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?”
Sunday, March 04, 2007
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!
Sunday, February 04, 2007
2.8
“There is who?” Lizzie said with some understandable annoyance. She was beginning to think she would never be able to unburden her secrets to anyone, not even to her cousin who was far less the kind of confidant she would have preferred, but there were few in the small number of folk around her who could provide suitable ears.
“The handsome young man from the Assembly Ball!” Alice shrieked, as oblivious to her cousin’s mood then as she had been for most of her life. And certainly, there was the young man she had admired from across the room just before Lady Mangrove had notified her somewhat peremptorily that they were leaving the Ball. Once again it was due to her father’s rather peculiar notions of propriety, in this particular instance, his dislike of comments that ran counter to his own singularly fixed opinions. Alice remained ignorant of the nature of the disagreement her father had had with Lord Darlington that evening (as indeed she remained ignorant of a great many things such as the ultimate depths of the ocean, the distance between England and France [soon to be remedied by experience if not actual learning], the number of houses in Parliament at present, and the airborne speed of the average magpie); however she and mother both patiently bore his grumbling on the carriage ride home which consisted of unedifying snippets of angry muttering that seemed to form little in the way of a coherent pattern, ranging as they did from “Newts!” said with great vehemence, a more measured utterance of “impossible!” and finally the seemingly unrelated, “miners!” (or perhaps "minors!" -- it is always difficult to be sure with homonyms).
Lord Mangrove did not choose to share the nature of the problem with either of the women, so they were left to their own thoughts, which for Lady Mangrove meant peaceful ruminations on spring planting and the dreamy prospects of a Sunday afternoon with her husband grumbling to himself in the library, while for Alice it meant the growing suspicion that the love of her life had appeared just when her father had whisked them away. Over the ensuing weeks, this imaginary affront had grown into a sizable if petty temper for the young woman, who felt a pout coming on at any recall of the subject. Although, to be entirely fair, such recollections had come at greater and greater intervals as the time went by.
However, the sight of the young man at the Darlington’s very gate aroused Alice’s remembrance of this terrible tragedy and she thrilled anew at the sight of the handsome young potential beau. “There, see!” she crowed at her cousin, pointing out the window with a great absence of breeding.
Lizzie sighed, then turned her own gaze outward once more. “Of course, that’s Kit Barrington,” she explained to her cousin just as the young man chose to make a polite bow in the direction of their carriage -- or perhaps it was directed toward Lady Mangrove in her speedy phaeton, which now drew some rather more significant distance from their slower carriage (which may have had something to do with the amount of gin young Dick Spiggot had swilled prior to being pressed into service this day upon realization of the shortage of drivers).
Alice, however, claimed the act as deference due to her as the doubly aggrieved party having missed the chance to assess his charms at closer range during the Assembly Ball, as well as of course being part of the funeral cortège occasioned by the untimely death of her father. All of which made her pale considerably, suddenly recognizing just how romantic her state had become. She cast a furtive eye toward the group bunched at the Darlington gate, but had little time to assess whether they had made the same realization, although she did note that young Mister Barrington had bright blue eyes, rich wavy dark hair and an admirably pale complexion. “I do hope he is not Irish!” Alice thought to herself, once more exposing the shortcomings of her class and its prejudices even as she did hope that he noticed her delicate blush and soft skin even from this distance. Perhaps the Darlingtons would speak of it at greater length before they all arrived for the funerary tea or some other condolence event, Alice hoped.
Lizzie, however, had had no such romantic thoughts clouding her mind. In fact, Alice noticed all of the sudden, she had her head cocked at a funny angle, as if she were hearing something strange. Good heavens, Alice thought, the shock of the day overcoming her natural distaste for such vulgar language, perhaps it is my father’s ghost again, and she quailed in her seat with a little bleat of distress, her new romance nearly forgotten.
Lizzie turned her penetrating vision back to Alice, who noticed a peculiar shine to her cousin’s eyes that did not bode well for her comfort. “I think something is about to happen!” Lizzie cried with alarm. Alice had no time to respond, for at that moment the carriage made an unexpected lurch, then began to pick up distressing speed.
“The handsome young man from the Assembly Ball!” Alice shrieked, as oblivious to her cousin’s mood then as she had been for most of her life. And certainly, there was the young man she had admired from across the room just before Lady Mangrove had notified her somewhat peremptorily that they were leaving the Ball. Once again it was due to her father’s rather peculiar notions of propriety, in this particular instance, his dislike of comments that ran counter to his own singularly fixed opinions. Alice remained ignorant of the nature of the disagreement her father had had with Lord Darlington that evening (as indeed she remained ignorant of a great many things such as the ultimate depths of the ocean, the distance between England and France [soon to be remedied by experience if not actual learning], the number of houses in Parliament at present, and the airborne speed of the average magpie); however she and mother both patiently bore his grumbling on the carriage ride home which consisted of unedifying snippets of angry muttering that seemed to form little in the way of a coherent pattern, ranging as they did from “Newts!” said with great vehemence, a more measured utterance of “impossible!” and finally the seemingly unrelated, “miners!” (or perhaps "minors!" -- it is always difficult to be sure with homonyms).
Lord Mangrove did not choose to share the nature of the problem with either of the women, so they were left to their own thoughts, which for Lady Mangrove meant peaceful ruminations on spring planting and the dreamy prospects of a Sunday afternoon with her husband grumbling to himself in the library, while for Alice it meant the growing suspicion that the love of her life had appeared just when her father had whisked them away. Over the ensuing weeks, this imaginary affront had grown into a sizable if petty temper for the young woman, who felt a pout coming on at any recall of the subject. Although, to be entirely fair, such recollections had come at greater and greater intervals as the time went by.
However, the sight of the young man at the Darlington’s very gate aroused Alice’s remembrance of this terrible tragedy and she thrilled anew at the sight of the handsome young potential beau. “There, see!” she crowed at her cousin, pointing out the window with a great absence of breeding.
Lizzie sighed, then turned her own gaze outward once more. “Of course, that’s Kit Barrington,” she explained to her cousin just as the young man chose to make a polite bow in the direction of their carriage -- or perhaps it was directed toward Lady Mangrove in her speedy phaeton, which now drew some rather more significant distance from their slower carriage (which may have had something to do with the amount of gin young Dick Spiggot had swilled prior to being pressed into service this day upon realization of the shortage of drivers).
Alice, however, claimed the act as deference due to her as the doubly aggrieved party having missed the chance to assess his charms at closer range during the Assembly Ball, as well as of course being part of the funeral cortège occasioned by the untimely death of her father. All of which made her pale considerably, suddenly recognizing just how romantic her state had become. She cast a furtive eye toward the group bunched at the Darlington gate, but had little time to assess whether they had made the same realization, although she did note that young Mister Barrington had bright blue eyes, rich wavy dark hair and an admirably pale complexion. “I do hope he is not Irish!” Alice thought to herself, once more exposing the shortcomings of her class and its prejudices even as she did hope that he noticed her delicate blush and soft skin even from this distance. Perhaps the Darlingtons would speak of it at greater length before they all arrived for the funerary tea or some other condolence event, Alice hoped.
Lizzie, however, had had no such romantic thoughts clouding her mind. In fact, Alice noticed all of the sudden, she had her head cocked at a funny angle, as if she were hearing something strange. Good heavens, Alice thought, the shock of the day overcoming her natural distaste for such vulgar language, perhaps it is my father’s ghost again, and she quailed in her seat with a little bleat of distress, her new romance nearly forgotten.
Lizzie turned her penetrating vision back to Alice, who noticed a peculiar shine to her cousin’s eyes that did not bode well for her comfort. “I think something is about to happen!” Lizzie cried with alarm. Alice had no time to respond, for at that moment the carriage made an unexpected lurch, then began to pick up distressing speed.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
2.7
Alice could hear the crisp sound of the wheels of the phaeton ahead of her, mingling with the rougher tread of the hearse. She began to wave to Mrs. Perkins as they pulled away, then glanced worriedly over at Lizzie to see if that was in fact proper behavior, but Lizzie remained disconsolate, so Alice sank back into the seat and wondered how long the trip to the cemetery would take at this slow pace.
She was in danger of becoming bored.
As they turned the corner from the manor onto the road, a number of the local farmers could be seen gathered into a respectful clump as the hearse passed by. Alice was amazed at the stoic faces set in grim masks of no doubt great feeling as they wheeled past. She found herself surprised that her father might awaken such emotion in the hearts of others when such sensations were hard put to find purchase in her own heart. Alice thought perhaps she was quite wicked girl and the thrill of horror this supposition gave her proved to be very warming, restoring a little of her usual rosiness to her cheeks.
Yet she could not wholly dismiss the persistent concern that she had missed something important in her father’s personality all these long years. “Lizzie,” she said, forgetting her cousin’s distraction, “Was my father much beloved by the farmers? Did he have a special bond with them that they mourn him so?”
Lizzie drew her penetrating gaze away from the soft mists of memory and brought it to bear upon her cousin, an act that never failed to make young Alice quail. All too often that look hinted at scorn and judgment, two attitudes that were no favorites of the young woman.
“Why on earth would you say such a thing?”
Alice blushed, which added to her rosiness of cheek, perhaps going a bit too far from rosy to red and diminishing her loveliness ever so slightly. “The farmers, they were gathered at the gate to pay father their respects. They looked quite sad, I think.”
“Of course they looked sad, my dear,” her patient cousin counseled. “They all owe their livings to the family lands. They are uncertain how Lady Mangrove will handle things in the wake of Lord Mangrove’s death. There are many stories over the years of bereaved women turning unstable and causing all manner of fuss. They will not look happy until there has been some assurance that all will continue as it has been for many years, without rents being raised or land redeveloped in some modern way.”
Alice thought about these words. One can only imagine it to be due to the shock of her circumstances, the gravity of death, and perhaps the boredom of the carriage ride, that she did so, but Alice did ponder the issue, albeit briefly and with only the slightest of concerns. “I cannot imagine Mother doing much to change the arrangements. She doesn’t particularly like to have anything at all to do with the lands. In fact, she is quite happy dealing with her garden which, now that Father is away,” Alice waved her hand to demonstrate that she was well aware that this euphemism was precisely that, but also that she found it admirably suitable to the alternative, namely that he was quite nearby but lying in the rather fanciful coffin not twenty yards away, “She may replant as she has desired without interference.”
“That is exactly the kind of way that it starts,” Lizzie said gravely. “A woman suddenly loosed from the heavy bonds of matrimony may become quite giddy with the heady perfume of freedom. Countries have fallen for less cause.”
Alice frowned. “You hardly sound interested in the idea of marriage. While I do not wish to be pledged to Mr. Boylett, I certainly have every faith that marriage will be an awfully big adventure.”
Lizzie positively glowed. “While I may seem averse to the idea, I am not. In fact, if I reveal to you this letter’s contents,” she remarked as she drew the much glimpsed missive from her sleeve, “you will see that I have much excitement to reveal- -”
“Lizzie,” Alice exclaimed, her cousin’s entreaty unheard, “there he is again!”
She was in danger of becoming bored.
As they turned the corner from the manor onto the road, a number of the local farmers could be seen gathered into a respectful clump as the hearse passed by. Alice was amazed at the stoic faces set in grim masks of no doubt great feeling as they wheeled past. She found herself surprised that her father might awaken such emotion in the hearts of others when such sensations were hard put to find purchase in her own heart. Alice thought perhaps she was quite wicked girl and the thrill of horror this supposition gave her proved to be very warming, restoring a little of her usual rosiness to her cheeks.
Yet she could not wholly dismiss the persistent concern that she had missed something important in her father’s personality all these long years. “Lizzie,” she said, forgetting her cousin’s distraction, “Was my father much beloved by the farmers? Did he have a special bond with them that they mourn him so?”
Lizzie drew her penetrating gaze away from the soft mists of memory and brought it to bear upon her cousin, an act that never failed to make young Alice quail. All too often that look hinted at scorn and judgment, two attitudes that were no favorites of the young woman.
“Why on earth would you say such a thing?”
Alice blushed, which added to her rosiness of cheek, perhaps going a bit too far from rosy to red and diminishing her loveliness ever so slightly. “The farmers, they were gathered at the gate to pay father their respects. They looked quite sad, I think.”
“Of course they looked sad, my dear,” her patient cousin counseled. “They all owe their livings to the family lands. They are uncertain how Lady Mangrove will handle things in the wake of Lord Mangrove’s death. There are many stories over the years of bereaved women turning unstable and causing all manner of fuss. They will not look happy until there has been some assurance that all will continue as it has been for many years, without rents being raised or land redeveloped in some modern way.”
Alice thought about these words. One can only imagine it to be due to the shock of her circumstances, the gravity of death, and perhaps the boredom of the carriage ride, that she did so, but Alice did ponder the issue, albeit briefly and with only the slightest of concerns. “I cannot imagine Mother doing much to change the arrangements. She doesn’t particularly like to have anything at all to do with the lands. In fact, she is quite happy dealing with her garden which, now that Father is away,” Alice waved her hand to demonstrate that she was well aware that this euphemism was precisely that, but also that she found it admirably suitable to the alternative, namely that he was quite nearby but lying in the rather fanciful coffin not twenty yards away, “She may replant as she has desired without interference.”
“That is exactly the kind of way that it starts,” Lizzie said gravely. “A woman suddenly loosed from the heavy bonds of matrimony may become quite giddy with the heady perfume of freedom. Countries have fallen for less cause.”
Alice frowned. “You hardly sound interested in the idea of marriage. While I do not wish to be pledged to Mr. Boylett, I certainly have every faith that marriage will be an awfully big adventure.”
Lizzie positively glowed. “While I may seem averse to the idea, I am not. In fact, if I reveal to you this letter’s contents,” she remarked as she drew the much glimpsed missive from her sleeve, “you will see that I have much excitement to reveal- -”
“Lizzie,” Alice exclaimed, her cousin’s entreaty unheard, “there he is again!”
Sunday, January 21, 2007
2.6
The awkward exit from the parlour did not match the peculiar antics of the crowd’s entry into the room, but it seemed to have an untoward air of haste that Alice thought most unbecoming to the scene as she folded Mrs. Martin’s lovely fan negligently in her hand. Lizzie took the opportunity to disengage herself from Aunt Susan’s mournful wails, and slipped her hand around Alice’s elbow, hastening their exit from the house.
“By all rights,” Lizzie muttered somewhat peevishly, “we ought to have been allowed a little more time for expressing our grief, rather than being hustled off so expeditiously.”
Alice reflected. “Perhaps it is to move us more quickly to recovery.”
“Grief does not disappear in a day,” Lizzie said simply, but her cousin blushed to recall that Lizzie had lost both parents unexpectedly at the same time and had never ceased to miss them. She could hardly imagine the same feelings arising in her own breast for the strange and capricious man who had been her father, but she endeavoured to reflect the more gracious expression her cousin exhibited and thus earn some sympathy if not in fact the trappings of true grief, beyond of course the lovely new fan she had liberated from her former tutor.
The profusion of carriages that met them set the two young women into momentary confusion. They did not remain in that state long, for the nigh on invisible Mr. Bird appeared, ushered them to the second carriage, then just as silently and swiftly disappeared. Lizzie and Alice looked out the window to see the remainder of the party sort themselves between the various carriages according to rank, need and propriety. Alice’s mother, encumbered by a weeping Aunt Susan, stood clear-eyed, waiting for the coffin to be placed in the hearse, whose gin-infused driver swayed like a poplar at the heads of his horses. The creatures seemed to wonder at the curious smell their master exuded, although certainly as a hearse driver, it could not have been all that unusual. Yet even the horses turned their heads curiously to observe the arrival of the coffin.
“Oh dear,” Lizzie thought helplessly as she caught her first glimpse of the procession of Lord Mangrove’s final earthly remains. It was indeed an unfortunate sight, one that would have infuriated his lordship, had he still had the means to become irate -- and certainly recent events suggested that such temper was still possible. Perhaps this was one of the matters keeping his spirit from equanimity and rest, Lizzie happened to think, as she watched the mismatched crew of pall bearers stagger along.
It was not simply that the various heights of the men in question veered greatly from the moderate stature of Doctor Ponsonby to the demi-stature of Rector Chancel, then upward to the imposing figure of Lord Dagenham, although this did cause the coffin to rest at an unbecomingly rakish angle and undoubtedly, Lizzie mused, squashed the fragile remnants of Lord Mangrove into one end of the coffin. There was, however, the additional factor of the pristine sarcophagus itself, covered with any number of admirably detailed designs, ornate accouterments reflecting the wealth and distinction of its interior dweller, ringed with gold and, popular this year the funeral director had insisted, a nautical design that included a fantastical ring-prow that would elicit looks of envy as the hearse drove through the village, assuring that the fine sense of privilege of the Mangrove clan would remain intact.
However, the additional weight of these items cast considerable taxing duty upon the pall bearers who, try as they might, found it difficult to maintain an elegant pace on their walk toward the hearse, instead listing lurchingly first to the left, then to the right, depending entirely upon whether the rector managed to keep up with the gait of his taller compatriots, or whether he did in fact stumble in his attempts to do so. Fortunately it was only a short number of steps to the hearse from the front entrance, although one serious stumble did make Lady Mangrove reach out involuntarily toward the remains, the casket’s forward momentum was halted by the surprisingly quick hand of Lord Dagenham whose elegant glove proved both swift and sure. In another moment the coffin was slipped into the glass enclosure of the hearse and the gentlemen could be forgiven for using their mourning handkerchiefs to mop their brows like common workmen. Alice could not help feeling strong admiration for Lord Dagenham despite her never having noticed him before other than a place setting card on the dinner table. Her unremitting admiration was dampened, however, when she saw him take a nip of gin from the flask offered by the driver in a congratulatory way, for she had inherited from her mother very strong feelings about spirits.
But there was no time to wrestle with her conflicting thoughts. Lady Mangrove used the proffered hand of that man to alight to the phaeton, which she had insisted upon using despite the brisk air. No doubt she felt it important to show herself and her grim grief to the lowly folk of the village and provide an example of their betters. Alice felt a fleeting sense of admiration even as she bundled up, feeling more cold by contrast, before she felt the lurch of the carriage taking off. With Lizzie brooding beside her, Alice stared out the window as they headed toward the cemetery.
“By all rights,” Lizzie muttered somewhat peevishly, “we ought to have been allowed a little more time for expressing our grief, rather than being hustled off so expeditiously.”
Alice reflected. “Perhaps it is to move us more quickly to recovery.”
“Grief does not disappear in a day,” Lizzie said simply, but her cousin blushed to recall that Lizzie had lost both parents unexpectedly at the same time and had never ceased to miss them. She could hardly imagine the same feelings arising in her own breast for the strange and capricious man who had been her father, but she endeavoured to reflect the more gracious expression her cousin exhibited and thus earn some sympathy if not in fact the trappings of true grief, beyond of course the lovely new fan she had liberated from her former tutor.
The profusion of carriages that met them set the two young women into momentary confusion. They did not remain in that state long, for the nigh on invisible Mr. Bird appeared, ushered them to the second carriage, then just as silently and swiftly disappeared. Lizzie and Alice looked out the window to see the remainder of the party sort themselves between the various carriages according to rank, need and propriety. Alice’s mother, encumbered by a weeping Aunt Susan, stood clear-eyed, waiting for the coffin to be placed in the hearse, whose gin-infused driver swayed like a poplar at the heads of his horses. The creatures seemed to wonder at the curious smell their master exuded, although certainly as a hearse driver, it could not have been all that unusual. Yet even the horses turned their heads curiously to observe the arrival of the coffin.
“Oh dear,” Lizzie thought helplessly as she caught her first glimpse of the procession of Lord Mangrove’s final earthly remains. It was indeed an unfortunate sight, one that would have infuriated his lordship, had he still had the means to become irate -- and certainly recent events suggested that such temper was still possible. Perhaps this was one of the matters keeping his spirit from equanimity and rest, Lizzie happened to think, as she watched the mismatched crew of pall bearers stagger along.
It was not simply that the various heights of the men in question veered greatly from the moderate stature of Doctor Ponsonby to the demi-stature of Rector Chancel, then upward to the imposing figure of Lord Dagenham, although this did cause the coffin to rest at an unbecomingly rakish angle and undoubtedly, Lizzie mused, squashed the fragile remnants of Lord Mangrove into one end of the coffin. There was, however, the additional factor of the pristine sarcophagus itself, covered with any number of admirably detailed designs, ornate accouterments reflecting the wealth and distinction of its interior dweller, ringed with gold and, popular this year the funeral director had insisted, a nautical design that included a fantastical ring-prow that would elicit looks of envy as the hearse drove through the village, assuring that the fine sense of privilege of the Mangrove clan would remain intact.
However, the additional weight of these items cast considerable taxing duty upon the pall bearers who, try as they might, found it difficult to maintain an elegant pace on their walk toward the hearse, instead listing lurchingly first to the left, then to the right, depending entirely upon whether the rector managed to keep up with the gait of his taller compatriots, or whether he did in fact stumble in his attempts to do so. Fortunately it was only a short number of steps to the hearse from the front entrance, although one serious stumble did make Lady Mangrove reach out involuntarily toward the remains, the casket’s forward momentum was halted by the surprisingly quick hand of Lord Dagenham whose elegant glove proved both swift and sure. In another moment the coffin was slipped into the glass enclosure of the hearse and the gentlemen could be forgiven for using their mourning handkerchiefs to mop their brows like common workmen. Alice could not help feeling strong admiration for Lord Dagenham despite her never having noticed him before other than a place setting card on the dinner table. Her unremitting admiration was dampened, however, when she saw him take a nip of gin from the flask offered by the driver in a congratulatory way, for she had inherited from her mother very strong feelings about spirits.
But there was no time to wrestle with her conflicting thoughts. Lady Mangrove used the proffered hand of that man to alight to the phaeton, which she had insisted upon using despite the brisk air. No doubt she felt it important to show herself and her grim grief to the lowly folk of the village and provide an example of their betters. Alice felt a fleeting sense of admiration even as she bundled up, feeling more cold by contrast, before she felt the lurch of the carriage taking off. With Lizzie brooding beside her, Alice stared out the window as they headed toward the cemetery.
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