Faithful Frustrations

Posted on Mon Aug 26th, 2024 @ 8:41pm by Lord Archibald Battersly & Lord Louis Battersly Earl of Marnemouth & Lord Albert Eliot Baron Sconner

1,900 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: Death of a Monarch
Location: Marnemouth-on-Ribble
Timeline: February 6, 1901- 1000 Hours

The road to St. Ignotus was a familiar one, at least to Archibald and his son Louis, who attended (and were patrons of) the church. They'd spend many a Sunday morning making this exact trek through the village, not to mention holidays as well. Despite this regularity, there was something that felt different today. Something that hung over them as they walked in the chill of the morning air. Archie wore a black suit, with a black tie. His overcoat was a charcoal grey that matched his derby hat. "I appreciate you coming with me for this task. " Lord Ribble sounded as though he wanted to say more, but the words were lost somewhere.

Louis felt the chill in his shoulder and unconsciously shrugged his arm. He reached up and adjusted his gray woolen overcoat slightly, hunching into the warmth it provided. The morning chill seemed to affect Louis differently since returning from Africa. He suddenly regretted not taking Mister Rhodes’s advice and wearing a hat.

“But of course, Father,” Louis said, the chill in the air making his breath hang in the air.

Louis couldn’t help but recall milestones on this walk: the bench that his mother sometimes used as a limit for how far ahead she allowed young Louis to go, the small book store that his mother took him to to purchase his first series of books about military history….

All the old familiar places that now had an air of sad remembrance hanging over them. Louis quickly forced himself to silently recite the composition of the Roman 6th Legion, “Ferrata.” He’d memorized it years ago, but focusing on the individual units gave his mind something to focus on in moments like this.

In his private musings, strolling with purpose to his meeting with Louis and Lord Archibald, Albert Eliot wondered how much longer this black suit and tie might last. He'd packed one for the Queen's Funeral and had not yet been home to refresh his wardrobe for any others. Surely Marnemouth-on-Ribble had an excellent tailor. And Albie considered that he might need their services soon enough. He puffed on his pipe, his gaze far away. He did not know this way as intimately as his cousin or Uncle and had pulled aside a member of the Downstairs for a rough idea of direction. The vanilla scent of tobacco wafted, the smoke wisping from the corners of his mouth.

"Morning," he greeted. The thin Doctor smiled, leaning into his waking cane as he approached his Uncle.

Archibald smiled warmly in greeting his wife's nephew. He'd never noticed when Mary was living, just how much Albie resembled Archie's late wife. The main difference being the young man's moustache, and the ever lingering scent of tobacco smoke that clung to his slight frame. "Thank you for coming, my dear boy." He took a step to close the gap between then, and pulled Albert into a long embrace.

"Of course, my pleasure," Albie's voice replied as his Uncle took him into a hold. Genetics was a fascinating architect- not only the physical expressions of pedigree, but some of the subtle nuances of behavior: the way Mary and Albie tucked their chin in such a way in an embrace. The exhalation of breath as a hug was locked. Even the one-step in to the intimate space, a sort of lean in to intimacy.

Albie smiled as their hug was soon enough parted, ending with that offered Maryesque lending of strength- in Albie's case an expression of a healer rather than the act of a loving wife and partner, but both aware of the pain Archibald was feeling. Albie felt it in his own way. Aunt Mary had been a lovely person. Probably Albert's favorite aunt.

Archibald had allowed his touch to linger on the small of Albert's back for a few moments longer than he normally would have. the younger man's words nearly made Lord Ribble tremble, 'my pleasure' echoed in his head. It had been nearly a year since he and Mary had been able to lay together as man and wife, and now he felt as though she spoke to him through her nephew. He took a deep, centring breath.

Louis savored the scent from Cousin Albie’s pipe. It made him yearn for a smoke all the more, but he didn’t want to impose upon his father now. He gently reached up and tapped the cigarette case through his overcoat. He’d picked up the habit in South Africa…first cigars and cigarillos but then he’d started smoking cigarettes instead. Maybe he’d take up the pipe, he thought, looking at his cousin. Cousin Albie certainly looked more…dignified…with it, and it was still fashionable.

"We had better press on, Mr.Rookwood will be expecting us." He said, his eyes were fixed on his wife's nephew. For the first time he noticed the softness of the young man's lips and felt a deep yearning within himself. He took another deep, steadying breath and then gestured in the direction they were going.

"I'm afraid, Uncle, I don't know the man." Albert said solemnly. As they began their stroll, he had emptied his pipe and now he was putting it away. "But I trust he's one of account?" His dark eyes turned to his cousin and uncle, lips moving in speech under his neatly done mustache. He looked to the horizon and the town's line. "Gentlemen... we have a new King. Uncrowned but... entire generations haven't seen such a thing."

Nodding to answer his nephew's question, Lord Ribble carried on walking. With past day's excitement, he hadn't thought much about the King. Bertie was always a good friend to Archie. When Lord Ribble was a member of the then Prince of Wales's household, they spent holidays shooting and stalking. Now, as they'd learned while in London, he would be know as King Edward VII, which Archibald knew was against the wishes of the late Queen. But Bertie was a singular man, wanting to forge his own legacy. "God Save King." They turned into the walled grounds of St. Ignotus church, the only church in the village. It was truly a sight to be seen, even in the cold of the morning.

"Indeed. God Save the King," Albie echoed. Albie paused as they approached the church. It wasn't large. But it had an old parochial loveliness.

Archibald saw Albie's hesitation. He considered, for a moment, embracing his wife's nephew. Comforting him, and taking his hand. Instead Archie moved out of formation and closed in on the house of God's door. He took a cold breath and rapped firmly on the wooden door.

"Quite uh, quite lovely," Albert murmured and yes he was subconsciously pat his chest and then suit pockets for a match. But he caught himself and after another moment he followed his bereaved Uncle. It was muscle memory and habit. Idle hands and stressors made poor bedfellows. He leaned into his cane with each step, the February cold was determined to keep his war wound achy.

“God Save the King,” Louis echoed. He reflected for a moment about how strange the words he’d just uttered actually sounded. God Save the King…not the Queen….

Louis shook his head to clear the nonsense and looked at Cousin Albie.

“It is…we’ve been coming here since….well, I would imagine…since before I was born,” Louis said, motioning to the church’s edifice.

After a few long moments, the door opened. The hollow face of Mr.Rookwood, the vicar, peered around the heavy wooden doorway. "My Lord." He nodded his head into a bow. "Do come in." He shakily moved to open the door widen and allow the trio entry.

It felt to Lord Ribble as though Mr. Rookwood had been an old man already when he himself was a boy attending church with the Dowager and his late father. It was something he'd never really thought much about before. But in the wake of losing his wife, and her passing quite young, it made him inexplicably angry to think this man has lived more than a long life and yet his wife should be plucked away in her prime. Archie clenched his fists.

Albert's eyes had in coincidence seen the clench. And he filled the gap. "Ah, you must be Rookwood, sir." Albert stepped forward and grasped the man's ancient hand as heartily as a slight man like himself could. "Lovely building, I was just admiring the use of space and light. When was this church built?"

Mr. Rookwood smiled as much as his aged face would allow. "This land was gifted to the church in the early 1300's, by the Third Earl of Trentham, or rather by request of the Earl's second wife. " The old man chuckled to himself, as though he'd made a joke. "The church itself was completed in 1320, and survived the Dissolution. The graveyard was an additional gift from Sir Kenton Fell in when he began building what is now Thrushstone Park." Rookwood could drone on and on about the history of the area, he was something of an amateur historian in that regard.

Louis used Cousin’s Albie’s conversation as a pretense to move to his father’s side. He didn’t say anything. The last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to his father’s emotions and embarrass the man at a time like this. Instead, he simply moved to stand near his father and pretended to be interested in the conversation.

"Errm, Mr. Rookwood we're here to settle a date for her ladyships burial service." Archibald spat, growing frustrated and short.

The old man turned to face Lord Ribble and offered a consoling look."Ahh, yes. I was so sorry to hear of your loss, my lord." He said, his neck bent in a sort of uncomfortable looking bow. "If it pleases my lord, we can arrange for it to be held in two days time." He held up a weak and shaky hand indicating ,with his boney fingers, the number two.

Archibald nodded his understanding. " That should be fine. " He looked to his son next to him. "Miller and Keye are handling...well they have things in hand now. I'll direct them here for the 8th." His lordship spoke with a hint of his frustration still lingering. He wanted to leave the church, and return to the comfort of Thrushstone. "I believe that was all we needed." He looked to his companions.

“I’ll speak to them this afternoon, Father, and ensure everything is in order,” Louis offered. He’d heard the note of frustration in his father’s usually even tone.

“Shall we return to Thrushstone,” Louis prompted, looking to Cousin Albie for help there.

"Uh yes. Let's. Two days then." Bertie extended his hand to the bony Mr. Rookwood, "Thank you for the history lesson, Sir. And for our intrusion. Uncle? Louis? Shall we?"

With a silent nod, Archibald started back towards the door they'd entered through.

"We are happy to be of service to you and your family, Lord Ribble." Mr. Rookwood bowed as reverently as his neck would allow. "I shall see to the arrangement here personally." He called as the trio departed. He took a few shallow breaths as the wooden door closed behind them.

 

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