The Burleigh Town Sentinel

Is a sequel to The Burleigh Town Guide, an AU located in an imaginary England of the 1630’s, where Sentinels and Guides are Known and historical accuracy is Not. 

This fairy-tale, posted as a series of smaller stories, begins directly after the last one.  For those gentle readers who may have lost the plot, and for those among you who do not wish to begin at the beginning, a synopsis of TBTG---

In early autumn, in a small town fifty miles west of London, Young Blair wins the post of Town Guide, an honor that he quickly comes to regret when he discovers that the locals are witches and that his own secret has been unmasked – or more accurately ‘unpantsed’.  A Jew living in England at this time is liable to deportation or hanging (true) but the town council won’t tell if he won’t.

Sir James and his best friend, the rather tipsy Sir Simon, are involved in a terrible coach accident on their way to James’ estate just outside of Burleigh.  Blair tends to the injured nobles and unwittingly begins to bond with James, whose senses then blossom. Within two days, James is considering suicide and suspecting his servants of poisoning his food.  After throwing a spectacular fit and confessing to Simon that he himself is a Sentinel – something that genuine bluebloods are not – Simon kidnaps Blair in an attempt to cure his friend.

Alas, the only cure is a guide, and as Blair is now psychically bonded to the town of Burleigh, James and Simon decides to return to London to find a more suitable candidate.  When the townspeople find out what has happened, they set out to teach Sir James a lesson, but the nobles have already fled.  Realizing, as had Blair, that their guide will die without completing a bonding, the women of the coven keep him alive - and stoned out of his mind - all through the winter with their secret potions.

In the spring, invited sentinels come to compete for Blair and the position of Burleigh Town Sentinel.   Sir Simon has also snuck back with a rescued James, whose own hand-picked guide had recently died, leaving James at the mercy of both sentinel madness and his father, William, Lord Burlington, who dealt with the problem by locked his son up in a stable to keep his firstborn from besmirching the family name.  Simon and the mayor’s wife, Joan, who turns out to be James’ aunt by way of droit de seignior*, secretly bond James to the drugged Blair to save James’ life.  When the townspeople discover that the deed is a fait accompli**, they rig the sentinel trials to ensure that ‘Old Jim’, a last minute contestant, wins their guide.  William, however, is now a problem…

Other things happened – councilmen schemed left and right, one ritual featured a naked Blair covered in rose petals and chicken fat  (mostly true - I added the football team) - and there were a dozen or so OFC characters roaming around.  You, the reader, must decide if it would be less trouble to start with the first one or just give up now.  Your humble writer has had enough to deal with.  Oh yeah, warning for bad words.

Droit de seignior* - an unwritten right of nobility, specifically when used on brides. Roughly translates as “I own you, your new husband, and the horse he rode in on; drop your drawers.”

(a) Fait accompli** - (a) done deal. 

Guess Who’s Not Coming to Dinner – the first story in this series, takes place the evening of His Lordship’s invitation to dine with the councilmen and their wives at Mayor Bodmer’s residence.

James was ready to explode.  Blair watched him pace the length of the servant’s hall, starting at sounds that no one else could hear and otherwise getting in the way of the downstairs staff, who were themselves on edge from the pressure of producing a perfect evening not only for Lord Burlington and Sir Stephen, the most distinguished guests the house had ever hosted, but also for that most difficult of taskmasters, their own Mistress Bodmer, who sent conflicting notes down to them by way of the footmen every ten minutes.

In the midst of this organized mayhem, Blair stood as quietly as his own fidgety nature would allow.  Jim needed him to be the calm in the storm.  The two of them had already spent an hour and a half in the basement because Bodmer thought it would be prudent to send them down a few minutes before Burlington and Stephen were scheduled to arrive - just in case the noblemen were early - when instead the mayor should have made provisions for the nobles being very, very late.  ‘The Surprise’ was wearing a path in the already threadbare carpet runner, the cook had helped herself to the brandy, Blair was having trouble fending off the emotions of a small army of servants quietly panicking…

And upstairs, Joan Bodmer sat calmly, as befitted a hostess, but the words she murmured to her husband were about as reassuring as her smile.  “I’m going to kill him, Silas.  See if I don’t.  I…I…Oh, Silas, the whole evening is a shambles!  The first time that any of them have accepted an invitation since - - Oh, Silas! - -and then that dreadful man has to ruin it for me!  For us!!”

“No one is blaming you,” her husband murmured back for the umpteenth time, and then added,  “I’d wager that the other ladies are thanking their lucky stars that they’re not in your position tonight.  Might even work in your favor, what?  Could earn you some sympathy points from the old bats.”

His words of reassurance earned the mayor a look of reproach, but they also earned him - as he had fervently hoped - a moment of silence from his helpmate.  She had been working herself up into a state all week and one of his jobs this evening was to see to it that her breakdown happened after the banquet.  In private.  She would thank him later.

Although the ladies of the parish had officially forgiven his wife for bonding the town guide to James, and Blair appeared to be quite happy with the outcome, it still rankled the ladies that Joan had presumed to set herself above the coven.  This was the first time in almost a year that any of her former friends had found that they could accept an invitation to dine at her home.  Their remarkably full social calendars had only cleared at the prospect of witnessing Lord Burlington meet the new sentinel-guide pair.  This did not, however, preclude them from whispering their startlingly unladylike opinions of Mrs. Bodmer’s decorating, housekeeping, and standard of hospitality while they waited in the front parlor.  It was unfortunate that the room had excellent acoustics and that Joan was forced by her role as hostess to sit with them. 

Silas begged leave of the dear ladies, obliged to return to the smoking room, but he departed with the hope that his own whispers had carried equally well.

Out in the hall, he was just about to ask if there was any word from the Manor, when the view out the window answered his question.  William, Lord Burlington, was at this very moment staggering up the front walkway with the help of a manservant.  Lord Stephen, the new heir, finished speaking with the manor’s coachman and then followed a few prudent steps behind his father; apparently sober to the mayor’s eye – although it was hard to tell with the gentry. 

Bodmer shooed two of his own servants out the door to help His Lordship up the stairs while he himself ran down the hall in a rather undignified manner, calling to everyone – the servants in the dining room, the slightly crumpled guests, and all the poor unfortunates below - that the evening was at long last about to begin.

The manor guests were quickly greeted and everyone was escorted to their seats with all of the speed  the Bodmers could muster.  Any more delay and the roast beef would be served black.  In order to fill out the ranks of servants required to entertain such exalted guests, their own staff had been forced to quickly train and outfit some of the local tradesmen, giving lessons where needed.  The impressive service itself was partly borrowed and Joan felt the pang of being personally responsible for any damages.  A lad from the local bakery, chosen for the upstairs job because of his smooth hands and fair complexion, stood just inside the dining room and handed Councilmen Toby and Biggs fresh drinks, served in their own goblets, while a ‘real’ servant led them to their seats, which did not quite match, having been borrowed from three different councilmen.  

“Still, it’s been worth every slight,” the Mayor’s wife thought to herself, “I can grovel and scrape if I have to.  My nephew is downstairs, safe, and there’s nothing they can do about it.”  She lifted her chin in defiance, earning an encouraging smile from her husband, and then allowed Cowley, the cobbler – chosen because he had so wanted to be present – to escort her to her chair.  As befitting their rank, Lord Burlington and Sir Stephen were placed at either end of the long table and unfortunately Joan was forced to sit next to William.  There had been a bit of bother arranging the seating as well, as there were four unescorted men for dinner – Lady Burlington had declined and none of the bachelors could be persuaded to bring a date – so four of the prettiest local teenagers had been invited to act as placeholders.  They had been firmly instructed by Joan not to try to engage the two manor guests in conversation.  

“Still,” thought Joan, glancing at His Lordship, “ William prefers women who keep their mouths shut.  Thank God, Jim has Grace’s personality and none of this pig’s.”

His Lordship was staring at the two empty seats halfway down the table.  As the highest-ranking person in the room he would expect to be seated last.  “Stephen,” he called down the table, “D’ye’ think the Lord Chancellor is expected?”  He snickered for a moment, and then with a practiced eye to the ‘servants’ added, “Or mayhap the Mayor of London is stopping in for some advice on entertaining?”

“No, Your Lordship – very amusing – our new sentinel and guide are waiting to be presented to Your Lordship.  Ah, with your permission…” said Bodmer, wishing he could bean ‘His Lordship’ with a bread roll. 

William waved at the mayor, who then gestured to Cowley, who - acutely aware of being found wanting - flung open the side door a little too forcefully, causing it to swing back and hit him in the head.  William laughed out loud.  On the second try, Cowley held onto the knob like grim death, causing him to fly out of sight around the corner.  William applauded the entertainment, but everyone else was staring at the lone figure in the hall.

The mayor walked over and peeked around the corner for any sign of the sentinel.  There was no one there except poor Cowley, sitting holding his head.  Turning back, he could see that the guide looked worried.  Not good.  “Excuse me just a moment, Lord Burlington, Sir Stephen, ah, councilmen… “  Bodmer was so flustered that he forgot the ladies.  “There must be some emergency.  I will just see to it… um, yes.”  And he dragged Blair down the hall for an impromptu conference.

“What happened?” hissed Bodmer.

“He ran away,” Blair hissed back.

“I was afraid this might happen,” Bodmer said in an undertone.  “Too much time to think, I shouldn’t wonder.  He did believe us - that we were doing this to protect him - didn’t he?  Ohhhh, what to do, what to do…  Out of everyone on the council, Jim trusts Reverend Haley the most,  do you think?  We can tell the guests that there’s been an accident and that you have been sent by Jim to fetch the Reverend.  Then you two must do your best to persuade Jim to come back … What?”

 Blair was shaking his head and his lower lip was in danger of bruising.

“He didn’t exactly say where he was going, and you know we’re not going to find Jim until he wants to be found.  And I’m thinking that will be after his father leaves Burleigh.”

“Well then, should we just carry on without him?”

“You don’t realize what this is doing to Jim,” said Blair, a little more loudly.   “Just being a sentinel goes against everything he was brought up to believe in, and then to parade him in front of William…The man tried to kill his own son!  He didn’t even try to get James another guide, Silas.  He just locked him away, staged a funeral, and wiped his hands clean.  I heard from Simon that William paid Jim’s keeper in advance so he wouldn’t have to know when his son died.  You know – wouldn’t want to ruin his billiard game…”  

Bodmer grimaced in sympathy.  Still, it was good to know one’s enemy; this information could come in handy.

Blair continued, “I don’t think we’re ever going to talk Jim into doing this a second time, and sorry, I know it’s the only way we can protect everyone, but if we tell William and Stephen without him, Jim will consider that a breach of trust on our part.” 

Bodmer nodded understandingly.  The rigid code of conduct that Sir James, heir of Burlington, had been raised on had proved less than helpful in performing a town sentinel’s duties, but while Jim was coming to appreciate the townspeople’s methods, the old lessons died hard.

Sighing to himself, Bodmer forced a smile onto his face.  “Well, Blair, we’ll just have to take it one day at a time.  Can you stay for a few minutes so we can introduce Burlington to half of our pair?  Don’t worry, lad, the man’s so pissed he may not even remember this tomorrow, so there’s not much point in telling him now.  The booze hasn’t done anything for his personality, either, so stay away from him.”

Blair looked at the mayor questioningly.

“He’s the proverbial snake in the grass,’ said Bodmer.  “Keep your shields up and for God’s sake, don’t touch him.  Remember, you’ve got us to protect you.”

“God help me,” thought Blair, and they went in together to join the party.

The introduction went surprisingly badly, even considering the mayor’s warning.  Burlington’s own code of conduct seemed to consist of self-indulgence in every form, and tonight he was at the top of his game.  Looking up from leering at the schoolgirls, Burlington stared for a second at the new town guide.  In that glance, Burlington had learned all he needed to know.  The guide’s long, curly hair was dismissed as obviously real.  The material and cut of his suit were noted, as were the calluses and the scrubbed ink stains on his hands, the shortness of his stature, the slightness of his build, and – had he heard this right? - the foreignness of his name.

Stephen, on the other hand, reserved judgment.  As the younger son, he had had to choose a profession, and the law had suited him.  From his own upbringing he had learned that things were not always what they seemed, and his training had sharpened his eye.  The Burleigh town councilmen were not fools – he had learned that to his chagrin as a teenage prankster - and they all appeared to be quite proud of their new guide.  His father, William, considered himself as the be-all and end-all of local politics, but Stephen knew that the towns on Burlington’s estate were quite independent.  Most everything that they needed they made themselves – including government – and if William vanished off the face of the earth, it might not be until Boxing Day that the locals thought anything of it.

Stephen looked around at all of the gold and crystal on display.  He wouldn’t have thought there was this much treasure in the whole of Burleigh.  Well, well.  Yes, there must be something special about the sentinel and guide.

“Councilmen,” announced William, “I see you have done your usual best to try my patience.  Perhaps you were thinking of the football team when you chose Mr. Sand-bug here.  After all, you could use a new mascot.  Haven’t won county in eight years, I believe.”

The townspeople looked around nervously.  Mayor Bodmer wished he could have sat next to Blair - to comfort him.

“Although I’d be willing to bet that Mr. Bug’s more at home with the ladies, aren’t you, guide?” asked William, looking Blair up and down. “A regular pocket Romeo, don’t your think, Stephen?  Bringing joy to all the Burleigh housewives.  A daily dose of tea and empathy – Hah! Nice work if you can get it… I wonder if he brings his own step stool.”

Mrs. Bodmer dropped her fork loudly.

“Mr. SandBURG is an excellent guide,” said Reverend Haley.  “He is a man of unblemished character –“

“Ohhh, unblemished is he?  I’m sure some of the women at this table might attest to that!  Or perhaps your distinguished mayor…”

Blair found himself standing, but the women on either side of him pulled him back down. 

“Hard to tell which of them is ‘the girl’ though.  Maybe they take it in turn…”

William laughed at his own wit, but he was the only one.  When he stopped to belt down another brandy, Bodmer motioned for a servant to refill the glasses without delay.  Maybe Burlington could be helped into oblivion.  God knows, none of the rest of them wanted to remember this night so far.  Stephen made his own a double.

Still chuckling under his breath, Lord Burlington swept his gaze over the guests – councilmen, wives, and the four delectable young things who just might make this evening worthwhile.  Leaning over the table, he suggested an impromptu carriage ride for five.

Mrs. Bodmer held up her hand and stiffly informed him that the young women were in her charge and that propriety forced her to decline on their behalf.

“Oh, propriety now, is it?” said Burlington.  “Well, Madam Mayor, shall we make it six?”  And then he made the mistake of winking.

Joan threw a glass of water in his face and ran bawling from the room.  After looking around at each other for a moment, Biggs nodded his head to the other stunned townspeople, came around the table, and began to beat on William’s arm, shouting rather unconvincingly, “Oh! Sir! your sleeve was on fire!  It’s a good thing Mrs. Bodmer’s such a quick thinker!”  Within a minute, the beautiful satin was a soggy mess and no one could have said if there had ever been a scorch mark or even a left sleeve on William’s jacket.

Burlington rose in a fury.  They were leaving.

“It was very interesting, Your Lordship,” Blair said, standing to bid farewell with the rest of the dinner party.

William froze for a second, and then turned on the guide, “This - - this thing - - is speaking to me.”

“Father,” Sir Stephen said, “perhaps I could come back another time and meet the sentinel, as you are so pressed for time.”

“Oh, yes?  Pressed for time, is that what we are calling it?” shot back William.

Stephen thought they were speaking euphemistically of Burlington’s bad behavior, but William quickly disabused him – and the townspeople – of that notion.

“ I don’t need any more time.  You!“ he said, pointing at Blair.  “Out.”

Blair stared at the finger only inches from his face, wishing that he could cuff it away.  Fortunately, the councilmen did not labor under the constraints of being empathic, and so they sprang into action, protecting their guide as they said they would. Toby and Biggs, the two largest men, dragged William away from the table and commenced to tell jokes, as if they were the next act on the evening’s program.  The Reverend Haley remembered that Blair had promised to tell his wife about Cambridge and gave Deal, the local schoolmaster, a speaking look.  After a second, Deal’s face cleared and he insisted on exchanging seats so that the guide could sit next to Mrs. Haley down at Stephen’s end of the room.  By now Biggs and Toby, describing a particularly good jape, had forced William to back up until he was almost in the fireplace.  The way they kept nudging him on the shoulders to emphasize the humor looked rather painful, and His Lordship had lost some of his haughtiness, along with the rest of his gold braiding.

“Soup!  Hot soup!”

A servant was entering through the side door with a large tureen.  The professional staff winced when Cowley announced the next course as if he were hawking it but the guests acted as if this was how seconds was served in all the finest houses.  Councilmen held chairs for the ladies who had wandered round to listen to the guide.  The seating was a bit confused; none of the women wanted to sit within arms length of William, so at Joan’s nod they all just sat where they liked.  After being more or less herded to his seat – he seemed to have acquired Toby and Biggs as seatmates – Lord Burlington tried again to make his announcement, but as soon as he opened his mouth, Biggs shoved a dinner roll into it.

“T’riffic, aren’t they?  You might want to try a few more.”

William carefully removed the roll and called down the table, “Stephen, you can see how tiresome this all is.  Go fetch our footmen.”

Biggs and Toby gauged the time it would take them to get to the other end of the table– too long.  The women came to the rescue, grabbing Stephen by the arms and begging him to stay until they had heard the reason why their guide was being treated so disgracefully.

“Disgracefully?” snorted William.  “They tried to pass off this mongrel as the town guide.  I merely corrected their mistake.”

Stephen sighed, but did not attempt to rise.  He could have escaped his female warders easily.  They were worried about having accosted such an important personage and were mostly trying not to crush his velvet coat.  Still, his father was drunk and wrong.

“Father, it may be a moment before I can comply.  Perhaps if you told the council your reasoning…”

“I have spoken, damn it!”  

Oh, yes.  This was what Stephen should have expected.  His father firmly believed in God’s Infallible Plan – some were born to serve, others to be served.  Not only did this self-serving doctrine confirm Burlington’s trust in his own infallibility – Hadn’t God Himself chosen William for this exalted position? - but it also reassured him that the lower classes were little better than livestock.  If they had possessed anything other than rudimentary brains and feelings, they would have been born to a higher station. 

“I’m sure, father, that the council has thoroughly checked Mr. Sandburg’s credentials,” Stephen said blandly, while thinking, ”You’re taking their guide.  The least you can do is to give them an explanation and a moment to compose themselves.”

“Oh, yes, Sir Stephen!” said Bodmer.  “Mr. Sandburg graduated cum laude from Cambridge University’s Guide School.  We had quite a large showing for the position of Town Guide, and after extensive interviews, we chose Blair for his integrity, his intelligence… I honestly don’t know what we would do without him at this point.”

“Well, you’re about to find out then, aren’t you?” murmured William. “You know you can’t legally choose a guide without my approval –“

“It’s common law – “

“- and yet you willfully insult me with this scruffy specimen from the gutter. 

Everyone turned to look at Blair, who was staring at his lap.  He didn’t look scruffy.  On the contrary, he had been scrubbed and clothed to within an inch of his life and the ladies had declared him a work of art.  So, what was the real reason for Burlington’s dislike of their guide?  Right now, it mattered because his lordship could cause no end of trouble.   Later, after they told him about his not-so-dead son, William could hate the whole town as much as he liked - It would be their pleasure. 

“But Lord Burlington, common law allows the towns to pick their own guides.  Your approval is just a formality,” said Constable Johnson.

“Well played,” thought Bodmer. “That’ll wind him up.”

“You are in need of correction in more than just manners, gentlemen.  I was going to spare your feelings and dismiss Sandburg without comment, but now the word will get out.  The guide that you say you vetted so thoroughly is nothing but a hebe.”

“That’s why he thinks Blair is scruffy,” thought everyone.

“It’s a Jewish name,” continued William.  “SandBURG… GoldBURG…”

“IceBURG,” whispered Mrs. Haley.

“HamBURG,” whispered Mrs. Toby.

“Are the krauts Jewish?” whispered one of the teenaged girls to another, not getting the joke.

“Your surmise is not exactly correct, Lord Burlington,” said Bodmer, confusing his own people.  “Mr. Sandburg was raised as a Gypsy, actually.”

The mayor was pretty proud of this misdirection.  To someone like Burlington, it would be the equivalent of saying, “No, he’s not a fiend; he’s an ax murderer.”  Still, the distinction remained that gypsies were not deported.  Usually.

“A - - let me get this right - - a Gypsy Jew guide.”

No, this wasn’t going the way Bodmer had hoped.  

William said,  “I wouldn’t have believed it possible for you to surpass yourselves this evening, gentlemen!”  And then he applauded again – clap… clap… clap.  

Everyone looked to Bodmer for direction.  Were they going to tell Burlington now?  How could they not?

“We are telling you, Lord Burlington, that Blair is one of ours.  We, uh, we are in the right here.  Hundreds of years of common law.  A signed contract.  A year of service, for God’s sake!  He is bound to us as surely as he is bound to his sentinel, and nothing you do will change that.  So understand this,” said Bodmer, looking around the table.  “If you turn him in, you turn us all in.”

“Not as big a threat as you might suppose,” replied William, pouring himself another glass of wine.  Now that he had the townspeople at a disadvantage, he was starting to enjoy the evening again.

“If you turn us in, you turn in your son.”

The decanter crashed to the table. 

“I will see you all burn first.”  The words were spoken quietly but everyone at the table heard them loud and clear.   Burlington stared at the mayor and then smiled gently.  “By all means, let us speak plainly.  Stephen does not bear the mark and neither do I.  Therefore I could go to the authorities any time I liked.  ‘Oh, sirs, imagine my horror when I discovered this nest of vipers in my midst!’  The inquisitors eat that stuff up.  Your word against mine?  No one would believe you.”

“They might, father.”

“Oh, do shut up, Stephen.”  As William was looking at his son at the other end of the table, the voice spoke again – from behind him.  

“In fact, you just may find yourself preferring the guide to his sentinel…”

William watched the expression on Stephen’s face change from horror to wonder as a familiar voice murmured in his own ear, “Get out.  If you say anything - - If you do anything to hurt my guide or my town - - I will hunt you down.”

“Ah, I see that our Sentinel has been able to join us after all,” said Bodmer, in a hollow voice.  “Would you like a drink, Jim?  I know that I would.  It’s a shame that Lord Burlington and his son were just leaving.  Perhaps another time.”

William and Stephen were led out into the hall by two of the servants.  They couldn’t have moved under their own steam.  Coats were found, walking sticks were placed in the crooks of their arms, hats were carefully placed on top of their heads.   Stephen vaguely remembered Bodmer saying that it ‘was cold as a witch’s tit out there’ and then begging someone’s pardon.

The mayor’s servants handed them off to the manor servants halfway down the walk and the two were seated in their carriage before the shock began to wear off.  Stephen stared at his father in silent revulsion, and William looked out the window at the mayor’s little gimcrack of a mansion, wondering at just what point his life had been ruined.

A cheer rose up from inside the house.  There, that was it.