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Authors: Rachel Florence Roberts
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fax-paux in here? Why am I not allowed to state the
reality of our affair?
"Anyway darlin', whatever ye think, I'm definitely
interested in attemptin' escape number eleven, with such a bonny face as
yours." He squeezes my hand.
"You know, on the outside, I am a Lady." I say,
slightly taken aback.
"Doesn't matter in here," he says. "Though I
s'pose I should beg ye pardon. Sorry. But the reality, me Lady, is that we're
all trapped. What difference does rank matter? Hey, if I get ye out of here,
maybe p'rhaps ye could invite me to one of ye fancy dinners. I ne'er been to a
lady's manor before."
"Certainly, if we ever get out of here, I would even
pay you handsomely," I say. "I'm simply loathe to pay these foul
thieves and robbers a single penny. They can snatch it out of my dead hands,
more like. I do have some moral standards."
"I don't quite understand ye, but I do understand ye
sentiments," he says. "Right-o. So what do we do now?"
I can't think. Oh, but I must. There has to be a way out of
here.
"Can you recognize any of your male jailors?" I
ask him.
"Jailors, ha ha. Ne'er heard that one before. Ye, of
course I recognize the male orderlies. That one oe’r there is George Davis,
damn him he gave me a bloody nose once b’foor. The ot’er ones John Wilson.
Bastards."
"What are they wearing?"
"Same as me. Though of course, no-way near as
handsomely." He chuckles, then stops and looks at me. "My Lady, I do
believe ye just hit upon a potential plan in that pretty head of yours."
I am glad, and giggle.
"Ye askin' me to pretend to be an orderly, right?"
"That I am. And I can be the 'disorderly' captive,
right?"
"Patient?"
"Pardon?"
"Ne-er mind. Captive it is. Oh, I always dreamed of
taking a lady captive, taking off her corset..."
I raise my eyebrows reproachfully.
"Sorry, me' Lady. My thoughts do run away with
themselves. Me wife wouldnae b’ ‘appy. Right-o. I suppose ye must act
disorderly, then. What do ye suppose ye can do?"
"I could have a fainting episode?"
"No. They would come running over to check if ye were
alive. Not a good thing."
Hmm.
"This will never work. How about we just steal a bunch
of keys?" I say.
"And how, pray tell, d’ ye s’pose we do that?"
"How about you seduce a female 'orderly'?" I
suppress a smirk.
It is his turn to frown.
"Aye, at least someone in here has a sense of humour.
God forbid, I thought it had been banned from t’ entire human population. No, I
already told ye, they seem strangely immune to my charms. Did I tell ye I
murdered me wife, by the way?"
"Pardon?"
"Just jokin’. Ye should have seen the look on ye face.
Here, I know what to do." With that, he pulls me into a pirouette and
pushes me to the floor.
"Ow!" I cry out. "I twisted my ankle! I hurt
this one as a child! Oh, you selfish, brute headed rhino!"
"Oh!" He cries in a loud voice. "Patient
two-oh-three has sprained her ankle! Here, let's get ye back to ye room, here's
a love." He crouches over me, pulling his hat discreetly lower over his
face. I note he has his back to the band.
"All of the long term orderlies are on the stage,"
he says, whispering. "Except for the new ones, who can't play a tune.
Those are dotted around the place, and seeing as they only joined last week,
they shan't know I am a patient from the back. Now, stay quiet." He picks
me up and hoists me over his shoulder.
With that, he carries me out of the ballroom.
In A Pickle
Edgar
November 4th, 1885
Mr Tumsbridges Office
“I received your letter Mr Stanbury, and I'm sorry to be the
bearer of bad news but I'm afraid that you're not entitled to anything.”
“How can that possibly be?”
“The law, my friend. The law.”
I can only stare at the lawyer as he ignites another
old-fashioned candlestick, his liver-spotted hands shaking as he does so. He
notices my gaze, and blowing out the match says, “It's terrible getting old,
isn't it? I shouldn't be surprised if I set fire to this whole darned
reality of our affair?
"Anyway darlin', whatever ye think, I'm definitely
interested in attemptin' escape number eleven, with such a bonny face as
yours." He squeezes my hand.
"You know, on the outside, I am a Lady." I say,
slightly taken aback.
"Doesn't matter in here," he says. "Though I
s'pose I should beg ye pardon. Sorry. But the reality, me Lady, is that we're
all trapped. What difference does rank matter? Hey, if I get ye out of here,
maybe p'rhaps ye could invite me to one of ye fancy dinners. I ne'er been to a
lady's manor before."
"Certainly, if we ever get out of here, I would even
pay you handsomely," I say. "I'm simply loathe to pay these foul
thieves and robbers a single penny. They can snatch it out of my dead hands,
more like. I do have some moral standards."
"I don't quite understand ye, but I do understand ye
sentiments," he says. "Right-o. So what do we do now?"
I can't think. Oh, but I must. There has to be a way out of
here.
"Can you recognize any of your male jailors?" I
ask him.
"Jailors, ha ha. Ne'er heard that one before. Ye, of
course I recognize the male orderlies. That one oe’r there is George Davis,
damn him he gave me a bloody nose once b’foor. The ot’er ones John Wilson.
Bastards."
"What are they wearing?"
"Same as me. Though of course, no-way near as
handsomely." He chuckles, then stops and looks at me. "My Lady, I do
believe ye just hit upon a potential plan in that pretty head of yours."
I am glad, and giggle.
"Ye askin' me to pretend to be an orderly, right?"
"That I am. And I can be the 'disorderly' captive,
right?"
"Patient?"
"Pardon?"
"Ne-er mind. Captive it is. Oh, I always dreamed of
taking a lady captive, taking off her corset..."
I raise my eyebrows reproachfully.
"Sorry, me' Lady. My thoughts do run away with
themselves. Me wife wouldnae b’ ‘appy. Right-o. I suppose ye must act
disorderly, then. What do ye suppose ye can do?"
"I could have a fainting episode?"
"No. They would come running over to check if ye were
alive. Not a good thing."
Hmm.
"This will never work. How about we just steal a bunch
of keys?" I say.
"And how, pray tell, d’ ye s’pose we do that?"
"How about you seduce a female 'orderly'?" I
suppress a smirk.
It is his turn to frown.
"Aye, at least someone in here has a sense of humour.
God forbid, I thought it had been banned from t’ entire human population. No, I
already told ye, they seem strangely immune to my charms. Did I tell ye I
murdered me wife, by the way?"
"Pardon?"
"Just jokin’. Ye should have seen the look on ye face.
Here, I know what to do." With that, he pulls me into a pirouette and
pushes me to the floor.
"Ow!" I cry out. "I twisted my ankle! I hurt
this one as a child! Oh, you selfish, brute headed rhino!"
"Oh!" He cries in a loud voice. "Patient
two-oh-three has sprained her ankle! Here, let's get ye back to ye room, here's
a love." He crouches over me, pulling his hat discreetly lower over his
face. I note he has his back to the band.
"All of the long term orderlies are on the stage,"
he says, whispering. "Except for the new ones, who can't play a tune.
Those are dotted around the place, and seeing as they only joined last week,
they shan't know I am a patient from the back. Now, stay quiet." He picks
me up and hoists me over his shoulder.
With that, he carries me out of the ballroom.
In A Pickle
Edgar
November 4th, 1885
Mr Tumsbridges Office
“I received your letter Mr Stanbury, and I'm sorry to be the
bearer of bad news but I'm afraid that you're not entitled to anything.”
“How can that possibly be?”
“The law, my friend. The law.”
I can only stare at the lawyer as he ignites another
old-fashioned candlestick, his liver-spotted hands shaking as he does so. He
notices my gaze, and blowing out the match says, “It's terrible getting old,
isn't it? I shouldn't be surprised if I set fire to this whole darned
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