The True and Scandalous history of the Lords of Aether, being the Reminiscences and Researches of Julius Savage Beare, official Steward to and unofficial Biographer of the Club
Prologue:
I wish to make it plain that I am neither a spoon-fed, milksop, dilettante nobleman nor a powdered, painted and pox-ridden molly. Just because a man works in a bakery doesn’t make him a Bakewell Tart. I maintain my employ here because I gave my word to Lord Anthony that I would serve him, after he saved me from a gang of cutthroats down by where the old Neckinger used to flow into the Thames. I am a man of honour and stand by my promise. (And the pay is exceptionally good. As my Poll says, “finicky morals butter no parsnips.”)
If you are liable to be offended at the contents of this memoir, then bugger off now. This isn’t London as depicted in the writings of some coddled and addle-pated lady of leisure who never sets her silk-girded foot onto the cobbles in case she steps in a pile of horse turd. This is London at its rawest and raciest, the things that go on behind closed doors and under the streets, the sort of things our dear old Queen would have kittens about if she knew. Although if I told her why that little footman at Osborne is nicknamed…
I digress. As my Poll says, “Stick to the point, Savage, you silly sod.”
As long as there have been horses on the streets of London, and flourishing roses to bear witness to that fact, there have been gentlemen who ploughed their own furrows, heedless of the demands of society or the constraints of the law. Whether the Lords of Aether or their metaphorical forebears, men have always broken the Articles, stretched the law to its breaking point and generally given the fico to the world. That’s the way of things and has been since Noah sailed up the Thames, letting the elephants off at Wapping to graze.
Will what I write be true? Every word. Will it be libellous? Most likely. Will it be fearless? To the hilt. Down from Crecy, through Agincourt and Waterloo, whenever there’s been a call to arms, the Beares have responded. If there’s a banner of truth and courage being flown, there’ll always be a Beare behind.
To quote a good friend of yours and mine.
“Sporfle!”
“Finicky morals butter no parsnips” – love Poll already!
LOL. Poll has a touch of you about her. Straight talking.
This is just fab. I’m imagining the voice – Fred Emney maybe?
Ooh, yes, that could work. Good call.
Soo awesome, Charlie!!
Thanks, love.
A Beare behind! *titter* Very funny.
I’m working on all the Beare puns I can think of!
Every time I read this I just giggle. It’s sooooo amusing!
Thanks, toots.
Holy shheeettt that was awesome I so heard him in my head with the gutter british accent. This was done well sir.
Thanks. The accent has to be cockney pretending to be posh, doesn’t it?
What a distinct voice our narrator has. I will wait eagerly to see what he has to say next.
Charlie, I really like your brain!
LOL Stephanie, my brain is a very odd place. I think next time he’s dragged up some weird story about Shakespeare.