At each place was a menu that each member would make their selection from and tell the waiter as he picked up their menu.
Starters
Butternut Squash Soup
Spiced brioche crouton, brown butter
1800 Club Made Ricotta
Olive oil, oven dried herbs, aged balsamic, toasted sourdough
Woodland Mushroom Salad
Baby arugula, mint, truffle dressing, shaved Parmesan
Main Courses
Cavatelli Pasta
Porcini mushroom, rainbow swiss chard, preserved lemon, & chervil
Roasted Chatham Cod
Salt cod mash, artichoke, olive, lemon, basil
Ginger Glazed Organic Scottish Salmon
Field peas & beef marrow, creamed parsnip spinach
Dessert
Strawberry Shortbread
Vanilla cream, strawberry balsamic syrup
Rhubarb & Apple Crumble
Bird’s custard
Summer Pudding
Red berries, lemon crème fraiche
After Dinner
Coffee . . . Tea . . . Demitasse
They kept up their conversations as the menus were brought back to the kitchen.
“Captain Brand,” said Colonel Corouso sitting six seats away from John. “I see that you wear the new Balloonist insignia. Do you believe that the Balloon Corp will be formed? There are many against it, sir.”
John nodded and said, “To answer your question, Colonel, the Corp has already been formed but has not yet been activated. And I also know that many are against it as they see funds going to a startup as funds they could use.”
The colonel shrugged his wide shoulders, “But what would a balloonist do? Shoot from the sky? And on a windy day might not they might become sea sick?”
“No sir, I do not believe that there will be a problem with motion sickness. And yes they might shoot from the sky . . . but not in the way you think, sir. They may shoot with cameras and take photographs of enemy emplacements thus shortening the conflict. In fact on the 16th of this month Mister Thaddeus Lowe will be aloft in his balloon Enterprise with a telegraph with which he intends to send a message directly to President Lincoln. This will show the power of spotting from the air.”
“Captain Brand,” said Lottie Deno with a smile. “Will ladies be able to go aloft as well?”
“Absolutely, Ms. Deno.”
She flashed her eyes as she said, “I would feel safe in a balloon with you, Captain. Perhaps you will consider it?”
John grinned and blushed as he nodded, “Perhaps I can set something up, Ms. Deno.”
Bill grinned as the members continued with their playacting. All’s well with the 1800 Club, he thought again.
As was the norm Bill was served after all of the members had their dinners in front of them. He rose and was quickly followed by the others as he held up his glass of wine and said, “Here’s to a short conflict.”
“To a short conflict,” they answered and all took a sip of their drink.
After dinner they all retired to the great room once again where the talk was centered on this two and one half week old War Between the States. It was 11:20 p.m. before the club emptied. At 11:50 Bill, John and Rocko sat in Bill’s den and watched the latest hologram.
“Phew!” said John as he shook his head, “That was gruesome!”
Rocko, who knew more about naval history than anyone in the club said, “Unfortunately that was life at sea. Or, should I say that was life and death at sea. I know that Vice-Admiral Nelson died in that battle but he suffered before he died and at least this was instant.”
“However,” added John, “It must not happen like this. If the French invade Britain there will he thousands of men on both sides that will die. Men that our history books tell us lived and had children who grew up and bettered themselves and others simply by being around. Doctors, lawyers, artists, teachers and every-day hard working people who will never have been born.”
“John’s right,” added Bill. “Somehow we must go back and at the correct moment, get Nelson to duck.”
Rocko stood and thrust his hands deep into his pockets as he said, “Guys, you don’t understand: Nelson would never duck! It just was not done on those ships. It was frowned upon. Why, he even wore all of his medals never mind his brightly colored uniform that told the enemy that he was an important person and thus a target. This was the way the officers inspired the men.”
“That’s the problem I’ve been wrestling with,” quipped Bill. We have to accidentally bump him aside.”
“We?” asked Rocko with a stunned look. “Bill, there’s no way one of us could do this. You didn’t just walk aboard one of those battlewagons. If you weren’t assigned a spot you were not allowed aboard. And if you persisted, they’d toss you over the side. Life was tough back then. Plus, everybody knew each other. No, especially to somehow get aboard the HMS Victory where Nelson, their most highly praised naval leader was. Nope! The only people that were aboard were known by Captain Hardy and his officers.”
“Captain Hardy?” asked John, “Who’s he?”
“The Victory was Captain Hardy’s ship. It just so happened that during that tour Admiral Nelson was aboard to run the overall show.”
“So,” asked Bill, “there’s no way we can get a member aboard the ship he’s on?”
“Not that I can think of,” said Rocko taking his seat. “It would have to be someone who got aboard at the last minute and was not assigned a job, but still fit in. I mean can you imagine getting aboard somehow and being assigned to man the top sails with a rifle to shoot down at the sailors on the French or Spanish ships? And what about our American accents? Besides, there’s that rule that we can’t take a life. What happens if his ship gets boarded and some big sailor is coming at you with a sword in his hand? What do you do, call ‘time out’? From all that I’ve read there is absolute chaos aboard one of those ships during combat. Cannon balls flying through the side of the ship sending thousands of big wood splinters all over the place. Then there’s chain. They used to stuff sections of iron chain down the cannon barrel and fire it at the enemy. That chain would swoop through the short distance between the ships and cut groups of men down.” He looked up and said in a low voice, “Sorry to be so graphic, guys. But, that’s the way it was back then.”
“Bill,” asked John as he sat forward, “Maybe you can somehow get one of those sailors and tell him about Nelson getting killed? Maybe he’d push him down when that cannon ball comes flying down the deck.”
“That’s something I considered, but I think that even if I persuaded him, he’d never know when to act.”
“No,” added Rocko, “You would need an intelligent person who can perform his job aboard the ship and get the admiral to duck at the correct moment.”
“Maybe,” said John, “if you got the ship’s clergyman? That’s if they have a clergyman aboard.”
“Or,” said Rocko, “the ship’s surgeon. I know the HMS Victory had a surgeon aboard as he wrote an article of treating the admiral after he was shot.”
John asked, “Rocko, you keep saying surgeon. Is there a difference between doctor and surgeon?”
He nodded, “Yes. Regular doctors had their practice on land and the British Navy had surgeons aboard their ships. Many were home taught while others went to medical school and after a short learning period, joined the navy. They became Warrant officers: higher than the enlisted man but lower than a lieutenant. Sort of an in-between. Many had to dine alone as the officers ate together as did the enlisted men.”
“Okay,” continued John, “let’s assume you go all the way back and talk to a surgeon and he declares you as insane and has you interred? What then?” He shrugged and added, “You’re right, Bill, this is a big one.”
Bill stood and walked a few steps before returning to his chair. “You know guys this is the reason I like to bring you two here when there’s a mission. We chat it out and suddenly the impossi
ble becomes the almost impossible.”
“You have something, John?” asked Rocko.
“I just might. Let me try this on you two. What if I get an English doctor and tell him of the gravity of the mission and send him back. He makes friends with the ship’s surgeon and somehow gets himself invited aboard. They would be only too happy to have an extra surgeon aboard and he’d have a reason to be on deck to make the admiral duck.”
“What do you do,” asked Rocko, “go back and kidnap an English doctor and tell him, ‘Hey, can you go back and make Admiral Nelson duck to escape death so that he can die later’?”
“What if I got Doctor John Watson?”
Rocko and John looked at each other. “Wow!” said John, “Can you do that? I mean, does he know that we can time travel?”
“No, and Shirley promised not to tell him.”
John nodded, “I’m sure your fiancé will keep her word. Are you planning to have her recruit him?”
Bill shrugged and said, “I don’t know. I’m still mulling it over. Do you guys think it’s a good idea?”
Rocko answered, “Best one yet. But do you think he’ll do it?”
“Well, you have to figure that he knows how important Admiral Nelson was to the future of the crown and if he knows that he’s going to lose the battle, he’d have to say yes.”
“But,” asked John, “if it takes ten days to go to England and another one or two to convince him and then another ten days to came back to the club and send him back to the days of Nelson, and then send him back to England which will take at least another ten days . . . well that’s an awful lot of time wasted before the mission even starts. Can you afford that much time?”
Bill clasped his hands together and rested his elbows on his knees deep in thought. “I have to start this earlier. I’m going to have to go back and send Shirley a letter that is convincing enough for Watson to want to visit the States.”
“Bill, if you need me or Rocko to go on a mission, just ask.”
“I know that, John, but this is a bad one. Let me try Watson first.”
The clock struck one and John and Rocko stood, shook hands with Bill and went down to the changing rooms and then to their respective homes.
Bill sat at his desk composing a letter that he hoped would entice Dr. Watson to come to New York as Matt came into the room. “Some hot chocolate, sir?”
“Yes, thank you Matt.”
Samson entered the room and hopped up onto the large soft couch.
“Is there a mission, sir?”
Bill sat back and stretched, “Yeah. A tough one, Matt.” He looked at Matt and went on, “I’m going to need to get two tickets from London to New York leaving London on May 25, 1898.”
“One cabin, sir?”
“No, two. Thanks Matt.” Matt left the den and Bill went to Google as he thought, I need something to entice the good doctor to come across the ocean.
Thirty minutes later Bill went to the time transfer door and took out his Time Frequency Modulator and after entering his password, entered: May 11, 1898 11:00 a.m. He went out the door in his den and after closing it behind himself went down the stairs, pressed the activate button on his TFM and opened the door.
DATELINE: MAY 11, 1898, 11:00 A.M. PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY
The sun was almost at its highest point on this warm day and Bill saw the buds starting to pop out as light green grass broke through the recently seeded dirt. No time to look around at the moment. Got to mail this letter and get things moving, he thought as he opened the garden gate, stepped out and locked it before heading to the corner. Two blocks later he slipped his letter into the very ornate gold painted mailbox. An old habit made him open the lever a second time to make sure that the letter went down and into the iron box. He walked back to the club and stopped a moment in the garden. He smiled, as he knew the mission had really just started. Bill sat on the flat rock that was part of the small goldfish pond and lit a cigar. The bubbling sound of the waterfall was relaxing and he remembered Shirley sitting here next to him not too long ago. Well, he thought, if all goes right, I’ll be seeing her very soon. Fingers crossed. Bill suddenly felt tired and for a moment couldn’t understand why. “Dope!” he said, “Of course you’re tired, it’s really after two in the morning and here you are sitting out in the 11:45 a.m. sun.” He stood and unlocked the security door and stepped inside, took out his TFM and entered June 2, 2015 2:36 a.m. locked the door and pressed the activate button.
DATELINE: JUNE 2, 2015 2:36 A.M. PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY
Although there was no telling that he had time traveled Bill knew he was home as he walked up the stairs. Ten minutes later he was sound asleep with Samson taking half of his pillow.
DATELINE: MAY 21, 1898 PLACE:, WATLING STREET, LONDON, ENGLAND
Shirley Holmes (aka Sherlock Holmes,) loved walking along London’s Watling Street as it had some of the largest store-front windows in London. Her fast walk always became ‘a slow down and look in the window walk,’ as though she was window shopping when in fact she wanted to see the outfit she had selected to wear today. She stopped in front of Dumma’s Design Shoppe and looked at the mannequin wearing the very same dress that she purchased yesterday. She opened her waist length maroon-red light five-button jacket and her reflection next to the mannequin looked as though they were twins. She smiled as she read the description of the dress.
Day dress by Dumma Designs.
‘Our Day dress is cut along princess lines and is boned and fully lined. Whether you are going to a ball or doing a simple shop the dress is adaptable with its single bodice that has a collar insert to change from a low neck to a high neck depending on where you decide to wear this creation. This model is trimmed with Passementerie as is the high neck and upper sleeves. This dress is closed in the rear by two hooks and fifteen buttons.’
Shirley wore a wide-brim maroon-red felt hat with a low top that sported a rather high white Peacock feather. The hat sat easily on her piled up, long brown hair with the help of a long hatpin that she often thought of as a sword in disguise. It was something that she taught her lady friends should they ever need help. “Remember, ladies, we may look weak but this disarming look is our advantage if we are prepared to use all of our assets,” she told them as she whipped the seven-inch long pearl hatpin out of her hat and took the stance of a fencer set to duel any would-be mugger. She grinned as she remembered once showing one of the methods of self-defense while having a cup of tea with six lady friends. She took her purse by the long string and making sure that the small, but compact roll of coins were in the bottom of the bag, swung it at an empty table next to them. The resounding thud it made along with the deep indent into the wooden tabletop caused all in the teashop to turn towards the sound.
“Lord! Shirley,” whispered Agnes as she wiped up some of her spilled tea, “that would put a person in the hospital!”
Shirley smiled, “Yes! That’s what I’m teaching you. Defend yourself and go home that evening rather than it being you in the hospital.” Her friends clapped as a waiter looked at the table and as he turned towards the ladies saw something more than a group of ladies having tea: they seemed different somehow and he quickly let them be, to their amusement.
Her thoughts returned to her attire as she took a step and saw that the bottom of her dress just cleared the silver buckle on her red walking shoes. She did a small three finger wave to her reflection and went back to her slow walk towards her destination on Watling Street to meet Doctor John Watson for a late lunch at the Pig’s Ear Pub.
Doctor Watson stood near the red brick wall that separated the pub from another business next door. He puffed on a small pipe that emitted gray smoke and when the smoke gathered around his head it blended with the gray of his eyes, eyebrows, mustache and hair to make his head seem to be invisible. As usual he wore his three-piece gray tweed suit with a typical white stiff-collared shirt and thin black tie. His black shoes were shined and
matched the black hatband on his gray fedora hat. Over his outfit he wore a long light, gray coat
“Ah,” he exclaimed as he spotted Shirley walking towards him. “My dear Shirley, right on time.”
She smiled and offered her hand, which Watson took and gently kissed it. “John, have I ever been tardy?”
“And it is just for that very reason that I may seemed surprised at your promptness, for one cannot be on time every time.”
She grinned, “And you thought that today would be the day?”
Now it was Watson who grinned as he said, “One never knows when the inevitable will happen.”
“So, upon thinking that today might be the day for Shirley Holmes to be late you hurried your dressing and put on two differed colored stockings?”
Watson’s mouth dropped as he looked down and pulled his trousers up ever so slightly to reveal one black and one dark green stocking. He shook his head and said, “Well, I must dash off for home.”
“Home? But why?”
“Well, my dear, it would be ungentlemanly of me to escort a lady into an establishment dressed as a vagabond. I’ll be but thirty minutes.”
With a determined look and raised eyebrow she slid her arm in his and said, “You will do nothing of the sort, Doctor John Watson. You will escort me into the pub or I’ll escort you into the establishment.”
TimeTravel Adventures of The 1800 Club: Book 12 Page 5