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Heavenly Kingdoms - Chapter 14
The diary of George Grayson, 19th of August, 1859.
Such strange circumstances we find ourselves in at present! Physically, emotionally, mentally and all things in between, we are assaulted most wondrously – held at the mercy of the wicked sisters of fate, as the many imps of their dominion sprawl about this house in gay abandon, no doubt re-varnishing the walls with salted water, placing barnacles over the windows, and echoing obscure rites to Poseidon. The arch-heretic Mr. Cromsley has whipped up a cacophonic frenzy among the new, unwelcome denizens of Sedgewood; or rather the H.M.S Sedgewood, sailing toward world’s end; sure to tip over at any moment and fall into that oblivion of stars beyond creation’s crest.
I almost envy their madness and on three occasions have left my vigil to peek at their festivities. I’ve never seen the like! I feel as though I’ve stepped into the mushroom ring of faerie fame, or fallen into a satyr play, with Aeschylus pulling the strings of enchantment. These “sailors” call the kitchen and larder the “Mess”, and the servants quarters, where I believe Mrs. Cruikshank has holed up, the “Brig”, and the drawing room and dining room are referred to as “Top Deck” and the “Quarter Deck” respectively. They have strung rope from wall to ceiling in imitation of that which holds the sails (God only knows where they found enough for such a boondoggle). Mr. Charlston is the designated captain with Mr. Cromsely his trusted second in command. They all salute and refer to each as midshipman, captain and first mate and so on; it’s thoroughly fantastical and I must admit I thrill at the insanity of it.
To what end is this mad design geared to achieve? Surely Mr. Charlston is the only man not in on the joke, so it must involve a way to exploit him. According to Mr. Cromsley’s myth-making they are sailing toward Shanghai to engage in a battle I presume they both fought in during the Opium War. I can only make assumptions but I fear my imagination far exceeds that of the earthy Mr Cromsley, thus I conceive strange tails of what they found in that time: of Zheng Yi Sao’s buried treasure or herbs of immortality ground in the pestle of the Jade Rabbit – yet no, I do him an injustice; I think his imagination is beneath my own but his ability to bring his creations into the world is virtuosic and far superior to whatever imagery I thought I could invoke through recitals of my mediocre verse. If it were not for the women I must protect I would be tempted to inject myself into their play in such a way as to fit within the structure of the fiction. Perhaps, if I were younger, I could insert myself in as the cabin boy; a position I believe they have not yet filled within their dramatis persona.
What luck for me to have been placed in surely the most absurdist of circumstances! It is beyond what I could have imagined and what I thought was only confined to the pages of story books! The strangeness and danger of it thrills my nerves. I am being quite naive, of course; If they turn pirate, I will be no obstacle to their designs of reaching the women. We had conceived some plot to have Maggie or Anne exit one of the windows via a rope of sheets (I must remain to protect whoever remains) and run for assistance, despite the considerable distance to the nearest estate, yet we have observed that a man is always stationed on the “Crow’s Nest”, that being the roof accessible through the attic window. As they have so far showed no signs of interest in us, we have not yet been forced toward more desperate plans of escape. Besides, with the poor housekeeper being still trapped below, out of reach, and Anne being fatalistic and seemingly incapable of any contingency beyond being prone in bed, we must remain for the moment.
Ah, sweet Anne, what a sad case she is. To fall in love with me, seems the most absurd thing given I am not the prime specimen of man, no soldier of glory or millionaire debonair, and I am still daily in shock at Maggie’s acceptance of my proposal; the anxiety of which was excruciating beforehand and after, when she had said yes, the most delirious of happiness. Yet, always I am at a loss as to her attraction in me and she is of no help in explaining such given that her tongue cannot help make light of my insecure feeling. That is our dynamic; such will it always be. I will admit that Anne’s affection is of less of a surprise to me (if that is not too condescending or self-aggrandizing a statement to make) though still a profound shock. I seem conceited and shallow compared to her genuine and deep nature. And yet, although I am a man and not prone to the outright rejection of a woman’s affections, a...
Such strange circumstances we find ourselves in at present! Physically, emotionally, mentally and all things in between, we are assaulted most wondrously – held at the mercy of the wicked sisters of fate, as the many imps of their dominion sprawl about this house in gay abandon, no doubt re-varnishing the walls with salted water, placing barnacles over the windows, and echoing obscure rites to Poseidon. The arch-heretic Mr. Cromsley has whipped up a cacophonic frenzy among the new, unwelcome denizens of Sedgewood; or rather the H.M.S Sedgewood, sailing toward world’s end; sure to tip over at any moment and fall into that oblivion of stars beyond creation’s crest.
I almost envy their madness and on three occasions have left my vigil to peek at their festivities. I’ve never seen the like! I feel as though I’ve stepped into the mushroom ring of faerie fame, or fallen into a satyr play, with Aeschylus pulling the strings of enchantment. These “sailors” call the kitchen and larder the “Mess”, and the servants quarters, where I believe Mrs. Cruikshank has holed up, the “Brig”, and the drawing room and dining room are referred to as “Top Deck” and the “Quarter Deck” respectively. They have strung rope from wall to ceiling in imitation of that which holds the sails (God only knows where they found enough for such a boondoggle). Mr. Charlston is the designated captain with Mr. Cromsely his trusted second in command. They all salute and refer to each as midshipman, captain and first mate and so on; it’s thoroughly fantastical and I must admit I thrill at the insanity of it.
To what end is this mad design geared to achieve? Surely Mr. Charlston is the only man not in on the joke, so it must involve a way to exploit him. According to Mr. Cromsley’s myth-making they are sailing toward Shanghai to engage in a battle I presume they both fought in during the Opium War. I can only make assumptions but I fear my imagination far exceeds that of the earthy Mr Cromsley, thus I conceive strange tails of what they found in that time: of Zheng Yi Sao’s buried treasure or herbs of immortality ground in the pestle of the Jade Rabbit – yet no, I do him an injustice; I think his imagination is beneath my own but his ability to bring his creations into the world is virtuosic and far superior to whatever imagery I thought I could invoke through recitals of my mediocre verse. If it were not for the women I must protect I would be tempted to inject myself into their play in such a way as to fit within the structure of the fiction. Perhaps, if I were younger, I could insert myself in as the cabin boy; a position I believe they have not yet filled within their dramatis persona.
What luck for me to have been placed in surely the most absurdist of circumstances! It is beyond what I could have imagined and what I thought was only confined to the pages of story books! The strangeness and danger of it thrills my nerves. I am being quite naive, of course; If they turn pirate, I will be no obstacle to their designs of reaching the women. We had conceived some plot to have Maggie or Anne exit one of the windows via a rope of sheets (I must remain to protect whoever remains) and run for assistance, despite the considerable distance to the nearest estate, yet we have observed that a man is always stationed on the “Crow’s Nest”, that being the roof accessible through the attic window. As they have so far showed no signs of interest in us, we have not yet been forced toward more desperate plans of escape. Besides, with the poor housekeeper being still trapped below, out of reach, and Anne being fatalistic and seemingly incapable of any contingency beyond being prone in bed, we must remain for the moment.
Ah, sweet Anne, what a sad case she is. To fall in love with me, seems the most absurd thing given I am not the prime specimen of man, no soldier of glory or millionaire debonair, and I am still daily in shock at Maggie’s acceptance of my proposal; the anxiety of which was excruciating beforehand and after, when she had said yes, the most delirious of happiness. Yet, always I am at a loss as to her attraction in me and she is of no help in explaining such given that her tongue cannot help make light of my insecure feeling. That is our dynamic; such will it always be. I will admit that Anne’s affection is of less of a surprise to me (if that is not too condescending or self-aggrandizing a statement to make) though still a profound shock. I seem conceited and shallow compared to her genuine and deep nature. And yet, although I am a man and not prone to the outright rejection of a woman’s affections, a...
