A Tale of Two Londoners

A Tale of Two Londoners

A Tale of Two Londoners

The London Times:

The date is 17th January 1821, but our mind's purpose is to relate the remarkable events of Dr. Livingstone's 1820 African expedition. All of England - in its Victorian confidence - has fallen speechless to the expedition, and what they uncovered not a week past. When their ships arrived on London's docks, the civilized world and the mysteries of the Heavenly Bodies came together: whether for truth or naught, no one can dispute how our great nation has been changed. The Royal Society has launched a full-scale investigation into the matter, set to be reported to the public in six month's time. Due to great (and understandable) civil unrest, we have compiled the journal entries of Sir Aldrich and Sir Beardsley - starting after their knighting ceremony which directly preceded the exhibition to Africa. They are the accounts of Livingstone's right-hand men, they are the most recent surviving documents on the late Livingstone, and they depict two very unsuspecting, unremarkable men on the eve of incredible events. May this serve to keep the peace for just a little longer.

Please.

Sir Maximilian Beardsley

19th April, 1820

          The tea has grown cold, the crumpets stale; the day is over for all but me - the lone sentinel to this young, English night. I do not tarry away as the animals of the night have begun, but I simply listen to their labors. This is their moment, and I'll let them have it.

Sir Maximilian Beardsley

Sir Hobart Aldrich

19th April, 1820

          I am, most positively, the only human in all of England who is still awake. I simply do not want to part ways with this sublime day. If someone were to tell me to please, shut my eyes and depart unto sleep... I might be compelled to send them hither.

          Before the fireplace in father's quarters I stand triumphantly, imagining there to be a painter behind me, outlining the silhouette of England's newest knighted man - me!

          Of course, I did share the ceremony with Sir Beardsley, so it may technically be a tie in the Queen's books, but I shall prove who is the better on Sir Livingstone's expedition - set to leave tomorrow.

Sincerely, Sir Hobart Aldrich

Sir Maximilian Beardsley

21st April, 1820

          We have set sail! The terrific rumble traveling through the Livingstone as she tears into the Atlantic bespeaks adventure, and I am gladly letting it infect me. The coming months in Africa will be difficult, and I would deign to enjoy this moment, at least. As the seagulls dance across the deck and the servants pass to and fro - I sit - writing at the stern, overlooking it all, letting my pen grace these pages.

          Unfortunately, we are setting sail a day late - due to my esteemed colleague Sir Hobart Aldrich and his family. A word on that:

          The Aldrich's have lived across from my family for countless generations, and by no means are we enemies - it would be most uncouth of us. We are of England's nobility, living in the country, but adventuring forth through discovery and travel! Much the same could be said of the Aldrich's by an outside observer - but they would be wholly incorrect. The Aldrich's run a household based on chaos and ridiculousness, and this Aldrichness is what spilled over yesterday... to my great alarm.

          For roughly two years the Aldrich's have had a massive infestation of killer bees, which is most unusual. Nothing has worked to rid them. Therefore, I have witnessed their gardeners stung within an inch of death, their maids drying laundry wearing suits of armor, and their butlers escorting guests inside whilst waving torches wildly. Like I said, chaos. It simply is not "right" to cause so much confusion all the time! So, when I went for breakfast on the back lawn, on the morn of Sir Livingstone's expedition - ONLY to find mother and father in a swarm of killer bees - I lost it. It was the last straw. I do admit, my actions were severe, but only just a little. See, I felt our hunting dogs could scare the bees away, then run around the Aldrich Estate wildly, showing them how infuriating it is to live across from them!

          Anyways, it went horribly wrong and the Aldrich's went into chaos, as I should have expected. I cannot place the next events exactly, but somehow, through the attack of our hounds, COMPLETELY INEXPLICABLY, Hobart decided to wed a maid. How ridiculous! Foolish! Whatever goes through his head, I would never like to know. It is completely illogical to ask someone's hand in marriage on a whim. But nevertheless, I felt bad for the old chap - he seemed out of sorts to say the least - so mother, father, and I went over to calm down Mrs. Aldrich, and retrieve our dogs. I do swear, only by living across the Aldrich's do these things happen!

Sir Maximilian Beardsley

Sir Hobart Aldrich

20th April, 1820

          Here, I sit surrounded by herbs and flowers of every kind. The air is abuzz with spring and thick with pollen, and it pains me to think I shall not see it come to fruition this year. For I do enjoy this yard so very very much. My eyes trace the rows of manicured pines skirting and flanking each other, then jump to where they rejoin around the drive, and enclose this wondrous estate. I am not a creature to boast, but the English countryside is my home and in it I find deep pride. The trees I have grown up with feel like family and under them I am smoking - I have never smoked - but today seemed as good of a day as any to try my late father's African cigars.

          I have never before this morning felt so moved by my surroundings, to be honest. But the excursion which lays before me infects my mind on every level and has made me rather romantic. Take, for instance, when I first awoke: Clarissa, mother's nurse, was parting the drapes, and the sun which subsequently bathed her in a glorious halo was so unequivocally beautiful that I dropped out of my bed and proposed her hand in marriage from the floor. I suppose this could have indicated my upmost respect for her - after all, most goodly gentleman these days kneel on one knee - but not I! I was fully sprawled upon the ground like a peasant proposing to a princess. I am most gracious she accepted my offer, but I am slightly worried due to the fact that I have never spoken to her beyond, "Clarissa, the gardeners seem to have been attacked by killer bees upon the balustrade. Could you see to them?" I forgot to mention the unfortunate killer bee infestation here at Aldrich estate, it is most unfortunate.

Sincerely, Sir Hobart Aldrich

Sir Hobart Aldrich

20th April, 1820

          I did not know at the time of my previous entry, but I was at the altar of a fully atrocious war. One which took me quite by surprise, really - and all due to something as inconsequential as the direction of the wind. I suppose I should pick up where I left off though - at the killer bees.

          Unbeknownst to me, my sweet cigar smoke was the rough equivalent to cat nip for bees, and the deep spring breeze had carried its scent (and the bees) over the aforementioned hedges unto our neighbor's yard. If the breeze had been in any other direction I would not be writing now with a bandaged arm. But I am writing now with a bandaged arm. I cannot place it exactly, as the chaos of the moment was high, but I believe the bees were so thoroughly intoxicated that they came upon the neighbors with much vigor. Anyways, the next part vexes me completely - somehow, the Beardsley's (the neighbors) located me as the source of the smoke and consequently set their dogs upon me. As if I was a meddlesome animal! This is, by all measures (I feel) an overreaction - but to each their own I suppose. When I heard the pack of Beardsley's hunting dogs in a fuss, I never would have imagined my nearing demise, instead thinking it most peculiar that Sir Maximilian Beardsley (their son and my colleague at the Royal Society) would choose to go hunting on this particular morning - as not only I, but he as well, would be boarding the Livingstone en route to Africa this very day. Reasonably, I investigated forth to where the drive and road intersect - this proved to be a drastic error - and found that I was, in fact, the object of the hunt. Again, I have never felt so romantic as I have today, so I attempted to reason with the hounds. Remembering my successful marriage proposal, I decided to lay upon the ground as a sign of respect; also, I attempted to speak German (I cannot) because for some blasted reason that I cannot figure - all hunting dogs are trained in German. Due to the nature of the language, I now believe the dogs thought I was growling at them from beneath them - which is fairly disrespectful in canine culture. When I had realized the err of my ways, all hope was lost, it was too late, and they grabbed at my traveling clothes and pounced upon my face despite my best efforts to convince them I would reward them with raw flank steak.

          The next portion of this account is based upon what others have relayed to me - as I cannot remember any of it, and for that, I am glad.

          The dogs must have come off the moment and realized I was not the prized hare, but a human; and they proceeded to take me (very kindly) to our front porch from the outskirts of our front lawn. I, however; was in that mysterious unconscious world which maintains a high degree of unreality and believed I was not human, but gecko. This is why I unwittingly wrenched myself free of their loving grasp and proceeded to climb the side of our manor up to the third story (no one can quite put how I suddenly exhibited the gift of climbing) where I courageously broke through the windows of the servant's sleeping quarters and propelled myself within.

          Now, this was a very bad choice for gecko-me because as it happens, Clarissa was within said room, and I gave her a great startle. But as a true nurse, she acclimated quickly and led me to a bed, laying me upon it. As she was tending to my wounds I would not stop recanting the phrase, "pink, juicy meat!" which she found most peculiar, I am sure, but this was surely gecko-me still trying to appease the hounds (which were now all waiting upon the front lawn patiently awaiting a reward for their efforts).

          As I was being stabilized and treated by Clarissa, my mother, in the study, had simultaneously been informed of Clarissa and I's engagement and been roused by the raucous of the hounds. When she saw the dogs upon our front lawn she panicked, I believe. It was too much. For she temporarily lost her mind - making now two people under one roof without sanity. This is most precisely one too many. She came up to the servant's quarters to request help and demand the death of Clarissa, probably. But instead, mother found Clarissa leaning over my now half-clothed body as gecko-me was screaming "pink, juicy meat!" to no one in particular. This scene, obviously, can be interpreted in many ways and mother took it much for the sexual. It was most unfortunate.

          Apparently,  gecko-me had stayed past welcome and I came to think of myself as a pigeon, for as soon as mother jumped forth from the door to my bed, I catapulted myself (most graciously, I'm told) between two servants, a tea cart, and a wardrobe - out the window and down onto the grass three stories below. At this point, I find it remarkable to observe that mother did not throw Clarissa out after me - knowing what she thought had occurred.

          In any case, this is how my arm came to be broken. Eventually the profuse confusion was alleviated with the help of the Beardsley's. They were - however helpful and informative on why the bees and dogs had anything to do with my condition - also rather vexed on their multitude of bee stings and not pleasant company. I do not understand why they were not happy everyone survived, but be that as it may, I am pleased the Livingstone will delay its departure a days' time to allow for my healing.

Sincerely, Sir Hobart Aldrich