Manifest 303: My Billet-Doux to You
rating: +16+x

R.H. Arthur Macks,

I once again implore you to remove dear Lucy from the Commission's inventory. Having studied her for the past few months, it has become abundantly evident she has no unusual properties. It is inexcusably unjust to imprison a woman without a wrongdoing to attribute.

Curator Jack Beckwith


Curator Jack Beckwith,

As my fellows have done so many times before, I remind you that Miss Lovejoy's circumstances are far too unusual for release. Before coming to our attention, this woman of unknown origin climbed the Company's ranks at an impossible rate. Her superiors claimed they simply "saw potential" in her. All records show she did not have the means nor opportunity to offer bribery. Be her tramp or unicorn, she remains under our purview.

R.H. Arthur Macks


The R. H. Commission on Unusual Cargo

Authorized by the Board of Regents of said Commission

Manifest 303 (DRAFT)

Curator: Jack Beckwith

lucylovejoy.jpeg
My raison d'etre, the target of my affection, Lucy Lovejoy.

Storage Instructions

No eyes shall reach this document, save for my own. I have requested and received a cottage for my love in the far reaches of the Mediterranean under the pretenses of Libre Circulacion. I visit her three times a week bearing flowers and dates. When the Commission's men arrive for inspection, I retreat to my ship and present a façade of formalities.

Cargo Description

A ruby shining in the light of a thousand sunsets. Her gaze lifts me from my feet to lands of harps and cherubs. Her laughter resounds across our island, allowing the flowers to bloom and the birds to chirp. An impossible thing in the palm of my hand, here on our island. My heinous superiors attempt to cease our affair, unaware such a task is unachievable. Swines. We claim to live in an era of enlightenment, yet our rulers decide it best to lock hard-working women away without reason! Nonetheless, my faith in our love perseveres. These regents - these artifacts of an archaic era - will soon be consigned to history. Soon, I will be free. Then, and only then, I will announce my engagement to dear Lucy. We'll race into the New World, dashing across the mountains of America and the red dirt of New Holland.


O dear journal,

So many months I have stagnated under the jurisdiction of the Commission with fury in my heart. Day after day after day after day, I thought to myself: "Do I truly deserve these circumstances? Must it matter if I was born with persuasion to an unnatural degree? I'm an earnest woman in earnest toil, surely that's all that matters!" and worst of all, that horrid, boyish curator. He thinks himself deserving of his authority over me, yet buckles in the knees in the face of any degree of sultry mannerisms. I feel almost embarrassed to have been so trusting of an organisation that respected such a buffoon. I've convinced him to supply me with my own cottage away from him, and even then he comes knocking weekly with disgusting dates and the most mind-numbing aspects of his day. What's more, there seems to be no essence to the man. I feel as though there is nothing to the man. A narcissistic shell that thinks me wholly besotted.

And yet, as I ponder the onerous task that meets me tomorrow, my heart wanders. My spite and malice is slowly brought to its knees by… pity? However hopelessly irritating Jack may be, his love is at least genuine. That is more than I can say for many of my prior lovers. He has looked his hard to please superiors in the eye and ordered them around for us. Would a man fueled solely by self-indulgence do such a thing? Perhaps, beneath the narcissistic and lusty crust, there is a respectful and honest husband.

But alas, I have seen many strong-willed women soften with matrimony. I would be beside myself if I were reduced to one of those London housewives excited only by the return of the husband after work. I simply cannot function without a life of adventure. However it pains me, I must decide Jack's fate.

Lucy.

The R. H. Commission on Unusual Cargo

Authorized by the Board of Regents of said Commission

Manifest 303 (DRAFT)

Curator: Jack Beckwith

Storage Instructions

As I drift off to bed each night, my anchored ship oversees dear Lucy's cottage. At the stroke of the eleventh hour, a silhouette on the curtain snuffs out the bedside lamp, leaving only the moonlight to soak the isles. And yet tonight, just before the lamp is snuffed, the silhouette appeared to crawl up and shake on its bed. I saw it weep.

Cargo Description

I weeped with her, from three hundred yards distance. I've burned the last few months of my life luring my love into my arms. Not as the sharp suitor, but the spiteful fisherman. My patience and humanity slowly seeping away as I missed catch after catch.

Here I am tricking the most powerful men in the Old World for a woman who suppresses a grimace each time I visit. A woman in her position does not deserve a captor's frivolous follies.

Tomorrow, I plan to set her free. What that means for me, what that means to the Regents, I do not know. What it means to her is her business alone.

The R. H. Commission on Unusual Cargo

Authorized by the Board of Regents of said Commission

32nd Inspection Log for Cargo 303

Preface

At the request of the Board of Regents, I conducted an inspection on Cargo 303 without the awareness of Curator Jack Beckwith. I happened upon an interaction between the two, documented below.

There he was, the lusty Curator so ridiculed by my fellows. He appeared less demanding and masculine than described, hunched over parchment atop the windswept cliffs as the insecure schoolgirl with unkempt attire. The descriptor that comes to mind is underwhelming as I gazed upon a toothpick of an individual. He brushed his billowing tufts aside to wipe a tear, before breaking down into silent sobs. He wept as though something was destined to occur, yet tragic nonetheless. At the end of his bout, he came to shaky knees. From one end of the isle to the next he marched, mounting resolve as he did so.

After a minute moment of hesitation, the Curator knocked on the Cargo's cottage door. It opened to reveal a taut woman with a pained expression. A gasp almost blew my cover as I spotted a concealed erasing knife held behind her back.

"H-hello," the Curator managed, "I've come to tell you something."

The Cargo's grip on the knife falters. "You have?"

"Yes, I… I've given things some thought, and I don't think…" a moment to hold back tears, "I don't think what I'm doing is just. Trapping you here in the middle of the Mediterranean trying to hopelessly woo you until you concede. If that's not a sign of a troubled lover, I'm not sure what is. My ship is anchored on the north shore. I implore you take it wherever it takes you. I'll stage it as an esca- -"

In the midst of his woeful monologue, the knife clangs to the floor as Cargo rushes to Curator in embrace. My composure and cover is almost lost in realising the beauty of the moment as grass tufts danced with delight across the field and waves crashed against my eardrums. The Cargo's free-standing hair and the Curator's ragged attire billowed in the passing winds as they relished in their ephemeral splendour. Tears do stain this ink.

It was then that the Cargo gathered all her things in a hurry and fleeted to the Curator's vessel. I watched as the Curator shakily hoisted his anchor and set his charter on unspecified horizons. Held in embrace, the summer blue soon did subsume them.

From the shores of this Mediterranean isle, I picture vividly your shaking fists and twitching eyes. I feel the Notice of Insubordination between my fingers, written with great flourish and fury. Perhaps later, I find myself choking back the stench of London's streets as I solemnly distribute the Daily Courant to the apathetic. Despite this, I ask you let Mister Beckwith and his inamorata be. Whatever unusual properties Miss Lovejoy may hold, she knows to keep her eyes to the floor and nose away from the Company. Men of your stature cannot be convinced with silver and gold, so instead I resort to ink and tears.

Inspector Francois Taylor

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License