simon’s room, his employer—his lover, his partner—was indeed ready for him, lying on his back, in a complete state of readiness, absolutely nude, and his legs raised into the air. Simon just said, “Come into me, John, come! Fill me with your own man milk!”

At that same moment, Frederick and Edward were sipping each other’s champagne from their very own ‘champagne flutes’!

Chapter 9

While the Storm Clouds Gather…

It was a dark afternoon in February, 1838. Dirty gray clouds filled the sky over the Thames Valley.  Twenty some miles outside London on a bluff overlooking the river sat the ancient pile, Windsor Castle (which the seventeenth century diarist Samuel Pepys had called ‘the most romantique castle in the world’).  Sitting in her private apartments, young Queen Victoria sat gazing out the dirty window at the gloomy view.  Sitting with her was the Dowager Queen Adelaide*, widow of William IV.

“Aunt Adelaide,” said the young Queen, “it is so good to get away from Buckingham Palace and that awful Sir John Conroy. Thank you for allowing me to visit you here.”

“My dear Victoria,” Adelaide answered, “this is your castle, and grateful I am that you are allowing me to stay here. I hope you are comfortable.”

“Hrmph!” came the Queen’s most unroyal response. “Here, I am Queen of England, Scotland, and all the rest, and I cannot even have clean windows, or a fire lit when I would wish it. Too many government agencies each guarding its own privileges.”

“I know, my dear. Your uncle couldn’t do anything about the royal household either … but tell me, have you heard from that handsome Coburg cousin, Albert, lately?”

“I’m expecting a letter any day now,” said Victoria, “and I hope to be able to return to Buckingham Palace soon also. I’m hoping Sir John Conroy will soon be leaving.”

The two queens sat and sipped their tea and watched the clouds rolling across the sky.

In London, Fred Fitzwilliam was sitting in the office of his lawyer and friend Simon Dawlish.

“Well, Frederick, I am happy to tell you that some more of your uncle’s investments have paid quite well this quarter; I think you should able to install some of these new water closets in your school, and perhaps think about hiring some additional staff,” Dawlish said to young Fitzwilliam.

“That’s good news, Sir, and now can you advise me on how I could find out a little more about my parents’ families. All I know is that they came from a parish in Buckinghamshire, Leckhampstead.”

“My best advice,” Frederick offered, “would be to write to the vicar of the parish and tell him what you know, and ask if he can search the parish registers.”

“That’s a good idea. Thank you, Sir.”

 

Frederick stood, shook the lawyer’s hand, and turned to leave.  Going out the door, Fred saw that a few drops of rain had started to fall. He hailed a hansom and drove back to the school.

After he had gone, John Digby, Dawlish’s clerk and lover, said “Simon, you know that if Fred writes to that vicar, he is going to find out something about…”

“I know, John, but I think maybe it’s time he does find out.”

Riding back to his school in the hansom, Fred noticed shopkeepers putting up shutters, and fastening canvas covers over their outdoor stalls. Passersby were hurrying home to get under shelter before the storm broke. The raindrops were falling out of the sky about thirty seconds apart,

Tom Rivers and Bill Allen, both of whom worked at the school, returned from their ‘afternoons out,’ which they had spent visiting their young ladies. They both reached the school at the same time, and as they opened the door of the school, the drops were coming about twenty-five seconds apart,

A few blocks away, Police Constable Foster was preparing to go off duty and return home for his tea, when he heard sniffling coming from a large crate. Quietly moving toward it, he suddenly opened the lid of the box, and saw three little boys, half-naked, dirty, and huddled together as if seeking warmth.

“Now then, now then, what’s all this,” Constable Foster asked.

“Please, Sir, we ain’t done nuffing wrong. We’re just trying to get out of the rain,” said the eldest.

“We’re very hungry,” said the middle lad.

“I’m afraid of the thunder and lightnin’,” said the youngest.

“I see,” said Foster. “Well, we can’t have you three cluttering up this box what ain’t never done anybody any harm. What are your names?”

“Please, Sir, I’m John. I’m ten, and this is my brother, Bill. He’s eight years old, and the youngest is Joe. He’s six … Are you gonna arrest us?”

“We’ll have to see about that,” said Foster. “What about your parents? Don’t you have a home to go to?”

John replied, “Our parents died of cholera, and the landlord kicked us out of the room my Mum and Dad had rented. He said, if we couldn’t pay, we couldn’t stay!”

“I think the three of you better come with me,” said Foster. He got a firm grip on Joe’s arm, because he knew if he took Joe, the other two would come.

“Do you think he’ll put us in jail?” asked Bill.

“Well, at least it may be warm,” replied John.

The rain drops were coming faster. They were twenty seconds apart — now they were fifteen seconds apart.

Fred arrived home and was greeted by the students with smiles, and by the adults with more smiles and questions: “How did it go?” “Did you have a good meeting with Mr. Dawlish?”

“Sit ye down by the fire, Mr. Fred, and have yourself a ‘nice warm’,” said ‘Aunt’ Jane Barton, who cooked for the school. “I’ve just taken a fresh batch of meat pies out of the oven.”

The warmest greeting was the smile given him by Ed, who was Fred’s partner and lover. His glance sent a message, “Later, my love.”

A knock on the door was answered by Jane’s brother, Constable Williams, who acted as Steward to the school.  He ushered in Constable Foster and three half-naked, thin, scared-looking little boys.

Foster greeted everyone, and then said, “I found these three young lads cowering in a large crate. I thought perhaps you could get them something to eat, and some warm clothes. They have no parents and no home.”

“Certainly,” said Fred. “Bring ‘em right in.”

Jane didn’t wait to be told. She brought out some more meat pies and gave them to the three boys. She had one for Constable Foster, too.

While the three boys were tucking into the meat pies, Nicholas Lester and Johnnie Rivers, both aged ten, talked to them, hoping to help them feel at ease, and to know that this was a good place to be.

“Will you have another meat pie, Constable Foster?” inquired Jane Barton.  We have plenty.”

“Thank ye, no, ma’am. I’d best be getting home to the missus. You know, I’d have taken these boys to my own home, but we recently lost our own baby and my wife has been in such moods, I am concerned for her. Can these boys stay here, and maybe get some education? I can’t pay much, but I…”

“Don’t you worry about that, Constable,” said Fred. “We have plenty of room, and there is no charge for anything we may be able to do to help the boys here.”

At that moment, Ed came into the room carrying some night clothes. “I think these will fit the boys for tonight and in the morning we’ll see what we can do about some more clothes. “

“If you boys will put on these night clothes, you can give me what you’re wearing. I’ll take care of them,” said Jane.

“I’ll say good evening then. Thank you very much, Mr. Fred, and all of you. I know the boys are in good hands here,” said Foster and he went out into the rainy night.

AND THE RAINS CAME…

It poured, and the wind howled like a banshee. Some old timers thought to themselves that it was the worst rainstorm in sixty years.

It was ten o’clock at St. Botolph’s  Rectory. Reverend Peter Bredon and his wife, Harriet, were preparing for bed. Soon they were settled (or so they thought) for the night. In fact, Harriet, in her kerchief, and Peter, in his cap, had just pulled up the covers and Peter had blown out the candle, when a violent burst of wind blew hail stones against the window panes with such a clatter that Peter sat up in bed to see what was the matter.

Some of the window panes were old and needed repair, and one or two even allowed some rain to come in and soak the floor. Lighting the candle and surveying the floor, Peter said to Harriet, “This is too much. We’re having a vestry meeting tomorrow, and I’m going to have to ask for some money to have the windows reglazed!”

“Don’t worry, dear,” said Harriet. “I’m sure the vestry will see reason. Now come to bed, do, before you catch your death.”

At midnight the City of London was shaken by a long series of lightning flashes and some continuous salvos of thunder.  Fred and Ed were just about ready to get into bed when they heard screams of terror coming from some of the younger boys. Stopping only long enough to put their night shirts back on, they went into the room that Nicholas and Johnnie had been sharing.

The room had two beds, each with pillows and sheets and warm quilts. Usually Nicholas and Johnnie each slept in his own bed, but this evening they had invited the three new boys to sleep in their room. Nicholas and Johnnie shared one bed so that the three brothers could share the other bed.

Six-year-old Joe was crying and some of the other younger boys of the school had also come into the room, crying about the loud thunder and the brilliant flashes of lightning.

Fred and Ed gathered some of the younger boys into their arms to comfort them.

“Listen, Joe,” Fred said. “There’s nothing to be frightened of. Don’t you know the lightning is just fireworks set off by the angels to celebrate the reign of our Queen, God bless her!”

“And the thunder is the twenty-one gun salute the angels are firing,” added Ed.

“I heard that the thunder was caused by the angels playing at nine-pins,” added another boy.

“No! No!” added yet another boy. “I once saw the ‘hefalumps’ in the menagerie and I was told the thunder is caused by the ‘hefalumps’ dancing the polka!”

That made everyone laugh, and the tears disappeared. After making sure that the boys had used the pots one more time before going back to bed, Fred and Ed returned to their own room, took off their night shirts, and got into bed.

Fred looked at Ed and said, “Listen, you hefalump! You wanna dance the polka with me?  Hmm?”

There was no more verbal communication between the two men that night, but they communicated very well, indeed, thank you very much!

MORNING HAS BROKEN LIKE THE FIRST MORNING…

The Sun came up and shed its warmth on the whole world beneath it. The rain had gone away and the Sun’s rays soon dried the sidewalks and the roads, and the lawns and everything that had been soaking wet the might before.

At Windsor, Queen Victoria sat at breakfast with Aunt Adelaide. The young monarch found several interesting letters at her breakfast table.

“Listen, Aunt Adelaide,” Victoria said as she read one of the letters. “The workmen have finished decorating my private chambers and … oh, best of all, my mother writes that Sir John Conroy has been ordered to travel to the south coast of France for his health. He will be gone for six months at least.”

“That is good news, my dear.”

“And oh! OH! OH! Here is a letter from Albert … He wants to come for a visit in March … and he says...”

“Yes?”

“I can’t tell you what that naughty man said!”

“Well, Victoria, soon you will have to make up your mind whether you will propose to him or not.”

“Yes, Aunt, I know. It’s just that I am enjoying my independence so much … Still, I probably will marry some day, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather marry.  No! I will marry him! I will!”

In London, at the school, Fred and Ed had come down to the main hall to find the boys already there. Jane was serving the boys fried eggs, bacon, fried tomatoes, and fried potatoes.

“How did you all sleep last night after the storm?” Ed asked the three newcomers.

“Very well, Sir. Thank you,” said John. Bill and Joe just smiled because their mouths were full with Jane Barton’s delicious breakfast.

Williams went to answer the door. He ushered Constable Foster and a woman into the room. Fred and Ed stood up.

“Good morning, Constable,” said Fred. “I see you survived the storm.”

“That I did, Sir, thank you … I’d like you to meet my wife, Sally. Sally, this is Mr. Fred and Mr. Ed who run this school.”

Sally Foster gave a curtsey to each of the men, and smiled shyly at them.

“You see, Sir,” continued Foster, “When I got home last night I told Sally about these boys, and something seemed to change. She has been so sad and downcast since our own… well, you know. Anyhow, she says to me, ‘Foster, I want to see these boys, and maybe we could take them into our own home’.”

“We’d like them to come here to the school for their lessons, though,” said Sally.

“We can’t pay much for their education…” Foster began.

“Now you know there’s no need for any talk of payment,” said Fred.

“Yes, Sir,” said Sally, “but I thought I could come with them and maybe give Miss Barton a hand with the cooking and baking and laundry.”

Jane Barton spoke up, “I could use some help, and that’s for certain.”

Fred asked John, Bill, and Joe if they might like to live with Constable and Mrs. Foster but they would still come to the school every day and see their new friends.

John said, “I think it would be all right.” He looked at Bill and Joe who nodded their agreement, and so it was arranged.

Later that day, Fred attended the Vestry Meeting at St. Botolph’s. Adrian Buchanan, the doctor, was also on the Vestry with seven other men.

When Reverend Bredon had explained the need for money to repair the glazing for so many of the windows, one of the other Vestry members, Sir Frederick Cholmondley-Ponsonby said, “ Hrmph! Well, Vicar, that’s all well and good, but I don’t see how we can afford that just now.”

Fred said, “Vicar, I will contribute £25 if any of the other gentlemen would care to make a similar contribution…”

“I can contribute £15,” Adrian said.

Gradually each of the other vestry members made their donations and by the end of the discussion £125 had been raised, and Reverend Bredon thanked them all. The meeting closed with prayer, and Adrian and Fred walked back to their respective office and school together, chatting amicably.

To be continued...

Another chapter will be forthcoming…eventually!

Notes:

*Adelaide of Saxe Meiningen, b. 1792, d 1849, m. William IV (third son of George III) while he was still Duke of Clarence.

Sir John Conroy was major-domo to Victoire, Duchess of Kent, Queen Victoria’s mother. He had the Duchess under his thumb and he tried to bully the Queen—unsuccessfully.

I thank my reader’s for their patience and loyalty.

As always my thanks to my reader, mentor, and friend, “Critter.”

Posted: 07/15/11