A Day in Tortuga (Part I)

Port Fadrique, Island of Tortuga: January 1889

The airship swung listlessly in the heat of a Caribbean day from her moorings in one of the many disreputable or nearly derelict sky docks of Tortuga. The rising sun, lazily coming up over the horizon painted her long bulbous shape a tawny brown, the colour of brewing tea. The sky docks of Tortuga, called by locals Port Fadrique stood to the west of the regular nautical port of Tortuga, Port Breathern. Port Fadrique was a ramshackle mass of wood and iron gantries, cranes and derricks, ladders and elevators, shabby offices, bulging storage barns and sooty workshops mounted on platforms both on land and rising from the sea.

As lighter-then-air dirigibles, this particular airship was not much to look at, her hull plating being as patched, scuffed and faded as it's much patched and stitched canvas envelope. The whole airship had a woebegone, tatterdemalion air to her, having seen much hard and varied service under many different masters and owners. In point of fact it was arguable whether the airship or the air dock around her was in worse shape.

Kurt Ortleib, looked at the airship thoughtfully for several minutes from the hillside over looking Port Fadrique. Kurt Ortleib was many things, like the airship he was examining through his old spy glass. Derelict, outcast, mercenary, he'd been all those things in his life. He had been born in a quiet, sleepy, backwood village in the province of Prussian Saxony, in the Kingdom of Prussia, some forty three years before. He had gone to school in the village, been lucky enough to attend a technical college and learn a trade, before joining the Prussian Royal Army for his term of conscription. The artillery had been his arm of service and he had been judge competent enough by his superiors to rise to the rank of feldwebel during his seven years in the army. Kurt had joined the ranks of the Freikorps, the German mercenary fraternity, after he had finished his term, rather then try and find a new vocation in civilian life.

For some years it had not been a bad decision, although at other times Kurt had thought it had been amoung the worse decisions of his life. Kurt had drifted from Freikorps unit to unit, never staying for long, not because his peers disliked him or that they thought him a bad soldier, it was just he never seemed to be wholly comfortable with anyone or any group for long, being something of a loner at heart. Finally his drifting had left him, here in Tortuga. Perhaps that airship would be his next step, to somewhere else.

He packed the spy glass away in his haversack, and began to pick his ways down the hillside through the narrow and confusing streets of the shanty town that sprawled untidily over much of it. He glanced at the pamphlet he had found in his morning newspaper, as he walked. The advertisement said simple:

Wanted!

Airship captain, seeking a crew for privateering and mercenary service. Those with prior military, mercenary or similar experience required. Technical expertise with small arms, artillery, technical or engineering skills perfered. Please apply at Office No.553, Hallwood Dock, Port Fadrique.

Note: Feldwebel is the German Army equivalent rank of sergeant.

Attendance at the Kendal Ball (VI)

Piccadilly Square, London, Great Britain: January 1886

Finishing the soup, Sir Leo and Ursula turned their attention to the main course of their meal, which was quickly and deftly placed before them by the returning waitress, roasted quail served with duchess potatoes and asparagus hollandaise. She paused only long enough to refill their drinks before withdrawing to attend the other tables in the luxurious room. It's roof and walls were decorative metalwork mixed with equally decorative woodwork fitted with semi-opaque stained glass panels, which threw a soft, mellow light throughout the whole room which reminded it's two dozen occupants of a quiet, pleasant green house. The floors were fitted with deep, plush carpets covered in botanical designs of beautiful flowers and coiling vines. A quartet of musicians -- a cello, two violins and a flute -- played softly in a annex on one side of the room surrounded by cultivated rose bushes. George Calvary reserved this elegant room, within the restaurant, for special customers or old friends exclusively.

"Speaking of balls, my written response of acceptance should be delivered to your residence within the hour. I believe that Cecilia has already sent her acceptance."

"Excellent. It will be good to have you and Cecilia there."

"I understand the Friday ball is expected to be one of special significance, the society papers are already chattering about it. Even the House of Lords and the House of Commons is rife with speculation about who is and who is not invited."

"I fail to see why? After all, it is only five hundred people, most of them my family's closest and oldest friends and relations." Ursula responded guilelessly although the wicked gleam in her eyes said otherwise, a moment later she giggled at Sir Leo's arch expression of mock disbelief. The five hundred people involved just happened to include a good section of ultra fashionable London, a quarter of the House of Lords and a great many celebrities in the British world of the arts, sciences and literature. Not to mention gentry, politicians, bankers, financiers and business persons of no small accomplishments. That also did not include the virtual army of servants, waiters, caterers and musicians being engaged for the evening.

"Young lady, you are absolutely incorrigible, you do know that?"

"Guilty as charged." Ursula retorted with a laugh.

"Well it runs in both sides of your family so perhaps it can not be helped." Sir Leo said with a sigh, shaking his head sorrowfully. Ursula could not control the fit of giggles his lugubrious expression touched off, and only sternly brought it to a halt by returning her attention to her meal. The two managed to get generally caught up on their respective news by the time the desert, arrived a mix of fresh fruit, cheese and biscuits. From her side she told of her experiences in Brazil, managing her family's collection of coffee plantations which were finally making a better then average profit sufficient to justify their acquisition. Sir Leo, discussed with her the high lights of his adventures occasioned by his West Africa and Western Sudan expedition.

By the time the coffee arrived, Ursula was shaking her head in wonder at what Sir Leo had so recently gone through in his many months away from British shores, and even more surprised that he had come through it in one piece with life and limb intact. Ursula, did not know the half of it because there was a great deal more about the trip that Sir Leo did not give voice to. For instance the fact that the expedition was not merely for geographical, zoological and biological concerns or even for trade or establishing formal and normalized diplomatic relations with the Wassoulou Empire. The real backers of the Worthing Expedition had been the British government, and was based entirely on their calculations of furthering the Great Game that dominated European politics and alliances.

Great Britain needed a buffer against French expansionism in West Africa, and embroiling France on one side and Germany and Wassoulou on the other was a means to do that. It would also largely leave Britain's hands free of the whole affair if anything went wrong and be relatively inexpensive to the British taxpayers. Well not that inexpensive in the long run, as it was going to cost the Exchequer over forty-five million pounds over the next three years. The British government had promised Samori about fifteen million pounds in three separate installments in that time frame. Sir Leo had already delivered the first installment and used the second installment to purchase trade goods, munitions and armaments for Samori's Royal Army. The third installment would do the same through other intermediaries in German West Africa to purchase munitions and armaments for Samori's Field and Garrison armies.

Sir Leo looked regretfully at the clock over the room's mantel piece, it was almost two o'clock. He had a great many affairs in Parliament to deal with before he was free to spend his day as he pleased. Several articles of parliamentary business to read through, a bill to vote on and of course five selected divorce cases to review and conduct before the committee. It was going to be a long day, Sir Leo thought. Ursula noticed Sir Leo's gaze and nodded to herself, and suspected what he was thinking. She had some affairs of her own to deal with concerning the coming ball. Sir Leo signaled the waitress for their bill.

"Again, Sir Leo, thanks for inviting me to lunch. it was a very pleasant way to spend a few hours."

"Saved you from some other tedious social invitation?"

"Yes, the Timbertons invited me to tea this afternoon."

"Dear God, that is something to be avoided at all costs. Lilly and Melinda are two of most beautiful and fashionable women to grace London, they are also two of it's infinitely most boring people imaginable. Well that is not quite true, but they certainly attract all the other loungers and idly stupid people in London society to them." Sir Leo observed wryly. Ursula nodded feelingly, then they both rose as Sir Leo placed their bill's payment and the waitress's tip on the table.

"I will see you next at the ball." Both said simultaneously, which caused them to both start laughing softly.

Fragments from the Americas (Part II)

Salt Lake City, Utah, Disputed Western Territories, North America: January 1889

The siege lines spread like cancerous growths this way and that across the plains and hills beneath the shadows of the Uinta mountains. Entrenchments, deep belts of rusting barbed wire, wooden stakes and earth, sandbag and timbered gun positions clustered like barnacles. In these lines men and women fought, lived, died and endured, all the while hammering, bailing and digging and repairing or extending the ramparts and redoubts. The sky was leaden and dark, storm clouds hovered thickly, the air was charged with the taint of expectant rain. It made a welcome change from the ever present smells of death, black powder and smoke.

Captain Ezra Powell Hackett, Mormon Republican Army, watched the clouds through his telescope. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. Faint flickers of lightening brightened the shifting dark clouds. His gaze swept the horizon three times each day, each time he recorded his observations for the Mormon Council ensconced in the heavily fortified city. He had done this duty with the same diligence for the last four months, nothing changed day in day out: the Union Army or rather armies stood some twenty miles beyond the city limits. Every day to the east and northeast, the Union Armies of the Colorado, the Platte, and the Arkansas hammered at the Mormon defenses. Every day, a line or section of entrenchments was demolished, captured or abandoned, everyday another Mormon fort or artillery position was destroyed, captured or suppressed by a hail of artillery fire or falling bombs from Union airships or aircraft flying high overhead. Everyday, Union observation balloons rose above the battlefield and watched every move the Mormons made within their own lines. Everyday, the Union lines crawled a little closer to the city, even if it was only a few feet at a time. For the Union armies, it was not a question of if Salt Lake City would fall, it was a question of when.

Four months back, the Union Army had brought up the Armies of the Rio Grande and the Pecos, and tried to out flank the Mormon eastern entrenchments around Lake Utah to the south of Salt Lake City. This flank had been thinly held, to spare reserves for the eastern defense lines. Frantic and desperate battles had been fought by the Mormon militias to buy precious time, at places like Lofgreen, Vernon, Faust, Fairfield and Cedar Valley. The casualties the Mormon Militia had endured had been devastating but they had done what they tried to do, gain time for the Nauvoo and Deseret Legions to be redeployed and the Union flanking movement died at the battles of Rush Valley, Ophir and Stockton, the most bloody of them all the Battle of Toole.

The mauled Union Armies of the Rio Grande and the Pecos, had fallen back but only to hold their ground at Eureka and Goshen, and no effort by the Mormon Republican Army had been successful in making them fall back any further. The siege of Salt Lake City had now become a war on two fronts, the Union was closing the noose more tightly around the Mormon capital.

Captain Hackett, had observed every day, more and more steam trains and wagon trains making their way into the Union reserve lines and depots out beyond the reach of Mormon heavy artillery. More troops, more supplies and more guns, coming in everyday. The Union generals were obviously contemplating another big push on the Mormon entrenchments, although they seemed in no hurry to launch such a move, though. Then again, why should they, they had time and superior logistics to do the thing properly.

Hackett had heard reports of large numbers of steam tanks, walking engines and land rams coming into the lines behind the Union camps. There had even been rumours of three Union land fortresses moving up under the cover of the recent storms and the darkness of night. Hackett himself had  seen the presence of Union sky forts cruising low and ominously on the horizon or over the mountains tops. Help was supposed to be coming from California and Nevada, but Hackett was not confident it would arrive in time or if it did was far from sure it would be enough.

Attendence at the Kendal Ball (Part V)

Piccadilly Square, London, Great Britain: January 1886

The pretty auburn haired waitress withdrew after placing the shallow bowls of savoury Consomme Olga soup before them at their private table in the Restaurant Calvary. The owner of the very exclusive, very fashionable London restaurant, Charles Francis Calvary, was an old school friend of Sir Leo's, they had attended Barchester College together. Sir Leo had helped arrange the financing and advertisement for the restaurant when it first opened some years ago. Calvary an enterprising and efficient manager, maitre'd and chef himself had made the business a splendid social and financial success. Consequently, Charles insisted that his old friend, Sir Leo, who in the course of time had been the best man at his wedding, favourite godfather of his children as well as his business partner be given preferencial treatment by the staff whenever he dined at Calvary's.

"Thank you, for inviting me to lunch, Sir Leo."

"You are welcome, Ursula. I thought it necessary in the circumstances, although I admit the pleasure of your company makes it less an unwelcome duty."

"What trouble could I ever be to you, Sir Leo?" Ursula asked mildly perplexed, by Sir Leo's, suddenly serious tone and manner. When his man Saunders had unexpectedly turned up at her door that morning just after breakfast she had been delighted at the offer of luncheon together by Sir Leo. It would serve two purposes for her; it would allow them to catch up with each other, share their news and experiences, and it would save her from having to accept an invitation to an early afternoon tea with the horridly boring Timberton sisters and their equally banal coterie of aristocratic courtiers, sycophants and hangers on in their society salon in the Grosvenor Mansions.

Sir Leo, fixed his gaze on her through his monocle, for a long moment, obviously thinking over how to best tackle the subject. Suddenly, he gave a small shrug, then spoke without attempting to dress up or finesse the issue at hand.

"What you are Ursula, is a newly minted, young and unmarried duchess; the pinnacle of the titled aristocracy short of the Royal Family, with a very desirable fortune. A fortune that makes you one of the richest women in the Empire, let alone Europe. Fifty-three million pounds sterling in the Bank of England, twenty-two million in the Bank of Switzerland, seven point five million combined in the Banks of Nova Scotia and Montreal and the Royal Bank of Canada, and some fifteen million in the Imperial Bank of Brazil. With I might add, a personal monthly income running into the six figures. All of which when taken together with your very considerable personal charms and considerable landed properties and corporate holdings makes you a most desirable bachelorette."

"Just how do you know so much about my financial situation?" Ursula asked, a trace of apprehension and confusion filtered into her voice.

"Your father made me one of the seven man council of executors and trustees of his and by extension your estate, several years ago."

"Oh." Ursula looked down at her soup, stirring its contents idly. "A single woman in possession of a fortune must be in want of a husband?" She could see her parents setting things up like that to protect her, she felt grateful that even now after their deaths they were still looking out for and after her best interests.

"A good paraphrase of Jane Austen, my dear. So quite a few unmarried and financially challenged men will think. Some will be moved to take a gambler's throw at you, they have nothing to lose and a king's or in this case a duchess's ransom to win. Very few of them will have your best interests close to their hearts."

"Well they can save themselves the effort, Leo." Ursula said with some heat in her voice and expression. "I am not some prized mare to be haggled over or bartered for."

"Good." Sir Leo, announced over the edge of his glass of Port. The slightest of smiles played on his lips. To her surprise and not a little relief, Sir Leo suddenly shifted the tract of the conversation. "Still set on that young fellow of your's, Captain Thomas Jameson?"

"Yes." Ursula responded, the barest hint of a blush creeping onto her bronzed cheeks. "I intend to use the ball on Friday to make that perfectly clear. To everyone." Sir Leo's slight smile widened still more and his brown eyes twinkled at her.

"Good. Name the wedding day and I will be there, in full dress uniform, come hell or high water. Even if I have to marry the two of you myself."

"T-Thank you, Leo." She murmured softly her voice catching in her throat, it was obvious to him that she was suppressing with difficulty a great depth of feeling. "That means a great deal to me. Do you, think that Papa and Mama would have approved?"

Sir Leo considered the question for a minute, before answering.

"Of you becoming, Mrs. Jameson? Yes, I think they would."

Mrs. Wraithdale-Jameson, if you please." Ursula reproved him with a smile playing on her lips. Sir Leo's own smile blossomed into something like a grin.

"Thomas has agreed to that?" He asked observing her with an arched eyebrow over his glass.

"Well no. Not yet... exactly, but he will, I just need to convince him."

"Ursula, the last time I recall seeing you 'convince' someone, it involved you liberally and repeatedly applying the blunt end of an army service revolver to their skull."

"Well, yes. That was a somewhat... ahem... extreme case on my part, I admit. Although I do not think, in this instance, Thomas will require... quite that much persuasion on my part."

"A toast then." Sir Leo lifted his glass again. Ursula lifted her own glass to match his. "To the successs of your first social ball as the Duchess of Kendal, Ursula, may it be the first of many for both of you."

Their glasses clinked together musically.

Attendence at the Kendal Ball (Part IV)

Schomberg Palace, London, Great Britain: January 1886

The Dowager Duchess of Schomberg picked that moment to enter the dinning room, Deerborn shuffling in tow, like a small wretched fishing boat caught in the powerful wake of a larger, more stately ship-of-the-line under full sail. Her Grace Norma Worthing-Topper was a breathtakingly beautiful and vigourous woman, it was easy to see where her daughter Cecilia had come by her comely good looks. Even at sixty-five their mother could still turn heads and gather a crowd of adoring not to say drooling male admirers around her at any social gathering she designed to attend to the seething envy of all other women present.

Her formerly blonde hair had it was true silvered with age, which however only enhanced her regal looks, while her bright blue eyes were as they had always been lustrous and clear. Her children rose wordlessly at her approach and bowed respectfully just before she seated herself at the end of the table opposite her eldest son with Deerborn's assistance. Her eyes swept over them, her full lips pressed flat across the fullness of her mouth being neither a smile nor a frown but ready to shift with the slightest twist of her lips into either.

Yes, they thought she was definitely in one of her moods. Deerborn, fussed wordlessly at the buffet preparing her plate, placing it before her on the table then hastening to procure a cup of black coffee for her. The silence in the room would have made the sound of a hat or a hair pin hitting the table top sound like that of a falling anvil. Wilfred busied himself with preparing his own plate, then took his seat. The silence in the room stretched on.

Sir Leo regarded his mother for several moments in complete silence. He knew the look his mother was giving both Wilfred and Cecilia, any minute they would receive the angry bite of her tongue over some real or imagined fault or sin they had committed. Without looking he knew Stephen was thinking the same thing, and knew that his older brother would shortly try and do or say something to deflect her anger. Sir Leo finished his breakfast unhurriedly, seemingly completely unruffled by his mother's basilisk gaze. After finishing his tea, he proceeded to write a note on a blank sheet of paper torn from his writing note book. Folding the page neatly, placing it within a small envelope he had brought with him he looked up at Deerborn standing diffidently at his mother's shoulder.

"Deerborn, kindly give this to Saunders, have him take it immediately to the address indicated upon it. Tell him he is to ask for an immediate reply from the recipient. He is to return the response to me as quickly as possible by either person or telegram, whichever proves to be more efficacious at the given moment upon his return. Am I understood." His words were polite but his tone was alarmingly flat and the last three words in particular were spoken in such a way as to be understood as not being a question.

"Err...Yes, My Lord. I shall attend to it directly. My Lord."

Sir Leo watched as Deerborn left hurriedly on his appointed errand, then turned his gaze back to his mother, tossing his fountain pen down onto the open note book. This action broke the brittle silence that filled the room, his next words smashed it to flinders.

"Well, out with it, Mama. I have a dozen errands to run before the day is out all of them necessary or tedious and I will be stuck in the Houses of Parliament, most of the day listening to applications before the Special Appellate and Parliamentary Committee for the Consideration of Divorce Cases." His three siblings looked at him with surprise and alarm in their eyes. Sir Leo leaned back in his chair, merely crossed his arms in front of him and awaited his mother's reply. The Dowager Duchess's eyes flashed blue fire at her second son's remarks. His flat, imperturbable gaze angered her still more.

Sir Leo's chairmanship of that said committee - one of several such parliamentary bodies of a technical, military or legal nature that he was a member of - was a sore point between them amounting to a virtual ulcer with his mother; a deeply devoted and sincere high church Anglican. The Dowager Duchess absolutely abhorred the very notion of divorce. The fact her second son routinely presided over such cases that had by British Law to be brought before Parliament to even be acted upon, since he had retired from military service on medical grounds back in '83 both horrified and revolted her. The fact that in the first three months of directing the committee, he had cleared a backlog of some eight hundred cases pending before Parliament some of them years if not decades old, brought order and system to a previously overly bureaucratic, painfully ineffectual and hideously expensive method of executing parliamentary and marriage law horrified her beyond measure. A fact she never ceased in season and out of season to make perfectly clear in the most passionate and ultra conservative terms to her son at every opportunity. Totally without result or effect it might be added, Sir Leo was his father's son: stubborn, opinionated and thoroughly determined to do his duty according to his own lights to his sovereign and his country weather anyone else like what he was doing or not.

The Dowager abruptly rose from her chair, looked icily at her son, then turned from the table without a word to any of them. She swept out of the dining room, nearly knocking old Deerborn aside as he attempted to re-enter the room. The old butler stood baffled for a long moment in the doorway then shuffled after his mistress. Everyone else in the dinning room started to breath again at that moment.

"Leo, old boy." Wilfred began. "I thought you were going to get a right royal thrashing there from Mama's razor sharp tongue."

"Oh, it may still come to that, Wilfred but it will be later and in private. at least I have deflected her wrath for the present onto me, not you and Cecilia." Sir Leo felt his sister's hand slip over his when he placed it on the table to gather up his newspapers, letter and note book.

Stephen rose from his chair, walked round the table to clasp his younger brother firmly on the shoulder, giving him a brotherly shake of support and affection, then made for the door remarking as he did so.

"I will see if I cannot calm Mama down a bit, Leo. If she rants at me for an hour or two, she will forget the whole affair by the time she calls on her society friends for luncheon."

"You should not have done that, Leo. But... thanks awfully." For a moment, the image of the accomplished and delightfully willful young woman beside him slide back through time back into the sometimes troubled and tearful young girl who had so often turned to her older brother for succor, understanding and comfort. Sir Leo rose quietly from the table, leaned down and kissed the top of his sister's head.

"What is the use of big brothers and captains of scarlet battalions, if not to rescue fair damsels and young fools from dragons, monsters under beds and in closets and frightful governors and governess' and terrible old dowagers."

"Hey, now!" Wilfred burst out laughing from his side of the table. Sir Leo had twitted his younger brother since as long as any of them could remember about his vices, weaknesses really: strong drink, games of chance and the company of attractive women who were most definitely not his wife or girlfriend.

"Well, I am off then." Sir Leo remarked quietly as he nodded to each of his siblings and made for the door. He had a tremendous number of things to do today before lunch and the quicker he was about them the sooner they would be done and he could turn his mind and attention to the affairs of the Duchess of Kendal.

Attendence at the Kendal Ball (Part III)

Schomberg Palace, London, Great Britain: January 1886

"Thank you, Deerborn, that will be all." Sir Leo suddenly remarked, as his fingers hit the desk top for the final time. "Tell, Stephen, I shall be joining him in the family dinning room for breakfast momentarily."

"Very Good, My Lord."

As soon, as Deerborn, closed the door behind him, Sir Leo, went to the door and locked it. He wanted neither to be disturbed at this moment nor to have to explain what he was doing. Once that was done, he went back to his desk, unlocked a special drawer hidden by a false panel and leafed through it's contents. Withdrawing a bundle of two dozen letters and a leather bound notebook. Quickly replaced the monocle in his left eye and carefully re-read each of the letters, giving particular attention to three of them addressed to him by the late 3rd Duke of Kendal, Sir Geoffrey Wraithdale.

Sir Leo, then carefully restacked the letters and turned his attention to the leather notebook, flipping through several pages, filled with scribbled notes of drafts of figures, sums and accounts. He abruptly snapped the notebook shut after several long moments of study. The residue of Sir Geoffrey's estate was considerable... so considerable in point of fact, that many men might play a dangerous game to either gain it or at least control it. Sir Leo replaced the items in their locked drawer, and left his study to make his way downstairs to the dinning room with the morning newspapers and the Duchess's letter under his arm.

"Morning, Leo." Stephen remarked from the long table, his breakfast already finished save for a cup of coffee set at his elbow, as he leafed through the morning papers. Sir Leo's older brother, the 7th Duke of Schomberg, as was his habit dressed in his naval uniform, which to do him justice suited him wonderfully well. Dark haired and dark eyed, like all the Worthing-Topper men with a face rendered tanned by the sun and long periods of sea service, Stephen looked the picture of the gallant and professional British Royal Navy officer. His good looks, smartly trimmed moustaches and goatee, his considerable height - he was nearly six feet from head to toe - enhanced that image, as did the rows of service ribbons and decorations that adorned his chest.

"Morning, Stephen." Sir Leo responded as he filled a plate from the buffet, deposited it on the table with his papers, then returned to the buffet for a cup of tea. "Vivian not joining us this morning?" he remarked over his shoulder. Stephen's wife was punctuality personified, so her absence was immediately noticed by Sir Leo.

"No, still taking things gently this morning. That preparation, your man, Otani, came up with helped with her cold very well last night. Vivi' is breathing more normally, I think she got a decent rest finally, although she's still has not gotten her appetite back fully. Still, she got down a glass of orange juice, a chocolate roll and some coffee at 7:30 this morning, so hopefully she'll be receptive to something with more substance by lunch."

"I will pass on your compliments to Otani, then shall I?" Sir Leo remarked with a smile over the brim of his tea cup.

"Please." Stephen rejoined between sips of his own coffee. "Any plans for the day?"

"I have some errands and some parliamentary committee duties to attend to this morning, yes. Although I should be free by the late afternoon, at the earliest. Am I required for some special social duty?"

"Mama, will be joining us, shortly and she's in one of her moods, again."

"Which one would that be? Let me guess: it's either I or Wilfred are behaving absolutely disgracefully, again, or Cecilia has done something that Mama does not approve of?"

Stephen surprised himself with a short bark of laughter at his younger brother's equal parts droll and exasperated tone. Stephen had always been the dutiful son, with regards their parents, while the youngest son, Lionel Wilfred had always been something of the black sheep of the family. Leopold however had always had the most stubbornly independent strike of the three brothers, and thought absolutely nothing of answering back to either of their parents if he thought they were in the wrong or being merely obstinate. Father, of course had never been bothered by this: it showed his second son had character. Leo was as a rule rarely disrespectful to them even if he managed to exasperate them at times and in most reasonable things was perfectly willing to accommodate his parents wishes and commands. Mama had always taken it badly however, she saw her middle son's having a mind of his own, as nothing less then patent disloyalty, disrespect and disobedience.

Sir Leo rolled his eyes, at his brother's expression. At that moment, Wilfred casually sauntered into the dinning room and helped himself to a cup of coffee.

"Morning, fellows." He said affably. Both his elder brothers nodded in return, before resuming their study of the morning news.

"Better make yourself scarce Wilfred, Mama may be on the warpath again." Sir Leo said without looking up from his letter.

"Oh God, and it's only just past breakfast?!" Wilfred remarked with a look of mock innocence and  horror written on his face.

"You are as bad as Leo, Wilfred!" Stephen shot back with a chuckle and shake of his head. Cecilia, their youngest sibling chose that moment to make her appearance in the dinning room.

"Morning." She said gaily, her brothers smiled in unison, Cecilia had a way of lighting up a room with her sunny disposition and graceful beauty. She quickly seated herself beside her favourite brother, Leo, as Wilfred gathered up a plate of food for her.

"Thanks, Freddie." As Wilfred laid the plate before her, and topped up a cup of coffee for her as well. Cecilia was the only one who called Wilfred by the nickname 'Freddie', or rather more importantly was allowed to. Leo and Stephen, usually called him Will or Wilfred, as they knew he was less then enthralled with his first  Christian name Lionel.

"Oooh!" Cecilia cooed as she say the letter from the Duchess of Kendal, Cecilia was never one to pry into others affairs but she loved news, adored gossip and absolutely cherished parties. It didn't hurt that she was an acquaintance of the Duchess's and shared much the same social circles.

"You got an invitation to Ursula's ball too, Leo?" Cecilia remarked between sips of coffee.

"You as well?"

"Yes, the first round of invitations went out eight weeks ago, you were still in Africa, so it's not surprising that you missed yours. Today, this Monday, she sent out a second round to re-confirm everyone's attendance and remind those who got missed the first round for one reason or another."

"Hm." Sir Leo said seemingly refusing to comment further as he looking at the formal card of invitation.

"You are planning on attending...?" Cecilia asked coyly, leaning closer to her brother. "The Duchess's Ball, just would not be the same without her Captain of the Scarlet Battalions... ." Cecilia's voice had dropped to a low, alluring octave with the last words. A bright light of mirth, conspiracy and devilry glowed in her dark brown eyes. Sir Leo instantly swatted his sister over her golden head with the invitation.

"Bad Girl."

Attendence at the Kendal Ball (Part II)

Wraithdale House, Grosvenor Square, London, Great Britain: January 1886

Urusla Wraithdale, the Duchess of Kendal, sometime adventuress, world traveler and woman of leisure, looked at herself critically reflected in the full length mirror of her dressing room. She considered her image leisurely. She wore a beautiful dress of deep rich dark green, decorated with black lace, with a hint of white lace at the neck and wrists. This dress was the one she intended to wear for her ball this coming Friday and she wanted to make sure it was in proper order for that evening. Technically, since her father's death in November she should have been in mourning clothes, but her father who had detested Society's obsession with worshipping the conventions: particularly those concerning with mourning ritual, all his life. He had asked his daughter to throw him a big lively, happy party with all their family friends and relations after he had shuffled off to join the choir invisible! Urusla allowed herself a smile at that memory, she was going to dearly miss Papa in the years to come.

"What do you think, Jeremy?"

Her chief butler, Jeremy Haller, considered both his mistress and her remark for a long moment before answering.

"Splendid, Your Grace."

Ursula was a woman of moderate height, had a very pleasing figure, an erect carriage and she moved gracefully and well. She was not regarded by most men as a strictly "classical" beauty, what she was regarded as; was being very dangerously not to say scandalisely attractive. Urusla's long exposure to the hot Brazilian sun, had bronzed her skin to an very unfashionable but very alluring golden hue, which was set off by her long, heavily curled flaming red hair that framed her prettily sculpted face. Her eyes, were an equal parts fascinating and alarming silver white colour, which gave Ursula, a thoroughly disconcerting and mesmerizing gaze when she chose to direct it upon someone. Ordinarily she wore tinted glasses to hide or at least obscure her unusual eye colour. The Wraithdales, tended towards blondes, auburns and the like with regard to their hair colours, and a range of rather more conventional colours with regard to their irises but a few Wraithdales in perhaps every other generation since time immemorial were born with this scarlet hair and these strange eyes. Her late father for instance had those same eyes and hair colour, as did her late mother. Which wasn't all that surprising as they had been fourth cousins from different branches of the Wraithdale family.

"Have all the invitations gone, out Jeremy?"

"Yes, Your Grace, and all the answers have come back most promptly and in the most emphatically affirmative, I must say."

"Good, better then I or Papa, had hoped."

Urusla considered her jewelry for the party, pearls and diamonds, I think, as she looked at the boxes, her personal maid Susan Ravenswing was opening for her inspection.

"Oh, have the Viscount Worthing, and Captain Jameson replied to their invitations yet, Jeremy?"

"Sir Thomas, has responded, Your Grace."  Jeremy said after consulting a note book, that he had withdrawn from his coat pocket. "His ship, is in dockyard hands for at least the next fortnight from the end of the week, so he will be at your disposal for the ball on Friday."

Ursula, smiled inwardly at what Jeremy had diffidently not said, then again he was well aware of his mistress's very personal attachment to the Captain Sir Thomas Jameson, and left it at that.

"I am afraid I have not received a reply from his lordship, the Viscount Worthing, as yet."

That response did not altogether surprise her, either.
The Viscount Worthing, Sir Leopold Stanley Worthing-Topper, was amoung a great many things an accomplished gentlemen, an experienced parliamentarian, soldier, scholar, writer and explorer but what he was not was a social animal. He had absolutely no powers of discrimination, he treated all about him regardless of their walk of life or social standing with the same polite and polished courtesy. This egalitarian habit aside from his sarcastic and insightful wit, made him anathema to many of his peers in British Society, whom he infuriated even more by not giving the slightest jot about what they thought of him. Urusla for her own part absolutely adored him.

On her sixteenth birthday and formal presentation to Society, a then Captain-Lieutenant Leo Worthing-Topper, had gone out of his way on a rare home leave from his duties with the army in 1874 to rescue a completely unknown to him, girl about to be viciously snubbed at her first formal ball. He had not done it because it was the proper thing to do, but because it had been the right thing to do, which made the deepest impression upon her. That he was a handsome, decorated military hero and gave her his complete and unreserved attention that evening as both a dancing partner and dinner companion had also made an impression on her as well, she thought with merriment dancing in her eyes. Papa and Mama had nearly died laughing at the scandalized expressions on the faces of those who had tried to so savagely humiliate their daughter.

Sir Leo regarded many of his fellow aristocrats as self-important, overly self-indulgent Dutch or Norman Parvenus and Nouveaux riches, which from a historical perspective, and given his own family pedigree, many of them were; having road many a English king's coat-tails to wealth and power over the centuries since William I. He was only slightly more tolerant of the English gentry class, who had both a much closer often ancient connection with their communities and estates, then the often indolent and absentee aristocracy.

"Give his lordship a day or two more Jeremy, then I think we will hear from him one way or the other." Urusla said after a few moments more consideration.

"Very Good, Your Grace." Jeremy responded crisply.

Attendence at the Kendal Ball (Part I)

Schomberg Palace, London, Great Britain: January 1886

Sir Leo stood at his writing desk, going through the morning newspapers, in the study of the suite of rooms that were his in the palatial ducal family home in London. The whole family had been gathered for the Christmas season and the New Year, Mama, Stephen, Wilfred and Cecilia and himself of course. A knock sounded at the door.

"Come in." Sir Leo, said aloud, still reading through the London Times. Hm, another revolution in South America, possible war in Africa. As he sifted through the leading articles.

Hector Deerborn, one of the family's oldest and most stalwart servants (his own and Mama's opinion if no one else's) entered the room, the second butler of Schomberg Palace. White headed, his mass of long hair, drooping moustaches and long wide beard, always reminded Sir Leo of a haystack, that had just been ineffectually combed with a pitchfork! Stooped and possessed of a slow gait that could only be described as shuffling, the man was the personification of decrepitude. Deerborn had to be nearly seventy if he was a day, Sir Leo thought as he crossed the room.

"What is it, Deerborn?"

"A letter from the Lady Ursula Wraithdale, milord it came by the post not ten minutes ago." Deerborn answered with his usual fawningly unctuous manner, presenting the large envelope on a silver serving tray balanced ever so delicately in one of his white gloved hands.

"Hm."

The Wraithdales were an old family, quite as old as his own; part of the Old English land owning gentry, being squires and baronets as old as England. They had only entered the ranks of the truly aristocratic English Peerage a few generations back, when Lady Ursula's great-great-great-great grandfather had been made Baron Wraithdale by King George II. They had gradually since then climbed up the peerage due to diligence at the Court of St James and service in the Royal Navy and the British Army. In 1821, Vice-Admiral Sir Basil Wraithdale, Earl of Wraithdale had been created the Duke of Kendal for excellent military and diplomatic services rendered during the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars. Their dukedom's country seat was Kendal Castle in Westmoreland, Sir Leo remembered absently.

Urusla's father, the 3rd 'Wraithdale' Duke of Kendal had died recently, Sir Leo recalled it had been in all the newspapers when he'd arrived back in England in the first week of December of '85. Ursula being his only living and legitimate heiress had inherited the titles, income, properties and lands that went with his estate. Fortunately Ursula's father had been a careful, methodical man and a brilliant financial manager so unlike a great many of his fellow dukes. He had left his only daughter a well ordered estate and negligible debts to deal with when he kicked the bucket. Her ducal exchequer was an astonishingly handsome one, running in the millions of pounds sterling.

Sir Leo turned the heavily embossed envelop over in his hands, it crinkled when he squeezed it and felt rather heavier then if it's contents were ordinary paper, parchment or heavier card, perhaps? Sir Leo picked up a pen knife from his writing desk and carefully prided off the ornate seals, one the Wraithdale coat-of-arms clear as print in the sealing wax, the other being the Kendal ducal coat-of-arms and removed the several sheets of high quality paper contained within. Lifting his mononcle on it's cord to his left eye he began to read the first one.

Dearest Leopold,

I am delighted to hear that you have returned to England none the worse for your adventures and experiences in West Africa. I must admit when I first read of your planned expedition I was filled with some... no, strike that... a great deal of foreboding; after all Africa is not a safe place with regards to ones' health, reputation or life as my family should well know. I should not have worried on your account, after all if you can survive some fourteen years of hard and gallant service in the name of Her Majesty the Queen across three continents, you can survive nearly anything.

I apologize that my own affairs in Brazil kept me from being in England until recently. Coffee plantations do not mind themselves you know. I am still very put out that this necessary attention to family business prevented my attending your presentations at the Court of Saint James, the Royal Geographical Society and the Athenaeum when you first arrived home after nearly a year's absence in Africa.

I shall want to hear all about it when I next see you. All my friends,acquaintances and relations are just agog about your accomplishments! Please give my fullest regards to your mama, brothers and dearest Cecilia.

I enclose an invitation to my upcoming ball on Friday, I know of your dislike and disinclination towards society affairs and above all anything that requires you to stay in London. Of our old friendship, I implore you to please accept just this once.

Yours Sincerely,

Ursula Wraithdale, Duchess of Kendal

Sir Leo let the monocle drop from his eye, back against his deep blue brocade vest. His free hand tapped the desk top with two fingers repeatedly -- once, twice, thrice suddenly he made a throw away gesture with his fingers before dropping them back to the polished desk top for a fouth and final time.

Damn and Blast.

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The Serpent's Isles (Part III)

Akagi spoke first, when the pair met up with Totani on the pathway.

"Morning Tayo, just finishing your rounds of the posts today?"

"Just the Hiryu and Soryu Batteries, left, thankfully." Totani responded feelingly. Her courier duties took up much of her mornings and a good part of her afternoons each day, collecting the daily reports from each of the batteries and the many fortified infantry  or observation outposts that doted the two lagoons and the three islands that made up the head of the Serpent Isles" Fang Rock, Maw Island and Neck Island. She was fortunate that she didn't have to cover the other islands that made up the body and tail of the "snake" or she would be at her duties all day. Both Akagi and Sasaki as it happened had that particular responsiblility, and both had obviously just come back from the other island and landed on one of the numerous jetties to make their way back to Fang Bay and drop off those reports at the garrison headquarters.

"We will go with you, Tayo. Tedious duties pass more quickly with friends." Sasaki said in her soft, sibilant voice. Akagi, gave the Ainu equivalent of a nob of agreement, then lightly clasped Totoni's shoulder in a friendly grip. "Let's be about it then, when we get back to Fang Bay, lunch is on me."

 Totani walked with her comrades towards batteries with a more cheerful step. Her day suddenly feeling just a bit brighter then it had started.

Sho-sa Oda Mitsuru was as a rule a patient, thoroughly professional and humane man, well liked and respected by both his peers and subordinates alike while being esteemed by his superiors. A rare combination in any military establishment, his troops generally dubbed him Snow White or Old Snowy on account of his long white beard and moustache and his superb almost glacial clam and composure in any and all circumstances. He had been the Imperial Army his entire adult life, having served in the ranks before becoming an officer, although as a member of the samurai-caste in general and the powerful Oda clan in particular he was almost entitled to an officer commission by way of birth rate. He had chosen early on however to dedicate himself to mastering the highly technical artillery branch of the Service and had thought the best way to do that was from the bottom up.

That customary calm was in abeyance this afternoon, and that was because he had just gone through his morning correspondence from Headquarters in Tokyo, which explained his exceptionally foul mood to his military garrison and civilian staff. The Imperial Army Headquarters, had informed him that his samurai assault company was due to be rotated out within the next month, and a replacement infantry unit would not forthcoming. The captain of the gunboat Chiyodogata, the single warship the Imperial Navy, had not yet pulled out the isles, had advised him this morning that the Imperial Navy Headquarters was contemplating doing just that in a few weeks. It had been the capper to a perfect day, as far as Oda was concerned.

Oda, tossed his reading glasses upon the heap of letters, reports and sundry paperwork that covered his desk, and rose to walk to window of his office that faced Fang Bay. The Governor's Mansion, looked out from a hill overlooking the waters of the harbor. Being the military and civilian governor of the Serpent's Isles, had been Oda's job since his predecessor Sho-sho Sawato Hirotsu had died from over drinking in the spring of 1888. Oda was beginning to understand why after holding the job for the last ten months.


Note: (1) Sho-sa, was the IJA rank equivalent of Major. (2) Sho-sho, was the IJA rank equivalent of Major-General.

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