Podric Moon and the Corsican Tyrant

by Barney Broom

  “Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when Fortune makes Nature’s natural the cutter-off of Nature’s wit.”

  The girl responded, “‘Peradventure this is not Fortune’s work neither, but Nature’s who perceiveth our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses and hath sent this natural for our whetstone.”

  “No, Miss Halliday, no – not like that at all. Celia is more melodramatic. She is the opposite of Rosalind’s cool disposition.”

  A man whose voice Podric recognised as being one of those he’d heard talking in the anteroom bound onto the stage.

  “‘Peradventure this is not Fortune’s work neither but Nature’s, who perceiveth our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses and hath sent this natural for our whetstone’” and so forth – but with a lighter touch, my dear. Not so strained, hmm? We break, returning to rehearse the Duke’s closing scene.”

  Miss Halliday burst into tears. The older actress put an arm around the girl’s shoulders.

  “You mustn’t take it to heart, Catherine. Mr. Kemble is only looking to improve us all.”

  “He never criticises you like that.”

  Catherine sobbed into the woman’s breast.

  “You have talent. You just need to let it come to you a little – not try so hard.”

  “Oh yes, you have talent ma’am – wonderful talent!”

  Podric had spoken before he realised it.

  “Who’s there?”

  The woman brought out some spectacles. Podric emerged from the shadows.

  “A sailor, no less. You think Miss Halliday has talent, do you, young man?”

  “I do indeed, ma’am. I think she is the most beautiful sight I have ever seen.”

  “Pretty she may be, but talent is something quite different.”

  Podric said nothing.

  “What’s that beside you?”

  Podric turned. Dog wagged his giant tail. Catherine laughed.

  “Do you always take your dog with you to the theatre?”

  “I… wasn’t going to the theatre when I started. I just sort of came here.”

  The actress smiled into a fan she was using.

  “On leave, no doubt. Father a parson, I’ll wager. No money and up from the country.”

  “Where do you come from, Mr…?”

  “Moon. My name is Podric Moon.”

  “An unusual name. You’re not from London then. A star perhaps.”

  Podric smiled.

  “No, I’m not extra-terrestrial.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “Extra-terrestrial – you know, from another planet.”

  “My, my… a scientist, no less.”

  “Dora, Dora, can I interrupt you? We need to discuss Scene Two – Orlando’s ‘then there is no true lover in the forest’.”

  John Kemble was at his most earnest. Dora Jordan smiled down at him. No wonder she could melt hearts; her smile was one of sweet directness.

  “Mr. Kemble, I shall give you my full attention.”

  Mrs. Jordan leaned across to Catherine and spoke quietly. “Have him attend us later. I’m sure you can keep him amused.”

  With that, she departed.

  Catherine stepped out from the edge of the stage and approached Podric.

  “He is a beautiful dog. What’s his name?”

  “Er… Dog.”

  “That’s not a proper name for him, Po— What did you say your name was?”

  “Podric.”

  “That’s funny too. Mrs. Jordan’s got a friend – Padraig – which is a bit like it. He’s from Ireland, I think. Come, let us take tea. You drink tea, don’t you?”

  Staring at Catherine who was moving back stage, Podric appeared mute.

  “Come.”

  Like someone in a dream, he followed the beautiful apparition.

  4

  10 Downing Street

  Archie Light had been busy since he and Podric parted. True, much of his afternoon involved purchasing alcohol – the finest port Berry Bros & Rudd could supply. This was made especially challenging as the only form of payment Archie possessed was Saul Prendergast’s American coinage – but then this was the sort of challenge he thrived on.

  Whilst unable to negotiate a case of twelve he’d been hoping for, Archie managed to procure half a dozen bottles of their superior vintage using a mixture of new world currency and the promise of the balance signed to the account of ‘Lieutenant Archibald Aloysius Light, His Majesty’s Navy’. The address he gave was White’s Club of St. James’s, where he requested the wine be delivered. “Well, I will be a member there one day,” he muttered as he walked back towards Downing Street, for once on time. “It can be a long-term investment for them provided Billy Pitt doesn’t drink them all!’

  Archie was still chuckling when a few minutes before the appointed hour, he rapped on the door of Number 10. Podric’s acquaintance, Claude Linklater, appeared, apparently no happier to see Archie now than he had been earlier.

  “Got me into a lot of trouble, I can tell you,” the doorman moaned as he led Lieutenant Light across the lobby and along a hall.

  “Sorry about that Linklater.”

  “And that’s another thing. How’d your young midshipman know my name? Hey? You tell me that.”

  “Not now, Claude. Wouldn’t want to spoil your siesta.”

  “Siesta? Bah! Extra duties more like.”

  “Bogs and drains?”

  Archie entered the Prime Minister’s antechamber. It was a beautiful room and as there was no one else waiting, he took the opportunity to look around. Pictures included two Reynolds and a Gainsborough. The fireplace was Adams; on the marble mantelpiece stood a magnificent ornamental advancing refractor clock by Bernini.

  Time ticked by. Tired, Archie sat down on a chaise longue and closed his eyes. Within seconds he was dreaming – seeing himself dancing with Kaliska Monroe at a ball presided over by Napoleon. Kaliska was beautiful but Boney, he’d got to stop him. Wasn’t that what he was doing here – trying to prevent Bonaparte from ever becoming the tyrannical conqueror of Europe? Archie was shaken awake. It was dark, and bending over him was the Prime Minister!

  “Lieutenant. Lieutenant Light.”

  Archie sat up.

  “Oh… Oh!!!”

  “I’m sorry I kept you waiting so long. Urgent business. Would you be able to have dinner with me, sir?”

  “Er… yes…”

  “My club is White’s. I trust that’s satisfactory.”

  “Perfectly.”

  ***

  If Archie could see me now. Podric lay back in the box bed wondering quite what world he was in. Holding Catherine tenderly in his arms, stroking her long blonde hair, he decided whatever or wherever it was, it was paradise.

  When she’d led him backstage he couldn’t have known anything of the world he was about to enter; it defied all expectations. Almost as fanciful as the one he had created, the exotic combination of grease paint and the acting world was intoxicating. Podric had never encountered such an environment before and it fascinated him.

  Not as much as Catherine did though.

  Taking him to a private apartment and later into the funny little curtained bed they now lay in, the casualness with which she undressed amazed him.

  “Wha… are you tired?”

  His innocence made her laugh – a lovely rippling sound. He fancied her in class, but in school life she seemed unobtainable.

  “Have you…? Is it your first time?”

  Podric knew what she meant but didn’t want to admit that it was. Catherine looked at him, her grey eyes studying him reflectively.

  “You needn’t be shy, Podric Moon.”

  She smiled.

  “I shall call you ‘Man in the Moon’ – my ‘Man i
n the Moon’.”

  “I love you, Catherine Halliday.”

  ***

  William Pitt studied the bottle the waiter proffered him.

  “Douro ’82. I know the grower. You have good taste, Lieutenant. And a half case. You obviously have private means, sir; that’s a fair portion of a naval officer’s yearly pay.”

  Pitt nodded to the waiter who began opening the bottle at a small serving table.

  “I presume your arriving at my office was not some coincidence, nor was it to simply provide me with fine port.”

  Archie looked at Pitt; a brilliant man, the young Prime Minister worked too hard and if the historians were correct, Archie was about to find out how much he drank.

  “I hardly know how I may speak.”

  The waiter returned with the opened bottle. Archie addressed the man.

  “Do you have a large – er… glass receptacle?”

  The waiter was momentarily hesitant.

  “I think we may have something, sir…”

  “Be kind enough to bring it to the table, if you please.”

  Archie was quickly catching on to eighteenth-century manners.

  “Shall I pour for you, sir?”

  “No. If you’d just leave it here and bring what I ask.”

  The waiter departed. Archie faced Pitt who had been idly watching proceedings.

  “Have you ever heard of a man called Napoleon Bonaparte?”

  “I don’t think I recollect the name.”

  “A major in the French artillery, he’s about to save Toulon for the republic, defeating our blockading efforts, and in half a dozen years, will proclaim himself Emperor of France.”

  Pitt allowed himself a small smile.

  “If said to the wrong ear, your first comment could be interpreted as treasonous.”

  “In leading the French, this man will attempt to attack Egypt, be defeated by Nelson at the Nile and Nelson will ultimately die in a battle fought some twelve years from now off Cape Trafalgar.”

  “Captain Nelson?”

  “The same. He’ll be made Admiral in ’97.”

  Pitt laughed.

  “What you say is, of course, fantastic. This Napoleon… what will become of him?”

  “After having been master of Europe for several years, he will ultimately be defeated by the Duke of Wellington – Arthur Wellesley – at a place called Waterloo. He will then be incarcerated on the island of Saint Helena and die there in 1821.”

  At this point the waiter returned, carrying a large glass bottle. Not a proper decanter shape, it was about the size of a jeroboam.

  “You say Mornington’s younger brother will defeat this man Napoleon?”

  “I do sir. All that I say will occur unless we can do something about it.”

  Archie picked up the bottle of port and with a look of careful concentration, began gently pouring it into the larger carafe.

  “One day all that I’ve said will come true unless you and I can change it. And one day, what I’m doing now will be done each time one drinks fine port wine.”

  Archie gently relaxed the angle of the bottle and when completing his task, put down the decanted liquor. Holding up what was left of the port, an inch of sediment remained. Pitt was appreciative and quietly clapped. Several other guests who had watched the performance did likewise.

  “Very well done, sir. The process is called decanting, I believe.”

  “Indeed.”

  “You find it improves the taste?”

  “Certainly.”

  Pitt sipped a glass and nodded appreciatively.

  “So, what do we do with these assertions of yours, Lieutenant Light?”

  “I’m afraid they’re not assertions, Prime Minister. Unless we do some ‘decanting’, they will become facts.”

  “And how do you propose to avoid that?”

  “Ensure that you never hear of Napoleon.”

  Pitt looked quizzical. Archie continued.

  “Because if you don’t ever hear of him, it will mean that he has lost at Toulon and that the subsequent European war will have been concluded before it ever really gets started.”

  “That would be desirable,” Pitt spoke flatly.

  “The prevention of such death and carnage, this country’s near bankruptcy and your premature death due to overwork – yes, it is desirable.”

  “You have the date of my death?”

  “Yes. Eighteen hu—”

  Pitt held up his hand.

  “This is knowledge that I do not seek or want.”

  The Prime Minister sipped his port.

  “Returning to your ‘information’. Acting on it, we strengthen Lord Hood’s squadron.”

  “Exactly.”

  Archie was amazed how casual Pitt was in his apparent acceptance of Archie’s claims.

  “How is it you have come before me now?”

  Pitt eyed Archie evenly.

  “That, Prime Minister, is a fantastic story.”

  “Why do I believe you, Lieutenant Light?”

  Was Pitt lightly mocking him?

  “I don’t know sir, but if at the end of it, you consider me no more than a scoundrel, then all you will have lost is a little time and gained five bottles of vintage Douro.”

  “Perhaps only four before we’re done?”

  Pitt laughed and enjoyed some more of his drink.

  “Pray continue.”

  “Well…”

  Archie began the tale of his life – whatever world it related to.

  5

  Love And Longing

  Emerging from the depths of slumber, Podric awoke to Dog licking his face.

  “Oh. Off! Off, Dog!!”

  The room in semi-darkness, a single candle provided the only light. Women’s voices were speaking in low tones – soft but urgent. Podric peered through the bed’s curtains to see Catherine clad only in a chemise, talking to the actress he had seen earlier on stage. Mrs. Jordan was dressed in an evening gown which showed off her décolletage to great effect.

  “You must hurry. We have to leave shortly.”

  “What about…?”

  Catherine sounded far away and almost childlike.

  “Oh – you wish to bring him?”

  She nodded towards the box bed from which Dog’s tail protruded.

  “You suggested he attend us.”

  Dora Jordan smiled.

  “I did.”

  She took Catherine’s face in her hands.

  “It’s all right, my sweet, don’t look so disturbed. His uniform is passable. Besides, he’s probably never attended a levee. The experience will do him good. But hurry now. Come along. Vite, vite, children!”

  With that, Dora Jordan left the room. Catherine turned to face Podric, who had drawn back the curtains.

  “I want to stay like this forever.”

  “Yes, but not now.”

  Podric stood up and put his arms round Catherine.

  “Podric – we must dress!”

  “What’s the hurry?”

  “A levee with the Duke of Clarence is the hurry. He’s one of the king’s sons and we must be on time.”

  Pushing him away, she opened a cupboard. Inside were various clothes – lace bodices, ball gowns in silks, velvets and heavy muslin. Taking out several dresses, Catherine selected one – dark red and ruched in style. Even held to her, she looked fabulous.

  “Come on Podric – get your clothes!”

  “You’re so beautiful.”

  “And we’ll be so late if you don’t get a move on!”

  ***

  At White’s Club, the Prime Minister sat listening to his unusual guest.

  “A most interesting story. Perambulating cars, people travelling into the const
ellations – by Jove, I shall never look at the stars in quite the same way again! Did you tell Captain Nelson all this?”

  Pitt nearly said drivel but managed to restrain himself.

  “No, sir. No, it was never necessary.”

  “Good. One doesn’t want to disturb people’s balance if possible. Nelson’s highly strung and I wouldn’t wish the navy feeling any more troubled than it is already.”

  Pitt drank some more port. Archie was beginning to look the worse for wear.

  “Your young colleague, is he from the future as well?”

  “Podric? Yeesh.”

  Archie’s words were a little slurred.

  “Podric invented it really, the little…”

  “You don’t like him?”

  “I told you sir, I invent these, these games.”

  “Jealous then? He’s a young rival. You’re jealous of the boy?”

  Archie didn’t reply. Pitt looked at him steadily.

  “Where is he now, this Midshipman Podric?”

  “They don’t teach history very well in the future, least not at his school. Not knowing London in the twenty-first century, I advised him to study it in the eighteenth and suggested he went to the theatre.”

  “Ha! I trust the experience will enlighten him.”

  Pitt leaned forward.

  “Do you have any proof of all this? Anything you could show me that would help reinforce my belief in your… fantastic statements.”

  Archie pulled his earlobe. He was severely tempted to produce the little aural device, but something in the back of his mind told him not to. He decided on another tactic.

  “No. No, Mister Pitts, sir. You can believe meesh or you can disbelieve meesh. It’s up to yoush.” With that, Archie’s head dropped onto the table and he started to snore.

  William Pitt finished his glass of port and stood up. One of the colleagues who had admired Archie’s decanting operation – Thomas Townsend, Lord Sydney, approached. A member of Pitt’s cabinet, the Prime Minister turned to him briefly.

  “Whether he’s from this time or any other, Thomas, the fellow can’t drink.”

  “Nice job of decanting though.”

  “Yes. Let’s see to it the club continues the practice and… make a note to have Hood reinforced at Toulon.”