We beg to apologize for the lack of episode by our normally reliable narrator, but we regret to inform you that a sudden brain fever has laid her low. It is fondly hoped that after many long sighs, a few tears and the assiduous application of leeches, she will be back to work in a timely manner next week.
Letters of sympathetic fellow feeling, as always, are welcome.
(Rumors that she was instead gallivanting around Oxford have been strenuously denied.)
The Management
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Sunday, March 18, 2007
3.5
The squat man in dark clothing with the mask over his face hurried the two young women forward with his pistol and his muttered demands. “Get along, get along, would you, haven’t got all day, hurry along.”
It was most provoking when one was doing one’s best to ‘get along’ and yet still be told to ‘get along,’ Alice thought with some peevishness. She turned to Lizzie to repeat her sentiments aloud, but for her effort only received a very peremptory poke in the small of her back from the brigand’s pistol.
“The nerve of the man!” Alice thought. “We have never even been introduced.” No, she affirmed to no one but herself, this cannot be the work of Kit Barrington. Surely he would have taken the effort to hire experienced and kindly henchmen to carry out his surreptitious deeds. Alice contemplated for some time her knowing (and recalling, it must be added) a word like “surreptitious” with a good deal of unbecoming smugness.
Lizzie meanwhile was trying to gain as much information from her surroundings as their hurried march would allow. They went into the building with out much more detail being visible apart from that sign. “The Pig and Whistle” presumably meant this was a public house (how common, Lizzie thought with a shiver) but it appeared to be empty which was not the usual practice of such locations as she understood it. Lizzie had an abhorrence of alcohol quite out of all reason (something the King of Naples had been trying to get her to overcome in their rather considerable correspondence over the many months, for his land was rich in the grape with many a fruity reserve delectable and sweet with a variety of local dishes) and attached, perhaps not unreasonably, the taint of alcohol to her Platonic ideal of the public house.
Much to her surprise, the interior of the place, while dark, smelled pleasant and seemed to be remarkably clean. While the two captives were hustled along a side corridor toward the back of the house where the lodgings appeared to be, Lizzie had scant seconds win which to glimpse solemn oak paneling and comfortable benches for the public, presumably, to cozy up to one another. It was with a bit of a shock that she realized it all looked very comfortable indeed.
One can almost see a smile crossing the face of the King of Naples in his distant land at that moment.
However, it was far away and of no immediate concern to the events involving the kidnapped young women who were whisked into a chamber by the squat man, who slammed the door behind them, trapping them once again, although in a new location which at least had novelty to recommend it, Lizzie thought with a small brightening of hope in her breast.
Left quite alone for the moment, the two women sighed with relief, hugged briefly, then turned to examine their new confines. It was a dismal room with two wooden chairs, a table, a tiny and very dirty window which showed only the courtyard where their carriage yet awaited (although without its original pair of horses), a small painting of King Henry the Eighth (rendered very poorly it must be added, for they could recognize him only from the general outlines, his face giving little clue to his identity and in fact appearing almost to have melted perhaps in the sun of some zealous anti-Catholic endeavour) and a second door.
“Dare we try the door?” Alice asked with some trepidation.
Lizzie took a breath and, deciding fortune favors the bold, strode across the room to take firm hold of the handle, turning it down, with all her courage she flung it open.
It was a small room with a water closet.
Both young women blushed. Raised with a proper sense of modesty and decorum, they were supremely embarrassed by this needful invention, and quite unable to admit, despite the thunderous need on both their parts, of the desire to use said apparatus.
They might well have stood there for a very long time, silent and bursting, had not the other door sprang open to admit a most curious figure that made the two women shudder and leap to each other’s comfort.
It was most provoking when one was doing one’s best to ‘get along’ and yet still be told to ‘get along,’ Alice thought with some peevishness. She turned to Lizzie to repeat her sentiments aloud, but for her effort only received a very peremptory poke in the small of her back from the brigand’s pistol.
“The nerve of the man!” Alice thought. “We have never even been introduced.” No, she affirmed to no one but herself, this cannot be the work of Kit Barrington. Surely he would have taken the effort to hire experienced and kindly henchmen to carry out his surreptitious deeds. Alice contemplated for some time her knowing (and recalling, it must be added) a word like “surreptitious” with a good deal of unbecoming smugness.
Lizzie meanwhile was trying to gain as much information from her surroundings as their hurried march would allow. They went into the building with out much more detail being visible apart from that sign. “The Pig and Whistle” presumably meant this was a public house (how common, Lizzie thought with a shiver) but it appeared to be empty which was not the usual practice of such locations as she understood it. Lizzie had an abhorrence of alcohol quite out of all reason (something the King of Naples had been trying to get her to overcome in their rather considerable correspondence over the many months, for his land was rich in the grape with many a fruity reserve delectable and sweet with a variety of local dishes) and attached, perhaps not unreasonably, the taint of alcohol to her Platonic ideal of the public house.
Much to her surprise, the interior of the place, while dark, smelled pleasant and seemed to be remarkably clean. While the two captives were hustled along a side corridor toward the back of the house where the lodgings appeared to be, Lizzie had scant seconds win which to glimpse solemn oak paneling and comfortable benches for the public, presumably, to cozy up to one another. It was with a bit of a shock that she realized it all looked very comfortable indeed.
One can almost see a smile crossing the face of the King of Naples in his distant land at that moment.
However, it was far away and of no immediate concern to the events involving the kidnapped young women who were whisked into a chamber by the squat man, who slammed the door behind them, trapping them once again, although in a new location which at least had novelty to recommend it, Lizzie thought with a small brightening of hope in her breast.
Left quite alone for the moment, the two women sighed with relief, hugged briefly, then turned to examine their new confines. It was a dismal room with two wooden chairs, a table, a tiny and very dirty window which showed only the courtyard where their carriage yet awaited (although without its original pair of horses), a small painting of King Henry the Eighth (rendered very poorly it must be added, for they could recognize him only from the general outlines, his face giving little clue to his identity and in fact appearing almost to have melted perhaps in the sun of some zealous anti-Catholic endeavour) and a second door.
“Dare we try the door?” Alice asked with some trepidation.
Lizzie took a breath and, deciding fortune favors the bold, strode across the room to take firm hold of the handle, turning it down, with all her courage she flung it open.
It was a small room with a water closet.
Both young women blushed. Raised with a proper sense of modesty and decorum, they were supremely embarrassed by this needful invention, and quite unable to admit, despite the thunderous need on both their parts, of the desire to use said apparatus.
They might well have stood there for a very long time, silent and bursting, had not the other door sprang open to admit a most curious figure that made the two women shudder and leap to each other’s comfort.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
3.4
There was no mistake about it: the carriage was slowing its relentless pace.
The two women hugged one another with excitement. “Perhaps we will be freed!” Alice said excitedly. The swift return of hope was enough to fill her cheeks with the flush of happiness again. “Perhaps it was all a mistake and we’re back home again!”
Lizzie, however, was slower to leap to frivolous conclusions. “Alice, I believe we would have seen more recognizable landmarks by now if we had returned,” she said, returning to a lecturing mode. “And note how the sun continues on the same side of the carriage. If we had changed directions, we should have noted a change in the direction of the sun as well.”
Logic was a dry subject, Alice thought to herself, but meekly replied, “As you say, Lizzie. But surely we have arrived somewhere.”
Indeed, the horses were slowing to a walk, no doubt fatigued by their hasty journey. Lizzie furtively peeked out the window of the carriage but found it difficult to make out where they were. “I see a sort of house, or perhaps it’s a public house. There is a sign hanging outside it, so I suspect it may be the latter.”
“It could be a baker’s,” Alice ventured shyly.
“Perhaps,” Lizzie admitted, “But I suppose it more likely to be a kind of place for refreshment. See! We are heading around the building. Perhaps the horses will be stabled and we will have something cool to drink.”
“Look, there is a pot of flowers!” Alice meant to be helpful, but even she could not see anything of gain in that observation.
“We have stopped!” Lizzie had unconsciously lowered her voice to a whisper. At last, their abductor might make himself known. The excitement was nigh on intolerable. The two felt the carriage lurch as their driver leapt down from the box. Voices drew near, undoubtedly addressing their abductor. The horses were being led away, undoubtedly to be well-fed and watered. Alice gasped as footsteps approached the side of the carriage; Lizzie grabbed her hand and they both stared toward the door.
When it suddenly opened, however, they were immediately blinded by the bright sunlight streaming through and ruining their first glance at the daring highwayman. Well, Lizzie had fancied some dashing robber perpetrating the crime, while Alice had still hoped for Kit Barrington’s visage. They were both soon disappointed by the squat masked man in the black hat who stepped into view. He was not the striking figure they had hoped for; further, he did not regard them with a cool, appraising stare nor did he smile devilishly at their beauty and vulnerability.
No, he simply pointed a pistol at the pair of them and demanded (in something less than dulcet tones) that they alight from the carriage to refresh themselves. “And look sharp about it, too, or my master will hear about it!”
This pronouncement had the immediate effect of motivating the two young women to scurry out of the carriage, but it also inspired them with a sense of relief that this unprepossessing figure was not in fact their nemesis, but only his servant.
“It could still be Kit,” Alice thought furtively, blushing before she corrected herself, “I mean, Mr. Barrington.” They both blinked to be out of the carriage’s shadowed interior and were scuttled into the public house without much of a look outside. Lizzie did manage to glance at the sign hanging from the front of the house and mentally recorded its name.
Never had the words “Pig and Whistle” provoked such an ominous gloom!
The two women hugged one another with excitement. “Perhaps we will be freed!” Alice said excitedly. The swift return of hope was enough to fill her cheeks with the flush of happiness again. “Perhaps it was all a mistake and we’re back home again!”
Lizzie, however, was slower to leap to frivolous conclusions. “Alice, I believe we would have seen more recognizable landmarks by now if we had returned,” she said, returning to a lecturing mode. “And note how the sun continues on the same side of the carriage. If we had changed directions, we should have noted a change in the direction of the sun as well.”
Logic was a dry subject, Alice thought to herself, but meekly replied, “As you say, Lizzie. But surely we have arrived somewhere.”
Indeed, the horses were slowing to a walk, no doubt fatigued by their hasty journey. Lizzie furtively peeked out the window of the carriage but found it difficult to make out where they were. “I see a sort of house, or perhaps it’s a public house. There is a sign hanging outside it, so I suspect it may be the latter.”
“It could be a baker’s,” Alice ventured shyly.
“Perhaps,” Lizzie admitted, “But I suppose it more likely to be a kind of place for refreshment. See! We are heading around the building. Perhaps the horses will be stabled and we will have something cool to drink.”
“Look, there is a pot of flowers!” Alice meant to be helpful, but even she could not see anything of gain in that observation.
“We have stopped!” Lizzie had unconsciously lowered her voice to a whisper. At last, their abductor might make himself known. The excitement was nigh on intolerable. The two felt the carriage lurch as their driver leapt down from the box. Voices drew near, undoubtedly addressing their abductor. The horses were being led away, undoubtedly to be well-fed and watered. Alice gasped as footsteps approached the side of the carriage; Lizzie grabbed her hand and they both stared toward the door.
When it suddenly opened, however, they were immediately blinded by the bright sunlight streaming through and ruining their first glance at the daring highwayman. Well, Lizzie had fancied some dashing robber perpetrating the crime, while Alice had still hoped for Kit Barrington’s visage. They were both soon disappointed by the squat masked man in the black hat who stepped into view. He was not the striking figure they had hoped for; further, he did not regard them with a cool, appraising stare nor did he smile devilishly at their beauty and vulnerability.
No, he simply pointed a pistol at the pair of them and demanded (in something less than dulcet tones) that they alight from the carriage to refresh themselves. “And look sharp about it, too, or my master will hear about it!”
This pronouncement had the immediate effect of motivating the two young women to scurry out of the carriage, but it also inspired them with a sense of relief that this unprepossessing figure was not in fact their nemesis, but only his servant.
“It could still be Kit,” Alice thought furtively, blushing before she corrected herself, “I mean, Mr. Barrington.” They both blinked to be out of the carriage’s shadowed interior and were scuttled into the public house without much of a look outside. Lizzie did manage to glance at the sign hanging from the front of the house and mentally recorded its name.
Never had the words “Pig and Whistle” provoked such an ominous gloom!
Sunday, March 04, 2007
3.3
Alice gasped. Surely there was something more seriously wrong with her than mere, commonplace boredom. “But -- but, what about my fever?” Surely that would count for something!
Lizzie sighed. She was beginning to feel as if her life were an endless repetition of what it was like now, to be trapped in this increasingly close carriage with her rich and dim cousin, on an endless journey to who knew where. While Alice assumed herself to be the captive of some delicate condition, Lizzie knew her own tribulations to be far more painful largely because she was so acutely aware of them. She fancied with some horror that she could imagine some overly fastidious Frenchman one day writing at length of the horrors of just such an existence, where the endless prattling of others would become a condition not even Milton’s grand hero could endure forever. It seemed a perfect picture of purgatorial despondency.
But, for now, there was her responsibility to Alice who, if she was not entirely cognizant of the fact or appreciate of the effort, should be forgiven for her fewer years, her lesser learning (oh, the horrible neglect of Miss Travers), and her all too often pampered beauty. How sad, thought Lizzie privately (as so many of her thoughts had to be), that those who are given loveliness of face are seldom given any other qualities to complement it. However, her cousin should surely be able to marry someone on the strength of that beauty, who would not find himself deceived on that account until many years had passed. Other disappointments might come more quickly.
Alice was still pouting which did little to restore the aforementioned looks, as her lips were drawn much to tightly together to give her pout any piquancy. As if by magic (or long habit), the realization of how unappealing she must look finally brought Alice around with a sigh. I suppose I haven’t any interesting disease, she admitted to herself at last, but then, left without a way to amuse herself, turned as always to her cousin. “Did you bring a deck of cards, by chance, Lizzie?”
One can imagine somehow that the ever alert Mrs. Perkins undoubtedly dropped whatever was in her hands at that moment, for even far away she must have been conscious of this dangerous precedent slipping from the lips of one of the Mangrove family women. Unaware of this distance accident, Alice felt hope renew with the thought of entertainment.
Lizzie shook her head, however, dashing Alice’s hopes. “If only I had thought to put something aside for entertainment. A nice game of authors would be pleasant even if we were not on a green river bank,” Lizzie said with unaccustomed wistfulness. “If I had had the good sense to carry a book, I could have read aloud to entertain us both.”
“We should have had to be careful of bumps,” Alice said somewhat distractedly, for their had been a number of good ruts in the road which had lately brought the girls’ attention back to their method of conveyance.
“One can always pause,” Lizzie reminded her kindly but firmly. “That’s the beauty of a book. You can pick it up any time, any where and be entertained. It is sublime simplicity itself!”
“Not in the dark,” pointed out Alice, who felt unusually thoughtful that moment.
“No, not as a rule,” Lizzie agreed, “But one usually has a candle to hand and then reading can recommence.”
“Or one can call for a servant, who would surely have a candle. And matches,” Alice said, still thoughtful, although Lizzie was beginning to see that future Frenchman a little more clearly, as well as feeling a sense of understanding grow as to why most murders happened within the home.
All at once, though, Lizzie became alert. “Listen,” she cried to Alice. “Do you hear that?”
Lizzie sighed. She was beginning to feel as if her life were an endless repetition of what it was like now, to be trapped in this increasingly close carriage with her rich and dim cousin, on an endless journey to who knew where. While Alice assumed herself to be the captive of some delicate condition, Lizzie knew her own tribulations to be far more painful largely because she was so acutely aware of them. She fancied with some horror that she could imagine some overly fastidious Frenchman one day writing at length of the horrors of just such an existence, where the endless prattling of others would become a condition not even Milton’s grand hero could endure forever. It seemed a perfect picture of purgatorial despondency.
But, for now, there was her responsibility to Alice who, if she was not entirely cognizant of the fact or appreciate of the effort, should be forgiven for her fewer years, her lesser learning (oh, the horrible neglect of Miss Travers), and her all too often pampered beauty. How sad, thought Lizzie privately (as so many of her thoughts had to be), that those who are given loveliness of face are seldom given any other qualities to complement it. However, her cousin should surely be able to marry someone on the strength of that beauty, who would not find himself deceived on that account until many years had passed. Other disappointments might come more quickly.
Alice was still pouting which did little to restore the aforementioned looks, as her lips were drawn much to tightly together to give her pout any piquancy. As if by magic (or long habit), the realization of how unappealing she must look finally brought Alice around with a sigh. I suppose I haven’t any interesting disease, she admitted to herself at last, but then, left without a way to amuse herself, turned as always to her cousin. “Did you bring a deck of cards, by chance, Lizzie?”
One can imagine somehow that the ever alert Mrs. Perkins undoubtedly dropped whatever was in her hands at that moment, for even far away she must have been conscious of this dangerous precedent slipping from the lips of one of the Mangrove family women. Unaware of this distance accident, Alice felt hope renew with the thought of entertainment.
Lizzie shook her head, however, dashing Alice’s hopes. “If only I had thought to put something aside for entertainment. A nice game of authors would be pleasant even if we were not on a green river bank,” Lizzie said with unaccustomed wistfulness. “If I had had the good sense to carry a book, I could have read aloud to entertain us both.”
“We should have had to be careful of bumps,” Alice said somewhat distractedly, for their had been a number of good ruts in the road which had lately brought the girls’ attention back to their method of conveyance.
“One can always pause,” Lizzie reminded her kindly but firmly. “That’s the beauty of a book. You can pick it up any time, any where and be entertained. It is sublime simplicity itself!”
“Not in the dark,” pointed out Alice, who felt unusually thoughtful that moment.
“No, not as a rule,” Lizzie agreed, “But one usually has a candle to hand and then reading can recommence.”
“Or one can call for a servant, who would surely have a candle. And matches,” Alice said, still thoughtful, although Lizzie was beginning to see that future Frenchman a little more clearly, as well as feeling a sense of understanding grow as to why most murders happened within the home.
All at once, though, Lizzie became alert. “Listen,” she cried to Alice. “Do you hear that?”
Friday, February 23, 2007
3.2
For a time nothing at all happened, which was infinitely disagreeable to Alice. Lizzie was not much more happy. While she had entertained her nimble mind for a time with calculating their possible trajectories southward (Southampton seemed the most likely candidate, she declared to herself with some satisfaction), there was little to do afterward but admire the countryside, which was lovely indeed, but such an unremitting sameness of even pleasant charms quickly paled for the young women.
Boredom arrived amidst the creaks of the carriage and the monotonous drumming of the horses' hooves as they kept to their comfortable but persistent pace.
Alice, already peevish from the lack of fawning attention, began to feel an illness coming on. This was not unusual for young ladies of Alice’s stature (that’s her civil stature not her physical stature -- though neither disinclined her for such opportunities). In fact, she knew one young girl who spent an entire year suffering from brain fever after an unfortunate faux pas at high tea one September afternoon. Many women were known little beyond their maladies, for their sufferings always provided a safe topic of conversation sure to wring voluble commentary from both interlocutor and respondent equally and tended to discourage all other discussion.
Lizzie heaved a gentle sigh at having left behind the very interesting novel she had been reading (The Echo on the Moors, a cracking good yarn of intrigue, ghosts and family secrets written by an author who modestly chose to remain anonymous), for she had expected only the brief journey to the churchyard, not this prolonged incarceration. She lamented having never realized the vital importance of earnestly carrying reading material wherever one went. Life is uncertain, she told herself firmly, always carry a book.
Alice, however, had convinced herself that she felt rather ill and was growing more distressed by the minute. “Lizzie,” she croaked, as if her life were already hanging by a thread and in the throes of some fashionably delicate condition.
“Yes,” Lizzie answered, although her mind was now helplessly cataloguing all the novels she had yet to read.
“I fear I have come down with something!” Alice wheezed, her breath growing short and agitated.
Lizzie turned to her cousin and was, to her credit, mildly alarmed at the sudden blotches of red on Alice’s cheeks. In the time honored tradition of women since Erishkigal’s time, she put her palm to her cousin’s forehead and looked thoughtful. What was she supposed to feel anyway? She recalled reading Galen’s commentary on the writings of Crispinus, but only that the latter had been discredited by the former, who labeled him lupus in fibula. After a moment, she removed her hand and gazed penetratingly at Alice, although Lizzie was well aware how this intimidated her cousin.
“How do you feel? Give me details.”
Alice considered for a moment. “I have an enormous feeling of lassitude,” she began carefully, quailing a bit under her cousin’s scrutiny, but bravely continuing, “And I feel somewhat dizzy and I have a headache and there’s a tingling… in my… left hand!” Alice raised the injured appendage as if its state could be ascertained visually.
“Do you feel at all confused or disturbed or restless?”
“Indeed!” It was quite accurate To be fair, it was often true for the young woman, who found much of life confusing and disturbing and who could be counted on to feel restless at any event that required much sitting still.
Lizzie pondered the symptoms. “It could be neurasthenia,” she said at last, although her furrowed brow seemed immediately to discount the likelihood of that judgment.
Alice nearly swooned. How exciting! She had never heard of the malady, but loved the name immediately.
“However,” Lizzie continued without a thought for her cousin’s happiness, “I think you’re simply bored.
Boredom arrived amidst the creaks of the carriage and the monotonous drumming of the horses' hooves as they kept to their comfortable but persistent pace.
Alice, already peevish from the lack of fawning attention, began to feel an illness coming on. This was not unusual for young ladies of Alice’s stature (that’s her civil stature not her physical stature -- though neither disinclined her for such opportunities). In fact, she knew one young girl who spent an entire year suffering from brain fever after an unfortunate faux pas at high tea one September afternoon. Many women were known little beyond their maladies, for their sufferings always provided a safe topic of conversation sure to wring voluble commentary from both interlocutor and respondent equally and tended to discourage all other discussion.
Lizzie heaved a gentle sigh at having left behind the very interesting novel she had been reading (The Echo on the Moors, a cracking good yarn of intrigue, ghosts and family secrets written by an author who modestly chose to remain anonymous), for she had expected only the brief journey to the churchyard, not this prolonged incarceration. She lamented having never realized the vital importance of earnestly carrying reading material wherever one went. Life is uncertain, she told herself firmly, always carry a book.
Alice, however, had convinced herself that she felt rather ill and was growing more distressed by the minute. “Lizzie,” she croaked, as if her life were already hanging by a thread and in the throes of some fashionably delicate condition.
“Yes,” Lizzie answered, although her mind was now helplessly cataloguing all the novels she had yet to read.
“I fear I have come down with something!” Alice wheezed, her breath growing short and agitated.
Lizzie turned to her cousin and was, to her credit, mildly alarmed at the sudden blotches of red on Alice’s cheeks. In the time honored tradition of women since Erishkigal’s time, she put her palm to her cousin’s forehead and looked thoughtful. What was she supposed to feel anyway? She recalled reading Galen’s commentary on the writings of Crispinus, but only that the latter had been discredited by the former, who labeled him lupus in fibula. After a moment, she removed her hand and gazed penetratingly at Alice, although Lizzie was well aware how this intimidated her cousin.
“How do you feel? Give me details.”
Alice considered for a moment. “I have an enormous feeling of lassitude,” she began carefully, quailing a bit under her cousin’s scrutiny, but bravely continuing, “And I feel somewhat dizzy and I have a headache and there’s a tingling… in my… left hand!” Alice raised the injured appendage as if its state could be ascertained visually.
“Do you feel at all confused or disturbed or restless?”
“Indeed!” It was quite accurate To be fair, it was often true for the young woman, who found much of life confusing and disturbing and who could be counted on to feel restless at any event that required much sitting still.
Lizzie pondered the symptoms. “It could be neurasthenia,” she said at last, although her furrowed brow seemed immediately to discount the likelihood of that judgment.
Alice nearly swooned. How exciting! She had never heard of the malady, but loved the name immediately.
“However,” Lizzie continued without a thought for her cousin’s happiness, “I think you’re simply bored.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
3.1
Alice carefully tucked her mourning handkerchief into the special pocket in her dress. How had she forgotten to do so before? Old habit, she scolded herself, and old habits must be broken. With a sudden rush of giddiness, Alice realized that henceforth she should demand to have all her dresses made with pockets. Why not? Who was to stop her, she thought wildly. With her father gone and mother unconcerned with such niceties, there was little to impede this new era of profligate pocketing. She very nearly swooned.
“Lizzie,” she finally cried nearly breathlessly (if she had in fact been breathless, doubtless she would not have been able to say anything at all, so she must well have had some breath left, at least enough to make some sound), “Do you know what I have realized?!”
Lizzie stared grimly out the window, oblivious to her cousin’s great joy. “Indeed! The kidnappers will be leaving terrible demands for your mother which she will not see until her return to the house after the funeral itself. It may be an hour or more before anyone begins to wonder where we have been taken.”
This was not at all what Alice had been thinking, but as soon as her cousin began to speak her previous thoughts evaporated like the last spoonful of tea in her cup, leaving not even so much behind as a few leaves, although the word “pockets” continued to echo gently in the back of her mind like a small silver bell. However, because Alice spent so little time there, she was unlikely to hear it any time soon. “Will no one miss us sooner?” she asked Lizzie somewhat peevishly. It was bad enough to suffer the indignity of a kidnapping (although if pressed, Alice would be unable to articulate how she might be suffering at all at present), but not even to be missed -- that was simply intolerable. “I should think everyone will be asking, ‘Where’s Alice?’ as soon as they get to the graveside. I am Lord Mangrove’s daughter after all.” Her cute little snub nose was quite out of temper and trembled most unbecomingly.
Lizzie, however, paid no attention to her cousin’s misfortunate, engaged as she was with employing logic and observation to some useful end. “We are heading south at present, and appear to be nearly out of the village altogether.”
“Perhaps we are heading for Africa,” Alice interjected hopefully. While she did not in general have a very good sense of the positions of various continents and countries around the globe, she had a very strong sense that Africa lay to the south of England and was sufficiently confident to voice her assumption out loud to her often censorious cousin. Surely this time she would win a gratified smile from her close relation, of the sort that dear Miss Travers used to award to her often less than entirely correct answers in the school room at home.
This was not, in fact, one of those times.
Lizzie refrained from looking very pained at her cousin’s wild assertion and merely stated, “We shall likely be heading somewhere in England first, although I suppose we cannot rule out Africa as a final destination, but we will be able to guess that as a more likely location after several months of sea travel have indicated such.” While Alice bowed her head in chastised chagrin, Lizzie mused to herself that there was really no way to know what their final destination might be, and likewise, they had little idea by whom they had been abducted. While her own thoughts were better company than her cousin’s somewhat stunted ones, Lizzie had begun to feel more than a little worry about their situation, and this she voiced at last to her cousin.
“I wonder who has kidnapped us?”
“Perhaps it is Kit Barrington!” Alice suddenly thought. “He has fallen madly in love with me and must have me although my father has forbad the union!” She was near to swooning again with the excitement of the plan.
Lizzie brought her cousin back down to earth in the most unfortunate way as was her habit. “Was it not he you were looking at through the window as we were spirited away?”
Logic is all very well, thought Alice, but it does little for love.
“Yes, I suppose you are right,” Alice responded glumly.
Lizzie finally glanced at her disconsolate cousin and, feeling some modicum of pity, threw her a small bone of hope. “I suppose it is not out of the question that he might have arranged for some bravoes to carry out the task for him…”
“Do you think so?!” Alice said with a quick rushing return of her initial excitement.
“No, not really,” Lizzie answered honestly.
Alice sank back on the seat and, feeling another tear about to fall, reached for her lovely handkerchief once more.
“Lizzie,” she finally cried nearly breathlessly (if she had in fact been breathless, doubtless she would not have been able to say anything at all, so she must well have had some breath left, at least enough to make some sound), “Do you know what I have realized?!”
Lizzie stared grimly out the window, oblivious to her cousin’s great joy. “Indeed! The kidnappers will be leaving terrible demands for your mother which she will not see until her return to the house after the funeral itself. It may be an hour or more before anyone begins to wonder where we have been taken.”
This was not at all what Alice had been thinking, but as soon as her cousin began to speak her previous thoughts evaporated like the last spoonful of tea in her cup, leaving not even so much behind as a few leaves, although the word “pockets” continued to echo gently in the back of her mind like a small silver bell. However, because Alice spent so little time there, she was unlikely to hear it any time soon. “Will no one miss us sooner?” she asked Lizzie somewhat peevishly. It was bad enough to suffer the indignity of a kidnapping (although if pressed, Alice would be unable to articulate how she might be suffering at all at present), but not even to be missed -- that was simply intolerable. “I should think everyone will be asking, ‘Where’s Alice?’ as soon as they get to the graveside. I am Lord Mangrove’s daughter after all.” Her cute little snub nose was quite out of temper and trembled most unbecomingly.
Lizzie, however, paid no attention to her cousin’s misfortunate, engaged as she was with employing logic and observation to some useful end. “We are heading south at present, and appear to be nearly out of the village altogether.”
“Perhaps we are heading for Africa,” Alice interjected hopefully. While she did not in general have a very good sense of the positions of various continents and countries around the globe, she had a very strong sense that Africa lay to the south of England and was sufficiently confident to voice her assumption out loud to her often censorious cousin. Surely this time she would win a gratified smile from her close relation, of the sort that dear Miss Travers used to award to her often less than entirely correct answers in the school room at home.
This was not, in fact, one of those times.
Lizzie refrained from looking very pained at her cousin’s wild assertion and merely stated, “We shall likely be heading somewhere in England first, although I suppose we cannot rule out Africa as a final destination, but we will be able to guess that as a more likely location after several months of sea travel have indicated such.” While Alice bowed her head in chastised chagrin, Lizzie mused to herself that there was really no way to know what their final destination might be, and likewise, they had little idea by whom they had been abducted. While her own thoughts were better company than her cousin’s somewhat stunted ones, Lizzie had begun to feel more than a little worry about their situation, and this she voiced at last to her cousin.
“I wonder who has kidnapped us?”
“Perhaps it is Kit Barrington!” Alice suddenly thought. “He has fallen madly in love with me and must have me although my father has forbad the union!” She was near to swooning again with the excitement of the plan.
Lizzie brought her cousin back down to earth in the most unfortunate way as was her habit. “Was it not he you were looking at through the window as we were spirited away?”
Logic is all very well, thought Alice, but it does little for love.
“Yes, I suppose you are right,” Alice responded glumly.
Lizzie finally glanced at her disconsolate cousin and, feeling some modicum of pity, threw her a small bone of hope. “I suppose it is not out of the question that he might have arranged for some bravoes to carry out the task for him…”
“Do you think so?!” Alice said with a quick rushing return of her initial excitement.
“No, not really,” Lizzie answered honestly.
Alice sank back on the seat and, feeling another tear about to fall, reached for her lovely handkerchief once more.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
3.0
“Lizzie!” Alice cried at last, overcoming her annoyance at having the delightful view of Kit Barrington wrung from her gaze only to feel a growing sense of panic as the carriage declined to slow at all. “What’s happening?”
Lizzie, for her part, was wondering much the same thing, but forbore to reply acidly to the obviousness of her cousin’s question and reached instead toward the intent. Why on earth was the carriage moving at such a fast speed? It might be that the horses had startled at something, but surely the driver would be able to rein them in fairly soon. No, there was only one logical answer.
“We are being kidnapped,” Lizzie said with some horror and not a little worry, but she was unable to conceal completely the exciting nature of the proposition. This was the best thing to happen to her in quite some time. While it did not make up for being orphaned from parents she genuinely loved, it was an improvement even on her secret romance which, while quite thrilling to contemplate, remained a secret unshared and thus, less than fully exhilarating.
Alice, for once, was speechless.
She had waited all her life for some grand adventure. From the nursery to the parlour, her life had been an endless string of more or less what had been expected for a young girl of her stature and wealth. Even the death of her father (which was rather swiftly fading into the back of her somewhat over-taxed brain) failed to meet the expectations of excitement (although the possibility of there being something suspicious about the death raised the stakes considerably for a brief time). But here, Alice and her cousin were on the brink of a very big adventure indeed. So many words expressing her supreme joy raced one another to jump to the front of her mind and expel themselves from her lips, that they met in a great jumble, blocking further thoughts and clogging her throat to such an extent that unfamiliar feelings rose to her breast in the agitation of the moment and unexpectedly, rushed into her heart.
Alice burst into tears. She was quite surprised. Lizzie, too, was shocked. Assuming these unaccustomed droplets to indicate fear, she grasped her cousin’s hand consolingly and attempted to reassure her. “I am certain we will come to no harm, my dear cousin. Undoubtedly some evildoer has seized the opportunity of the funeral to realize some terrible plan, probably to procure money, knowing the wealth of your family.’
Alice was too overcome by her unexpected tears to answer immediately. She wanted to say many things, which unfortunately only made it more impossible to get them out. As unaccustomed feelings battled for predominance in Alice’s heart and mind, a muddle of words struggled to pour out her throat, which only brought forth a tremendous moan and yet further tears.
Lizzie was still nonplussed by her cousin’s behaviour, but thought perhaps a new tack would jolly Alice out of her unexpected emotional display. “Come now, Alice. If you keep crying like this, the coach will soon be full of tears and we will both drown.
Rather than the laughter she hoped for, Lizzie’s words only provoked a wail as Alice wiped her teardrops from her cheek. Lizzie was just about to dab at her cousin’s eyes with her handkerchief when Alice’s eyes lit up with elation, and she reached into her sleeve. At last, she thought, I get to use my mourning handkerchief!
Lizzie, for her part, was wondering much the same thing, but forbore to reply acidly to the obviousness of her cousin’s question and reached instead toward the intent. Why on earth was the carriage moving at such a fast speed? It might be that the horses had startled at something, but surely the driver would be able to rein them in fairly soon. No, there was only one logical answer.
“We are being kidnapped,” Lizzie said with some horror and not a little worry, but she was unable to conceal completely the exciting nature of the proposition. This was the best thing to happen to her in quite some time. While it did not make up for being orphaned from parents she genuinely loved, it was an improvement even on her secret romance which, while quite thrilling to contemplate, remained a secret unshared and thus, less than fully exhilarating.
Alice, for once, was speechless.
She had waited all her life for some grand adventure. From the nursery to the parlour, her life had been an endless string of more or less what had been expected for a young girl of her stature and wealth. Even the death of her father (which was rather swiftly fading into the back of her somewhat over-taxed brain) failed to meet the expectations of excitement (although the possibility of there being something suspicious about the death raised the stakes considerably for a brief time). But here, Alice and her cousin were on the brink of a very big adventure indeed. So many words expressing her supreme joy raced one another to jump to the front of her mind and expel themselves from her lips, that they met in a great jumble, blocking further thoughts and clogging her throat to such an extent that unfamiliar feelings rose to her breast in the agitation of the moment and unexpectedly, rushed into her heart.
Alice burst into tears. She was quite surprised. Lizzie, too, was shocked. Assuming these unaccustomed droplets to indicate fear, she grasped her cousin’s hand consolingly and attempted to reassure her. “I am certain we will come to no harm, my dear cousin. Undoubtedly some evildoer has seized the opportunity of the funeral to realize some terrible plan, probably to procure money, knowing the wealth of your family.’
Alice was too overcome by her unexpected tears to answer immediately. She wanted to say many things, which unfortunately only made it more impossible to get them out. As unaccustomed feelings battled for predominance in Alice’s heart and mind, a muddle of words struggled to pour out her throat, which only brought forth a tremendous moan and yet further tears.
Lizzie was still nonplussed by her cousin’s behaviour, but thought perhaps a new tack would jolly Alice out of her unexpected emotional display. “Come now, Alice. If you keep crying like this, the coach will soon be full of tears and we will both drown.
Rather than the laughter she hoped for, Lizzie’s words only provoked a wail as Alice wiped her teardrops from her cheek. Lizzie was just about to dab at her cousin’s eyes with her handkerchief when Alice’s eyes lit up with elation, and she reached into her sleeve. At last, she thought, I get to use my mourning handkerchief!
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