***
With the absence of the Admiralty’s representative, Eleanor thought it sensible she should query her husband on Scoresby’s meaning. Was salvation at Deptford? Franklin was understandably nervous in speaking of official business even to his dear wife, but at last due to her pleading, he admitted he was to embark on another expedition, this time to found a ‘little England’ in the northern wilds. Quite sensibly, Jane overheard, remarking on the fact that they needed women to propagate the English species, to which Franklin coughed embarrassedly about native women. Parry concurred with this assessment, mentioning a definite lack of breathing white females. Jane caught his eye with difficulty and straightened her bosom, declaring firmly she wasn’t to be left behind on England’s rotting shores while the menfolk sailed away to be with Esquimaux witches.
Though, Eleanor didn’t approve of her friend’s language, she too, refused to stay in some little hovel with death scratching outside her door. Franklin hastily agreed under duress from both females, that he’d speak to the next highest Lord in the Naval Board for special permission to take the ladies and if that failed, Jane promised Eleanor they could always dress as the menfolk do, when Franklin and Parry were momentarily out of earshot; Lord knew how many sailors remained to be found to man England’s fleet. Eleanor secretly prayed it wouldn’t come to that, since it was beyond the pale of being a Lady. Raising her tired eyes to her husband’s animated expression as he discussed the viability of the crumbling tenement for the night, she felt her heart strengthen, knowing then she would do everything in her ability to stay close to him.
Talk then included the ladies opinions on sleeping arrangements. Eleanor wished they could’ve stayed in the halfway tolerable quarters of the hotel, but supposed forgetting to latch the gate behind them had been her fault solely.
“Despite conditions,” Parry coaxed, “it has the advantage of being unmentionable-free.”
“I checked top to bottom, dear.” Franklin assured her.
William frowned slightly, “we. We ascertained there was no nasty surprises lurking above and below.” He addressed more to Jane, not oblivious to her appraisal of his person. He further clarified he would take first watch after the remainder of their party returned. “If they ever return.” Franklin added nervously, leading Eleanor by the hand up a short flight of rickety stairs. The door off the landing had an adjoining bedroom connected by a flimsy door, this other room had a set of shallow windows with grimy panes overlooking the next door tenement. Franklin showed this to them, adding, Parry had crossed over via a narrow catwalk, and that it was quite empty in case of escape. Eleanor trembled, afraid of experiencing another narrow escape. Believing her shudder was born of the damp accommodations, Franklin sacrificed his outer coat, placing it gently over her shoulders; Jane scowled by the door. Eleanor smiled tremulously at the gesture; male voices floating up from below heralded the return of the Rosses and Mister Barrow.
Leaving Jane and Eleanor upstairs, Franklin descended as James Ross set foot on the lower stair. “No sign?” He asked concernedly, the candle stub flickered in his hand.
“None at all.” The younger man replied, his expression at once stoic as proper, but deeper emotion lay in his tone. John Ross’s querulous voice was raised with John Barrow’s, in the parlor possessing a commanding view of the street, William could be heard reciting conciliatory words in the background, none of which were having any effect on the combatants. Franklin briefly considered telling the ladies to retreat, for didn’t the men realize quiet was of the utmost importance?
“Is it possible, Mister Ross, to reign in your uncle?”
“Very doubtful, Captain Franklin.” Replied James, wincing as the door slammed against the wall and a furious-faced Scotsman marched out. Behind, Barrow gloated over the small victory he’d achieved over his nemesis, Parry sighed in their wake.
“Come with me, James,” the elder Ross said with as much dignity as he could muster, fiery red hair sticking out every which way. “We are sleeping in the attic.”
Zombies! The Fall of London Page 14