***
The biscuits were of lesser quality than those found in a ship’s Galley. This was a time when William missed his former cook from HMS Hecla. He supposed it couldn’t be helped as it was the best Crozier could come up with for the gentlemen’s supper. Nearly fifteen-stone Franklin hardly complained tucking in happily to whatever Ross had scrounged from a damp root cellar beneath the hotel and the bin of flour had come from a neighboring residence.
Parry flicked a newborn weevil from his plate onto the table, the longish black bane of galleys the world over, wiggled onto its side and waddled away from the pool of candle stubs providing wan light. They were seated in what had once been a formal sup chamber, probably before England’s current troubles. The table was of fine quality, the chairs were formerly silk-padded, but threadbare in the extreme and a distasteful bloodspot darkened the wood near the interior doorway.
Distantly, one could hear the somber howls of the undead pooch out in the street. “Nothing like warm biscuits, unearthly music and good company after a long day’s travails, eh, William?” Franklin declared, beaming. The other raised a brow at his cheer, wondering if his friend had lost his marbles, though to be honest, William doubted there was that many to lose.
“I prefer a lack of death howling beyond the gate.” Replied he, faint derision in his mild tone. Franklin began to speak more, thinking of an incident involving the delightful Jane Griffin. He and Eleanor often had their little spats over religion of all things, her continued writing was also a sore spot in his side. In Jane’s company, he felt a man of some measure in her amazing blue eyes, lofty, worthy of respect and less known as the man who ate his shoes. Franklin much preferred being known as the man who wouldn’t harm a fly - that too was a matter of tension between husband and wife for he couldn’t bring himself to dispatch unmentionables as every other Naval Captain in their acquaintance did. It simply went against his nature to do so!
“I don’t question your gentleness of heart, John, but there is something in the hallway beyond our door.” William said, readying a silver cutlery knife. Franklin’s chubby face lost the animation of moments before, anxiously twisting his table napkin, he took one last bite of the root vegetables mixed with a little flour, sadly wondering when he might next receive a meal.
Before William could rise, the door swung open on creaking hinges, shadow filled the gap between the dim hall and the flickering light of their candlelit supper. He fancied he could hear a light step and the rustle of a gown, the suspense was drawn out as the panel opened fully and a dark-haired woman clad in light blue appeared on the threshold.
“See, I told you this was the room.” Eleanor Franklin declared, glancing over her shoulder to another, taller woman wearing a leather breastplate over her dress.
“Egad, woman! You will be the death of me yet!” Franklin declared, sputtering on a piece of tough, rubbery carrot. William glanced askance over the women, hardly taken by surprise. “How pleasant we meet again, Mrs. Franklin... Miss Griffin.” Though it took him longer than a moment to recollect the latter’s name, he noticed for the first time, the color of Jane’s eyes. Pleased with the reception, Mrs. Franklin smiled pleasantly at him and went to her husband who eyed her dubiously. Miss Griffin was much slower, languidly strolling up the table to take a seat beside William.
He was glad then, he’d disposed of the weevil beforehand, gallantly offering her his plate as well as summoning Mister Crozier and Mister Ross to retrieve the ladies a small refreshment. Delicately, Mrs. Franklin had begun picking off her husband’s plate before he had even finished, John wasn’t entirely pleased, though asked of their unmediated flight into London.
Jane took up the narrative, explaining her social call turned into a flight for survival, in passing mentioning the loss of her father and little Miss Cracroft and in particular stressing the travails they’d suffered to Captain Parry. Franklin was duly upset with the loss of his young niece, but was consoled that his frail wife had survived the arduous, danger-filled journey to London.
“You poor dears.” Was Parry’s only comment, though it was spoken with more warmth than his acknowledgement of her. Eleanor, not adverse to the traditions of married ladies, contemplated the shy looks Jane feigned to the unmarried half of the table, wishing their world hadn’t changed for the worst, otherwise she’d suggest a picnic in the park tomorrow with emphasis on Jane and Mister Parry having alone time.
Contrary to previous society mandate, the men forwent a smoke in the shabby library after supper, retiring upstairs to a sitting room made comfortable by Ross earlier on in the evening, Eleanor and Jane in company. The younger men had yet to join them as rooms had to be kitted out for the ladies usage. Jane cast an admiring glance at Ross’s hawkish profile during his brief time in the room, though not of classical look, the young Scot had his appeal in an aggressive masculine way. Pity he was merely a Lieutenant.
Soon after the boys departure, Jane began listening in earnest to Parry’s opinions on the beginnings of the foul plague. She too had her own beliefs, not the least blaming the indigent population for spreading disease and filth, but not as he thought, a curse from God. There, they differed. Jane had just settled herself comfortably, modest in hiding her long pantaloons dusty from the ride under an ankle-length dark blue skirt; conversing on the plague when a man’s strident tones could be heard coming from the open door, far down the hallway.
Parry jumped to his feet, paling. “Good God, that sounds like-”
Before he could unnecessarily illuminate the man’s identity; John Barrow strode in, quite harried from his manner of dress and almost yanking the ear of James Ross with him. Sheepish to the last, Ross and Crozier fully admitted to almost murdering the Admiralty secretary in his hotel room. They’d come upon him sleeping and thought to liberate the room for Miss Griffin’s use, but a furious Mister Barrow had awakened after Crozier tripped in the dark over his own feet, thereby giving away the element of surprise.
“We’re sorry, sir.” Chimed the young men in unison. Parry shook his head at their contriteness while Franklin asked the more pressing question of Mister Barrow’s being there in the hotel. With the dying down of the commotion, Jane and Eleanor removed themselves to a settee near the large windows overlooking the house next door, choosing to converse on more pleasant topics rather than unmentionable escapades. Two hurricane lamps in the corners, suffused a mild glow over the group of men as Barrow recounted his tale of leaving Whitehall and finding his own house untenable, walking on foot through back alleys to the hotel. It had already been long deserted by the time he had entered through the back door and seeing as it had the advantages of a quiet street and little to bother in the way of noise, Barrow had settled in for the night.
“I’ll own a surprise wholeheartedly with the arrival of Franklin’s wife and her companion, Miss Griffin.” Parry admitted, “the country yes, it is well-known has been overrun with the plague, I believed that London’s curse had been lesser in the extreme. Only to find,” he gestured in tepid despondency, “that my opinion had no basis in fact. The crown jewel of the empire has died and with it, perhaps every chance we have at stemming the tide of the undead.”
Barrow somberly agreed, the day’s events had worn down his optimism about England’s prowess for recovery. That the dreadful plague could infect even the inner chambers of the Admiralty was beyond unspeakable. Next thing to be not done, was the news of the King’s turning into an emissary of Satan!
No less depressed by William’s talk, Franklin thought to leave the parlor sofa for the charming company of his wife and Miss Griffin, but as he contemplated such a move, a distinct, unnerving noise came from apposite the window where the ladies were seated. Franklin’s sparse hair stood on end, his eyes widened to the size of supper plates and as he grasped William’s sleeve for protection; Jane and Eleanor sprang from the settee, identifying the noises as something or someone attempting to gain entry into the room from two-stories up.
Placing d
istance between them and the hasp of glass and a metal fastener, Jane guided Eleanor to the sofa the men had vacated. William Parry was first to draw his gentleman’s dueling pistol while Mister Barrow had a smaller revolver at the ready. Franklin held nothing, cowering behind Ross and Crozier, who were better prepared.
Moments passed, then an ‘aha!’ and the curtains were crudely pushed aside to admit the upper half of a man’s torso. “Uncle John!” James Ross exclaimed as the older Ross clambered in the window from the building next over. Recognizing the familiar redhead, Parry and the boys lowered their weapons wisely. Franklin merely wanted to faint from stress. Barrow was much slower, his distaste at the current proceedings growing.
“Halloo, James! I wasn’t sure this was the right room, Mister Scoresby went ahead to clear the below decks, hahaha, that’s a joke, boy. I joined forces with him after I dropped you boys off near Deptford.” John Ross seemed for the first time to take stock of the room, smirking when he spotted John Barrow’s glower from across the room. “By the way, where is Crozier?”
“Um, right here, sir.” The young Irishman said helpfully by the drapes.
“Oh! Oh, yes, didn’t see you there.”
Eleanor looked about quite confused, “there was someone else with Mister Ross?” No one answered her for bootsteps were heard beyond the safety of their door. The gentlemen tensed, Jane Griffin placed an arm around her friend, preparing for flight while the men were eaten. The only one who didn’t look surprised at the door being kicked open was the elder Ross, rather he beamed over the proceedings with all the benevolence of a grandfather.
William Scoresby stood on the threshold, his high boots splotched with mud and other unmentionable things. At his hip a scabbard was attached and a bloodied saber was held upright in his hand. “Good evening, gentlemen, Ladies.” He announced to the room in general, striding in.
The ladies looked faint upon Scoresby’s unexpected arrival. Franklin took it at first to be their delicate sensibilities upset with the sight of the shrunken head swinging from his belt or possibly the tightness of his breeches in all the right -ahem- wrong places. Franklin noted Eleanor’s cheeks turn a delicate pink as she surveyed Scoresby’s manly gifts, and grew annoyed. Definitely it was the latter. Jane Griffin reluctantly removed her eyes from that part of Scoresby’s person, unable to resist a demure eyelash flutter when she inquired of him. “Your prowess is considerable, Mister Scoresby! Did you singlehandedly dealt Satan’s legions a grievous blow?
“Unfortunately, ma’am.” He gallantly replied, “they are crawling up the stairs after me. I was only able to stymie their advance.” So, relaying this bit of alarming news, he strode to the only other way in or out of the room other than the door. “To the windows!”
This instigated a somewhat mad dash to the transom. Only Eleanor dithered on the question of her and Jane’s luggage, Franklin agreed with his wife’s good sense and declared he wouldn’t leave his handsome new Portmanteau behind either; he was appreciative once again of the woman he had married. Parry immediately seeing the haste in the situation, ordered Francis Crozier to take ‘his’ portmanteau. The Irishman then made the mistake of offering to aid the Franklins and soon Miss Griffin was piling her sizeable allotment on top of Mister Crozier’s outstretched arms until the lad was completely hidden from view.
Mister Barrow had better sense than the rest and carried his single bag out himself. In some hassled fashion, the Franklins and Miss Griffin hopped over through the window next over leaving Crozier to struggle in their wake. Scoresby, John and James Ross had gone ahead to clear the way while Barrow and Parry took up the rear, anxiously hurrying his friends along. His nostrils burned with the stench of the rotting hoards thumping their way up the second floor.
Finally all together again, they moved as one knowing the clamor arisen from the thwarted unmentionables would draw even more undead to their location like hounds to a fox. The only unnerving incidents were a downed man in a butler’s uniform lying sprawled on the stairs. Choosing to come back to undead life the moment Franklin was edging by. Fearful for her husband, Eleanor uttered a tiny gasp and snatched up a nearby ornamental balustrade broken off from the railing and plunged it through the softening cranium of the zombie as Franklin began to faint.
“Thank you, my dear.” He replied, recovering. There’d been too many close brushes with undeath to his tastes today, even more so than during the Battle of Trafalgar! Jane offered up a vial of smelling salts from her reticule, interrupting the warm moment between husband and wife with alacrity. Barrow thought it a waste that Franklin had been targeted, glancing back to see what the holdup was; Parry only encouraged them to move faster. Down below in the momentary safety of the courtyard, Scoresby bid adieu. He offered a fond farewell to his fellow ‘adventurers’ to Barrow’s displeasure, adding he would soon see them come morn at Deptford. With his leave-taking, carving a path through the noisy unmentionable hoards clamoring for brains, Jane sighed, thinking to herself now that was a man.
As the men took stock of themselves and began to plot their next move; Barrow noticed Ross the elder joining in on deliberations and took definite offense. “What’re you still doing here?! This is for men of honor and quality!” He demanded, outraged at the injustice of the unmentionables failing to carry away the elder Ross in their deathly grips or at the very least for Ross to have left with Scoresby, a more distasteful pair couldn’t be found this side of Mayfair. Both charlatans they were.
“I have quality! I’m a Captain of your navy! It was an honest mistake with Lancaster Sound! Anybody could’ve done it including my nephew!” Fiery old John Ross spat back, getting in Barrow’s face. This was the kind of thing he thrived on, open conflict with public enemy number one.
The younger Ross tried to distance himself from the other, grimacing. “Please, uncle. Leave me out of this.”
“Only an idjit would make, you mean!” Not one to back down from a verbal challenge, Barrow missed the good old days when war would be waged through cheap circulars.
“Will both you doddering old fools be quiet!?” Parry roared in exasperation, eliminating wholly by himself the need for silence as Jane pointed out with a shake of her head. Franklin patted Eleanor’s back, knowing how raised voices always tired her.
When Ross and Barrow turned sharply to glower at the younger man; Parry growled, “I hear something coming from inside the house!”
“Well, of course you do. Every zombie of Mr. Scoresby’s has heard you, gadzooks, you raised the dead literally, Captain Parry!” Jane remarked, holding her Derringer pistol close.
“I beg to differ on that part, ma’am. Mister Ross and Mister Barrow are at fault.”
“Ladies court, William.” Franklin tutted, briefly flashing a charming smile in Jane’s direction. Eleanor noted this crossly and promptly ground her tiny heel on Franklin’s toes. “Ouch! Don’t be jealous-ahem-I mean, the Lady has a valid point.”
Nobody heard Master Crozier’s voice from beneath the pile of Portmanteaus he carried, “which way is the exit? James? Captain? Anybody?”
Zombies! The Fall of London Page 11
