Armand’s First Letter. Amelia’s First Letter. Cathy’s First Letter.
14 December 1023, L’Isle du Grand-Blaireau
Amelia,
I apologize for not writing last week, but it has been busier here at the Sloops than you could well imagine: not with overnight guests, mind you, but with merriment. It seems that everyone in town has chosen to come and have a drink in the King’s Parlor, and then follow it up with a meal in our dining room. We have been hard put to serve them all.
It’s the snow. The residents of Bois-de-Bas are used to the snow; but what they are used to doing is retiring into their homes of an evening, or visiting those who live quite close by. There is one inn in the town, close to the wagonworks, run by a retired Cumbrian soldier, but it caters to the young working men who flocked to Bois-de-Bas during and after Le Maréchal’s War.
The evening after M. and Mme. Suprenant returned to Mont-Havre I was sitting with His Napes in his office having a wee dram and discussing our plans for the following day.
“You know, darlin’,” he said “I think it’s time. Leon will spread the word in Mont-Havre, and that’s grand; but now we need to spread the word here.”
“What do you have in mind? Drums and trumpets?”
His Napes chuckled. “Not a bad thought, that, if we had a drummer. Or a cornet player. No, I have something simpler in mind. First, we tell Amelie that we’ll soon be opening the dining room and the parlor to the good folk of Bois-de-Bas as of next Wednesday. Next, you and Mme. Henricot need to lay in a good supply of food and drink. We will need that by Wednesday noon.”
“And what will you be doing?”
“Driving, darlin’. I’ll be driving.”
He left in the caravan early the next morning, sending an arrow just before noon directing me to come and fetch him in one of the sky-chairs, which I dutifully did.
“What’s wrong with the caravan?” I asked when I collected him.
“I’m having a little work done,” he said.
The following morning His Napes vanished in a sky-chair, and when he returned late in the afternoon I saw that it had been repainted a bright red with black highlights; and on the sides, painted in fancy lettering, were the words, “The Two Sloops Inn — Fine food and drink”, bracketed by the silhouettes of the two sloops themselves.
“Well, that’s remarkably gaudy sight,” I said.
“Ain’t it just?” he said with inordinate satisfaction.
And every day after that he left in the gaudy sky-chair, not returning until the light was fading in the sky. When I asked him what he was doing all day, he grinned.
“Hobnobbing, darlin’. I’ve been roaming the town, stopping here and there, and chatting with everyone I meet. They’ve all got questions, don’t you know.”
Wednesday morning the pair of us went down to the wagonworks and collected the caravan, which had been painted to match the sky-chair, and which, moreover, now had a potbelly stove at each end. At four o’clock His Napes and the caravan, both warm as toast, were waiting outside Amelie’s general store for the first load of local guests.
And they came. Jack had to make two trips, and even then some were left forlorn in the snow. The rest of us, Corinne, the Henricots, and I, were quite run off our feet all evening, bringing them drinks in the parlor and food in the dining room. I’d like to say that His Napes was no help at all; but of course buzzing from one table to the next and chatting with our guests is his job. He did it tirelessly, cozing with the Gagnon’s, asking after Mme. Tremblay’s grandson in Honfleur, getting to know those he’d not met before, and—I must admit it—serving mugs of ale all round.
Within the Joyeux the lamps were bright, the fires warm, and the company merry; without, the night was cold and still and clear.
At last His Napes called time, and after the tabs were settled he led the first group out to the caravan for the ride back to town.
I joined him in his office after the evening cleaning was done: the dishes washed, the bar polished, the mugs in their rack, the tables and chairs positioned just so.
“Well, darlin’,” he said, “The Joyeux has slipped up the ways and into the air. I call that a proper launch.”
I agreed, adding, “We’re going to need more help, and that sooner rather than later. Another barmaid at the least, and someone to help M. Henricot in the kitchen and serve dinner to the guests. Corinne can’t do it all, and I expect you’ll want me to be available to be hostess when you’re out. Though I can’t imagine you’ll want to drive the caravan every evening.”
He nodded. “But not to worry, m’dear. It will be a busy couple of nights, and then the crowd will thin out. They are all curious now, but they ain’t used to going out of an evening, not like the folks in the city. Some won’t take to it; and some can’t afford it, not every day. But soon we’ll have our regulars, and others who come once in a while for a special treat; and we’ll have our overnight guests.”
He looked off into space for a moment. “It was costly but worth it,” he said, turning to me. “The stoves, and the glass in the caravan’s windows. You should have seen our guests on the ride back, what with the stars blazing and the snow glowing in the starlight. And the stoves glowing too, and everyone grand and warm. No one said a word until I stopped at the general store, but everyone was smiling.”
“I wish I’d seen it,” I said.
“You will,” he said, and raised his dram. “The Two Sloops!”
“The Two Sloops!”
His Napes was right, of course: we had two nights that nearly overwhelmed us, but then things were quieter; and yesterday he hired another maid, Lucie. For now, she and Corinne will trade off between helping Mme. Henricot in the dining room and His Napes in the King’s Parlor, and I will roam about as needed.
Brother John hasn’t yet made an appearance in the Sloops; I wonder whether he’s too busy or whether Mr. Tuppenny has discouraged him from coming.
No matter.
Cathy
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Photo by Jeremy Thomas on Unsplash
Zymurgia House 