Chapter Six
Dinner at the Fleece
April 12, 1882
Late in the spring of 1882, Joan and her older sister Ann were having themselves a picnic on the Severn river, a few miles west of Gloucester, England. They had felt it was a good day for it, as the morning seemed so bright and sunny. However, clouds had blown in from the Bristol channel. But, it was still a beautiful day.
Ann and Joan had borrowed a rental carriage from the livery shop that Ann's husband, Harold Longley, had taken over for his father. Harold thought that the young ladies were terribly silly, driving all that way just to have a couple of sandwiches and tea out of a bottle.
Ann had told her husband where they intended to eat, but she hadn't told her him about the fried chicken, dinner rolls, and coleslaw they planned to have Jackson, Harold's American friend who was employed as a chef at the Fleece hotel, to prepare for them earlier that morning.
Joan had been staying at the Fleece for the past three days and had come to know Jackson well enough to ask such a favor. Actually, Joan had noticed a glimmer in his eye and how he simply would not stop talking about how much it would please him to make up a special lunch, for her, of his mother's secret recipe, southern fried chicken, just like she would make it back in Memphis, Tennessee. Little did Jackson know that Joan had no intention of eating this special lunch with in the galleried courtyard in the hotel, as he had planned. She politely took the picnic basket, contents and all, went straight out the front door, jumped into the surrey with Ann, and off they went.
They headed for the town bridge, crossed the River Severn, and down the old river road to where it bends toward the south.
It had been raining, a week before, and the mud had hardened, making ruts and bumps all the way. Ann noticed that some tea was leaking out of the bottom of the basket.
Ann pulled on the reins and stopped the carriage. Joan quickly reached into the basket, took out the jar wrapped with a napkin, and said. "I wanted him to use a few more napkins to insulate this tea, but he said, 'We're not going far'. I'm sorry, Ann. I didn't want him finding out".
"You said that you would tell him what it was that we had planned.", Ann said, just a bit aggravatedly. She shook the reins and they started off, again.
"And, I thought, surely, that you would tell Harold about Jackson's fried chicken", Joan returned.
"I should say, not. He's been jealous of that yank ever since Jackson stopped by the livery and gave him those recipes for my dinner party, last month.", Ann protested.
Teasingly, Joan asserted, "I simply can't imagine why".
Ignoring Joan's sarcasm, Ann turned the horses toward the river, stroked them with the reins, and said, "There's a good spot. A few trees for shade and a nice view of the river".
Joan let out a sigh and said, "I was only trying to make a joke, Ann".
"I know. I mean, it wasn't as though I was there to pour my gratitude all over Jackson.", Ann consoled.
"You know how men are. Territorial as canines, sometimes.", Joan said and looked up into the trees of the Green Forest.
"Sometimes?" Ann gave Joan a shocked look and then grinned. She pulled on the reins as they strode up into the shade of a stand of elms. "Did you think to bring a blanket?" Ann cocked her head.
Joan shrugged her shoulders, looking at her imploringly. "How would it have looked, my walking out the front door with an hotel blanket?"
Joan smiled and crossed her arms. "What is it that we're afraid of?", she questioned.
"I don't know. Let's just tell them all to stuff it.", Ann said, laughed, and then stopped, abruptly. "No. Not Harold, anyway."
"Oh, why not?" Let's just not be afraid of anything." Joan climbed out of the carriage, reached up, and took the reins from Ann.
"Right. And, when you get yourself a man, and he's giving you some trouble, I'll just give you a wink so to let you know that it's time to tell him to stuff it. And then, we'll see what happens. Ann peered down at her with a victorious look and climbed out of the carriage. "I suppose that we could just sit down here on the grass. Did you think to bring any utensils? Say, a fork and a knife?"
"A nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse. How do you suppose I'm going to remember all this? By the way, Fried chicken is eaten with the fingers." Joan took the basket and began to walk towards the river, "There are two forks, down here in the bottom, somewhere.
"What about buttering the rolls? You don't expect for me to use my fingers to do that. Do you?" Ann found Joan's thoroughly care-free attitude a little hard to take.
Joan turned and said, "The dinner rolls are already buttered. I guess Jackson wanted to keep his hands free, for something."
Ann grinned and Joan snapped, "Don't look at me like that. I was no more than being polite to him. His ideas were all his own. You know how presumptuous they can be, men." She shook her head and kept on walking.
"They can be, that." Ann was still smiling. "And me li''le sister, Joan, doesn't seem to realize that a sparkle in her own eyes will never douse the glimmer in his."
Joan didn't pay much attention to this, either. The wind whipped her hair to and fro. She used her free hand to cover her wind blown ear. She knew that the closer they came down onto the river, the cooler it would get.
"Just how far do you intend to go down." Ann resented her younger sister taking the lead, to begin with, and she was walking too fast, on another note. "It's not getting any warmer, you know. This air is coming up off the Irish sea."
Joan didn't even turn around. She just kept on walking and said, "There's a stand of Elm trees right there, just off the water. I'll wager there is some soft grass in the shade. Come on".
"I had not planned on taking a hike." And, Ann's long white cotton dress attested to the fact.
A Strange Diversion
Joan reached the small grove of trees and had to walk in among
them to avoid descending down to the river as there was not any
beach, to speak of, at all.
Just then, she noticed a young man in a small boat, rowing to shore just about fifty feet downstream from where she was planning to be seated. She quickened her pace and Ann, unable to see the man in the boat, whined, "Joan can you slow up a bit. You're not angry, are you?"
The man in the boat turned out of the current, gave one last mighty row with the ores, leaned forward, and docked the small craft on the shore.
Joan called out to him, "You there. That's our shade, I'll have you know".
The young man was too out of breath to respond right away. Ann was just making the terrace above the shore, still trying to avoid the shrubs and bushes with her feet when, suddenly, she caught a glimpse of the boatman, bent over trying to catch his breath. Ann stopped and stared at him, while Joan walked right up to him and began to confront his unwanted presence.
"I'll have you know that we've chosen this spot, days ago, and that both our husbands are joining us, presently. Now, if you'll just clear off, straightaway. I'm sure there won't be any trouble." Joan said, grasping the picnic basket with both her hands.
Still out of breath, the young man did his best to try to convey his intentions as Joan looked down at him intently. "I'll be here a few minutes, while I catch my breath." It took a little time for him to utter these few words for, every other word was met with a gasp for air.
And at this point, Ann was stuck in the tall bushes, just off trees in the clearing. The young man had been looking over towards her as he had tried to speak and Joan turned around to see what he had been watching.
They both did their best not to just laugh, loud and long; but, when she fell and tried to pull herself up by the branch of a bush, it got the best of them.
Ann, who quickly got the humor of the situation, started to laugh at herself, and loudly said, "Just no strength in these British bushes. None. Not a fiber". And, she jokingly, tried and tried to pull herself up.
By this time, Joan and the young man were laughing so hard that they had a hard time getting over to Ann to help her off of the ground. Joan reached her first and helped her to roll over, off her back.
Then, Ann said, "That will be quite enough, thank you very much". She straightened up her dress and, as she was brushing off her backside, looked at the young man with purposeful curiosity and asked, "Who are you to be helping my sister to fetch me out of the briar?"
He slowly lowered his hands from off his hips, brought his eyes down to the ground, and said, "My name is Benjamin Evans, madame. I certainly had meant no disrespect. I am from Cardiff on my way up to Gloucester. And, I thought that I should rest, a few minutes, before rowing the last leg of my journey. He turned to look at Joan and continued, "I won't be very long, really. I just have to unload and drain the boat, again. I'll be off, before you know".
Ann could see that Joan had put an inordinate amount of fear into the young gentleman. She could also see that Joan found him as interesting as she did, perhaps, even more so.
"Well, Mr. Evans, my name is Mrs. Ann Longely. This is my sister, Miss Joan Stewart."
Ben, had in turn, bowed politely and said, "I am very pleased to meet you.", to each of the young ladies and offered to, 'shove off straight away', as Joan had insisted earlier.
On the other hand, Joan seemed as though she hadn't heard what it was that he had said, occupied more with blushing and making herself look presentable than paying attention to their introductions.
Ann could see what was taking place between her sister and this nice looking young man as he gently shook Joan's hand. And, how the young lady seemed much more beautiful as she resisted his bright smile and interested gaze. Just observing this made the skies appear to be more blue and the colors become more vivid; although, it was more than likely due to the change of wind direction, slowly blowing the clouds off, towards the north.
This very much pleased Ann and when he stepped forward to shake hands with her, she slyly invited Ben to join them for lunch. "Would you be hungry, then, Mr. Evans?"
Ben was delighted with the invitation. "I would be very happy to join you, both. As a matter of fact, I haven't had dinner rolls drenched with tea since on board ship, last winter."
When they had arrived under the tree where the basket had been lain, Ben exasperated a sigh, as though he had just been able to catch his breath. Fanning his face, he continued walking over to his boat, and stated, "I shall, if I may, make preparations to drain the dingy. It should be much easier to row if I could get the river out". Ben quickly began to relieve it of its contents and turned it over on the shore.
All the while, Joan remonstrated Ann about having invited a total stranger to eat with them.
Ann, trying not to be obvious about her match making, interjected, "He seems so very interesting, not to mention, good looking. And, it occurred to me that he must be quite famished after rowing all that way". And then, accentuating the point, "Clear up the mouth of the Severn, from the Bay of Bristol".
Ben cautiously approached the two young women. While he was emptying the contents of his dingy, he had become aware of the fact that the younger off the two, Miss Joan, had continued her protestations about his joining them on their little outing. So, after inspecting the boat and it's contents, he quietly put the stern of the small craft into the water, and heedfully put a large stone in the bow, to keep it from drifting away.
He slowly began to climb the flood bank.
Ann was facing Ben's vicinity and, after attending his onerous ascent, asked him, "Was there much leakage in your dingy?"
Joan sighed and dropped her shoulders, in disappointment.
"Doesn't seem to be. I think that it should hold for the last leg. I've only got a few miles left to row, haven't I. Perhaps I should be getting on, though." Ben's speech had slowed and no longer had his normal tone of enthusiasm.
Joan began to sense that he was much more polite than she had first thought. She took a piece of chicken, made her way over to Ben, held it out in front of him, and said, "Here is a leg to help fuel you on the last leg of an arduous journey, sir. Please, sit and rest yourself a short while. Have a roll and a spot of tea. It won't really take so long, as that. Then, before you know it, you'll be off".
If there were ever a moment lit by magic.
They both stood smiling. Joan's mouth, slightly open, turned into a radiant smile.
Unable to see Joan's bright smile, Ann felt that she should break up what she thought to be an awkward situation.
She nearly yelled, in as common an english accent as she could muster, "Owh, Yea. We Nobles. We feels obliged to chuck out fried poultry to those who has naught to eat, every time we passes 'em wi' our royal carriage. aye."
Ann's countenance dropped like the brick that she felt as thick as when Joan turned to glare at her.
Ben took the drumstick from Joan and bit into it, smearing it on his cheek. "Has her majesty got soggy napkin for sloppy peasant wi' bugger all for etiquette?", he said with the accent of an old coal miner.
He soon hurried over to his dingy and retrieved a blanket that he spread out upon which they sat. Joan and her sister Ann enjoyed Ben telling stories of his trip to America, purchasing cotton and tobacco, and winning almost two hundred pounds from three sailors as their ship docked back in Liverpool, among others.
The sun had begun filtering through the trees as Ben daubed his mouth, again, with the soggy napkin they had shared. And, as he wiped his hands, he said, "I really must make Gloucester before the chill sets in, tonight. Again, I would like to thank you lovely ladies for the fine supper and the generous audience that I was so fortunate with which to be favored. Thank you". He bowed and walked almost twenty feet, before he turned, and said, "Adieu, mes belle amis. Au revoir. Au plaisir". Again, he bowed, turned, and walked slowly down to his boat.
Ann and Joan both smiled with their mouths open with delight. His expression of continental charm took them both, somewhat, by surprise. It seemed, as though, he was quite well traveled; but, the welsh were well known for their disdain for the french, and for that matter, their language, as well.
They both stood and waved as he leaned back and dislodged the dingy from the shore. He overcame the fast current and rowed to the other side of the river. Once he had past them on the opposite side, he secured one of the ores and waved to the two young women until they were obscured by the riparian grove that had shaded their happy sojourn.
Ann turned to Joan and asked, "Do you think that we shall ever see that lovely young man, again?"
"We simply must, somehow." Joan walked back to were they had eaten, pick up the blanket upon which they had sat, and said, "I
wonder if his having left this was invitation to meet with him, again? We can't just leave it here now, can we?"
"I wouldn't be surprised. It looked as though he may propose to you before you'll be checking out of the Fleece Hotel."
"Don't be too sure about that. I was all too short with him after you invited him to join us. And, don't forget the lie that I so rudely spoke, when we first met." Joan was smiling and had spoken with a raised visage, as though not all too serious.
"Oh? What lie was that? I don't remember your having told a lie." Ann explored.
"It was before your dress was caught on the bushes. I said that our husbands would be meeting us, here."
"Inconsequential. Besides, he had a very pleased look on his face when I introduced you as miss Joan Stewart. And, the way you're so carefully folding up that blanket of his, looks like you are planning on another encounter, as well." Ann tilted her head, peered intently on the blanket, and then at Joan.
"He didn't appear to be the kind that comes two a penny. Did he, now?" Joan grinned.
"Nor did that family crest on his right index finger. Did it, then?", Ann laughed.
Joan handed the picnic basket to Ann and said, "I was looking on his left hand for rings, dear heart".
They carefully, and much more slowly, climbed up the slope to the carriage than they had descended, without too many words. Joan was more considerate and allowed Ann to lead as she followed.
They had to laugh a few times, when Ann would warn Joan, "Watch that bush and don't get it caught on the blanket".
Ben had a very simple plan.
He knew that Joan rather liked the idea that a certain chef at the Fleece had arranged, sometime that morning. He had not been able to extrapolate all that much from the teasing comments Ann had made, earlier; yet, those subtle responses which had been used as defense and counter strike, guarding and protecting Joan's sense of romance and her longing for propriety, had verified his interpretation of Ann's nudging.
He was to check into the hotel on an incognito basis to con-firm the report's having purported an upgrade in the quality of food and ambiance.
The management had alleged to have completed major construction to the courtyard and dinning areas and that they had also hired new staff. And, Ben's father wanted an unbiased opinion.
The Shirt Off His Back
Ben had rowed for all he was worth until he had reached the docks at Stonebench, where he passed the tidal basin, rowing into the landing stage. He paid the dock manager two shillings to have his dingy repaired and stored in the dry dock area, for safe keeping.
He was able to get a quick ride into town on a freight train on the broad gauge line, Bristol to London.
He pulled into town with ample time to find a suitable pub across from Harold's livery shop, to wait for the two women to arrive.
Joan stepped out of the surrey and stood talking to Ann for a few moments before a tall, thin, blonde haired chap slowly began walking around the carriage, apparently inspecting it for damage.
Joan politely nodded and said hello to him as he approached her the first time, but, for the most part, they seemed to be ignoring his predictable behavior.
Soon, Ann reached out and grabbed him by the sleeve. Her head nodded and she wagged it, side to side. It looked a bit like a lengthy reprimand, Ben thought, until he saw the man grin, take her by the hand, and put it to his cheek.
"Odd lot, these English.", Ben said to himself.
A barmaid was standing behind him, looking out the window at the people on the street. She began to tidy up his table as she commented on the scene. "I'd have hit him. Paying more attention to carriage than wife. Ah, he's not always that rude. Just not too inexperienced with his business." She smiled at Ben with hands on hips and bar towel in hand. "Surely. You would be more inclined to show more affection? Wouldn't ya. luv?"
"I believe that I would. But, for the other lass." Ben smiled at the young, and very attract, woman with coal black hair and violet eyes. He had noticed about three different accents, each a little cloudy and unsure. "Would it be too personal, if I were to inquire from whence you hail, Good woman?"
"Melissa. Melissa Coffin. Born in Brixton, Devon county, Essex, but I was raised on Nantucket Island, Massachusetts. I
take it that you've discovered my poor accent." She shifted back to a slightly better cogney, " Well, it works for most of the blokes who comes in 'ere. I tries to make 'em feel at 'ome".
"Actually. That was much better. You wouldn't happen to know this chap across the street. Would you?"
Ben raised his eyebrows in recognition of the name Jackson, which Joan had used retaliatorally, several times. "This Jackson. He wouldn't happen to work as a chef, just down the street, at the Fleece hotel. Would he?"
"He does! Do you know him?" Melissa gleamed.
"I have heard of him. He has a reputation for cooking, that is quite uncommon."
"Well, there your lassie goes, up the street with a basket. And, is that a blanket? I think so. Sir, you haven't finished your pint. Hmm. No sense letting this go to waste." She drank it down and waved to him as he crossed the street. Looking down to clean off the table, again, she picked up the shilling he had left for her. "Thank you so much, kind sir. Do come again."
Ben didn't turn to wave. He didn't want to gain any noticeable movements to attract attention.
Joan walked straight into the hotel and didn't notice him, at all. So, Ben ran up and watched through the door as the clerk handed Joan her room key. He turned away as she walked past the front door and into the hall to the restaurant.
After she had enough time to enter the dinning room, Ben opened the door and walked in.
The front desk clerk recognized Ben immediately. "Why, Master Evans, sir. Good evening. It's so good to see you, again. Will you be staying with us?" He smiled, took his pen up, and offered it to Ben who wrote his name in the registry book.
"I believe I shall be staying for a few days. But I must ask you to keep it on the quiet. I would like to examine some of your improvements for my father, you see, without attracting any attention. Father has wanted it that way."
He handed Ben a room key."Most certainly, sir. We won't even let the young lady, whom you were following, hear even a word. By the way, her name is Miss Joan Stewart. No royal connections, I am afraid, sir. Room 18-c, sir."
"Very well, James. You don't miss a thing, do you?"
"As I always say, you are in good hands when you stay at the Fleece hotel, sir." He raised up his nose, in a rather prideful way, took his pen, replaced it into the ink well, and looked down the hallway where Joan had gone. "Shall I alert you when is approaching, sir?"
"No, James. That will be all. Thank you, very much."
"Will there be any luggage, sir?"
"No. Thank you, James."
Ben went on up the stairs and into his room. At that point he wished very much that he hadn't left his change of clothes at the docks. It would be nice if he could take a bath, before he spoke to Joan, again, he thought.
"We'll just have to eat out in the courtyard.", he said to himself, and went into the lavatory to wash his upper body before looking for Joan to ask her for her company at dinner.
Just then, someone knocked on his door. Ben took a towel and covered himself as he answered the door.
"Sir, the front desk clerk said that you may be dinning with us, this evening." The room porter at the door held up several hangers upon which were a dress shirt, a dinner jacket, a pair of slacks, and a very nice silk bow tie. "He said that you are about my size. And as you can see, he was quite correct in saying so."
"But,... who do I have the pleasure of such an acquaintance?"
"Please forgive me. sir. I am Calvin Rigby, the front desk clerk's nephew. I would feel very privileged to allow you to borrow these. Now I really must dash. I'd be wanted at the front desk, soon. Wouldn't I? Thank you, sir." He handed them over to Ben as though he was quite late, rushed off, down the hall, and down the stairs.
Ben stood, looking at the clothes and finally shut the door when he heard voices.
"I think that your uncle, James is trying awfully hard for a good report. Don't you, Calvin?" He took them and hung them on the coat rack, next to the lavatory.
He bathed and combed his hair. While looking in the mirror, he thought to himself, 'You certainly will get a good report. That is, if your new appointments are as fine as your service has been, so far.' He slowly dressed himself, admiring the quality stitching and the fine cut of the slacks on his body. It fitted very well, but it wasn't tailor made for his waist. Ben just pulled them up a little higher, strapped on is own belt, and buckled it one hole tighter than was normal. As he tied his bow tie, he glanced up at the clock. It read six o'clock.
He made one final adjustment at the mirror. "Doesn't look too bad, for someone else's suit."He took hold of the door handle, twisted the door open, and went off he down the stairs.
Joan was been very pleased to see Ben. She even complimenting him on his taste in dinner wear. Ben simply smiled and thanked her.
She agreed to dine with him, provided that he wait out in the hall "for only a few minutes", and spoke to him occasionally through the door, about how it was that he was able to so quickly locate her, and whether it had cooled very much.
Then, she opened the door, held out her hand, and said, "Kind sir. I find that I have no one with which to dine. Will you be kind enough to partner me?"
She wore a gorgeous, black medium-collar velour evening gown, borrowed from her sister, and a dark brown and black lace eighteenth century summer shawl. Ben was so taken with her beauty that he could find only five words to say. "You are so lovely, Joan."
"Thank you, Master Evans.", she said and smiled. "Shall we go?"
They walked up to Ben's room where he deposited his blanket and went happily down the stairs to the dinning room, arm in arm.
That which began merely as a holiday, turned into matrimony on the first of June, 1882.
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Part Two, A Sail, a sail !
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