baron_waldenegg (baron_waldenegg) wrote in toujoursliberer, @ 2008-05-21 21:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | baron_waldenegg |
My Dear Karl...
Subject: First night in London
Where: ultimately a bourgeoise tavern
Who: Baron Waldenegg
Warnings: None
Open to: All
Fritz sat in what he had just designated as his office. The sun was in repose, lowering to the west and casting slanted rays of light from the french windows across the otherwise darkened room. He had to write quickly before it dipped below the horizon, for he had not a cent more for candles.
My Dear Karl, He began, but the ink he had scavenged for in the drawer of the desk was old and clumped at the nib of his quill. He cursed and thrust his quill down. He crumpled the paper and flung it to the other end of the room, hearing with irritation the flat sound of the wad colliding softly with the floor. The rest of the room was entirely empty, as was the rest of the house (save for a few pitiful pieces of drawing room furniture that had been draped with white sheets). He shook his head, replaced the paper, and carefully began again.
My Dear Karl,
London is grand! I've already quite worn myself out with all the grandeur and glamour and such.
He gave an ironic snort at this glaringly false statement, scratched his scraggly jaw and scribbled more.
It is a godsend to escape from the churlish lions at court; to turn a deaf ear to all the gossip. What an exaggeration, to say I can not even afford my title! If they saw me enjoying myself here in England they would all have to eat their pretty little embellished hats!
I made a visit to your townhome, as you wished. It is quite a jewel; the servants have cared for it well. Is it true that your family has not been here for generations? I remained there merely for an hour, for I had to prepare for one of my many social engagements that evening.
Zita is well. She asks about you constantly Here again he gave another heaving laugh. She even inquired about a correspondence, but I deemed it too soon, poor child. She misses you dearly, I believe.
We will be heading up to Newcastle upon tyne in a few more weeks to enjoy the coast. This is mainly to help Zita's health; she has retained a sour cough.
Please address your letters to the postmaster in London and he will redirect them to my whereabouts.
With warm regards,
Fritz
He squinted in the last rays of sunlight as he signed his name at the bottom. "Thank you, Karl." He said out loud as he folded the paper into thirds and slid it carefully into an envelope addressed to "Karl von Herrenfeld, Herrenfeld Manor, Prussia. "Thank you very much."
He rose and stretched a bit, dipping his head to glance out at the darkening cityscape. The Herrenfeld home was in an affluent part of town. Perfect. He would have to work on the furnishings and hire a new set of servants, since he had just dismissed them all. These details would all come later. This time around he would not be reckless, he would slowly and thoroughly go about his facade until it would fool the queen herself, and then he would finally cement his place in society...
But for now he could only bide his time in his own filth. He was hungry and there were no women or food to sate him. These things he would have to acquire without coins. He fumbled in the dark through his chest of small valuables, a candelabra here, a piece of china there, until he found his overcoat folded away in a corner. He slipped it over his shoulders and set out immediately to explore the city.
Fritz had to admit there was a certain freedom to being common; the liberty to come and go as quickly as he pleased, the chance to move about a space without much ado at all. That was the only thing he enjoyed about being destitute. Now on the uneven cobbled streets he blended into the alleys, he watched individuals and they did not notice him. He was free. But he was hungry.
After an hour of strolling he came across a lively tavern; commoners chortling drunkenly, leaning on one another, singing syrupy slurred ditties. Without any effort at all he entered and nicked a pitcher of beer from under the nose of an absurdly drunken man. Taking a huge gulp of liquid sustenance he sidled away to drink his new prize in peace. He sat in a corner and kicked his scuffed heels, once rich black leather equestrian boots, up across an empty window-ledge. He would drink and he would evaluate.