Subject: D&D Cartoon On-Line Fan Club newsletter #7, Part 6
Date: Sun, 2 Aug 1998 11:05:02 EDT


"The Dollmaker" continued...

London; June 2, 1825

          Park Lane is reserved for only the richest of the rich. It was an
unspoken rule that if one wanted to reside here, one's family ought to have a
prestigious title and a sizable fortune to go with it. Baronets and Knights,
no matter how wealthy or famous, were expected to make their homes in a
different area of the fashionable West End.
     It was no surprise then, during the height of the Season, that only
people on Park Lane who were actually up and about at dawn were the servants.
All the lords and ladies were still abed, recovering from the nightly round of
parties and balls.
     This morning there was the exception of Kelthorne Hall on Park Lane. The
Duke of
MacArran, who possessed several large portions of England and Scotland to go
with his title, had arrived at his London residence the previous evening.
Although His Grace spent most of his time on one of his Scottish estates, he
did spend three weeks in London during the height of the Season. The only
reason he concerned himself with the Season at all was to maintain the
tradition of the masquerade that his family gave on Midsummer's Day. One of
the highlights of the Season, people simply called it "The MacArran Masque"
and everyone tried to assure themselves an invitation. The Duke always arrived
two weeks before the masqued ball to see to the final
arrangements himself.
     The previous evening had been spent with his London steward looking over
the guest list.  Although it was customary to send out invitations at least
four weeks before a ball, no one thought it strange that the Duke of MacArran
would wait until a mere ten days before. Most women had costume gowns
especially made for the MacArran Masque months beforehand in the hope of
receiving an invitation and no one in the ton would ever dream of making other
plans for June 24. Today the Duke was up early and inspecting Kelthorne Hall
from top to bottom with the butler and housekeeper following behind him like
ducklings and taking note of every minor detail
His Grace might mention. The rest of the day would be spent at his club or
paying calls on some of his old friends.
     The main reason the Duke was in London, however, was to assure himself
that his
grandson was living up to the Montgomery name. So, after changing into riding
apparel, he ordered on of the footmen upstairs to fetch the Marquis of
Blackmoor so he could join the Duke for a morning's ride in Hyde Park. Several
minutes later a somewhat rattled footman returned to inform His Grace that his
Lordship had declined and planned on remaining in bed for most of the morning.
     Fuming, the Duke left strict orders that his grandson attend luncheon
with him and be prepared to join him in making calls afterward. Then, slapping
his riding crop against his well-polished Hessians, he left Kelthorne,
grumbling that if his mount wasn't ready and waiting someone would have hell
to pay for it.
     The servants all held their breath until they saw the Duke's prize
stallion was indeed waiting in front of Kelthorne. The household released a
collective sigh of relief and went back to work.

     When Henry Grayson awoke in a large bed decorated with blue velvet
hangings, it took him several minutes to recall where he was. Eventually it
came to him that he was in the home of the Earl and Countess of Ravenwood, the
distant cousins with whom he would be living from now on. It seemed like only
minutes ago he had been in the loft of his uncle's house and at any moment,
his aunt would be calling: "Hank, honey! Come on down and have your breakfast
before it gets cold!"  Now he was in a room four times larger than any he had
ever had in New Hampshire in a house ten times grander than any he'd ever
_seen_ in New Hampshire.
     The last few months were little more than a blur to him. He had just
begun to regain his equilibrium again after the fire that killed his parents
and destroyed his home when a letter arrived from England that turned his
world upside-down again. Then the changes started happening so rapidly that
only now could Hank actually remember them in any semblance of order. Two
letters--both from Earls who insisted that Hank travel to England; his aunt
and uncle being upset by the situation, but reluctant to refuse; and their
final decision that Hank would be better off with
these distant cousins all took place weeks apart but seemed to take mere
seconds to Hank. Time didn't slow down while his uncle settled what little was
left of his parents' estate in order to raise money for the trip or while his
aunt made him new clothes and packed his few remaining possessions for the
journey. The train ride to New York just flew by and a tearful parting at the
dock seemed dreamlike. The trip across the Atlantic was an eternity of
homesickness and seasickness that didn't really evaporate on the London docks.
     Before he had much time to adjust to the noisy city, a man appeared,
introducing himself as the Earl of Ravenwood and Hank's cousin. Hank was
bundled into a carriage and out of the early morning mist before he'd managed
to return to greeting. On the ride through London, his cousin kept a steady
stream of conversation, but Hank rarely replied. Feverish, exhausted and
thoroughly bewildered, Hank neither understood nor cared about half the things
Ravenwood mentioned. He was ushered into a large, elegant house and introduced
to the Countess of Ravenwood who seemed to be chattering about any number of
diverse subjects and asking enumerable questions--none of which Hank had the
wherewithal to answer.
     Finally, Lord Ravenwood took pity on him and had a footman show Hank to
his bed chamber. Hank didn't remember much about that either, he just knew the
bed looked soft and comfortable and he wanted nothing more than to curl up
under the covers. Barely acknowledging the footman, he did just that and fell
into a deep sleep almost immediately.
     While he sorted through these memories, Hank decided to get a better look
at the city that was to be his new home. Throwing back the heavy bed coverings
he got out of bed and padded to the window on bare feet. His eyes widened at
the sight that greeted him. There was nothing but buildings as far as he could
see. The number of carts, wagons and carriages that rolled past on the street
below astonished him.
     When Hank realized that the sky way that of a morning and that he must
have "slept the clock around," as his mother used to say. It also occurred to
him that he had not been displayed his best manners when meeting his cousins
and he decided to rectify _that_ situation as quickly as possible.
     "That's better that staying up here and getting homesick," he murmured,
stepping towards the nearest bureau to look for his clothes.

    "Set them down, Brooke, that will be all."
     "Very good, Lady Wylde," Brooke bowed slightly and left the breakfast
room.
     Annabelle Phillips, the Countess of Wylde rifled through the dozens of
envelopes, "Most of these are for you, my dear. You have made quite a
sensation."
     Diana Silverbridge returned her smile with an amused look. "A sensation?
Or I am I merely a novelty?"
     "A sensation, my dear Diana, I assure you! Your father was an earl, after
all."
     "Ah, but if Papa had only been a baron, I _would_ be a mere novelty,"
Diana's dark eyes sparkled with laughter. "Is that the way of it?"
     "If you were the daughter of a baron, London would not take note of you,"
Lady Wylde laughed.
     Diana sipped her chocolate and decided that Society's views were of
little interest to her.  "What are your plans for today, Lady Wylde?"
     "They are your plans, too, child. I thought we would take ourselves to
Bond Street for our dresses for the MacArran Masque."
     Diana's eyebrows rose. Although she had only been in England a short
time, she already knew how important the MacArran Masque was. "Have you
received an invitation?"
     "Not yet, but I will. And so will you."
     "Are you certain? Was Papa a close friend of the Duke?"
     "No, dear. However, _I_ am. His Grace and I have been well-acquainted for
over twenty years."
     Diana restrained herself with difficulty from asking any questions.
Annabelle Phillips had been considered an "Original" since she had first come
out into Society some 22 years ago.  However, she had landed herself an earl,
and therefore she was assured admittance to the best the ton had to offer, no
matter how outrageous her actions might be.
      'I suppose that's why no one would think it strange that she should take
me in,' Diana thought to herself. Her father, the Earl of Warwick, had met her
mother while travelling to Sierra Leone. Diana's mother, Ruby Tatreux, was the
daughter of freed slaves--her parents had helped established the community of
Freetown. The young couple had fallen in love and despite all protests were
married in both Catholic and Protestant ceremonies. One year later, Diana was
born and the family remained in Africa, living very happily for the next 10
years. Ruby Silverbridge, the Countess of Warwick, died when Diana was only 11
and the Earl, unable to
remain in the place that so reminded him of his wife, travelled to India with
his beloved daughter and remained there, living in the same luxury as they had
in Sierra Leone.
     The Earl fell ill when Diana was 14, but before he died, he wrote to an
old friend in
England, asking the his daughter and her inheritance be properly looked after.
His title and English land-holdings would be going to a cousin--one that
Warwick didn't trust.
The Earl of Wylde had been killed in a riding accident nearly a year before,
but
fortunately, the letter fell into the capable hands of the newly-widowed
Countess of Wylde.  Although she had never met Warwick, her husband had spoken
of the man often and she sympathized with the motherless young girl. Ignoring
the protocol of widowhood, she set sail for India two days after receiving the
letter. Upon arriving, she found Warwick near-death and Diana in despair.
Knowing that his daughter would be well-cared for revived the Earl somewhat,
but he still died within the month. Lady Wylde remained in India for nearly a
year, allowing Diana to properly grieve for her father before taking her to a
new country.
     Lady Wylde and Diana soon became the best of friends. Lady Wylde was at
first
astonished at a fourteen-year-old who spoke her mind so easily and decidedly,
but she soon learned to value Diana's intelligence and unorthodox education.
Unlike an "accomplished" English miss, Diana knew nothing of embroidery or
watercolours. Rather, she could speak French--both Parisienne and Creole--as
well as Hindustani as fluently as she could English. In addition, she read
Latin and Greek and was familiar with the customs of dozens of cultures.
Absolutely fearless around animals, she was an excellent horsewoman and had
two fearsome mastiffs that followed her like children. After six months, Lady
Wylde was unable to imagine life without Diana around.
     Wanting the best for her foster daughter, Lady Wylde began making
preparations to go to Town shortly before Diana's sixteenth birthday. When
Diana discovered that meant she would be "coming out" into Society, she
protested that she had no desire to leave the country. Lady Wylde
over-rode all of her objections and promised to return within the month if
Diana was not enjoying herself.
     They arrived in London in April, shortly before the Season began in full
swing. Diana did indeed enjoy herself, going riding every morning, to museums
or lectures in the afternoon and to the theatre in the evenings. To a lesser
extent, Diana enjoyed the balls and parties that she attended. Her dark skin
and exotic features made her the centre of attention; and since she was, after
all, Lady Silverbridge, daughter of the Earl of Warwick and because her
chaperone was the estimable Countess of Warwick, the attention was always
gracious and flattering. Despite all the attention, however, Diana found the
conversation vapid and uninformed and most of the people silly or self-
absorbed. The friends she had made were among those as well-travelled as she
and
consequently, most of them were much older.
     Still, Diana was in no hurry to return to the country, and was now
actually looking
forward to attending the famous MacArran Masque. By the time the footman
handed her into the carriage, Diana knew what sort of costume she would have.
'No missish pastel gown for me,' she decided.   I already stand out, so why
not do it in grand style?'

     Sheila O'Brien went upstairs with a lighter step than usual. She actually
sang softly as she entered the Viscount Blackmoor's bedchamber and began
airing the bedclothes. Her sweet voice made "The Mountains of Mourne" even
prettier and lightened her heart further. Although she was initially terrified
when the Duke of MacArran arrived, everything had worked our far better than
she could have hoped.
     She had been certain that Mrs. Middlebar, the housekeeper, would have her
put out as soon as His Grace sat down to discuss the staff with the head
servants. Although she had been at Kelthorne Hall for six months before Mrs.
Middlebar was hired, and although no one could find fault with her work, there
was still the inescapable fact that she was--unfortunately--Irish. Even if she
had used a different name, there was no hiding her red hair, Kerry-blue eyes,
freckles, or lilting accent. That, as far as Mrs. Middlebar was concerned,
showed enough lacking in character
to send her on her way.
     Fortunately, the butler vouched for Sheila's good work and the Duke of
MacArran--perhaps recalling that at one time his Scottish ancestors had been
similarly treated--did not have her dismissed. In addition to keeping her on,
he raised her wages from eight pounds per annum to ten. That meant a whole
extra shilling per week. The extra shilling, in turn, meant that she might be
able to find better caretakers for her younger brother and perhaps even send
him to a dame school.
     She knew this wasn't the life her parents had envisioned for them when
they left Ireland for fabled London two years before. That life disappeared
when the couple was killed by burglars. Orphaned and nearly penniless, Sheila
was determined that she and Bobby would not be forced into a workhouse where
they would be separated possibly forever. Using what little money she had
left, Sheila purchased a new morning dress and apron and ventured into
domestic service. She soon learned that if she wanted to secure a position, it
was best that any employer know nothing
about the younger brother she was struggling to support. She took the first
job that became available and found a couple--the Costers--in Covent Garden
who were willing to look after Bobby for two shillings a week.  While in the
employ of the cross and fussy Lady Seaton, Sheila quickly mastered the art of
getting her work done without being seen or heard by the family--two qualities
which made for a perfect servant.
     After a year, Lady Seaton announced that she was retiring to the country
and would not be bringing all of the servants with her. To Sheila's
everlasting surprise, the disagreeable lady wrote her an excellent letter of
recommendation, once that had helped secure her current position.
Unfortunately, when Mr. & Mrs. Coster discovered she was now working for a
duke, they demanded another five pence per week for Bobby's care. Sheila
suspected they drank a some of the money, but she met their demand. She didn't
have the means to do otherwise.
     At least now she had a half day and one evening off each week in addition
to her day off each month and she spent all of that time with Bobby. Bobby
constantly assured her all was well with the Costers and that he was getting
along just fine. Sheila believed him because it was the only way she could
force herself to go back to work. After each secret visit with her brother,
Sheila would return to Kelthorne and work even harder than before. She was
determined to earn enough money to pay for transport back home to Ireland for
herself and her brother.

     "Out of my sight, you misbegotten wretch! That's the third bottle you've
broken this
week!"
     Preston Hatfield hurried out the door of the shop, aided by a shove from
Mr. Kell. He glanced back at the ramshackle shop and then began making his way
down the street. He decided he had the rest of the afternoon off. Still, he
knew he would return that evening to clean the living quarters, cook supper,
wash the dishes and do any laundry that needed doing. He was not in the least
disturbed by Kell's words or actions--he had, in fact, clumsily dropped this
bottle of tonic.  The other bottles have been broken by Kell himself after the
apothecary had once again sampled too much of his own product. Kell simply
blamed his apprentice because it was easy to do.
As he walked down Drury Lane, Preston mused that having someone to blame
seemed to be the main reason Kell had an apprentice at all. It certainly
wasn't so he had someone to train, for in the five years since he had first
been indentured to Kell, anything that Preston had learned about being an
apothecary had not been learned from his master.
     When he was first apprenticed to Kell at the age of ten, it was a welcome
chance to leave the horrible workhouse he had been in since his mother's
death. After two years with Kell, Preston began to doubt the man was even an
apothecary at all. Kell claimed to be an alchemist as well and was constantly
conducting experiments in the back of his shop. After six years, the only
thing Preston thought Kell could rightfully be called was a charlatan. His
prescriptions to the poor and sick of Covent Garden consisted mainly of gin or
the results of a failed alchemy experiment.
      'Still,' Preston thought,  Things could be alot worse.  At least old
Kell keeps me fed and clothed.' Neither the food nor the clothes were of the
best quality, but they were better than what Preston had seen on the backs of
others in Covent Garden. He knew that many masters beat their apprentices
regularly and unmercifully. Kell, on the other hand, was usually too drunk and
drugged to bother with more than an occasional licking. So Preston went
cheerfully through life, trying to learn as much as he could before his seven-
year indenture was up so he could hire himself out as a
journeyman and earn his own living. In his favour was the fact that he already
knew how to read, write and figure--something else which set him apart from
his neighbours. His mother had been a governess and had begun teaching him
before she died. After her death Preston had continued learning on his own.
     As he reached the meeting of Drury Lane and the Strand, he kept a lookout
for the boy who worked as a crossing-sweep there. Although Bobby O'Brien was
only ten, Preston had befriended the boy because--like himself--Bobby stood
out from the other poor people in Covent Garden and was resented because of
it. In addition, Bobby had a sister who visited him on Sundays and who was the
prettiest and kindest young woman Preston had ever met. Preston didn't see
Bobby anywhere, so he continued up the Strand to the shop of Mr. Whitman,
another apothecary. In exchange for running errands, Mr. Whitman allowed
Preston to remain in the shop to listen and learn and occasionally even let
him read the big books at the back.
     Preston began to seriously consider angering Kell everyday--it would give
him the chance to advance his education that much faster.

      'Is that mud? Aye, it is.' Bobby O'Brien grimaced with disgust when he
felt the cold sludge seeping through the heel of his boot. Lifting his foot
slightly, he examined the torn spot and wondered if there was any way he could
repair or hide it before Sunday. If his sister saw the tear she would spend
money on a newer pair that the Costers would sell again, leaving him with the
old pair. The heel was beyond repair, but Bobby thought he might be able to
hide it if he could find a piece of black cloth to tie it up with. Sheila
wasn't going to spend money on new boots if he could help it. He wanted her to
save money so they could go home to Ireland as soon as possible.
     Bobby had tried many times to convince Sheila to give him one shilling
each week and let him fend for himself, but she refused, saying that she felt
better knowing he was being cared for.  Bobby didn't dare tell her that he had
to look after himself or that he saw none of the money she paid the Costers.
If Sheila knew that, she would leave her position to look after him and they
would only fall further behind money-wise.
     So Bobby did whatever he could to earn a few pence, returning to the
Costers' only occasionally to sleep on colder or rainy nights. During the day
he was always busy, sweeping mud from the street-crossings for the "quality"
so they wouldn't dirty their fancy shoes, holding horses and delivering
messages for gentlemen or calling carriage and opening the doors for ladies.
He spent as little money as possible on food for himself, and guarded his
little stash like a miser, hoping that one day he would have enough to
surprise Sheila by making up the difference required to go home.
     Today, he witness a more people than usually heading towards the banks of
the Thames.  The dry weather meant that he would make little money sweeping,
so he decided to join the mudlarks as they scavenged the banks for anything of
value. After several minutes, he discovered what all the commotion was about.
There had been an almost unheard of _three_ suicides in the Thames the night
before and the bodies were being scavanged for valuables. By the time Bobby
arrived, the bodies had been picked clean, so all the boy had to show for his
trouble were empty pockets and cold, wet feet.

End Part I

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