St Maur NPCs for all your Needs

Current NPCs: John & Keenan Mullan (Father and son, owners of the Wild Dog Pub) |

[stmaur-npc]

cescapist​:

18th of July, 1904

Dear Lady Pemberly

Thank you again for your reply. I must apologise if my answers to the questions you have set out in your letter are imprecise or otherwise unsatisfying. As the business is in its infancy, such concrete things as costs, numbers, and the like, are like to change. That said, I can provide estimates based on the information I currently possess.

The price of one vial of the product shall remain modest. My family already has an income - two, in fact, with the rent of land and property. I see no need to gain vast profits, only enough to support myself so that I do not continue to rely on my parents, and a little extra to save for the future. As such, I should like the product to be sold to a vendor for between 4-5s per bottle, with instruction not to sell to customers for more than 7s 6d per bottle. A bottle being no less than half of a pint, of which a dose is between a tsp and tbsp. (I have personally looked at the old bottling machinery in the Factory, and believe that it may be altered to allow for this size, and no smaller.)

The payment for the suppliers of ingredients should be fair, being equal to or just below the price as would go to market. The reason that it may be below is that a large order as would be required by production would guarantee a greater amount of the product is sold, thus reducing loss through spoiling or wastage. Any ingredients that might be refused at market due to an unappealing appearance, yet are otherwise perfectly usable broken down would also be profitable sold to the Factory, whereas they may become wastage at market. As stated, I wish to use local ingredients rather than those found outside of St. Maur and the surrounding area, which would cut costs on freight, and allow the price of the bottle at sale to remain low. Of course, the suppliers of the bottles and labels, whose crop would not be affected by weather, crop plagues, fishing droughts, or any other natural process that might affect those providing ingredients, would have a fixed price contract.

To those who shall be working at the Factory, the majority of the profits shall go. I want to pay each worker reasonably, supplying for them the cost of housing, food, clothing, and savings. Healthcare shall be provided, with insurance. A factory worker who has dependents – those being children, or an infirm family member – would be given a slightly higher wage to provide for those dependents. My aim, should profit allow for it, is that each family be paid no less than 25s per week, with larger families having more workers earning more, and smaller families and single earners earning less (though, of course, the position of each worker shall influence the pay). I know this is a rather high amount compared to most factory labourers in the country, and as I said, it would only be manageable should the profit of sale be high enough. My own, personal share of profits would be no more than double that of the highest earning family in the factory, and I do not expect to make any gross profit for the first several years due to the cost of starting a company. Excess profits, if they exist, shall be pooled and used to improve the factory, the town, and for bonuses specifically at Christmastime. The Factory shall run six days a week, with a rest day given on Sundays to allow for leisure and, if desired, religious activities.

As I said, I do apologise if these answers are vague or leave you unsatisfied. The business is in its infancy, and though I have several-dozen letters between myself and various suppliers of ingredients my scientifically gifted family are testing, the fact of the matter is I do not yet have concrete or fixed answers to those ever-important monetary questions. I understand that you would, of course, wish to see your late husband The Honourable Lord Pemberly’s Factory do well, and I believe that you share my wish to see those who work in the factory do well, also. Therefore, I hope that even in their vagueness these answers shall promise you that my vision is a clear and good one, and let that set your heart at ease.

Your kind words regarding that black spot on my past soothe me, and have acted as a balm. Truthfully, I do not know whether I will ever be absolved of that guilt, but I reckon that its continued presence at least keeps me on the straight and the narrow. Still, I thank you for your kindness, and for your listening ear (or reading eye). It would be very easy to judge me for those actions, or doubt that I have truly changed, and I am grateful you have not done so.

I will admit that I was forced to take some time after reading the last part of your letter to gather my courage and reply. I hope you will forgive any inelegant wording in this part of my letter. I am aware that when speaking I often come across as obtuse or foolish, and I hope not to translate that into written language as well, but when my emotions are heightened it often happens without my permission.

I truly hope that you have guessed, from the deliverance of this letter and from my earlier writings continuing to deal with matters of business, that I in no way look upon you unkindly for your admissions. Quite the opposite, in fact. But before I can remark upon what I think of you over what it is you have told me, I must apologise for my wording regarding my own admissions in my last letter. When using such words as ‘hellish’, I did not mean to insinuate that it was my opinion the acts were so, nor that it was yours, but rather that of wider society which so often cruelly condemns that which it does not understand or value. I am in love with a man. I love him dearly, and ardently, and romantically. I shan’t write his name, for should this letter fall into the wrong hands it may harm him, and to do so has become my greatest fear, far trumping any peril to myself. I long for a future with him in which I may one day write, as you have, that I have loved and lived with him for nearly three decades. Alas, whilst our friendship is long, our love is only newly recognised and cherished. I must wait, with great enjoyment for each moment that passes, for that future. So, to what I think of you: I think you aspirational. I think you brilliant. I think you human, and in love, and for that I am awfully happy for you. I also think you very lucky, to have had friendship in marriage, for I know of marriages which have neither love nor friendship. I understand that there are some husbands and wives who marry for friendship in order to appease that wider society I previously mentioned, and with the safety of that appeasement may then love the same sex with less fear over exposure. If I may ask, did your husband also have a love outside of this marriage of friends? If I may not, then please accept my apology. I am so new to this world of people such as myself, who love in the same manner as I, that my curiosity is an often uncontrollable force. I would also finally say, of the doctrine that you dare not believe in, that such a doctrine has been drilled into me for an unfortunately long time. My lover, who is also my dearest friend, and others around me of similar disposition to you and I, are unpicking the convoluted mess of beliefs that trapped me for so long. It is wonderfully freeing, to see the world and God in a new and love-filled light.

And now, with my heart very much buoyant with joy – for I have been able to sing the truthful praises of my lover, which I often am forced to keep quiet and tight in my chest – to answer your last question. I must warn you, I am often unsensible, unacceptable, and unimplementable, and your permission to be all three of these things at once may set me loose in some ridiculous and silly manner. My greatest dream, for myself, for humanity, is just to be content. It is a deceptively simple dream. Contentment requires so much, when one considers it. It requires the material comforts needed for a good and healthy life – food and drink and home and warmth – but also those immaterial comforts. It requires fulfilment, and stimulation, and beauty, and art, and love, and friendship (be those one and the same, or separate), companionship and understanding, and also mystery and solitude in balanced amounts. It is not something I alone can implement, either for myself or for the world and all who reside within it. But it is my wish. A true, and honest wish. If I can take even one little shuffle in the direction of its fulfilment, then I shall consider myself a very well achieved man, indeed.

Yours faithfully,

Ebenezer Forester

London -- July 20th, 1904

Dear Mister Ebenezer,

you are quite right not to be too confident in the exact prices you will need and grant to construct, produce and sell, for even if you could, times change, and you cannot possibly foresee what will come tomorrow. It would be foolish to pretend. But I can see that your plan is sound, and even more, well-intentioned. That is, above all, what I needed to hear. Leaving out the exact prices of each step required for your business, but speaking in percentages instead, would you agree to write them into the contract? If by now it is not obvious, I will make it so: I am more than happy to sell you my late husband’s ownership over the Factory, because if you are truthful in all that you wrote -- and I want to believe that you are -- I doubt there is anyone more fitted to fulfill his will than you. To assure myself and appease my old and doubtlessly soon perished heart, I would like to see it in writing, to see it signed by you, that you shall use the Factory for good, with your product as well as with the process to create it.

If you agree, come to London at the end of July. You will find that all which I have left unanswered from your previous letter (the second page, rest assured, was burnt right after reading) will be properly answered at the Farewell to Summer Ball. A little ball my closest friends and I have been giving and enjoying ever since I was a young girl. This year it will be at my place on the 26th of July, but you may arrive a day prior to settle comfortably. My house is cosy but grand enough for a guest. Or two. We shall set up the contract with my lawyer on the 27th, and by August the Factory will be yours. Please accept my offer, for while I would not be offended to find that you have other business to attend instead, I would be overjoyed to find your unsensible, unacceptable and unmiplementable person in our midst. For if we have learnt something, you and I, is it not tat one should act upon the awaiting joy at the end of the dark and narrow tunnel, rather than the fear preventing you from entering it?

Thus I sign, in a similar silly manner, with the kindest regards,

Sofia Pemberly

[stmaur-npc]

cescapist​:

The letter arrives several days after it is dated on the 15th of July with the afternoon post, suggesting it was delayed in being sent off. There are various starts and stopes within the final paragraphs of the latter, indicating it was put down and picked up again multiple times, as if the writer was finding it hard to keep pen to paper.

11th of July, 1904

Dear Lady Pemberly,

Thank you ever so much for your prompt and considered reply. The heat here in St. Maur has been utterly ghastly the past two days, but I am glad to report I found a cure to the heavy, sticky climate in the arrival of your letter. Unfortunately, I cannot report the discovery of any cure-all health tonic, for to do so would make me a scoundrel and a liar: two things I am glad to say that I am not. The product I am creating, with the help, aid, and research of my physician brother and father, is to be a tonic containing those vital minerals and accessory factors found necessary for the correct functioning of the body. As you may well know, the St. Maur of the past was visited by the sick and infirm to take in the air and the waters – much as in Bath. Whilst our understanding of medicine has evolved past such superstitions as miasma, it is my belief that there may well be some as of yet undefinable or unperceived benefit to the elements found within this place, a benefit I feel myself daily, and miss awfully when I am not at home. Of course, one cannot bring all of Great Britain to St. Maur, nor can one claim that St. Maur is any form of ambrosia. Rather, what I wish to do is harvest elements found here which we know are beneficial – real, measurable, scientifically proven elements, such as the lipids in fish oil, or those found in the rind of fruits – and create a potent and potable substance to counter general ill health. I do not expect, nor advertise, a cure for disease, what I hope to offer is a supportive, strengthening agent which fills a gap in the diet of the average man or woman.

Of course you are absolutely correct in calling me a dreamer, and in highlighting my age, which is indeed young. I cannot and will not tell you that I shall succeed in my endeavour. I have learnt first hand that such promises are made by charlatans, and promise never to make such myself. What I can say is that to start young is to give myself time to build a steady and sturdy company, and that to dream is the first step towards realisation.

Regarding my mother, and the charities she is involved in, their purposes are to my knowledge twofold. Firstly, they are concerned with the matter of improving the lives of St. Maur’s unfortunates, and she aids in holding a widely known fundraiser each year in the form of a Bazaar in the Springtime. Both funds and donations of items are raised to be given to the poorest of souls residing in our fair town. Secondly, they are concerned with the good Christian value of caring for thy neighbours, providing aid for fishermen and their families who may be going through any number of hardships, related to their professions or not.

As for my brothers, I must first explain that it is only the older one who is a doctor, my younger brother is preparing for his studies. For him, medicine is currently a passion and not yet a career, but I have every confidence that he will be amongst the best of them once his studies are ended. He has a strong sense of justice, and wishes to give aid to all, no matter their financial means, their creed, their colour, or their social standing. I have spoken with him about the possibility he would work for a trust once he has graduated, for as I am sure you are aware, even the families of doctors need to eat, and the practice my father and older brother run does have a fee. The fee is not unreasonable, however, and they take patients from all walks of life. My father also has implemented a system of payment by instalments for any who are unable to pay fees at the time of their medical necessity, so as to encourage anyone in need of aid to come forth and not suffer. The children raised by tenants on our land are also given free medical care up until they are sixteen. I cannot say that we have ruined our good morals or upbringings yet, but it is my genuine hope that we may do so shortly by giving help to all varieties of man and woman.

I’m sure I could list countless things which I have done through my twenty five years which would hold me back from sainthood. As a child I was an absolute hellion, and our local Priest, rest his soul, might possibly have taken some comfort in his last moments knowing that he was soon to be away from me. I suppose there are two answers to your question which I must give. The first answer is my most atrocious wrongdoing in the eyes of the world, and the second must be the most atrocious wrongdoing in the eyes of myself.

So, to the first. I, despite my Christian upbringing, despite my mother’s morals and my father’s encouragement of responsibility, recently found myself partaking in licentious and debaucherous behaviour. I shall neither go into the details, nor name the other parties involved, for I do not wish to harm you with the offensive specifics of this behaviour nor besmirch the reputations of the people with whom this behaviour was had. What I shall say is that sins were committed, and decency was lost. Yet, as no one was harmed in these acts, I must say that I do not believe them to be the most disgusting, morally downrong, shocking, awful, terrible, and hellish acts I have ever performed. For that, I must give my second answer.

I broke the arm of a child. I was seven, and he was five, and we were climbing trees. I cannot even remember who the boy was, other than that he was blonde and young and I was annoyed with him, so I pushed him out of the tree. There was this horrible snapping sound, and at first I thought he had just landed on a flimsy branch, but when I looked down at him he had gone white as a sheet, and his mouth was open and screaming but there was no sound. He’d been winded by the fall, and couldn’t take enough of a breath to let it out. Then I saw that his arm was all wrong, and I panicked. I ran away, and got my father. I refused to take responsibility for hours, even after the screaming had stopped and the boy had been sent home to his mother with his arm splinted. I think the worst part of it all was that a part of me – and this is hard to admit – did not feel remorseful. I kept on saying ‘it wasn’t my fault’, over and over, and I think I stuck to that for as long as I did because a part of me truly believed that the boy, this little five year old blonde cherubim of a boy, was responsible for my actions, that he had caused me to push him from the tree by being as annoying as he had been. That is, by far, the absolute worst thing I have ever done, and in my opinion it is far worse than kisses that were had out of wedlock, or any other such thing.

Perhaps it is the guilt which I feel over that event, which convinces me now to try and help any, no matter whether they are my dearest friend, an absolute stranger, or someone who is annoying me quite awfully.

Yours Faithfully,

Ebenezer Forester

London - July 16th, 1904

Dear Mister Ebenezer,

I admire your honesty through and through. Some might consider it an easy thing, to be honest to a stranger, but a lot is at stake here for you and so you would have every reason to lie to me to wash your name clean and convince me of your virtues. So I shall reply to you with the same openness as you have -- as I hope and assume -- granted me.

First though, I must commend your sensible nature with which you kindly explained your business to me. You are quite right, this does not sound like the business of a charlatan, nor of a misled magician, who might believe in his work but will not help others all the same. So I shall treat you henceforth with the respectability of any business owner I might encounter. For how much will you sell one vial of your product? How much will you pay those who provide your ingredients? And how much will you pay those who fabricate it? Forgive me for the plainness of those questions, bordering on rudeness. I can ensure you more lies beneath than the simple wish to see the Factory do well for my own conscience.

Next, I wish to tell you that you should no longer feel guilt over what you have done as a boy. The mere fact that you feel it, absolves you. That is what I believe in the bottom of my heart. It was many years ago and if you have not done such things again, then it was a lesson worth learning. A painful lesson on the back of another, an unfortunate lesson, but a lesson worth learning all the same. His wounds will have healed by now, so if I may: Allow yours to heal as well.

Now, at last, I would like to know what you would think of me if I told you that I married my husband out of friendship, not romantic love. That the only love I’ve ever felt was for a woman, whom I have lived with for nearly thirty years, whom I’m still living with. What would you say if I told you that your phrasing of hellish acts offends me, as they use words from a doctrine I dare not believe in. What would you say?

And further still, in appendage to the above, what if I asked you again, what your greatest dream is? It needs not be sensible or acceptable, it needs not be implementable, at least not by your own hands. Your greatest dream, for yourself, for humanity.

With regards,

Sofia Pemberly

[stmaur-npc]

soleil-timide​:

.

“Oh, that is very good to know,” Florence admitted. So her brothers had to have been informed of this. It wouldn’t be a surprise when she asked one of them about it later. That much was very good to know. “I’d not know,” Florence admitted softly, though it was abundantly clear that there was quite a lot that she didn’t know. At his stern lecture, Florence’s eyebrows rose. “Oh goodness, no, I am not judging everyone for doing this,” she explained quickly. “Please, this is all quite a lot to process. You see, we all have one set of rules, and they’re all I’ve ever known. Not until you did anyone tell me that they change once one acquires a husband, and they change tremendously!”

The last thing Florence wanted was for this kind gentleman to think that she was judging him, or thinking less of him. The information he shared was ruinous, but she’d have no idea of what was expected of her otherwise. “I don’t have very many friends,” Florence confessed quietly. “But we usually talk about books, and sketches, and how each other’s families are. Most of us have only just become of an age to socialize with gentlemen,” she added, hoping he’d understand. “You are quite right,” Florence agreed solemnly. Many things which would be commonplace for most were quite unreachable for her. Like laundry, this too seemed like something she’d not quite be able to fully grasp without practice.

“Well, I think,” Fitz declared with a pretend-wise expression and tone, “today is the best day of all to learn of it. After all, you are a lady of society now. And would you truly want to be desired by a man without knowing what this desire entails?” He shook his head. “I must add, however, something very important. Surely you know how there are fortune hunters, who are not after you for love, but after your money. Well, the same goes for physical desires. There are some men, who will lie to you and make you believe they love you, solely to, uh, deflower you. Of those too, you must be aware.”

“Then go and see if your few friends know as much as you do. And if you require more help, ask for Basil. I’ll come find you and lend you another hand.” Though not a physical hand. Really, he was willing to do a lot, but his days of sleeping with ladies lay far behind him. He was over that.

[cescapist]

Item: One letter, addressed to Lady Pemberly @stmaur-npc, sent from St. Maur. It is written in blue-black ink, and there is a partial fingerprint in the same on the bottom right corner.

9th of July, 1904

Dear Lady Pemberly,

Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mister Ebenezer Forester of Fairford House, St. Maur. I believe that you have already met with the solicitor representing me, Lord Frederick Conway, and I am exceptionally grateful to you for handing to him the deed to what has become known as The Old Cider Factory here in St. Maur. I am aware you may have expected correspondence from me weeks ago, and must apologise deeply for the delay in writing to you. Unfortunately, I ran afoul of a predatory businessman from the Americas, and your deed was most useful in resolving the legal issues that arose. Thankfully, resolved, the issues are, and thus I am very much hoping that you shall judge my apology acceptable, and consider the proposition I have for you.

I wish to purchase from you the deed to The Factory in St. Maur. I understand, of course, that you are a woman of good character and intelligence, and therefore do not expect you to sell the deed to a man you do not know. I am willing to answer all questions you may have, and indeed to make any visit or meeting required of me. I hope that I may answer some of the most obvious questions presently:

I am twenty-five years old, from a good, large and Faithful family which has its roots mostly in medicine. Both my father, my older, and my younger brother are in medicine, with father and the eldest both Doctors and my younger brother entering into Oxford shortly to begin his studies. I find myself far more suited to numbers than to humours, and have an aspiration to succeed in business. Specifically, I am working with my family to create a health tonic, with proven efficacy in the improvement of general health. This is what I propose The Factory to be used for. Having been a producer of Cider in the past, the layout and even some of the machinery left within the building are perfect for the production and bottling of fluids.

Of course, being of good moral upbringing, this business venture is not presented purely for profit. My mother, a prominent figure in The Lighthouse Society and other Charities within St. Maur, raised me to care greatly for my fellow man and woman, and so care I do. Not only would this business promote the economics and wellbeing of the peoples of St. Maur, but it would also supply employment, skill training, a fair salary, and healthcare to many. The tonic, the recipe of which is still in production, shall also be sold at a smaller margin of profit than many other health tonics, allowing for greater affordability amongst the populace. I suppose one could say that I take much of my inspiration from such figures as Sir Titus Salt and Mister Joseph Rowntree.

Of course, I am but an inspired dreamer and nothing more without The Factory, the first step in creating a healthy and philanthropic business, and thus I do look forward to your reply. It is my sincerest wish that I may impress upon you the sincerity of my venture, and that we may thus reach an agreement.

Wishing you well,

Yours Sincerely

Mr. Ebenezer Forester

[stmaur-npc]

The letter arrives with the morning post on the 11th of July, a strong indicator that it was written after the commonly scheduled writing hour at 11 in the morning. It’s on rather heavy ornamented paper, reminiscent of the 1860s, at which on top reflects a pale watermarked insignia of two heavily interwoven letters: GP. The ink used is green, and while the handwriting is legible and orderly, it does not entirely conform to the demands typically made by governesses.

London - 10th of July, 1904

Dear Mister Ebenezer,

I have been waiting for your name to show on an envelope ever since I first heard it. It is a pleasure to finally put this name to an ink colour.

You are quite right in that this first introduction was made by Lord Frederick Conway, the charming young lawyer who so recently moved to St Maur County, where you, as I have concluded, are from and presently live. What I did not see coming was for your name to reappear after the issues with that maligned American businessman have been resolved.

To buy the Pemberly Factory! When I have no children in life to keep me company and my estates are all I have to dote on... I cannot say I am displeased.

Yet, you are quite right, such a decision requires more than a name and an ink colour, and thus know that I was reading your introduction with a great deal of care and interest. I hope my questions reflect it.

You say you are twenty and five years old, which is a brave age for someone to start such a great business venture. I cannot mock nor judge for I was married by that age, and thus in the hands of a man who could have easily ruined me with his power, wealth and wit. Yet I trusted him as I trusted myself and I have lived the best of all lives. So I can only applaud your bravery. This being said, how have you found a cure-all health tonic at such a young age? I was always quite convinced that ambrosia was reserved for the gods. It seems utterly unfair to me that Asclepius blessed a boy for merely being an inspired dreamer.

You speak of your mother and her charity work. Would you care to elaborate on what those charities of hers do precisely? I do not need numbers and names, I am just interested in the types of their work. And in a similar vein, dear Ebenezer, your brothers the doctors of medicine; who are they helping? You speak of fellow man and woman but there are a great variety of those, are there not? Surely a truly Faithful family as yours would not sink as low as ruining their good moral upbringing by allowing just anyone in their practice, would they?

Lastly I must ask about this philanthropic nature of your soul. Tell me, if you are so kind, what is the worst (most disgusting, morally downwrong, shocking, awful, terrible, hellish) thing you have ever done?

With honourable regards,

Sofia Pemberly

[stmaur-npc]

soleil-timide​:

.

“Sixteen?” Florence whispered, though truly she wished to scream. Sixteen was an awful long time ago for both of her brothers, and not once did either of them think to mention this part of marrying. Did they know? Perhaps that was why it was not mentioned, perhaps none of the Talbot siblings knew how children came to be. But then they both went away, both got one kind of education or another. Surely Alastair knew, from his time in the military! But then Valentin.. “Let’s say a boy’s father is quite busy. With business, all the time. Would he still make time to inform the son?” Florence asked, before she could help it. The baron wasn’t the nurturing sort, so it would truly be a surprise to hear that he’d hat such discussion with either son.

“If you say so,” Florence murmured, quite unconvinced that there would be pleasure worth all that. “But at least there is little room for error,” she conceded. That had to be worth something in all of this. “Goodness, I don’t know if I could ever,” the youngest Talbot admitted. “Perhaps a gentleman taking my hand? That’s most plausible. Even possibly correct, depending on the circumstance and chaperone,” she continued. A proposal was the first such occasion she could think of, but it seemed terrible impractical that she’d be expected to do much more with a man practically a stranger in the..physical sense.

“Shocking,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Truly shocking.” Somehow, she would have to summon the nerve to raise this topic to at least one of her brothers. This must be confirmed, she simply had to know if this was in fact correct, though she had little doubt in her benefactor. And if true, they would all be lucky if she made it down the aisle. His instructions raised another notion. “Is that quite a common thing to imagine?” There was no helping the question, not in the slightest. There was so much to be uncovered, and absolutely all of it was scandalous. She couldn’t even ask Dinah about it for fear of scandalizing her friend.

“Or if the boy only has sisters and a mother,” Fitz continued Lady Florence’s thought. “Then it’s the job of his headmaster or school priest.” He shrugged. “If he makes it that far. I’ve only gone to boarding school for a few years, but it’s not just arithmetic and Latin that’s being discussed in the corridors or after dark in the dormitories.”

“Well, look,” he said, insisting almost sternly on the pleasure part (‘stern’, if not for his entire mannerisms making him look perpetually amused), “I would go and show it to you right here and now. But I am not interested in Ladies at all. So I suggest you go find yourself a beau you find attractive, or a girl-friend for all I care, and try it out. Before you go around and judge everyone.”

“Perfectly shocking,” Fitz mirrored her -- before his lips curled into a sly grin again. “And quite common for most, I presume. Say, what did you think your friends were talking about when they talked about ‘being mad about’ someone?”

[stmaur-npc]

alexander-of-sandringham​:

Never had there been words more comforting and relieving as the ones the Earl spoke then. “Is that so?” Alexander asked with greatest hope. “Oh, how reassured I feel. Thank you, thank you for confirming that my trust in your daughter is not misplaced, that you can see her too in the great halls my family rules in.” 

It was the first time her name was mentioned today. Alexander had been careful to not speak of it, as though he feared that a rejection from the Earl could break the spell that had woven Dinah and himself together. As though, perhaps, if the Earl rejected, but the name had not been said, the rejection would not belong to her, and could still be changed. But now it was spoken, and Alexander felt tense. Tense in the way one is serious and determined to not disappoint. “I do. I do love Lady Dinah.” 

Alexander then did something that was neither expected nor often seen; he went to his knee to bow before the Earl. “Thank you, my Lord. Thank you.” 

♣ ♣ ♣

It was not every day that one received such words of gratitude from a Royal Prince. The Earl recognised that these words were not spoken out of formality or out of mild feelings, but were indeed the words of a man in love who had sought a little bit of reassurance. He had been glad that his honesty over his daughter’s temperament had provided that assurance, and he felt glad that she had attracted such a kindhearted man to her side.

“It is I who thanks you, Your Highness,” he said, a little bit flustered by seeing a prince bowing before him like that, but most of all he did so earnestly, “for loving my daughter. You have my blessing. And my ear, whenever you may have need of it.” He smiled then, with the fondness of a father towards a son. One day, hopefully, they would become truly a family, and the Earl would feel reassured to know one of his daughters was happily married as he had so wished for all of them with his wife. “I wish you both happiness.”

[stmaur-npc]

alexander-of-sandringham​:

"My Lord,” Alexander began after his anxieties concerning the Royal Seats were appeased, “your daughter will be a Princess. And even though I am but the third son and we are confident that I will never rise to the throne, there are duties attached to this title. Obligations and rules which must be studied and obeyed.” He said so with a regretful tone. “I do not doubt that your daughter will learn and follow with skill and charm, I do not doubt that she will please everyone she will meet. But I am worried if that is the right life for her. The reason I love her, if I may be this frank, is her free-spirit, her poetry, her ability to see what others are blind to. And I am afraid that the life of a Princess could restrict her. You know her better than anyone else, so please, reassure me. Tell me I will not make her miserable.”

He smiled bashfully when the Earl laughed. And the words that followed were wise once again – but painful at the same time. “Every moment spent with her as my wife, will be a moment made count,” he nodded. He raised his gaze to him, more hope in his eyes than even before. “Would both be possible? I know it speaks against convention to reside as a guest in a betrothed’s house, but the idea pleases me very much. Very much indeed. I will speak my mind to her, and if her heart agrees with mine, could I spend the rest of the year with you, as far as my schedule allows? There is no rush for a wedding, I am happy to indulge in the preparations and be as patient as she requires me to be.”

♣ ♣ ♣

The Earl did not appear troubled by the good points that Alexander brought up. If anything, the fact that the young man had thought about these issues reassured the Earl that is daughter was not thought simply as an ornament—someone without feelings or ambitions of her own. “If it is one thing I know of my daughter, Your Highness, is that she is able to find poetry in everything—even the cage that comes with a title. While my title and hers, right now, are very little in comparison with yours and what you would be offering her, she has endured and found her way to you free-spirited. I don’t believe she would feel so easily.. restricted,” he said, being confident in his daughter’s strength. “Of what I know of her is that my Dinah has always desired love above all, so as long as you love her I do not believe she would grow miserable by your side.”

It truly warmed the old man’s heart to know that his daughter’ suitor seemed to be a considerate and warmhearted man. The Earl couldn’t help but smile, even at the unconventional request. “It is, indeed, not usual,” he said, a little hesitant. It was unfamiliar and definitely going against traditions, but it would afford the Earl more time with his daughter and his soon-to-be son-in-law. It would afford a period of grace where things would not change too much. If anything, maybe the house would fill whole again—just as it did a little, now, that Lord Conway and his mother were with them here. “But I will still be honoured to have you with us. I am sure we can make all the arrangements so that it is as proper as something so unconventional can be.”

[stmaur-npc]

alexander-of-sandringham​:

"I know,” Alexander nodded. He didn’t actually know whether the St Maurs would miss him or not, but he did not want to disagree with the Earl, wanted to be kind and agreeable. “That is why I have looked into houses in St Maur and nearby counties, so the distance will be small and no one will have to miss another. Highgrove House and Gatcombe Park have come to mind.” Both owned by the Royal Family itself. “They are only an hour away from Bristol and in the country side. They come with a full, well-taught staff and are similar in size to St Maur Castle. Smaller, even. She would not have to feel lost and lonely.”

Those were wise words, Alexander knew, even if he did not fully understand them. “For the proposal or..? Any moment of affection I could lay to her feet?”

The Earl was familiar with the names of the two estates Alexander named, and it pleased him that the Prince had had the kindness to look for a place close to St Maur. Indeed, this straightened the Prince's case in the Earl's eyes as it had been his one fear to have things change too much for his poor heart. All of this was easy to read on the weathered face of the Earl. The softness of his gaze and of smile gave away how glad be was to hear this more than the approving nod he gave him.

"That is very good," he said, with one more nod. "My dear Dinah has never been too far from home. From St Maur. And so I would wish for her to be able to come visit whenever she wanted." Of course, it would have been ideal to have the two of them love in St Maur Castle. Maybe then, the house itself would fill full again as it had been when his dear Maurice was alive. 

There was a small chuckle from the Earl that threatened to turn into a cough, but luckily it didn't. It only made his voice a little raspy at first, as he answered the confused Prince. "The proposal. But I would say it applies also to the latter," he nodded,  as his smile widened and for a moment one could easily see a bit of a resemblance between the man and his daughter in the way their smiles always looked so genuine. Almost contagious. "I loved my wife very much, Your Highness, and learned the hard way that we should make all out moments count." And to think the Earl had never been shy to dote on his wife. If anything, all the gossip surrounding him and the late Countess was all about how disgustingly in love with one another they had been. "I also don't want you to feel rushed by my words. I mean it when I say the choice of moment is entirely yours," he said, his voice soft but full of confidence. "If you find that you prefer waiting, I would be honoured and happy to have you as my guest in the country."

[stmaur-npc]

alexander-of-sandringham​:

The Queen had told him to dress in uniform, that that was the proper way to do it. She had also told him the protocoll of what he had to say and the extent of the marriage contract he would need discuss and would probably be queried on. She had given him advice on which questions should make him suspicious and back out of it before it was too late. And lastly, she had told him he had no reason to be nervous. That he was a Prince and to insult him was to insult the crown.

But Alexander was nervous.

Perhaps because when he entered the Earl’s room, he did not come as the symbolic General, the third in line to the throne, the son of a Queen, but as a man with a name and a heart. A heart which feared to be stripped bare and pierced with a refusal.

When the Earl bowed, Alexander did not just go through the symbolic motions of raising the respect back to eye-sight, but actually touched the man’s shoulders, smiling. “Thank you, my Lord.” He had not met the Earl yet, only his charming daughters, and to see him as frail as he’d been described worried him. Not for any reasons of financial support for his daughters, of course, as Alexander would be more than glad to care for all of them in case of his death, but because he knew Lady Dinah loved her father, and the idea to see her sad when all he wanted her to be was happy, was painful. 

 "The Season’s end is approach and I fear the return to your home, will leave me missing your family all too direly.“ He said ‘family’, because he was ready to love a whole family, not just one person in it. "If you however think I should wait, I will take your wisdom to heart and school the virtue of patience within me.”

It was the duty of a father to meet with his daughters' suitors and be on guard about them, yet the Earl appeared everything but that. He had, of course, informed himself about the man he knew would one day come to ask for his daughter's hand in marriage and had found little to object. How could one dare to object to a Royal Prince, any way? Yet, for his daughter he would have if he had had any doubt that he could make her happy. Or worse, that he would take her away from her family. The Earl disliked any big change to his life, especially when life itself had already taken so much from him already.

"And I believe my familiar will miss you," the Earl said, knowing very well that not a day went by without at least one mention of the Prince. Even he that was so isolated these days knew of the growing fondness between Alexander and Dinah. "I doubt my answer to you will change with time. As for the one that is not mine to give, I think you will be a better judge than me," he said, with a smile. Oh, what fond memories this moment brought back to him. Once upon a time, he had been the man asking a father for permission to marry his daughter.

"The only wisdom I have to impart to you is not to wait for a single perfect moment," he said, with a nostalgic look in his eyes, "or you might find that those are very hard to come by. Rather, any moment can be made perfect by simply being present."

[stmaur-npc]

Questions

Time: 15th of July Place: St Maur Townhouse Status: Closed, for @alexander-of-sandringham

Ever since arriving in London, the Earl had taken little part in the Season. He had been present to the few engagements he knew he could not get out of without his absence been noticed, but other than that he had stayed home.

At home, with the passing of the days, he spent more and more time in bed, unable to stand too much noise, too much light, and let alone to brave the stairs.

But there were also good days, when the Earl would still dress up and spend the day in one of the drawing rooms. He had chosen the smaller one, as to take as little space as possible, but also as to invite as little people as possible to intrude upon his tranquility. It was also a familiar place. He had player here as a child, and he had sat here with his wife. It was a nice room, and he could easily look out to the house’s little garden.

‘My Lord, His Royal Highness Prince Alexander John of Sandrigham is here to see you.’ “Thank you, Mr Jameson. Let him in,” he said, and rose on his unsteady legs to greet the Prince standing.

His gaze was sharp and there was a knowing look in his eyes. He was not surprised by the visit and had in fact expected it. 

“I did not think you’d come so soon,” he said, with a note of amusement in his voice. “But it is good to see you.” He bowed though the movement clearly was not easy on his body. “Please, won’t you seat, Your Highness.”

[stmaur-npc]

Merill ♣ 58 ♣ Earl ♣ St Maur Castle

♣ 𝔸𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕔

Golden doorhandles, golden cufflinks, golden name. Gold. And why not? Bathing in luxury, a country unchanging, the sound of your daughters laughing. Happiness. And why not? Gentle reprimands, telling people to rise from their knees, and the joy to give others a chance. Ruling. And why not? The death of your wife, your town slowly dying, servants whispering behind your back. Change. Why?

[stmaur-npc]

frederickconway​:

-

It’s with a straight-laced smile that he averts his eyes as she moves. The shoeless nature would certainly rattle ladies of their circle, but Sofia appeared too at ease in her home to put up a fuss. At the question, he peers back up with a nod. “The Cider Factory. I am representing a Mister Ebenezer Forester. He currently resides in Fairfield House, and has shown interest in the property.” Frederick supplies informatively, only to pause curiously at the mention of Clevedon. “Forgive me - are you acquainted with Clevedon Court?” To the best of his knowledge, Frederick hadn’t shared his new estate with the Lady Pemberly.

“You were a lucky woman.” He commends. She speaks of her husband the way Nurse Conway speaks of her own, and it’s enough to make an otherwise somber exchange soft to the touch. “It’s certainly an energetic spot. I haven’t been since I last resided in London.” Admittedly, he raises his brow in unconcealed surprise. A lady raised in Vauxhall? Perhaps she was in genteel poverty. Yet if that were the case, why hang onto the Cider Mill?

“Ebenezer Forester? What a charming name. What is his interest with the Cider Factory? Buying it? From me?” she asked, pleasantly and with no malice in her tone or intention. And then came the question about Clevedon Court and her smile grew ever fonder -- even if a bit mischievous. “As acquainted as I am with you, Frederick,” she said, and wondered if he had not noticed how she had known his name before his introduction. “Tea?”

“Do you not miss it? London? The life here? The freedom?”

[stmaur-npc]

soleil-timide​:

.

“Well, yes..,” Florence admitted. “One lies in one’s marriage bed, but sleeping beside one’s spouse doesn’t seem terribly common?” As he went on, it became quite clear that sleep wasn’t what the marriage bed was for.

If her fair brows rose any higher on her forehead, they would simply become her hairline. It was positively an indecent thought! No man had ever seen her unclothed, and no one had once mentioned that her husband would want to see her in such a state. Marriage was one thing, that she could easily concede. The rest of her life dictated by some man, that was fine. But this? This was too much. “Interlock,” she whispered quietly, blinking rapidly. “Will he know all of this already? Are gentlemen informed of this before the wedding day?” She couldn’t possibly ask interlock where, though she had a sinking suspicion of a general location. The specifics were simply too much to consider, and she couldn’t be expected to be well-versed in the mechanics of it.

“Pleasure, worth all that?” Florence could help but ask quietly. It certainly didn’t seem like it, but her escort seemed well-informed enough about the matter. He clearly knew far more than she did, at any rate. “And then..the child has to come out,” the youngest Talbot reasoned. It seemed quite an important detail that was left out for her entire life. Ladies in the aristocracy ultimately had two expectations placed upon them: to wed and to have a family. The wed portion of her duties was explained, in exacting detail, for her entire life. Now she had the child-bearing portion, and in truth the prospect of marriage was even more terrifying. It went without saying, but she couldn’t help it. “No one has mentioned any of this,” Florence confessed weakly, though that had to have been glaringly obvious to her escort. If nothing else, she certainly felt justified in her hesitation to get married. She was grateful that he lead her around the room, allowing her to absorb what he had to share. “It sounds..straightforward, at least?”

Ratter, ratter, ratter, click. It clicked in the young Lady’s mind and Fitz was almost relieved. As much as he loved the idea of scandalising the whole of London explaining a fresh Debutante how sex worked, he was glad he wouldn’t have to do it here.

“He knows,” Fitz nodded. “I was told by my father, when I was sixteen. That’s usually how it goes.” At least from what he’d heard about those he’d asked. It was like a young man’s own rite of passage, their debut. Part of him wanted to reiterate that her husband would maybe not know much about the pleasure part of it all, but maybe he’d leave that for another day. Let her live with the idea that she’d also benefit from this for a few days longer.

“Really good pleasure,” he emphasised instead, nodding once more, this time more solemnly. The topic of the child coming back out -- out of the same hole too! -- had him shudder a bit and he preferred not to dwell on that. “It’s quite straight-forward. If you chose your husband right, it’ll all fall into place, all feel quite right.”

They were nearly back with Lady Florence’s aunt, the one who had presented her, and unless he wanted to draw suspicions by leading her around the room for another naughty victory lap, he’d have to make it short now. “So next time you find a man truly attractive, see if you can imagine him in total undress. Touching you while in total undress. And take note of how does feels to you.” A hum. “Erm. Best be doing that when you’re alone. Maybe at night.”

[stmaur-npc]

soleil-timide​:

.

Florence listened raptly as the man went through his list. None of these things had ever come up in her etiquette lessons, nor any discussion of ladylike duties. Dancing, seating charts, the order in which a group would proceed to the dining room, certainly. And as far as fiances went, the expectation was a gentleman capable of caring for her and of appropriate background. “Malleable? Whatever for?” she asked, before she could stop herself. Her voice dropped, for the next question was terribly unladylike. “And why would you have another’s weight on you?” She didn’t feel him in the slightest, but Florence didn’t answer. It was likely clear.

Her head tilted, almost like Pookie’s would, at his question. “Made,” Florence echoed, confusion furrowing her brow. “We’re speaking of a child, not a cake. Whatever do you mean, ‘made’?”  Not once had anyone raised that concept. Florence realized that while it was made quite clear that she would one day marry and have children, no one had ever gone in to further detail. It would be most inappropriate to ask how one came by having a child here, but she would ask Valentin later. Or perhaps Alastair..surely one of her brothers could tell her if this stranger did not deign to.

“When time comes for him to lie with me, of course,” Fitz said, but choked on his own ‘of course’ rather quickly when he was forced to learn that Lady Florence did not even know that much. “Surely you’ve at least heard of the term ‘to lie with a man’, yes? That this is what will be expected of you in marriage?” Because if not, she was perhaps not merely innocent but simply the type of inattentive that maybe would do better not knowing about marriage at all. “Come.” He guided her further and further through the room, still making sure that no one would overhear them. Not so much for his own sake, surprisingly enough, because no one here knew him anyway. No. Really just for her own sake. Look at me, Fitz thought. I’m becoming a real good person.

"All that is still covered when you’re in a state of undress amongst your closest family or friends,” he gave it a musical motion over his own chest and upper-thigh area, “looks different in a man and in a woman. That is why we cover it, yes? To not shock young ladies like you with the stark differences of a man’s body, as well as to keep it a great mystery for when the wedding night has come.” With a little bit of luck she had bathed naked in a river as a child or had seen a red-coat take off a shirt for some exercise, and knew at least vaguely what he was talking about.

“Now, during that wedding night, it’s time to undress completely. Your husband will see everything everything everything about you, and you will see everything everything everything about him.” Ah, yes, now to the next part... Fitz looked around almost nervously. Almost! If he were someone for nervousness. “Now if you like what you see, and he likes what he sees, your bodies will ... interlock. Like a puzzle piece! And if he’s any good, you will witness the greatest pleasure known to man, and please, that part is very important, you hear me? If you never witness that pleasure, then he has to try harder, okay?” Fitz felt personally responsible for young Lady Florence now. Watch me go punch her future husband in a few years down the line.

“When your bodies interlock, he puts his seeds into you, and that is how-... Or maybe you need to have something like an egg in you? Or maybe you’re born with eggs? Maybe your stomach is an egg? But it’s not in the stomach, right? I mean pregnant women do still eat food..? So maybe another organ, further down. But then how do the seeds...” He shook his head. “Anyway. I never paid a lot of attention to that part, to be honest. But basically, you’ll be with child.”

[stmaur-npc]

zachariahforester​:

He stopped when she called out his full name, incapable even now, of disobeying that stern voice. Carry them with pride. Yes, replace one father’s name for another. Because it had gone oh so well the first time. How clever of them. He felt the bitterness rise up, but he did nothing about it. He did not turn back towards her.

He did not doubt that his father loved him. That was perhaps the only thing he didn’t doubt. It was the thing he was taking most comfort in right now. “Everything I’ve ever done has been done with the aim of avoiding disappointment.” So eager to please. So eager to fit in, without having to be told. So eager to play the right part and do the right thing and be the right person. The idea that he would disappoint his father now seemed preposterous. But then, but then. “I fear you don’t know me very well at all.” And how could she? When he barely knew himself. How could he keep the promise not to let his origins change anything about who he was? They already had. They’d dictated everything. And now everything could change. Whether it should remained to be seen. Rome was not built in a day, and neither was it deconstructed in one. Although, yes, the fall had been quicker than the rise he supposed. He did hope he’d find some contentment with himself before the age of 60. “I won’t promise to keep it a secret.” It was his now, he held it in his hands. He had choices. He might keep it a secret. He couldn’t fully process all the consequences of it being public knowledge right now, but even if he didn’t tell everyone, even if he only told a select few. He felt he wouldn’t be able to keep it packed away for 30 years as she’d done. Perhaps she was stronger in this way.

Zachariah did not understand what she had tried to say. And maybe that was the worst of all the outcomes she had ever imagined. The one where he turned away, not understanding.

So, with bleeding feet, trembling hands, and a head held high, she sat back down at her vanity. “Good,” she said. “Go and break everyone’s heart. Go and ruin your life. Everyone’s lives. Maybe Irving will recognise you as his son after all.”

[stmaur-npc]

frederickconway​:

-

The mistress of the house appears in front of him, and Frederick has no doubt in his mind that he’s found the Lady Sofia herself. Graying at the top, yet with a friendly ease to her expression that puts Frederick at instant ease. It’s a far cry from Mayfair, in all of the best ways. Perhaps she is a modernist, like he is. “Frederick, please.” He says, tucking his hat into his arm as he steps into the well-decorated threshold. It’s not of the luxurious fashion, but like Sofia herself - it bemoans an easiness that Frederick sinks into. “Thank you for having me.” He begins, just on the heels of another woman. Out of gentleman’s instinct, he averts his eyes to the ground. Smiling despite it, carrying on with conversation. “Good morning, mam. I-” He is about to pronounce a protest. Lunch still warm in his belly. But Emily, akin to his own mother, is a spit fire of certainty. Just as quickly, she traverses to the back of the house.

“I know better than to say no to a good thing.” Frederick adds, with a gingerly charm. He takes the seat opposite to the Lady Pemberly, catching the use of Emily’s first name. Indeed, he is no longer in St. Maur or the vicinity of Grosvenor Square. “I hope it isn’t too much of a bother.” Though if the older women of insistent personalities indicated anything, it was that nothing is every too much in this household. “Your home is lovely. Have you lived here long?” He asks, out of innate curiosity. Few were the noblewomen who called Vauxhall home. “My condolences on your husband’s passing. I received word he passed last year?”

“Not at all,” Lady Pemberly smiled. “Please, sit.” She sat as well, formally, on the edge of the couch as was proper. As she did so, however, her skirt slipped up just enough to reveal that she was wearing no shoes, her white stockings bare and a little dirty underneath her foot, though this of course was not visible. “Pray tell, what brought you here? Clevedon or the Cider Factory?”

“Thank you. Guppy is dearly missed by everyone who knew him. He was a kind man.” She said it softly and with a smile, but there was sadness in her eyes. Not overwhelmingly so, just the type one has for a late, beloved spouse. “We lived here for, oh, almost fifty years. I grew up in Vauxhall, you see, and after Guppy and I married, I wanted to stay close to my father, so we moved here.” She looked ever so nostalgic at the memory. “Of course, this borough has changed a lot since those days.”

[stmaur-npc]

frederickconway​:

@stmaur-npc​ | June 9th, 1904 (Lady Sofia Pemberly and Lord Frederick Conway)

It is just after the lunch hour that Frederick arrives in Vauxhall. The brisk summer heat bringing a light sweat just beneath his coat. Unlike the well-to-do streets surrounding Grosvenor Square, Vauxhall is filled to the brim with lively characters and commotion. Far be it for him to judge, though one can’t help but wonder what type of Lady took residence in such a notorious space. Never mind that, he decides, approaching the address on hand. 181 Fentiman Road. “Pardon, miss, does a Lady Sofia-” The rushed scullery maid bristles past him, with only an oft glance and an overwhelmed expression. Right. It would appear he’s on his own on this one. He closes in on the door, stopping just outside and placing an even knock.

It was Lady Pemberly herself who opened the door. Not her maid, not her footman, but Lady Pemberly herself, and she did it with such ease and grace that there was no chance to mistake her for anyone else, not with her delicate silken dress, not with her complicated hairdo into which her grey -- once blonde -- hair had been tucked into, not with the golden wedding band and jewellery adorning her aged but beautiful features. She smiled. “Lord Frederick Conway. It is you. At last.”

She bid him inside, closing the door behind him, then showed him the way into the drawing room.

181 Fentiman Road was a house like many others on the street, all facing a beautiful park, all more than mere worker houses but none of them great and impressive like the houses where Lords and Ladies were known to live in. The inside, too, was decorated with style rather than with luxury, the drawing room held in colours fashionable for the last century without appearing kitsch or obsolete, with the decorations on the walls being no bragging paintings of old relatives or famous painters, but instead photographs. Framed in simple wood, they lined two entire walls of the room, showing parties of men and women of all social classes and cultural backgrounds enjoying themselves.

It looked lived in, and that was because it was. ‘Sofia?’ a woman’s voice sounded from the dining room, and a moment later she appeared. She was about of the same age as Lady Pemberly, but smaller, more stout, and still in her morning gown. ‘Oh.’ She paused when she saw that they had a guest, and while she looked surprised, she did not look embarrassed by her dress. ‘I didn’t realise we had a guest today.’

Lady Pemberly smiled. “Emily, this is Lord Frederick Conway.” The woman frowned, looked from Lord Conway to Lady Pemberly and back. And then she realised. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed again and a smile bloomed on her face. ‘I’ll go fetch you some tea, then. Freddy, would you care for some shortbread? I made it myself.’ She spoke in the dialect most nobility had adopted and kept to elevate themselves over the regional working classes, but if you listened closely enough, you could still hear the little staccato of Cockney hiding in her consonants. ‘I’ll go get you some shortbread, it’s marvellous.’ She was gone a moment later.

Lady Pemberly offered her guest a seat. “You better accept it,” she smiled, without any actual insistence in her voice. “Emily’s shortbread is good, but far more importantly, I fear we have nothing else to offer you.”