Four And Twenty Weeks, Part The Fifth.

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24, Adaptation, Fiction, jane Austen, Parody, Period Drama, Rebecca Bond, Regency period, Short Story, Spoof

My Dearest Catherine,

I hope this missive finds you in tolerable health and that you will not prove too distressed by the news that I am once more journeying, at my husband’s side, toward dangers unknown.

We had settled between us that we ought ere upon the side of caution. Therefore we were all insistence that Louis- Antoinette would accompany us, thereby ridding him of the opportunity to dispatch a note to his compeers. Furthermore we took the precaution of binding him to the roof of the chaise and four (dear Catherine the foolish child seemed to trust that we had done such a thing for his own safety to prevent his falling to his doom).

The Lethe Identity, Part The Fifth.

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Bourne Identity, Creative Writer, French Revolution, Georgian Period, Georgian spies, jane Austen, Jane austen parody, Jason Bourne, Juvenilia, Novella, Parody, Period Drama, Rebecca Bond, short stories, Spies, Spoof, stories, writing

Hyde Park, London, Quite Soon After What Has Just Come To Pass.

Eliza Heroina.

I gazed through the velvet draped carriage windows as I journeyed through the park. The afternoon had been one of tedium and frustration. Despite the generosity of my hostess Lady Millerton and the excellence of the cakes I had consumed, the society had been entirely underwhelming. Though the gathering had been well attended by young men, there was not one among them with a visage that was anything other than plain, let alone one to whom a lady of small personal fortune might ever be pleasing. It would seem that, to hope to find an amiable man, of tolerable brow so enamoured with me that he might disregard my lack of dowry, was beyond a dream. Thus I journeyed home a creature of desolation.

The carriage turned down the wide avenue and I was already full of dread at the prospect of returning. My imbecilic father would undoubtedly be inebriated and attempting to dance the quadrille with a looking glass, entirely convinced it was my mother. I remembered only too well the consequence of so enthusiastic a quickstep. I was picturing the scene of intoxication that awaited me, when, suddenly there was a noise from directly above my head. Something had landed atop the carriage. We came to so very abrupt a stop that I fell from my banquette and collided quite ebulliently with the opposite wall. Afore I could gather myself enough to call out to coachman to enquire what the Duce had possessed him? And did he require a blow to the visage to reunite him with his senses? the barouche door was opened and a man, wearing nought but a pair of under-drawers and clutching what appeared to be a woman’s nightgown, stood before me.

Every feminine sentiment of delicate propriety within me was so profoundly offended that I wished to scream. However, my afore mentioned collision with the wall had robbed me of my breath and I could not. The man seized his chance and stepped forth into the carriage.
“Pray Madam, do not scream.” Said he.
As such a thing was still beyond me, I remained silent.
“Forgive so brutal an intrusion, I do hope it has not been detrimental to your health!” Continued he.
I found the only words within my power were “My Coachman?!” for I was all perplexed confusion as to why the fellow had not yet appeared to save me from this man.
” It would seem he has not your nervous fortitude, he is too afraid to approach me, even to rescue you.” Was his reply. The man then surprised me further then by continuing as boldly as though he were asking me to dance. ” I am no vagabond, at least, I do not believe myself to be, I do not mean to harm you, but I must entreat you to command your driver to continue.”
“Sir, you cannot expect me to …” But I was interrupted.
“Madam, I beseech you, I am being pursued by the most villainous churls who mean to dispatch me. I must journey to Bath with the utmost expediency! I will pay you ten thousand pounds if you convey me there instantaneously.” He brandished the nightgown and I saw now that it was quite full of money.
“Nay,Sir, what you ask of me is an impossibility! I have enough trouble with my marital prospects as it is without so very openly endangering my reputation through scandalous peril!” Was my animated reply.
“Forgive me madam, but a private fortune of ten thousand pounds is a fortune indeed. With such a sum, no matter how it is acquired, I am certain that a young lady could marry who she chooses, whether he is a libertine or a saint.”
As I glanced once more at the pitiful chemise, so stuffed with bank notes it resembled a Christmas goose, I realised the truth of his words. My thoughts turned once more to the man I called Pappa, who’s intoxicated folly had led him to gamble away my fortune and with it all hope of marrying advantageously. In that unfashionable nightgown, held by this most peculiar stranger, I could see a future. One that contained the hope of marrying for love. I made my decision, lowered the window and called out to my driver.
“Mr. Leadfoot,” For that was his name.” This gentleman has brought me such dreadful news. My aunt has been taken ill. We must make all haste to Bath, though perchance we could stop at a tailor’s shop on the way, the poor fellow has been robbed!”
And with that we drove on.

I conversed openly with him now, though lingering nervous agitation meant that I spoke with the rapidity of a child who wishes to emphatically deny it’s guilt. I discussed the clement weather and the pleasing roads until I had not only exhausted the topics but also the road. For we were soon arriving at Bath. His lack of replies and the near termination of our journey meant I was suddenly overwhelmed by curiosity.
“Sir what is your name? For you have yet to introduce yourself. Mine, for the sake of formality is Miss Eliza Heroina. But, pray Sir, who are you?” I felt that as he had landed atop my carriage with such velocity so very ill attired, bribed me and commanded me to Bath, we were formerly enough acquainted to permit me to address him so very directly. To my astonishment he said;
” I do not know. I cannot recall who I am. I found myself at the docks of London with little or no inclination to recall my own name, let alone how I came to be there.” He reached once more for the chemise and from within he pulled som handsomely drawn likenesses of himself and some calling cards.
“I began to investigate the curious circumstances surrounding such a curiosity, and discovered these. If these likenesses are to be believed then I am apparently one Colonel Charles Lethe. Yet it would seem that I also answer to Mr Everstone, Mr Philips, and perhaps most peculiarly Monsieur De Mėmoire. What sort of a man needs such an abundance of names?”
“I am certain I do not know Sir”
“Nor I, which is why I am entirely determined to find out. It would seem that Charles Lethe is a resident of Bath, and as Charles Lethe, is the name that most resembles a gentleman’s (for who could expect a Philips, or indeed a Frenchman to be such a thing). Therefore I have decided that this would be the most prudent place to begin my search.”
Such calculating logic proved to be admirable, therefore I had a new found respect for Colonel Charles Lethe, a respect which nigh on redoubled as the chaise drew up outside his handsomely elegant lodgings.

The Lethe Identity, Part The Fourth.

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Bourne, creative writing, Film Adaptation, Jason Bourne, Parodies, Period Drama, Rebecca Bond, Regency Fiction, Regency period, short stories, Spoofs, stories

I stood unmoving before that handsome desk in the well appointed parlour of the Nark’s Club For Gentlemen Of Elevated Rank. I was so entirely enraptured by the discovery of my own true self and so accurately drawn a likeness that I became completely unaware of all around me. I know not how long I stood in that attitude, lost in my own imagined remembering. I scarce noticed the hushed and sinister murmurings of men’s voices floating forth from the passage beyond.

I was woken from these reveries by the sudden appearance of a man in the doorway. Although he wore the livery of a club footman he seemed altogether to tall to be such a fellow. He addressed me with none of the usual humble civility that convention so clearly demands of a servant. Instead, with a sudden movement of such swiftness that I was rendered quite certain he was not a footman, for no servant is that diligent in the matter of expediency, He leapt towards me and engaged in combat. He struck my visage with so terrible a blow that I flew backward in a manner severely lacking in dignity. Afore I could full regain my balance another blow was levelled at me and I crumpled to the ground like a linen frock coat!

I was now upon the ground and my breath avoided capture like a butterfly avoids the net. I gasped as the man armed himself with a large and ornate guilt candelabra. He raised the beauteous and valuable object aloft quite ready to strike me with it.
“Nay!” Cried I in desperate alarm. “Sir, pray, cease and desist! For do you not find that object far too pleasing to the eye o be used thus?”
While the villainous wretch did not reply he did acquiesce and hastily exchanged it for a far less decorative silver teapot.

As he brandished so weighty a receptacle I realised I had little choice but to strike him first. I leapt forwards and did just that. As my well proportioned fist collided with his unhappy features he faltered, long enough that I could overpower him. Using as much force as I could muster I pushed the footman backwards. He fell atop the bureau causing it to fall and scatter its contents all about the room. My attention was unanticipatedly diverted from the man who had, so very enthusiastically, attempted to dispatch me. It was drawn instead to the fluttering bank notes that were landing upon the floor. Although I was no merchant banker I had sense enough to recognise that they amounted to a very respectful fortune indeed. I was all perplexed confusion for this money been concealed within the bureau of Charles Lethe; Thus, was it mine?

To my vexation, it seemed my disputation with the excessively large footman had not gone unnoticed. I could soon hear the footfalls of men, who despite their tailored livery and powdered wigs, resembled a regiment of the militia. I seized my chance as a twenty five year old spinster seizes her last hope of marriage, and began collecting the money. I had not yet collected four and twenty pounds whence I realised I had nought about my person in which to carry the abundant notes. Overwhelmed by an idea of some brilliance I removed the woman’s nightgown that the apothecary had so magnanimously bestowed upon me. Securing the cuffs and the elegantly ruffled neckline I filled it with the money as the footfalls grew ever closer. While I knew that delaying my retreat in such a manner was sheer folly, I would be a fool indeed to leave behind so very advantageous a sum.

As I reached for the final bank notes my hand closed upon more than money. A pocketbook had been thrown from the bureau with the riches. To my astonished disbelief it contained three more likenesses of my own visage. All drawn in the same genteel hand. Yet t’was the slanting and smooth script upon the reverse of the drawings that threw me into a state of such uneasy mystification i feared I might never recover. According to these portraits I was not merely one man but several. It would seem that I would also go by the names of Philips who was a baker’s son and Mr Everstone, a curate; while it was laughable that I might either be as lowly as a churlish baker or as pompous as a parson, one need only look at me to realise such things must be scandalous falsehoods, t’was the third that caused the most bewilderment. Indeed I was forced to read it several times that I might believe my eyes. For this particular likeness claimed that I was one Monsieur De Mėmoire; a Frenchman.

Much as such a revelation had me overwhelmed to the point of hysteria, I had not time to dwell upon my finer sentiments, nor the manifold misfortunes of being a man of French nationality. At that very instant, and with a cry of “He is here, I have found him!” two footmen entered the room. I was cornered, trapped, ambushed, surrounded and ambuscaded! I knew what I must do, and though I did not believe myself to be well versed in strategic combat I found that, like a young lady who has natural proficiency for the piano, I did indeed know how to battle. Thus I was able to dispatch them both swiftly and silently. I proceeded with a pleasing lightness of foot to the corridor and was faced with a decision of some magnitude. Whether to flee toward the stairs and hope that I would survive a leap from an upper window with my beauteous visage intact, or combat further with the wretches and depart through the front door. I concluded that the latter was far more befitting of a gentleman. Therefore I expeditiously overpowered two more churls with an agile pirouette, not dissimilar to a step of the cotillion. So it was that, clutching the nightgown full of money, clothed in little more than my drawers and pursued by several more footmen, I absconded through the large oak double doors of the Nark’s Club with genteel grace.