R. Harrison's Blog, page 15
October 8, 2016
The Art of Deception 35
or Pride and Extreme Prejudice
This week continues a spy story set in late Georgian England, the year before Trafalgar. Last week, General Dumouriez managed to corner Alice. He looking for one thing, she another. Neither succeeds in this week’s snippet.
Mr King rose and addressed them, “Signora Catalani must rest her voice, she will return after the supper break.”
As the hum of voices rose to a loud babble, Alice asked the General again, “What can you tell me about Mr Stanton?”
“You are most interested in him, are you not?”
“I have my reasons.”
“Then he can,” the general switched back to English, “Plow his own row; I think that’s the idiom.” He bowed his leave and went in search of more compliant companionship.
Alice shrugged, it had been a long shot, but worth the candle; she walked to the room where supper was laid.
On her way in, someone accosted her, “Miss Green, Alice!”
Alice turned; there was her best friend from back home in Easterly, Sally Willis; Mr Mapleton, Alice’s erstwhile fiancé, or at least fiancé want-to-be, stood next to her.
Now that you’ve read my hackery, please see the talented writers in Weekend Writing Warriors.
My apologies for creative punctuation.
Assembly’s usually had a supper break. All important for socializing. This picture, from the national trust, shows the inside of the assembly r00m (after it was restored from a movie theater). As Miss Austen would say, there are too many women. Unfortunately for Alice, her past catches up with her at this one.
Like poor Cecelia, “The Curious Profession of Dr Craven” is back from the dead.
I’ve released a sweet regency romance, Miss DeVere 
This is a fun read.
Frankenkitty is available.
What happens when teenagers get to play with Dr Frankenstien’s lab notebooks, a few odd chemicals and a great big whopping coil? Mayhem, and possibly an invitation to the Transylvanian Neuroscience Summer School.
October 2, 2016
Sunday Snippet, A Formulaic Romance, another installment.
This is the start of another story Amelia and I are putting together. There’s a pun in the title that will become obvious in time.
It starts with the trope, Lady Rachel on her way to London, is stranded in the country by an unfortunate accident. Her carriage is a wreck, the thoroughbrace, a leather strap that holds the cabin up, broke. When the cabin fell, it broke the axle. It’s snowing and they’re in trouble.
They’ve made their way to the house in the distance, but not without slipping in the muddy lane. At least it wasn’t full of “slough” – a wonderful and now disused word for that unique mixture of horse apples, mud, and muck that so characterized roads in the days before the automobile.
An Interruption, continued.
Shortly after that, Rachel and her maid stood in front of the front door. The hall was an ancient building that some recent owner had tried to refit into the Georgian style, with mixed success. It was a far more impressive building than it had appeared from the main road.
Lucinda said, “It looks bigger than when we started.”
“They all do. Will you knock or shall I?”
“I couldn’t.”
Rachel quailed at the thought of knocking on the door. Then she steeled herself and said, “Ready?”
Lucinda nodded, and Rachel pulled the bell. A dull ring echoed from the depths of the hall. It finished echoing and yet was no response. Rachel pulled on it again. This time the door opened almost immediately. What had been a dull ring became unpleasantly loud.
A tall, gaunt man answered the door. He examined them, from head to foot, and then from foot to head, taking in the details of their dress and its apparent cleanliness or lack thereof. Finally having decided that they were less than genteel, he said, “Yes, Miss? We do not make donations or give alms from this house. The servants’ entrance is in the back if you are desirous of employment. Though we do not need a scullery maid at present.”
“I am Rachel, Lady Hayforth and this is my companion, Miss Holloway. My, our carriage broke on the main road and we wondered if we could find some shelter from this inclement weather. Common manners would suggest that we should be welcome.”
The man slowly nodded, and then said, “As you say, Ma’am. If you will accompany me, I shall see what the master says.”
He opened the door and lead the two women into the dark hall, and then into a side parlour. One lined with books, and unlike many country houses, someone had actually read the books. A plethora, a veritable ark of stuffed animals decorated the room. This only added to its melancholy. A melancholy that the stale odour of musty disuse did little to abate. After saying, “Please wait here,” he turned and slowly made his way off into the dim recesses of the building.
Lucinda turned to her mistress and said, “This is just like a Gothic romance. I’d not be surprised to find a skeleton behind that curtain.” Behind her water streaked down the windows. The storm had decided that rain was in order and now the heavens had opened. The darkening skies made the room grow ever more dim and full of shadows. Rachel did not fail to notice how Lucinda shook from the cold, her teeth chattering as her body tried to warm itself.
“Nonsense Lucinda. It is 1817. This is England, and not some strange foreign land.” Rachel strode to the curtain, looked at her maid, and pulled the curtain aside. “What did I tell you?”
Lucinda gasped. Rachel turned and looked behind her. A skeleton stood and grinned back at them, gap-toothed with age; a human skeleton mounted as an anatomical display. She quickly pulled the curtain closed with a snap.
“Ah well. Interesting that. Wonder what else we’ll find.”
Lucy said, “Something to eat would be good.”
“I’m so famished that I’d gnaw on these bones.”
“Let’s hope they have a good laundress. Your gown, Miss.”
“Not to mention my face. At least we’re out of the rain and the cold.”
A library was a necessary feature of every genteel dwelling. Since books were expensive, it was a way to puff off wealth as well as demonstrate the culture and erudition of the owners. Actually though, it was not necessary to read the books, and all sorts of interesting things have been found when the libraries were finally cataloged.
October 1, 2016
The Art of Deception 34
or Pride and Extreme Prejudice
This week continues a spy story set in late Georgian England, the year before Trafalgar. Last week Roderick and Alice had a chance to talk. Both dodged around the questions they truly wanted to ask. This week’s snippet takes up at the Wednesday concert. Mr King, the “King of Bath,” has called the crowd to order and announced that Signora Catalani will begin her performance shortly.
General Dumouriez expertly culled Alice from the herd, “Mademoiselle, would you care to honour me with your company?”
Alice glanced at Miss Aldershot, who nodded her agreement, “Why certainly, I’m not sure I caught your name when we met several days ago.”
“General Charles Dumouriez, a votre service,” He bowed, keeping his eyes on hers, except when he glanced lower and smiled; he liked what he saw, and anticipated a better view later in the evening.
“That’s what I remembered,” Alice curtsied, “Shall we find seats?”
Roderick watched them, trying to stay within earshot, and hoping that she would betray herself in an unguarded moment; they found a pair of seats midway to the front; he sat several rows behind, just within earshot, and what he heard was disquieting.
“Mademoiselle, I must say that you have ankles, très charmant.”
Alice involuntarily clenched her knees together but replied, in French, “Thank you, but I was wondering how well you knew Mr Stanton?”
“Monsieur Stanton, who?”
“Monsieur Roderick Stanton.”
“Oh Roddy, a good man, but enough about him; has anyone told you that you have beautiful eyes; almost as pretty as those luscious lips or that-”
Now that you’ve read my hackery, please see the talented writers in Weekend Writing Warriors.
My apologies for creative punctuation.
First, many excellent and one so-so author are featured in this:
Signora Angelica Catalani (whose head adorns the post) was an exceedingly gifted singer. She somehow escaped Napoleon’s clutches to sing at the King’s theater in London in 1804. After that she went on farewell tours. Eventually she did return to Europe. While I can’t definitively place her in Bath at this time, she certainly could have been there. In any case the money was right and Wednesday night was concert night. As opposed to dress balls on Monday and fancy balls on Thursday.
I also get the impression, from looking at etchings of the time (thank you Google image search) that she was something of a pin-up girl and adorned many a college room – although decently clothed.
The Mr King I refer to was the master of ceremonies at the Bath Assembly. First the lower assembly and eventually the upper one. In true English fashion, the upper assembly was uphill from the lower one.
Like poor Cecelia, “The Curious Profession of Dr Craven” is back from the dead.
I’ve released a sweet regency romance, Miss DeVere This is a fun read.
Frankenkitty is available.
What happens when teenagers get to play with Dr Frankenstien’s lab notebooks, a few odd chemicals and a great big whopping coil? Mayhem, and possibly an invitation to the Transylvanian Neuroscience Summer School.
September 29, 2016
So, I passed.
I alluded to taking a MSF Basic Rider’s Course in my last post. I passed! It means a trip down to the DSCC (Georgia’s DMV) to get my licence endorsed.
Whoopee!
It means another quandary. What kind of bike?
In the good old days, say 1990, I’d get a small 125cc bike to learn on. The trouble is, they don’t sell them in the US any longer. The smallest (real) bikes are 250cc. (Honda makes one that is a 125cc, but it’s tiny.)
There’s another problem. Motorcycle technology has advanced, but not all bikes share in the advances.
ABS (antilock brakes). These are much safer and more effective than standard brakes. Most small bikes don’t have them. Those that do are “sport bikes.”
Choke vs. Fuel injection. You can still buy a new motorcycle with a manual choke and good old fashioned carburetor.
Wire Wheels vs. Solid Wheels. Wire wheels look neat, exactly what a motorcycle “should” have. They need to be tuned or “trued.” Not an inexpensive process.
The small “standard” bikes, like the Kawasaki Tu250x or Honda Rebel, are what I imagined riding. None of them have ABS.
The sport bikes, like the Ninja 300 ABS or Honda CBR300 ABS, look like racing bikes (they aren’t). They use modern technology.
Decisions.
September 23, 2016
The Art of Deception 33
or Pride and Extreme Prejudice
This week continues a spy story set in late Georgian England, the year before Trafalgar. Last week, the Alice and Lucy discussed the Roderick and Edward with Lucy’s “Aunt Heather.” Roderick and Edward arrived to escort the women to dinner at the York. They are too early, and in the meantime Roderick (Mr Stanton) takes Alice for a walk to inspect the preparations.
Alice brightened, “Yes, there is that; shall we?” Mr Stanton offered his arm to support her, and she gladly took it.
“Thank you for stopping my horse; I hope I wasn’t ungracious.”
“Not at all; a bolting horse is always a shock; I’m just glad I was there in time.”
Yes, how did you know to be there, I thought you were ill. “I’m not sure that having you and Mr Spode host our dinner is exactly the best way to say thank you.”
“It was Edward’s idea; To impress Miss Haytor,” my feelings had nothing to do with it; nothing!
Alice stopped, disengaged her arm from his and turned to face him, “Are you sure, Monsieur, that there is nothing you want to tell me.”
Yes, no, “Nothing other than to ask you what wine you would prefer with your meal.”
Now that you’ve read my hackery, please see the talented writers in Weekend Writing Warriors.
My apologies for creative punctuation.
The York still exists. Unfortunately, it’s been bought by an American chain – Travelodge. So the famous “York Family Hotel” is now run by the same company as Motel 6.
I may be a little late at replying to comments this weekend. Taking my Motorcycle Safety Foundation “Basic Rider Course.” Uneasy Rider strikes again. Serious accident rates with motorcycles are more than ten times lower than just riding horses and about a thousand times lower than horse racing (and the training cuts the accident rate even further).
Like poor Cecelia, “The Curious Profession of Dr Craven” is back from the dead.
I’ve released a sweet regency romance, Miss DeVere This is a fun read.
Frankenkitty is available.
What happens when teenagers get to play with Dr Frankenstien’s lab notebooks, a few odd chemicals and a great big whopping coil? Mayhem, and possibly an invitation to the Transylvanian Neuroscience Summer School.
September 22, 2016
Loneliness
The Deer are browsing the acorns and getting ready for the winter.
Trumbull Stickney, 1874 – 1904
These autumn gardens, russet, gray and brown,
The sward with shrivelled foliage strown,
The shrubs and trees
By weary wings of sunshine overflown
And timid silences,—
Since first you, darling, called my spirit yours,
Seem happy, and the gladness pours
From day to day,
And yester-year across this year endures
Unto next year away.
Now in these places where I used to rove
And give the dropping leaves my love
And weep to them,
They seem to fall divinely from above,
Like to a diadem
Closing in one with the disheartened flowers.
High up the migrant birds in showers
Shine in the sky,
And all the movement of the natural hours
Turns into melody.
September 17, 2016
Sunday Snippet, A Formulaic Romance.
This is the start of another story Amelia and I are putting together. There’s a pun in the title that will become obvious in time.
It starts with the trope, Lady Rachel on her way to London, is stranded in the country by an unfortunate accident. Her carriage is a wreck, the thoroughbrace, a leather strap that holds the cabin up, broke. When the cabin fell, it broke the axle. It’s snowing and they’re in trouble.
An Interruption.
“That’s bloody torn it!” Miss Rachel Heppleworth, the youngest and only surviving daughter of Lord Hayforth, rarely used such rough language, but her ancient carriage finally failed on her way to London.
On her one chance to join society and find a suitable, rich, and hopefully reasonably good-looking or at least good mannered, husband. Preferably, not vicious, a non-smoker, though she approved of snuff, at most a moderate gambler, and willing to squire her to the occasional assembly. It would be an extra benefit if he were discreet in his affairs and sensible in his conversation.
She and her maid stood while the rain soaked through their pelisses and trickled down their backs. They surveyed the wreck of their carriage. One postilion had ridden ahead to find help. The other had simply ridden off.
Lucinda, her maid, companion, and confidant replied, “Miss?”
“The weather … raining, almost snowing, the thoroughbrace broke and the weight of the carriage body snapped the rear axle. We’re stuck, here in the middle of nowhere, and worst of all we were due in London by the end of the week.”
“Miss Rachel, we can always send a letter. Lord Bromley would understand.”
“If the post runs out here.”
Lucinda shivered; the cold and damp had already penetrated her pelisse. Miss Rachel did not fail to feel the chill, nor did she ignore her maid and companion’s discomfort. She pointed to a massive pile of bricks and spires in the distance. “We could look if anyone is living in that pile of stones. There seems to be a fire and lights.”
The experience of riding in a carriage is one that modern people, most of them at least, don’t really appreciate. One good reference for this is Mark Twain’s “Roughing It.” The first half of the book describes his journey with his brother Orion to the Nevada territory. (Orion really was Twain’s brother.) They had the thoroughbrace fail, but the carriage didn’t fail as severely as Rachel’s does.
The Art of Deception 32
or Pride and Extreme Prejudice
This week continues a spy story set in late Georgian England, the year before Trafalgar. Last week (I didn’t count correctly, so it became a bigger sunday snippet.) Roderick and Edward discussed the evening ahead, and that their rooms had been searched. This ten line extract shows the other side’s opinions of the state of affairs.
Lucy knocked on the door and came in, “I’d say he’s unusual; Did Alice tell you he saved her life this afternoon?”
“He did, how?”
“My horse bolted for her barn; he helped me get the screw under control”
“Oh … I presume he is an adequate horseman.”
“An excellent one.”
“Then I wonder how he is with his lock picks; he had a full set of screws and burglars’ tools; the only thing missing was a jemmy.”
“Did you find anything else?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
Lucy continued, “Edward and Mr Stanton wished that we would join them for dinner; I think Edward wants to ask me something.”
Alice rolled her eyes; then she glanced at Martha; it was clear she was equally amused.
Now that you’ve read my hackery, please see the talented writers in Weekend Writing Warriors.
My apologies for creative punctuation.
The featured image shows historic lockpicks. Isn’t it interesting that you can refer to a poor excuse for a horse as a ‘screw’ and the word at the time for a lock pick was also a ‘screw’? The most common mechanism for locks has changed since the early 1800’s and with that the form of the picks. The two ninety degree bent objects on the left of the image above are the most important part of a lockpicking kit – tension bars. You use them to place the lock in “tension” so that the pins can be adjusted until it opens. Unlike Hollywood, you can’t just use a pick on its own. The actual “pick” itself isn’t as critical. I’ve had best luck with the feelers (picks 1 and 4) but the others work – especially if you’re better at it than I am. If you have a tension bar, you can improvise a pick from almost anything you can reliably shove in the lock cylinder. One of the more amusing examples is a strip cut from the lid of a can of cat food.
Like poor Cecelia, “The Curious Profession of Dr Craven” is back from the dead.
I’ve released a sweet regency romance, Miss DeVere This is a fun read.
Frankenkitty is available.
What happens when teenagers get to play with Dr Frankenstien’s lab notebooks, a few odd chemicals and a great big whopping coil? Mayhem, and possibly an invitation to the Transylvanian Neuroscience Summer School.
September 15, 2016
Spiny Orb Weaver.
It’s a Spiny Orb Weaver. Knew from the web that it was likely an orb weaver, but it’s nice to have it confirmed.
September 14, 2016
The Drought
One of the unfortunate side-effects of the drought this fall has been the difficulty of taking good pictures of the wildlife. It’s worse for the wildlife – at least I have food and water – but there aren’t the normal plethora of fall flowers and butterflies.
The featured image shows a neat spider.
It’s been an insane year, spring flooding, followed by extreme heat and now dry.
Normally by now we’d have seen things like these:
I hope it’s better soon.
