|
|
Friday, November 11th, 2005
| |
12:09 am - Esther gave me free coffee so I transcribed some more.
|
It must be nice to have found your true love. That one person who completes you, who you wake up for every morning, and come home to at night. What would he be like? Tall, dark and handsome certainly, like the hero from some gothic novel. Perhaps his hair would be a little too long for fashion, wavy and he would tie it back as it curled over the edges of his cravat. He’d be strong, perhaps not as graceful as the other men, but she would always feel safe with him at her side. Mayhap in his safety the nightmares would go away. Smart, a scholar and a gentleman, instead of wasting his Oxford education he’d have studied every night but let loose when the occasion warranted. Not a drunkard, a man who could hold his liquor but did not feel the need to prove the fact to his fellow man every night in the clubs and taverns. He could gamble too, as all men must, but again not often and not to excesses. An appreciation for music, perhaps plays an instrument. Something manly, the violin? Yes, we could play duets of violin and harpsichord. On character he must be firm, just and moral in all things. He would treat his servants and those on his lands well, and also be generous to the poor. Yes, I like the idea of generous, to receive little presents from him, for no reason at all, just that he are thinking of me. That would be wonderful.
Of course, having borne witness to Melissa and Jacob these last 6 months it could also be downright nauseating. “Binkybear” and “Loveycakes” sometimes live in their own special rose-tinted cloud of love. Where most assuredly fat cherubic cupids rain down poisoned arrows of passion. Birds sing sweet songs of adoration to their mates all day long as lovers dance in twirling circles over the fluffy pink surface of the cloud and flower petals cascade from some unknown, yet fragrant, source.
“Why ever are you twirling your spoon in that languid manner?” Melissa had evidently solved the mystery of turning lead into gold and finished with her menus and was staring at me quite strangely.
“Hmmm? Oh, like the flower petals.”
“Sometimes I do wonder if you aren’t quite mad Abby,” She gave me a reproving look and placed her napkin on the table. “Now, if you’re finished come with me into town. I have some visiting to do with Erica Spencer, she’s just had twins you know, and would rather fancy a new hat for spring. I saw just the thing in the Milliner’s window yesterday and I’ve convinced my Jacob that it’s just the thing. Even if he did grumble some nonsense about vanity and the devil‘s bonnets. Perhaps madness runs in the family.”
I smiled at that. Melissa does have a fondness for hats, and lucky for her they suit her face. Some of us always feel like carriage horses with blinders on in bonnets. But I didn’t mention it, as I have yet to come out and any other chapeau is inappropriate for a maid not yet presented. If only I could have stood Catherine’s asp of a tongue I could have had a season this year, as we’ve come of mourning and the Duke and new Duchess of Englemore would have proved more than adequate chaperones. If wishes were horses… Jacob does not have the money for gowns and a house in town and all the other things one needs for a season, nor the time to take away from his parishioners, and going back to Catherine is out of the question. I quite believe she is jealous of my looks, and being only a year younger than me, she feels she must prove her maturity and social standing. No, a season is not worth it and there are eligible men right here in Essex. Granted, those eligible men are either pining away for one of the horsy flower-named Lowell girls or some other local daughter. My taking away yet another one of the few eligible gentlemen in town would not endear myself or Melissa in local society. Goodness knows they might be roused enough to run Jacob out of town and then we’d all have to return to Michael with our tails between our legs. Being someone’s maiden aunt couldn’t be quite that bad now could it? Perhaps someone’s wicked maiden aunt then, who wears bright colors and lives alone and dances at the country dances with whomever she feels like. Perhaps then it would not be so bad.
Chapter Two
“The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Gentlewomen are often laid to waste by tornadoes.”
Lady Evangeline Lucinia Hortensianna Muriel Chalmers, I now know, enters every space like a tornado of green and lace and pearls. However that first morning meeting in the tiny Milliner’s shop I was quite taken aback, literally.
“Oh, drat! Let me help you. No, really I’m going to help you. If you would just please stop trashing my dear and take my hand I’m sure all will be well.” A green kidskin glove covered hand extended to me out of the mass of ribbons and furbelows I had fallen into after the entrance of what I had logically assumed must be some weather phenomenon brought down by God unto my head for even imagining a wicked spinsterhood. I obviously was becoming too religious living at the vicarage.
“Mrph” I replied, as feathers seem to have gotten into my mouth.
“No you are not fine, allow me. You seem to be all tangled up. There’s a love, stand up slowly, we shall have you all set to rights in a jiffy.” The pink tornado was picking ribbon and feathery bits from my person and hair and bonnet. I took a moment to study her. She was short, perhaps a few inches over five feet but no more, slim and looking very much like a wood sprite my Amazonian frame towered over her. She bristled with energy, even her curly red hair rioted about her face while a well-made and obviously expensive hat attempted the tame it. Her dress and spencer were also of the best quality and the height of fashion, being made of green muslin with white lace trim that matched the shade of her green eyes which currently laughed at my appraisal.
“Thrppph-” I removed a bit of ribbon as discreetly as possible from my mouth “Thank you very much”
“Oh, do not bother to thank me, as I am obviously the one who sent you flying to begin with. I suppose introductions are in order, my dear I am Evangeline Chalmers. Lady Evangeline, I recently married the Earl of Kensington.”
“A pleasure Lady Chalmers, I am Abigail Haversham, Lady Haversham, my brother is the local vicar, and this is my sister-in-law Mrs. Melissa Haversham.” I motioned to Melissa, who had rushed over to my side at the commotion.
“How do you do Lady Chalmers? We had no idea the Earl was in residence, I take it you are on your honeymoon then?”
“Indeed, his lordship and I are recently returned from traveling Italy and only arrived two days ago. It is my first chance to see the village as estate business came up and Pookie is spending the afternoon with his steward. I hadn’t thought to have company so soon but I insist you, your husband, and you too Lady Haversham, join us for dinner tomorrow evening.”
I very wisely did not giggle at the use of the term “Pookie” to describe a peer of the realm and smiled broadly at Lady Chalmers instead. “I am sure it would be our pleasure, Lady Chalmers.”
“Oh, excellent! It will be my first chance to entertain as a matron.”
“Lady Haversham, are you any relation to Michael Haversham, the Duke of Edgemore?”
“The duke is my eldest brother, I have recently moved to Essex as he’s taken a bride.”
“Horrible creature to get along with isn’t Catherine?” Lady Chalmers exclaimed. “Always had a nasty streak in her.” Both mine and Melissa’s mouths hung open in shock at her brazen comment like those of common brook trout.
“My! Lady Chalmers I’m sure we wouldn’t be so bold as to say-” She cut Melissa off.
“I was in finishing school with her, my dear Mrs. Haversham, I know the lady well.”
“She’s a banshee, Lady Chalmers.” The comment slipped out, I’d had no intention of actually abusing Catherine’s reputation, though aptly summed up, to this Lady.
Lady Chalmers placed her hand on my arm.
“I have used those exact words myself. Do call me Evangeline, I can tell we all shall be fast friends you two and I. I always have an inkling about this sort of thing.”
“Of course, Evangeline, you may expect us at 7 tomorrow” Melissa answered, smiling as broadly as I was at the vivacious young Countess. Finally someone in this town who was not a dowd or a timid little mouse. Perhaps my future in Kensington Downs was looking up after all.
current mood:  productive
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Wednesday, November 9th, 2005
| |
2:29 am - I've been transcribing this, I should just bring my laptop to work from now on.
|
Stumbling into the sunny breakfast nook Abigail winced shielded her eyes from the bright mid-morning sun. Even the weather was against her this morning it seemed. Her sister-in-law Melissa, a petite curly-haired brunette with blue eyes that saw too much and at this moment softened with sympathy as she lay down the week’s menus was in the midst of writing.
“If you have cook that salmon and cabbage dish again I shall personally murder you in your bed with a fish fork through your pretty little forehead, and my brother shall thank me.”
“It was not that bad, cook was merely unfamiliar with the recipe.” Melissa said as she refilled her cup from the chocolate pot and filled another for Abby.
“Where did you get the ghastly idea for it?” Abby chose several sausages and a goodly portion of eggs onto her plate from the sideboard.
“Mrs. Lowell claims it is a favorite at her table.”
“Perhaps because the rest of her meals are inedible. Do not take advice from that old cow, she does not have your best interest at heart. She does have her pretty marriageable daughter‘s interest at heart however.” She wrinkled her nose at the pickled herring, another of Mrs. Lowell’s suggestions.
“That is uncharitable Abby,“ Melissa stared into her chocolate and sighed “If not a little true. Why do these women persist in sabotaging me?”
“Because of my favorite of the seven deadly sins, jealousy.“ Abby sat down at the table and gratefully took the steaming cup from her sister-in-law. “You must merely nod and smile and believe none of the pestilence they pour in your ear.”
Taking a sip she sighed and looked at her sister-in-law thoughtfully. Melissa had endured much since coming to Kensington Downs as a companion to her elderly great-aunt last autumn. The elderly Aunt Margaret had a great interest in religious discussions, feeling her time was near and she should know all she could about her maker to make up for her ‘youthful indiscretions’ and her five dead husbands. While she didn’t seem to regret her indiscretions, she did make a good show at it. Until those not so rare moments when she would get a misty look in her eye at the mention of “dearest Alfred”, “my sweetheart Samuel”, or “darling Malcolm” and sighed with wistful yearning when “glorious Edward” was mentioned. Abby shook her head, it made a maiden wonder about the more mysterious aspects of married life. While she was sure Melissa would explain to her, her experience would be with Jacob. And while curiosity did burn something fierce, one did not need to know how one’s brother was at connubial calisthenics. She could ask Jacob, but her dear brother was still prone to blushing like a girl fresh from the school room at the mention of such things. Men. Such prudes.
She probably should have asked her eldest brother Michael, he was very matter-of-fact, however she didn’t think to do so before he took off for London for a month and came back with his harridan of a wife Catherine, now the Duchess of Englemore and keeper of Michael’s heart, and other things Jacob would often chuckle until catching Melissa’s glance and sobering rather quickly. She’d caught his eye immediately, at those afternoon sessions in which he tried very seriously to assuage great-aunt Margaret’s guilt at having enjoyed her life, and husbands, and perhaps the hint of a few more men beyond that.
Her guilt however, was not nearly as interesting as the pert brunette who sat quietly smirking in the corner over a scrap of needlework depicting what could have been daffodils, or a spaniel. Needlework had never been Melissa’s strong point. Her strong point was her baking, which was how she’d won the stomach, and heart of the handsome young vicar. Also why her cooking was the particular target of the biddies in town who assumed that she’d obviously used some brand of black magic to enchant the vicar from his obvious, and imaginary, undying devotion for their young daughters of marriageable age.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Lowell had more than one daughter of imminently marriageable age, she had three. All who looked like they were more kin to the horses in their father’s stable than Mrs. Lowell herself. Daisy, Marigold and Chrysanthemum were all wonderful girls, as were their 3 sisters not yet out of the schoolroom, but they had never turned the head of any of the local young men that their socially aspiring mother deemed appropriate.
It was rumored that Billy Cheltenham, the young blacksmith, had proposed a total of 6 times, with 3 partial proposals. The poor boy would mope for days after each attempt to win the hand of the rather horsy, but infinitely sweet, Daisy. Yet, each time Mrs. Lowell forestalled his suit lecturing the equally inconsolable Daisy on the superiority of her hand and how such a pearl of womanhood before swine. Never mind, of course that Maria Lowell had been the pretty butcher’s daughter in Kensington Downs and through a clever compromising had managed to catch the barrister’s clerk in a rather compromising position that would still be whispered about if not for Maria’s strict adherence to social stricture and her elevation to “Honorable” when by a stroke of luck Mr. Daniel Lowell had been made Sir Daniel Lowell.
It was not only Maria Lowell who plagued her sister-in-law however, but at least a half dozen ill-meaning and matchmaking mamas with their respective broods to push onward and upwards toward matrimony. There were few enough single men in Essex without an interloping little upstart of a companion taking away the prime handsome and well-to-do vicar, he was the younger brother of an Earl no less, right out from under them. No love was lost on the new wife at the vicarage and every effort was expended to remind her she was an interloper and obviously did not deserve the fine catch of the husband she had bewitched.
This of course, was the reason Melissa treated each and every menu was pored over as if it were the alchemistic recipe for turning lead into gold. Jacob did not care if he were served roast potato or roast tree bark with gravy for his dinner, but his young bride was still too uncertain in her position to risk the pack of daughter-toting hyenas Kensington Downs called society catching her showing anything that could be construed as a weakness. Those biddies would smell blood and circle, but they had yet to attack. Melissa would be ready though, for while they would never understand it, she had Jacob’s love behind her.
current mood:  amused
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Tuesday, November 1st, 2005
| |
3:51 pm
|
The London Road 1768
It was happening again. She knew what would come, even while the carriage swayed comfortably down the road, the sounds of the wheels crunching on gravel, the springs of the seats creaking softly as the occupants shifted on the velvet upholstery of the well-appointed traveling coach. She couldn’t see them. She’d often thought it was the cruelest part, not seeing their faces in the darkness of the unlit compartment. Perhaps if she could it would make reliving this night bearable. But why was she expecting mercy from a nightmare? She could hear them, her father’s gentle snore, her mother’s less gentle one. She wanted to wake them, shake their shoulders and warn them. Cry and hug them close one last time before they would be parted, but the dream never let her.
The sudden crack made her jump, even knowing it would come. Then, like a macabre carnival ride, the swift tipping of the carriage as they rolled off the road down, down, down the steep embankment. The horses screaming, her mother screaming until suddenly she was silent. Her father, fighting, trying to right the carriage by force of will as they spun madly about. A sudden, sickening, stop and her world was turned upside down as she clung again to the leather straps of the door. The weight of her traveling cloak choking her as it caught the seat above her, petticoats snagged on the broken bodies of her parents. She imagined the cold icy breath of Death against her throat, whispering to her. The crackling of flames the last thing she heard before she screamed.
Kensington Downs, Essex 1775
Abigail Haversham sat bolt upright in bed. Jerked back to reality by her own screaming. She was safe, she told herself, in her brother’s little cottage no flames can reach her to lick at her dress., dance across her skin. The door opened quietly and her brother Jacob came to the side of her bed.
“It happened again?”
“Jacob, you’re the man of God, tell me please what miracle allowed me to survive the accident and not them?”
“Abby,” he said, sitting on the edge of her bed “If I knew, then I would be more than a mere vicar, I would be God himself. It is not, as I have told you often enough, your fault our parents did not survive. It is not your fault your nightmares keep returning.”
“But I cannot help but think…”
“Time shall heal your wounds, it healed your leg and it shall heal your heart. No one blames you for surviving, only you blame yourself Abby. Now, go back to sleep.”
“I’m sorry Jacob, you should not have to come and tend to me as if I were a child night after night. You and Melissa have been far too kind to me.”
“No, Abby, our brother and dearest sister-in-law were far too cruel to you.”
“They did what they thought best.”
“Now you are being far too kind. Melissa and I would never be bothered by your presence here, it is a comfort for both of us.”
“You are newly wed Jacob, you should have privacy”
“There is no privacy in a village as small as this.”
“Jacob… still.”
“I like to have some family about me, and my lovely wife likes to have some female companion in the village who does not wish to give unwelcome advice or sly insults.”
“’Tis her own fault for marrying the handsome young vicar.”
“I’ll remember to tell her such when she awakens. Now, sleep well." Jacob leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, as Father had done when he'd come to the nursery every night to tuck in his children. Then he left, turning at the door to give her a weak smile. The door clicked and the cottage grew silent again but Abigail didn't fall back asleep until gold began to streak over the horizon.
current mood:  silly
current music: Bride and Prejudice - Goa Groove
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| |
1:49 pm - Hmm... Thoughts
|
Signed up for NANOWRIMO on the site.
Obviously spending too much time on re-writing and not getting real work done. Although I should also turn off AIM. So, here's an hour's work.
current mood:  calm
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Monday, October 24th, 2005
| |
4:16 pm - NANOWRIMO
|
It's all the fault of Moses.
Since everyone and their mom at FSC has decided to do NANOWRIMO I will too. Alli and I worked out my plot while sweatshoppin'. Well really, I worked out my plot and Alli laughed a lot.
For what else could I write but a cheesy romance novel? With the ton, scandal, a guy named Rafael, lost love, pirates, revenge and Ben Franklin.
This is it's LJ home. Let's hope I can stick with it, and not get mired down in writer's block. Good luck all, and feel free to add if you want to read along.
I wonder if I can find an icon of a bouncing ball....
current mood: accomplished
|
|
(2 comments | comment on this)
|
|
|
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
lovers_almanac's journal